week 42 truth: What do you have to lose
[What do you have to lose?]
He’d noticed the way she looked at him, but even if he hadn’t he would have gone over to check on her. Tim had a buried white knight streak that surprised some people. Mrs. McCoy didn’t get drunk in bars and especially not bars like Charlie’s. Tim had heard the gossip, figured there was some truth to it; this just confirmed it for him.
“Mrs. McCoy, you alright?” Tim asked as he sat down across the table from her.
“Of course I am, Tim. It is Tim isn’t it?”
Tim grinned, that slow almost bashful grin and nodded. “Yeah, it’s Tim. Thing is-you don’t look alright.” He glanced around the bar. “This ain’t s’xactly your sorta place.”
“You’re here,” she pointed out as she picked up the tequila shot in front of her and started to knock it back. Tim snagged it from her fingers at the last minute and drank it himself. She gave him a shocked, pouty look that he’d expect on a rally girl or a cheerleader instead of a mother.
“Sorta my point,” Tim drawled. He stood up and held his hand out for her. “Come on, let’s get you home. You got no place in a bar like this.” She put her hand in his and he pulled her to her feet, his arm going around her shoulder. “Charlie! Whatever she ain’t paid you for, put it on Billy’s tab.”
Because he was a white knight but not that white.
The plan was to drop off at home, make sure she got settled with Gatorade and a couple of aspirin. Plans never worked out that well for Tim-or maybe they always worked out better for him.
“M’just gonna get you on the couch. J.D gonna be home later?” Tim asked as he guided her into the house, putting the keys to her car on the end table.
“No, upstairs. I don’t want him to see me this way,” Mrs. McCoy said, waving a hand toward the stairs.
Stairs were tricky for drunk people, even moderately drunk people but Tim should have wondered when Mrs. McCoy leaned on him so much, he was practically carrying her upstairs. His hand was on the doorknob when she grabbed him by the shirt and pushed him inside the bedroom. Her mouth was on his neck as she pulled at his shirt, popping buttons off. The word cougar was made for Katie McCoy.
“Mrs. McCoy-“
“Call me Katie.” The words were muffled on account of her face buried in his chest.
“Katie, do you really think we oughta-“
“I definitely think we ought to,” she responded as she undid the last two buttons on his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders.
Tim had never been one to really think things out and her hands were down his pants. Thinking wasn’t happening so he gave up, one hand messing up that perfect PTA hair while he unbuttoned her shirt with the other hand. Once he had that off, his hand strayed down her back, over her ass. He wasn’t sure if she was the one that jumped on him or if he picked her up but either way, her legs were wrapped around his waist, her nails were scraping over his back and holy blue hell there was something to be said for the enthusiasm older women showed.
Tim woke up when the front door slammed shut.
“Katie!”
He looked to Mrs. McCoy who has pushed herself half up on her elbows, eyes wide. “Thought you two were separated.”
“We are. He’s supposed to call before he comes over,” she said as she scrambled out of bed, grabbing her robe and attempting to smooth her hair down. Joe was already in the hallway when she emerged, pulling the door shut behind her. Tim listened as they argued and a cocky smirk spread over his face. He dipped at the waist, snagged his jeans and pulled them on. The decision to leave his shirt on the floor was as calculated as Tim Riggins ever got. He strolled through the bedroom door all boneless grace and cocky smiles.
“Mrs. McCoy, m’gonna take a shower ‘fore I get out of here,” he said as he walked down the hall toward the bathroom. He could have taken a shower in the master bath attached to the bedroom but then he wouldn’t have gotten to see the stunned look on Joe McCoy’s face.
Tim Riggins
Friday Night Lights
746 words
He’d noticed the way she looked at him, but even if he hadn’t he would have gone over to check on her. Tim had a buried white knight streak that surprised some people. Mrs. McCoy didn’t get drunk in bars and especially not bars like Charlie’s. Tim had heard the gossip, figured there was some truth to it; this just confirmed it for him.
“Mrs. McCoy, you alright?” Tim asked as he sat down across the table from her.
“Of course I am, Tim. It is Tim isn’t it?”
Tim grinned, that slow almost bashful grin and nodded. “Yeah, it’s Tim. Thing is-you don’t look alright.” He glanced around the bar. “This ain’t s’xactly your sorta place.”
“You’re here,” she pointed out as she picked up the tequila shot in front of her and started to knock it back. Tim snagged it from her fingers at the last minute and drank it himself. She gave him a shocked, pouty look that he’d expect on a rally girl or a cheerleader instead of a mother.
“Sorta my point,” Tim drawled. He stood up and held his hand out for her. “Come on, let’s get you home. You got no place in a bar like this.” She put her hand in his and he pulled her to her feet, his arm going around her shoulder. “Charlie! Whatever she ain’t paid you for, put it on Billy’s tab.”
Because he was a white knight but not that white.
The plan was to drop off at home, make sure she got settled with Gatorade and a couple of aspirin. Plans never worked out that well for Tim-or maybe they always worked out better for him.
“M’just gonna get you on the couch. J.D gonna be home later?” Tim asked as he guided her into the house, putting the keys to her car on the end table.
“No, upstairs. I don’t want him to see me this way,” Mrs. McCoy said, waving a hand toward the stairs.
Stairs were tricky for drunk people, even moderately drunk people but Tim should have wondered when Mrs. McCoy leaned on him so much, he was practically carrying her upstairs. His hand was on the doorknob when she grabbed him by the shirt and pushed him inside the bedroom. Her mouth was on his neck as she pulled at his shirt, popping buttons off. The word cougar was made for Katie McCoy.
“Mrs. McCoy-“
“Call me Katie.” The words were muffled on account of her face buried in his chest.
“Katie, do you really think we oughta-“
“I definitely think we ought to,” she responded as she undid the last two buttons on his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders.
Tim had never been one to really think things out and her hands were down his pants. Thinking wasn’t happening so he gave up, one hand messing up that perfect PTA hair while he unbuttoned her shirt with the other hand. Once he had that off, his hand strayed down her back, over her ass. He wasn’t sure if she was the one that jumped on him or if he picked her up but either way, her legs were wrapped around his waist, her nails were scraping over his back and holy blue hell there was something to be said for the enthusiasm older women showed.
Tim woke up when the front door slammed shut.
“Katie!”
He looked to Mrs. McCoy who has pushed herself half up on her elbows, eyes wide. “Thought you two were separated.”
“We are. He’s supposed to call before he comes over,” she said as she scrambled out of bed, grabbing her robe and attempting to smooth her hair down. Joe was already in the hallway when she emerged, pulling the door shut behind her. Tim listened as they argued and a cocky smirk spread over his face. He dipped at the waist, snagged his jeans and pulled them on. The decision to leave his shirt on the floor was as calculated as Tim Riggins ever got. He strolled through the bedroom door all boneless grace and cocky smiles.
“Mrs. McCoy, m’gonna take a shower ‘fore I get out of here,” he said as he walked down the hall toward the bathroom. He could have taken a shower in the master bath attached to the bedroom but then he wouldn’t have gotten to see the stunned look on Joe McCoy’s face.
Tim Riggins
Friday Night Lights
746 words