I smile at the simple question. “Are you actually trying to get to know me?”
“Of course,” he says, like my question is a crazy one. “I want to know as much about you as I possibly can.”
I don’t know if it’s the vodka, the closeness, or the way his eyes have not wandered from me once, but I believe him. I assumed that if he was interested in me that it would just be for a potential hookup tonight. Which, I don’t think I’m opposed to. Emphasis on think. It would be a fun, Vegas divorce-party story to say I hooked up with a hot football player on the night he won the championship. Then again, I’ve never really been a hookup girl—that’s what you get for getting married at twenty-two to your high school sweetheart—but I didn’t think small talk was part of it. Then again, what do I know?
“Originally outside of Baton Rouge. Now I live in Nashville.”
His eyes double in size at my revelation. “We live in the same city?”
I can’t help but laugh at his excitement. “I do. I’m on the west side. And let me guess, you’re in some posh condo downtown?”
“Guilty as charged. In my defense, it makes my work commute very easy.”
“I can see that,” I say. “Though I’m taking your word for it. I’ve never been to a game. But I do know where the stadium is.”
“What!” he yells, apparently more shocked by my lack of attendance than our close city proximity. “How long have you lived there?”
“Since college, so…seventeen years?”
I stare at Maddox, waiting for the realization to hit him that when I was moving here to go to college, he was probably on his way to junior high. I really want to ask him his age—or excuse myself to the bathroom to Google it—because I know it must be at least ten years.
So again…what the fuck am I doing here? This is an extremely handsome, much younger, football player. He can’t actually be interested in a mid-thirty’s divorcée, right?
“What made you come here for college instead of staying near home?” he asks.
That wasn’t the follow-up I was expecting. But if he’s going to ignore the glaring age difference, then fuck it, so will I. “It was the best school for both me and my ex.”
“Let me guess… Nashville means Vanderbilt, which means doctor for at least one of you.”
“Him,” I admit. “I went into business. Wanted to have my own business one day.”
“So you’re beautiful and smart?”
I feel myself blushing at his words. “I don’t know about that.”
“Well I do,” he says, moving in a little closer. His fingers delicately brush the exposed skin on my shoulder, sending shivers straight down my spine. “So, what kind of business?”
If he’s only trying to get to know me to get me into bed tonight it’s working. A man who listens? Who’s interested in me? Who isn’t making every conversation point about him? After spending nearly two decades with Justin, I didn’t know this kind of man could exist.
And it’s hot as hell.
“A bakery. Opened one last year with my brother over in the West End. It’s called?—”
“Holy shit, that’s where I know you!” The player sitting next to Ainsley, who was introduced as her boyfriend, Linc, claps hishands in excitement. “I’ve been staring at you all night, trying to figure out why you looked familiar. You own Sugar and Sweets! Ainsley! This is the place I found with the brownies you like!”
“Seriously?” she exclaims, stopping her conversation with Hannah to turn fully to me. “Linc discovered you a few months ago and we areobsessed. He brings me something every week. I don’t know what you put into your brownies, but I’ll pay you all the money in my purse right now for the secret.”
I feel the blush coming over my cheeks at their praise. “Thank you. It's a small place, but it's mine.”
“Oh no, we don’t talk like that around here,” Ainsley says. “We’re proud of our accomplishments. And when you can make baked goods like that? You own that.”
“Preach!” Shelby shouts out, holding her drink in the air. “Maybe she’ll listen to you, because she sure as shit doesn’t listen to me.”
“In my defense, I’m trying,” I say, knowing that me having confidence in my business, and doing it on my own, is something I’m still working on. “But thank you, Ainsley. I really do appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome,” she says. “I know this isn’t the best place to ask this, but I don’t want to forget—do you do custom cakes and orders? I've been meaning to come in, but between my job and this guy’s football schedule, I couldn’t seem to get over there, and I have a few events that I’d love if I could order from you.”
“Yes. Yes, I do,” I say, a little shocked that the conversation has turned this way. My bakery isn’t struggling per se, but I could definitely use the business. “Come in next week when you’re settled. I’m there from open to close every day, so you really can’t miss me.”
