Thread: Eye of the Tiger [creamylips]

Dude, I popped the question... Tracy? Yes! Lucky bastard, I'd fucking tap that everynight and twice on Sundays. Even if the Bears were playing. Congratulations Tim. Hey, that's my fucking Fiancee you're talking about, Brad! Yea yea, suck my cock you dicklicker. Now, this game isn't going to play itself. Brad glanced over at his best friend, Tim, the man had everything in the world going for him. He came from money, and was getting into more money than he knew what to do with being hired straight out of Illinois University by a Fortune 500 country as a Vice President of several big name accounts. The lucky just get luckier, not only that, but he now was apparently marrying Tracy, the tomboy turned hotty that used to party, drink, and fight with the lot of them from back in the good ole days of high school and college. Well, at least the first two years. After that Dan, Tim, and Tracy had all gone off to Illinois School of Business while Brad, Mikey, and Morgan all went to community colleges before dropping out completely. Mikey and Morgan had always been weed-inhaling-hipsters, and only came to school to keep the group together. And Brad... Brad was the badboy. He came from the deep south, nobody knew how he ended up in the mean streets of Chicago, but he had. With his baseball bat, and a half a bottle of Jack Daniels. He still had both, well, not the same bottle or bat, he'd broken the bat and several more and drank the battle and many, many more but he still had at least one of each in his trash house. Still, he'd finished his degree and fallen into a good job he was head of security at the St00l. A new fad club in downtown Chitown, and things were going much better than he'd expected. The club was apparently run by some old school Italian gangsters, and he had not only a lot of leeway with how he ran things, but a lot of extra benefits to go along with his position. Girls, booze, cars, clothes, and even a little coke now and again came his way... Yea, bad boy, that's what his friends called him now. Even the hippy's. That conversation had taken place two months ago, and this Friday night Brad was down at the club when who else but Tracy and some of her newer, 'white collared' girlfriends decided to come to the club and party. Of course, he saw the ring on her finger, and had to say hello. He'd always had something of a crush on her, but she'd never stopped seeing him as the bad boi, and it had been cool while they were still punks. But now that she was a full blown woman, it sort of pissed him the fuck off, still, he could hide behind a smile easily enough. Checking himself in the mirror, he admired his well tanned lanky frame, not nearly as rock solid as it had been when he worked the farms down south, but still strong and limber. He walked with that easy southern gait, and his eyes had something of a wise tiredness to them. They were crystal aqua though, and contrasted his blond curly hair perfectly. Dressed in a pair of Levi's what else! a ten-gallon hat, a pair of cowboy boots, and a leather jacket. He made his way down to the dance floor, sliding through the crowds, until he was just behind Tracy. Trace? He asked, tapping her shoulder and giving her a bright smile. God, just her scent brought back memories. Seven minutes in heaven, spin the bottle, doctor, fuck, she had been one awesome girl---friend.