Looking to Score(54)

“I’m saying I just want to do things differently. A few big wigs are going to the USC game and want to chat afterward. This could be it.” I let out the breath I was holding. Wow. I didn’t even know what to say. “Now don’t get a big head about this,” he teased.

“Oh, I’m totally taking credit for this.”

“Get dressed, I’m taking you out, Solver.”





I took a few extra minutes getting ready. I had to at least try to look hot; Oakley was in a suit, after all. While I was applying the best smoky eye I could, I thought about the injustice that was men getting ready versus women. It’s really not fair how fucking good men look in a well tailored suit. All they had to do was get dressed and smell nice, and they’re sex gods.

I chose the sexiest dress I owned. Out of habit, I started looking for my Spanx. It took me a good three minutes of searching to remember that I didn’t own them anymore. It was so weird. I used them like a shield of armor. I shimmied into my favorite little black dress. The dress hugged my hips and stopped mid-thigh. The plunging neckline was held up by straps that crossed in the back, and it had just enough sequins to be sexy but not enough to cross the line into trashy. This dress made me feel powerful and confident.

I slipped on some black heels and small diamond stud earrings and headed out to the living room. Oakley was watching the enormous sixty inch TV when I came in. I waited patiently for him to turn around and drink in the sight of me, but his eyes were glued to the screen. He must not have heard me. Seriously? Didn’t he know I was making an entrance here? I cleared my throat dramatically and waited for his reaction.

He stood up and drank me in. His eyes worked their way up from my heels to the soft curls I had put in my hair. He lingered on the spot where my hemline stopped on my thigh and again at my breasts where the neckline dipped.

“You look fucking incredible,” he told me in a low raspy voice. “Maybe we can just stay in tonight. I’m not sure I want to share you with the rest of the world, after all.”

“Not a chance, cowboy. I got all dolled up, you’re taking me out,” I said and then stuck my tongue out at him, playfully.

“Alright, Solver, let’s go. But I have a few ideas for what you can do with that tongue later,” he teased.

The restaurant that Oakley took me to was considerably nicer than the first one. It was still dimly lit, but this time it was for the atmosphere instead of trying to hide dinginess. It was a Japanese restaurant with dark floors and walls with pops of bright color. It smelled so good I was basically drooling. Bonus, sushi was relatively low in calories.

The hostess sat us at a small quiet table away from the chaos and noise of the main section. I ordered salmon rolls, and Oakley ordered what felt like the entire menu. Damn, this man could eat.

“So tell me all about what Coach said when you told him you were open to being recruited,” I said, excited to hear the details.

“Coach was pumped. He’s been trying to get me to take my career more seriously for years. I don’t know, something about it just feels so right.”

“I’m really excited for you, Oakley. You’ve worked hard this semester both on and off the field.”

“Yes, well, there’s this girl I met,” Oakley murmured playfully.

“Oh? What’s she like?”

“She’s kind of crazy. Definitely doesn’t put up with my shit. She likes to set alarms on my phone that go off all hours of the day and distracts me with her feisty personality. I’m pretty much hard every second we’re together.”

“She sounds pretty high maintenance,” I replied with a smile.

“She’s perfect.” Oakley locked his eyes on mine. “You came into my life like a whirlwind and changed everything up. For the better,” he said. Aww shucks! Despite the verbal lashing I had gotten from my mentor, I was pretty damn good at my job. And it was paying off for my client.

We went quiet for a minute. I pushed around my sushi rolls, debating on indulging in another one. “Can I ask you something?” Oakley asked, nodding toward my plate.

“Sure, what’s up?” I asked.

“Let me preface this with something: I’m not even going to begin to pretend to understand your eating habits. I’m not a therapist, and I definitely am not entitled to an explanation. We’ve discussed it a little, and I’m not trying to be insensitive at all. I just...notice things.”

I chewed on my lip. “Spit it out,” I encouraged him.

“After every meal, you pick up your phone and calculate your calories,” Oakley said.

“There’s nothing wrong with keeping a food diary,” I argued.

“Absolutely, I mean, I track my own macros,” Oakley replied with his hands tossed up in surrender. “But I just want to make sure you’re being healthy…”

“This isn’t exactly the best conversation for a date,” I said dryly.

“Fuck. I know. I just… Have you always been picky about your food?” he asked, trying to be delicate.

I let out a sigh. “No. Not always. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

“Try. I won’t judge.”

“I was—am—really insecure. I spent most of my college experience overcompensating by making people laugh. Everyone loves the life of the party, until they don’t anymore. I drank a lot. I ate a lot. I fucked shitty guys because I didn’t think I deserved any better.”