The Goddess, chapter 2

"Did you see him last night with the woman he's marrying?"
Tre glanced across his right shoulder at his newest teammate, Mike Dirnt.
"No," he answered as he reached beneath his blazer and pulled a pair of Ray-Bans from the breast pocket of his oxford shirt. "I left fairly early."
"Well, she's pretty young. Twenty-two or so."
"That's what I hear." He shifted to one side and let a group of older ladies pass on their way down the stairs. Being a practicing womanizer himself, he'd never claimed to be self-righteous moralist, but there was something pathetic and just a little sick about a man Jerry's age marrying a woman nearly forty years younger.
Mike poked Tre in his side with his elbow. "And breasts that could make any man sit up and beg for buttermilk."
Tre slipped the sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and smiled at the ladies who glanced back at Mike.
He hadn't been real quiet about his description of Jerry's fiancée. "You were raised on a dairy farm, right?"
"Yep. About fifty miles outside of Madison," the young goalie said with pride.
"Well, I wouldn't say that buttermilk thing too loud, if I were you. Women tend to get real pissed off when you compare them to cows."
"Yeah." Mike laughed and shook his head. "What do you think she sees in a man old enough to be her grandfather? I mean, she isn't fat or ugly or anything. In fact, she's real good lookin'."
"Take a look around," Tre answered. "Last time I heard, Jerry was worth about six million."
"Yeah, well, money can't buy everything," the goalie grumbled as he started down the steps. "Are you coming, Wall?" He paused over his shoulder.
"Nope," Tre answered. He sucked an ice cube into his mouth, then tossed the tumbler into a potted fern.
"I've got one bitch of a hangover," he said as he descended down the stairs.
He walked out of the huge wooden doors and walked around the side of the three-story brick mansion toward his 1966 Corvette parked in the front.
As he shed his blue blazer, a flash of pink caught his attention. He paused and watched a woman in a light pink dress slip through the massive double doors.
"Hey mister, wait a minute," she called to him in a slightly breathless, distinctly southern voice. The heels of her ridiculous shoes made tiny click-click sounds as she bounced down the stairs.