Most Likely to Score
Trevor shakes his head, clearly amused, while Jillian laughs on the phone. “Whew. I’m relieved. I already have the new Gabriel’s restaurant reserved.”
“Please make sure it’s a private table in the back.”
“As if I’d book anything else for you.”
“All right, then. Lay it on me.”
Her voice turns more serious. “Actually, I do have an offer I want to run past you. That’s why I’m calling.”
My ears prick. “An offer? Fine, if you won’t be my bride, I’m still willing to service your needs every night.”
“You’re relentless, you know?”
“I do believe that’s how ESPN described how I chase down the ball. Jones Beckett is relentless downfield, watching his quarterback like a hawk circling prey, ready to swoop out of any formation and use those panther-like paws to catch nearly any throw. That was a nice article. But do panthers catch footballs?”
“I don’t know, but I do believe they have large paws. Speaking of animals, that’s why I called. I know you like dogs because I’ve seen your beer show with your brother and Cletus, but do you like cats, too?”
“Making a pussycat purr is my favorite thing to do.”
She chuckles. “Good. I have a proposition for you.”
“The answer is yes. I’ll come over to your house, and you can introduce me to your half dozen exotic cats.”
“Do I look like a crazy cat lady?”
I shrug. “I prefer not to pigeonhole cat lovers. You might very well be a crazy cat lady in the guise of a sharp, brilliant publicist.”
She ignores the last comment.
“Can you meet me tonight at eight?” She gives me a location. Huh. She was serious when she said Gabriel’s. That place is sweet. “And I have a private table reserved. I don’t want diners taking pictures of you.”
I’m tempted to make a joke, to tell her she can snap any kind of photo of me she wants, but given my track record and her serious tone, I decide to leave that one untouched.
“I’ll be there.”
I hang up and meet my brother’s gaze. His brow is scrunched, and his lips are curved up in a grin.
“What?”
He drums his hands on the dashboard. “On a scale of one to ten, how obvious do you think it is that you’re hot for her?”
I flub my lips and turn on the engine. “Please. I just like to have a good time. Nothing more to it.”
He hums, sounding doubtful.
“What?”
“Just keep it that way, okay? The nothing more to it way.”
“You are such a big brother sometimes.”
“Dude, she’s the team’s publicist.”
I shoot him a look. “I’m well aware of her job, and we get along fine.”
“I’m glad, and all I’m saying is I’d like to make sure we don’t see shots of you and her topless in limos.”
I narrow my eyes, bristling at the comment. “You don’t know Jillian. That would never happen. She’s not like that.”
“Then it’s harmless flirting. I can live with that.”
“Good to know, Dad.”
I drop him off, return home, and get ready to meet Jillian.
Since naked doesn’t do the trick for her, plus restaurants usually don’t admit birthday-suited patrons, I show up at Gabriel’s freshly showered, shaved, and wearing jeans and a crisp black button-down, the cuffs rolled up, since she once said that a well-dressed athlete is hard to resist.
Fine, she might have been talking about the fact that she wanted us all to wear tailored suits for a charity auction last year, but I’m taking it as a personal piece of fashion advice.
The hostess greets me with a smile then leads me through the restaurant to a private table in the back. Jillian’s not here yet, but five seconds later, I turn around to see her entering the room, and all I can think is she looks good every single time I see her, and tonight I want to peel off that black dress.
The red high heels, though?
She can leave those on.
6
Jillian
With exposed red-brick walls, flickering candles on the tables, and framed photographs of a couple tangoing on the streets of Buenos Aires, the restaurant has a romantic feel.
Perhaps I should have met him at the office.
Or at a playground.
Or a hair salon.
My dad’s house, even.
Anyplace at all besides the private room at a trendy French-Brazilian establishment that’s earning all the raves.
Deservedly so.
The scallops are to die for. They’ve been melting on my tongue. Jones spears a piece of the grilled potatoes, since he insisted we share two appetizers. That’s not romantic at all. That’s totally what business associates do. That’s what I tell myself, at least.
“Try this,” he says, offering me the food on the end of his fork.
My eyes widen. My heart thumps stupidly fast. Am I supposed to eat off the end of his fork? That’s kind of intensely couple-like.
Why did I pick this perfect place? The mood is too seductive, and he looks like a dream. That black shirt and the way it fits him should be criminal. It stretches across his pecs and hugs his biceps. The cuffs are rolled up, revealing his muscular, ropy forearms.
His hair is freshly combed, like he took a shower right before he arrived. My breath catches at the thought of Jones in the shower, soaping up that big, sexy body, running his hands across that chest, along his arms, down his legs. I wonder if he touches himself in the shower. Oh God, there’s a five-alarm fire raging in my body now as I picture finding him in his shower as he pleasures himself, and it is literally the hottest Tumblr feed my brain has ever edited.
I press my thighs together and think of bunnies and baby chicks.
“It’s tasty,” he says, waggling the fork at me.
I bet he’s tasty.
Then I realize he’s not offering the food to me romantically. He’s toying with me again. This is probably a brand-new game. Just like how he tried to get my goat on the phone earlier today. That thought cools me down a few degrees.
I smile and take the fork, since I don’t like being fed. I eat the grilled potato, and it makes my mouth sing. “Oh my God, that’s amazing.”
“Well, I did pick a great place,” he says, shooting me a grin.
I laugh, feeling better now that we’re back to familiar ground. I know the rules to this game. The teasing game. The toying game. “Oh, sure. You truly have amazing taste in restaurants, Jones.”
He squares his shoulders and puffs out his chest, as if I’ve just shot him straight up with a hearty dose of pride with my compliment.
“I’m so glad you approve of my choice,” he winks, knowing full well it was my pick. He raises his beer and offers a toast. “To the person who truly has great taste in where to eat.” His eyes lock on mine, and for the briefest of seconds, there’s no teasing in them. Just that flash of heat I swore I saw at the photo shoot. He holds my gaze for a moment longer than I’d expect. Then another. And it both unnerves me and turns me on to a vastly inappropriate degree. He won’t look away from me. His blue eyes are melting me. My body hums, and my bones vibrate.
Must. Find. Strength. To. Break. Hold.
“That poster is so great,” I say, tapping my glass of iced tea to his as I glance at the picture of a couple tangoing.
He follows my eyes. “Yeah, they look totally hot for each other.”