Game On(6)

“I don’t think I can guard you tonight,” I said.

“No?” he asked, clearly disappointed. I tried to remind myself that he wasn’t interested in me, not really. He was interested in the illusion of me –the dress and the attitude. His interest would be gone the minute he realized who I was. “But maybe another night? Tomorrow maybe?”

Oh, he was good. And I was feeling bad. Really, really bad.

“I don’t think you can handle me,” I said. I meant for it to sound dismissive, but the tequila had burned my throat and it just sounded husky. His eyes went hot and my insides did a flip and then caught on fire.

“I think you’d be surprised at exactly what I can handle,” he said, his hands around my waist.

“I, uh—” I needed to get out of there before I did something stupid. Because right now I was too drunk and too close to his mouth to think straight. “I really should go,” I finally said.

But he didn’t release me. Instead his grip tightened and he leaned closer.

“Never let go, Rose,” he intoned, doing a pretty decent Leonardo DiCaprio impression.

I couldn’t resist a laugh. “I’ll never let go, Jack,” I told him, doing the best Kate Winslet I could muster.

“Here,” he said, grabbing a napkin and scribbling something on it. “You said you’re not from around here, so if you’re going to be sticking around, I make a great tour guide.” He flashed me that perfect smile and handed me his number. This time I heard a chorus of gasps from the bar behind me. Any chance I had to be inconspicuous while in town seemed shot to hell.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said, handing the napkin back. The room was starting to spin. This had gone too far.

His smile dimmed but didn’t disappear. “It’s not?” he asked.

“No,” I said, slinging my purse onto my shoulder, grateful that I didn’t wobble. “Besides, I already have your number.” I held out my hand. “I’m Sophie Hall, and I’ll be interviewing you tomorrow.”





Chapter Three


His flirtatious smile disappeared completely. He looked down at my hand, a million expressions flitting across his face, but mostly anger and annoyance. I left my hand there, floating in the air between us, until I finally realized, in my intoxicated state, that he had no intention of shaking it.

His jaw tensed and he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” I asked, trying to salvage the situation. “I just arrived in town and needed a drink and you just happened to come here as well!”

“This is my favorite bar.” His voice was flat. “Everyone knows that.”

I looked around and noticed we had an audience. Across the room was a table full of guys wearing Longhorn baseball caps. Some of them looked familiar. Nathan’s teammates, I would guess. Half of them were staring with open amusement, the other half whispering to each other. I would bet my hard-earned laptop that I was going to be the main topic of discussion at tomorrow’s practice.

“Funny that!” I wanted to sound as surprised as I was, but the alcohol seemed to make everything sound just a little too intense, which made it sound fake. “Guess I should have read the notes that were prepared on you and gone somewhere else tonight.”

“Sure,” he said, clearly not believing that this was all just a total coincidence. Not that I blamed him. Nope, it took a special kind of bad luck to end up in the same bar with Nathan Ryder on the one night I didn’t want anything to do with him.

“Really!” I tried to convince him, but he was having nothing of it.

I looked over at his teammates, who were still observing our interaction, and like a moron, waved.

I could even see a few of them assessing my outfit. I gave my dress a tug, unwittingly pulling the already low-neckline even lower. Nathan’s gaze followed it, before snapping back up to my face, the same stormy look slightly muted by a surprising blush on his cheeks. There were men out there that still blushed at the sight of boobs? I found it stupidly endearing. But then again, I was drunk. I found a lot of things stupidly endearing when I was drunk. Case in point, ex-boyfriend Nick. I realized I was rambling in my head and Nathan was staring at me.

“Want to introduce me to your friends?” I asked, really poking the bear on that one.

“No,” Nathan said bluntly. “I actually want you to leave, but since I’m a gentleman and you were here first, I’m going to go.” His voice was polite. Cold, but polite. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you tomorrow,” he said, pushing past. But he gave me one last glance over his shoulder. “Sophie Hall.” And for a moment there was that glimmer of attraction, maybe even some heat shimmering there, but if it had been, it was gone in half a second.

“See you tomorrow!” I responded, realizing the minute it left my mouth that I should have just stayed silent. His step faltered as he headed towards the door, but he didn’t stop and he didn’t look back as he pushed through the crowd and left.

I collapsed back on my barstool, and remembering my bill, dug for my wallet. But when I turned to the bartender, he just shook his head.

“Nathan said you’re on his tab,” he said. “You’re all good.” But the expression on his face said that I had screwed up.