Title:Super Bowl XLII
Disclaimer:I do not own anything you recognize…
Warnings: Nope.
Notes:Nope.
Enjoy!
"We can't. Not yet, John," she told him as he practically ripped her shirt off.
"Why not?" Dean had picked this one up at the bar under the guise of 'John'. It was Super Bowl Sunday and he was looking for a little wham-bam.
"Super Bowl. It's on in ten minutes. That's not long enough."
He sat up, straddling her on the bed. "You're kidding me."
"No," she answered, swatting him off and searching for the remote. She found it and plopped down on the end of the bed, turning on the game. "Afterward I promise to make it worth your while."
"Yes," Dean said, standing up, arms out. "Giants scored a touch down!"
She sat there, arms and legs crossed. "You better hope the Patriots win."
"Why?"
"Otherwise tonight might not be so good for you."
Sitting quickly, he booed at the TV. "Giants you suck!"
Dean was pushed out of the motel room door. The Patriots had lost and even though he had cheered for them all night, Dean was not getting laid. She made that very clear by taking his clothes off and then shoving him out into the cold.
Nude. With no clothes on. Unclothed.
"Let me in," he whispered against the door, using one hand to hold his manhood as to not flash the entire world. "Please."
"Hi, 911," he heard her ask into what he assumed to be the phone. "There's a man streaking around the parking lot of the motel I'm staying in. Could you please send someone? Thank you."
Dean took off running. He was so not getting picked up by the cops because of some chick that had it bad for the Patriots.
After all, he was a Giants fan.