The Right Swipe (Modern Love, #1)(37)

It wasn’t particularly loud in the bar, but his hearing wasn’t the best—another souvenir of his former profession—so he pressed one finger in one ear to hear the message. “Hey, Samson. This is Trevor. Trevor Sanders? I’m sorry to cold-call you like this, but I saw that you were back in the public eye and I was hoping to speak with you about this exciting new organization I’m starting. I’m going to be in L.A. soon and would love to sit down with you and talk. Or you can text me. Whatever works for you. Looking forward to hearing from you.”

His phone creaked under his tight grip and he eased up. This fucking asshole. Trevor. Trevor Sanders?

Like he wouldn’t know who Trevor was. Former star quarterback of the Brewers. Blond haired, handsome, that stupid Colgate smile. The most expensive caps money could buy.

He sent a group text to Dean and Harris. Did one of you give my number to Trevor?

The denials were instant.

Nope.

Nah, man.

He rubbed his finger over his lips. Okay, thanks. He called me. I have nothing to say to him. Don’t give him any info about me, and tell anyone else the same thing.

The bubble popped up under Harris’s name. I didn’t give him your number, but I have talked to him recently. He didn’t give me all the details, but I guess he’s setting up some kind of nonprofit to help retired players.

Dean’s reply came before Samson could finish his text. Don’t care what he’s doing, he’s a dick for what he’s done. S, next time he calls, forward it to me.

Harris answered. Oh yeah. Not saying he’s not a dick for the past.

Warmth ran through Samson. He didn’t need protection, but it was nice to feel the brotherly camaraderie from men he’d known for forever.

Samson tapped back his reply. I’ll be fine. Let’s meet up for lunch soon.

“Is this seat taken?”

He jerked, his phone slipping away from him. “You’re quite the butterfingers, aren’t you?” Rhi remarked and bent over to scoop his phone up off the floor. “I guess I should be glad that wasn’t wine.”

He stood. “Literally no one’s ever called me clumsy before.”

She uttered an amused noise. Their fingers touched when she handed over his phone, and maybe it was his imagination, but he swore her gaze lingered on his hands.

Rhi slid into the booth, opposite him. She’d changed since he’d seen her earlier, into slacks and a snug blazer, with a Prince T-shirt on under it. Her thick hair was gathered up in a claw clip, but a few tendrils brushed her cheek. “You look nice,” he said.

“I can clean up when I need to. I’m a board member for a domestic violence organization,” she said crisply. “We have a meeting tonight, I’m going straight there after this.”

“You look nice no matter what you wear.” He tried to dismiss the pang of disappointment that he was a stopover before she went somewhere else. That was fine. He hadn’t expected anything to come from tonight, except talk of their looming partnership.

Liar.

Okay. He hadn’t seriously expected anything to come of tonight. “Do you want a drink?” He slid the menu over to her. “According to reviews, they have good cocktails here—”

“I don’t need a menu.” Before he could signal the waitress, she raised her hand. “Vodka tonic with a splash of cranberry, please,” she told the server.

Samson waited for the waitress to leave. “You know what you want.”

“When it comes to drinks, yes.” Rhi’s face was unreadable. She clasped her hands on the table. Her nails were short and unpainted.

He straightened his shoulders, trying not to remember how those nails had pressed into his skin. And failing, terribly.

“Let’s cut to the chase.” Rhiannon cocked her head. “Crush is willing to get on board with this wacky idea of yours. My team actually loves it. They called it real Wholesome Content.”

Odd phrasing, but okay. “Are you willing to get on board with it?”

“I am.” Rhiannon’s drink came, and she swirled the liquid with the straw, the pretty pink of the glass’s contents matching her lips. There was something glittery in her lipstick, an added pop that might hypnotize him if he let it. “I have some . . . terms, let’s call them, though.”

“I assumed you would.” There was no way Rhiannon wouldn’t wrestle as much control for herself as she was able to.

She’d wrestled him in bed for the upper hand too. He didn’t mind it. He’d had no idea this was his kink, but there was something supremely sexy about being with a woman who effortlessly displayed leadership.

“I like the scenario you proposed, us hanging out and talking about dating, basically an expanded version of the interview we did with Helena. We can keep it purposefully low budget, film it ourselves. We record on my phone. Crush gets first crack at editing, and then you can take over. We both have to agree to the final videos that are released.”

He settled into his seat. “Interesting. Why your phone? What’s your fear?”

“It’s not a fear.” She took a sip of her drink. “I want the footage in my control. If my image gets tarnished, my company’s directly affected.”

He trusted her not to tarnish his image but understood exactly why she might still be suspicious of him. “I’ll have to talk to the team. But I think this should be fine.”