Chapter One
Jasalie
Working the Super Bowl after partyshouldbe fun. It sure sounds glamorous. And yet, it’s really just a crowd of oversized men and skinny, overly made-up women drinking and dancing and shouting. God, are football players loud. And big. I have to keep jumping out of the way to avoid getting trampled.
Still, most everything is going well, and that’s great because it’s my job to make sure that it does. This is as high profile of an event that our marketing firm has ever done, and it needs to go perfectly.
Until Bill insists I serve drinks for an hour to help out the exhausted waitstaff. I try to decline. I’ve never waited a table. I’ve done a ton of other menial work, but hospitality was never something I was good at. I’m not perky enough.
But Bill, as usual, doesn’t care about my protests. He just pats me on the back, way too close to my ass to be appropriate, gives me a leering smile, and tells me to, “go get ‘em, slugger.” I want to tell him that the game’s over and nobody here appears to be a baseball player, but he’s already schmoozing up to a nearby group of men in suits.
I glance around the room, overwhelmed at where to start. Bill said to find anyone who looked thirsty and offer to refresh their drinks. Noticing a woman on the nearby couch, I hesitate. But she’s normal-looking, in a good way. She’s beautiful, but she’s not stick-thin, and she doesn’t look high or like she’s trying to fuck the guy next to her. I think that’s Dylan Wild, the winning quarterback, by her side, if I’m not mistaken. But they’re just chatting and seem fairly approachable in comparison to the tongues-down-throat couples around them.
Buck up, Jasalie. It’s just a few minutes out of your life.
I walk up to their couch quietly. Just as I reach them, another guy sits down on the woman’s other side and kisses her cheek. I’m pretty sure that’s Colton Wild, the tight end who caught the winning touchdown pass. Geez, the two heroes of the game. Maybe I should have started with an easier group to try out my server skills on. But it’s too late now. I’m already standing awkwardly in their general space, and the woman looks up at me and smiles.
“Can I refresh your drinks?” I ask in a voice even I can barely hear. I clear my throat to repeat myself, but the woman shakes her head politely.
“No, thank you,” she says. “I’m all set.”
The quarterback’s eyes meet mine, and he jerks his head back slightly. His presence is overpowering, and the cocksure way he’s looking at me proves he knows full well the affect he has on the opposite sex.
“You weren’t our server before.” His dark eyes are like liquid chocolate, and the heat of his attention burns straight through me. His intense gaze hits me like a smack to the face, and I feel like I just got woken up out of a lifetime of being numb.
I widen my eyes, trying to mask my body’s instant reaction to him. “No. I don’t normally do this. I’m with the marketing firm, but my boss asked me to help cover.” I shift from one foot to the other, hoping to get rid of the sudden sensation I’m feeling between my thighs. I can’t help noticing the way his body fills out his t-shirt and worn jeans, not to mention his gorgeous face.
He quirks his lips. “Are you sure you work for a marketing firm and not a modeling agency? You’re the most beautiful woman in here, hands down.”
Oh, and then he has to ruin it by saying something stupid. Something he probably says to every woman, and they all fall for his lies. I’m here trying to get him a drink refill, not snag a date. I take a step backward. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m nobody special.” I turn to the tight end and include him in my next statement. “Congratulations on the win. That last play was quite spectacular.”
Colton nods at me in thanks, but Dylan’s silent as he continues to assess me. I keep shifting on my feet, wishing he’d just order his drink and let me go.
“I think you’re special.” He’s still turning up the charm, but his voice cracks just a bit, the only hint of vulnerability. “Maybe I can take you out?”
My body is already begging me to say yes. My brain, on the other hand, is far too aware of the disparities between us, in every way.
“You don’t want to go out with me,” I say in a hoarse tone. “And a one-night stand with the current athlete of the month isn’t anything I’m interested in.”
Colton whistles. “Ouch.” His tone is playful as he reaches across the woman to slap Dylan on the knee.
“You don’t like athletes?” Dylan smiles, and I actually almost swoon.
God, he’s hot. But he’s way too arrogant. Do women really like this laying-it-on-thick shit? Of course they do—when it comes in that package, I’m not minding it myself. But that doesn’t mean I’m about to say yes. I have far too many worries of my own to get all screwed up in the head over a one-night stand, one that I’m sure would blow away any previous dates I’ve had and leave me all twisted up inside.
So I stand my ground and say in a firm tone, “I don’t care about celebrities, or money, or whatever you think I’m going to fall for, so you can try to get laid tonight. Excuse me.”
I give up on trying to refill his drink and flee. I race through the crowd, and I don’t stop moving until I’ve made it behind the bar.
* * *
Dylan
I’ve got a smile on my face as I stare after the tall blond server like she just flirted back with me, rather than the obvious “back off or else” response she gave me.
Colton chuckles. “At least she was honest, huh? And she told you no, man. Kind of refreshing, actually.”
Colton’s girlfriend, Skylar, tilts her chin in the woman’s general direction. “Dylan, you just asked somebody out! I thought you said that you were done with women and dating.”
