I slip off my heels and pull my sneakers out of my tote bag.
“How should we get there?” I ask him.
“The stadium?”
“Yep.”
“So we’re really going?”
“As long as you’re comfortable with it. If not, we can stay here and continue talking some more until you’re ready.”
“There’s nothing to get ready for. There’s just an empty stadium.”
“Exactly.”
This time he stands, practically towering over my five foot four frame by well over a foot and it takes all my self restraint not to swoon.
Pat didn’t lie.
This man reeks of power and dominance and sex.
Our proximity to each other is intoxicating, and frankly, I need to get out of here. If Wonder Woman has a weakness, it has to be the smell of burnt vanilla and soap.
“You’re staring at me,” he says, and the wicked look on his face rattles my nerves.
“You have a lot of hair.”
Wait, what the hell did I just say?
“It’s my mom’s fault.” He grins. “She had a lot of it.”
“Had?”
“Oh, she’s still alive. It’s just that her hair is not the same as it was when she was younger.”
“Oh, sure.”
“What about your mother?”
There he goes, asking me personal questions again.
“She passed away when I was in high school.”
And there I go, answering them.
“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss. And your father?”
Don’t engage him, Trina.
“We lost him too. There was an accident.”
Seriously, I should have my license revoked.
“Aww, man, that must have been tough for you and your sister.”
Abort! Abort!
“So, what have you decided about the stadium?”
