Game On(5)

It was the dress. I knew it was. Men couldn’t resist a dress this tight and this short. And it was my attitude. It’s not like I was cuter or hotter than the other girls in the bar—far from it. I was just the only person who had turned away the moment I realized who he was. I was the one woman in the bar not openly gawking at him. But it was taking a shit ton of effort not to.

“Another shot please,” I said to the bartender.

“Celebrating?” Nathan asked.

“Something like that,” I said, trying to decide on my exit strategy. He was smiling at me, having fun, something that would no doubt change the moment he realized I was a reporter. Especially the reporter sent to interview him. My saving grace was that I hadn’t approached him. He had come to me. He couldn’t blame me for this.

Still, I had to make him comfortable tomorrow. Never mind the fact that I wanted to make him comfortable tonight. Preferably in my bed. With me on top.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I was not allowed to have those kinds of thoughts about my subject. I needed to get out of there. I needed to get back to my hotel room, take a shower, and prepare to be a professional tomorrow.

The shot arrived and I slugged it back. The minute it slid down my throat, burning all the way down, I realized that I had just crossed the line between being an in-control drunk and one in danger of doing something truly stupid. Now I really needed to leave. I grabbed my bag, looking for my wallet to close out my tab, when I felt a warm hand on my arm. Electricity jolted through me. I looked up at him and I could tell from his expression that he had felt it too. His grin grew.

“You’re leaving?” he asked.

“I’ve got an early morning,” I said.

“Surely you could stay for just one more drink.” He gave me a sheepish smile. My insides melted a little. “Please don’t leave me alone here.” He put on an exaggerated pout and I couldn’t help but smile. His hand was still on my arm.

I glanced around the room. All eyes were on us. “I’m sure any one of the women here would be happy to join you.”

He grimaced. “Yeah, well, that’s the problem. They all want something.”

They all want you naked, I thought. The same as me.

“Please,” he said, his tone softening. “You’d be doing me a favor. Just be my bodyguard for one more drink.”

He sounded so earnest that I couldn’t say no. Not that I would have. He was so handsome. And his eyes. They were a beautiful shade of green. None of the pictures I had seen had done them justice.

I put my purse down, careful not to move the hand he was still holding. His palm felt warm and solid against my skin. It felt good.

“Fine,” I said. “But if you want me to fight any aggressive fans, that’s going to cost extra.”

“I doubt it will come to that,” he said and then leaned closer, his voice tickling my ear. “Though, I’d give quite a lot to see you try.”

“Well, I take my payment in Coffee-Mate Café Mocha, just so you know,” I said, trying to diffuse the tension. It didn’t work.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

“Good. Because I’m stronger than I look,” I said, meeting his hot gaze.

“So am I,” he said, his eyes dropping down to my mouth. I couldn’t help myself. I licked my lips. A low groan rumbled through his chest and my body ached to be touched by him. This was bad. This was very bad. I leaned back, away from his suggestive looks and perfect mouth.

“So why am I guarding you from all these beautiful women?” I asked him, even though I knew the answer. He began absentmindedly drawing patterns against the soft part of my arm. I shivered and he smiled.

“You’re not from here, are you?” he asked.

I shrugged, trying to focus on him, not on the way his touch was making me feel. Because it was making me feel dizzy and hot. In a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol I had consumed.

“Well, I’m kind of a big deal,” he said. Somehow he made it sound kind of cute and not obnoxious. “I play baseball.”

“You must be really good,” I said. The understatement of the century. I hoped someone was appreciating my Oscar-winning performance of pretending I didn’t know who Nathan Ryder was.

“Yeah,” he said, but it wasn’t bragging. He ordered a beer. I liked men who drank beer, especially longnecks, wrapping their fingers around the top. There was also something really sexy about watching someone’s mouth around the lip of a bottle and good god, if Nathan didn’t have a completely delicious mouth.

I thought about what I would do if he was just a guy that I met in a bar. If I didn’t know who he was, if I didn’t need to interview him tomorrow, if I didn’t need him to give my career a necessary boost.

If I didn’t know him, if he was just a stranger, I would have taken the beer from him. I would have taken a nice, long sip and run my tongue around the top of the bottle. I would have left a lipstick mark for him and then handed it back. I would have stood, given him a nice long look at my dress, how short and how tight it was, and then I would have held out my hand and led him all the way back to my room where I would have made good on his claim that he liked older women.

I was starting to feel really warm. Drunk warm. Dangerous warm. I stood up, but stumbled, falling promptly into Nathan’s arms. Obviously he had good reflexes. I also heard about half the population in the bar sigh with jealousy. And they were right to be jealous. His arms were fantastic. Fucking fantastic. Lean but muscular, and I could feel the heat of him through his shirt. What I wouldn’t give to be that cotton, stretched tight over his perfect shoulders and chest. I had to get out of there.