His eyes turn hard. “I don’t blame you for wanting to get away from all of us. That jerk who assaulted you is no longer with the team.”
I don’t want him to know how much that information relieves me. I let out a breath. “So he’s…”
“Not here.” He puts his hands in his pockets and searches my gaze. “I told the owner what he did to you. He cut him the next day.”
“Oh.” I can’t remember the last time someone stuck up for me like that. “Well, that will make this weekend easier then.”
Our eyes lock. And for a moment, everyone in the crowded room disappears. It’s just him and me, studying each other for clues.
“Come take a quick break with me,” Dylan says abruptly.
Before I can think of an excuse to say no, he leads me toward the bar and gestures to the stool next to him as he takes a seat.
After a moment’s hesitation, I sit. I pray my pounding heart will decide to stay in my chest and not jump right out and land on the counter.
He points at the half-empty vodka and cranberry drink I’ve placed on the bar. “Can I get you another?”
I shake my head. “I’m working.”
“When you’re done, do you want to do something together?”
“Are you asking me out?”
“Just one date—what do you say?”
He has the cutest dimples that show up when he smiles a certain way. They don’t show up with every smile, but they’re on his face right now, and I want to press my tongue into those dimples. But I know that’s not my brain talking.
“I already told you I’m not interested in sleeping with a famous athlete.” I hate the way my answer sounds, but it’s what I would say to any other man in here, and I don’t trust myself with Dylan Wild.
“Hopefully, I can convince you there’s more to me than just being a football player.”
I play with the coaster underneath my drink as I start rambling awkwardly. “You don’t have to convince me of anything, Mr. Wild. I’m sure you’re a very nice guy. I just have a lot going on right now, things that need my attention, and I can’t afford to be distracted.”
“What kinds of things?” His eyes are open and interested as he focuses his gaze on me.
I swallow. I haven’t told a soul about the letter from the casino, but I’ve wanted an outside ear. And Dylan is a stranger, someone I’ll never see again after this weekend. Maybe if I just give him part of the story, get it off my chest, I’ll come up with the solution that’s eluded me for days.
“I’ve got this…friend,” I say slowly. “She’s in a financial pickle. I’m the only one who can help her, but I don’t have the means. So I’ve got to get creative to come up with a solution. It’s a problem that’s going to take up most of my free time.”
Dylan’s expression loses that “celebrity gloss” I see so much of in L.A., that sheen where someone stops living in reality. His shoulders relax, and I see genuine empathy in his gaze.
“I’m sorry. Financial stress sucks. I didn’t grow up poor, but we certainly weren’t immune to money problems.”
I nod. “It can be stressful, yes.”
“How much does your friend owe?”
“Twenty-five thousand dollars.” The amount pops out of my mouth before I can stop it, but Dylan doesn’t blink. I let out a nervous laugh. “For you, that’s probably not a lot. But for her, and for me, it feels like an impossible hurdle.” I’ve managed to regain control of my pulse. And with some of my power back, I stand up. “But I’ll figure something out. I always do. It’s been nice speaking with you. I have to get back to work now.”
But Dylan stands also and blocks my path. “When do you get off?”
“Is that any of your business?”
“I’d like it to be.” He grins.
I have to work really hard not to smile back. I almost succeed.
“I want to talk to you more,” he says, sounding surprisingly truthful.
