And speaking of tables, I’m losing my ass at this one. I pull the straw from the clutches of my teeth and toss it into my empty cup, and I cash in.
I head to the bar for one more drink before I head home, and I sit on a stool while I wait for the bartender to bring my scotch over.
And that’s when the woman in the red dress slips onto the stool beside me.
I glance over at her, and my breath catches in my throat.
She’s breathtakingly pretty. Big, brown eyes that have this sort of edge in the way she’s looking at me like she wants to fuck me. Smooth, creamy skin with a sun-kissed glow. Plump, red lips that match her dress, ones that allow my rather vivid imagination to run away for a few seconds. Long, dark hair that tumbles to the middle of her back in waves.
That same scent that followed her as she passed by me earlier swirls back to my nose here, giving me a hit of something unexpected.
So she’s attractive. Sexy as fuck. Gorgeous in red.
None of it matters.
I return my gaze to the bottles of alcohol stacked behind the bar.
“You’re Maverick Jennings,” she says matter-of-factly.
I grimace a little. “So says my jersey.” Not that I haven’t thought about changing that name considering where it came from.
“Jennings one,” she says, naming my number. “New to the Vegas Aces. You settling in okay here?”
“Fine,” I mutter.
She leans in a little. “I’m new to town, too. Trying to get my bearings.”
“Yeah, well, good luck,” I say, and I hope that’s the end of the conversation.
I war with myself over looking over at her again. One more glance, and it’ll all be over. I’ll go with her to her hotel room, or her condo, or wherever, and I’ll stay until we’re both satisfied. And then I’ll leave.
I don’t look over at her.
I should call my agent back.
“Thanks,” she says, her tone telling me she’s not getting up anytime soon.
The bartender drops my drink in front of me, and I immediately pick it up and take a sip. I should’ve just left. Instead, I’m stuck here trying to figure out the best way to let this gorgeous woman down. I tried being standoffish, bordering on the rude side, and she’s not taking the hint.
“So how’d you really feel about getting traded from Dallas?” she asks.
It’s a question I’ve been asked a hundred different ways in the last few months, and the truth is that I’m tired of answering it.
It sucked, but I don’t care where I land as long as I get to play.
Football is where I turned when I lost everything. It’s all that matters. I’m still young at just thirty-two, and it’s not unusual for quarterbacks to play well into their forties. I have a long career ahead of me, and I’m not worried about what comes next.
I don’t answer her question. I don’t even know her name, but what I do know is that she’s not entitled to anything from me.
Instead, I leave some cash on the counter, grab my cocktail straw, abandon my drink, and head home.
CHAPTER 3: Maverick Jennings
Non-Displaced Fracture
It’s the Friday before our first game of the season.
My first game as the starting quarterback for the Vegas Aces.
