Her chest got tighter, her cheeks flamed like she was sitting too close to a fireplace, and dammit, what was she supposed to do with this? Normally, she’d just lap it up with her tongue and make it a joke. Normally, she wasn’t face-to-face with a star quarterback ex who she’d just baptized in martini.Normallywouldn’t work right then.
She shot a panicked look at Heather and Sadie, who were twin mirrors of the shock Anna felt inside. She didn’t bother looking at Roman because he would obviously have no idea what to do, either.
Then, and this was interesting, Drake expertly extracted the martini from her grip, set it aside, and—using a corner of a silky handkerchief from his pocket—wiped at the puddle of eggnog martini dripping from her forearm, totally ignoring the wetness soaking his shirt.
His entire focus was on her skin. Like, his whole focus.
This was not a normal swipe and go.
Oh no, no, no.
Drake took his time running the silk over Anna’s skin in a move she was certain he hadn’t intended to come across as erotic. Yet, she had to clench her thighs together and take a huge breath to bring herself back to the present.
She gripped the satin with her other hand, pulling a little as he released. The man carried a handkerchief. How awesome was that?
He grabbed a glass of ice water from a nearby table and held it for her.
“To dip the cloth.” He gestured to the silk or satin or whatever-the-hell she still gripped. “Or you’ll stay sticky.”
Oh God.
She was going to stay sticky.
Unless she dipped the satin.
“Can I?” he asked, already pulling the handkerchief back to dab the tip in water. Then, like a man who was able to throw a football down an entire field of players with precision, he carefully took hold of her heart without even realizing he’d done so.
“I’m sorry,” Anna said, wishing she could go find a sinkhole to suck her in. That sorry meant so much more than just the spillage.
He seemed to get it.
“All good,” he said with a smile that didn’t shine in his eyes but had the wattage of a billion twinkle lights all the same.
“Marlee’s here,” Sadie said, breaking free from her horror. “She’s with her dad. You know Jackson Medford, right?”
Drake’s spine visibly stiffened. He nodded and looked from Anna to where the king of Denver football and his daughter had just arrived.
Of course, he knew the Medfords—they owned the Denver national football franchise. The Stallions had been two shakes away from winning the last championship when their quarterback got sacked so hard that he blew out his knee. The career-ending injury devastated the entire city because Denver didn’t just have a football team. No, Denver lived the sport.
Drake needed an escape, and Anna needed to give up on a night that didn’t involve embarrassing the hell out of herself along the way.
“You should go do the football thing.” Anna blinked as pointedly as she could toward where the Medfords mingled.
“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Drake asked, the timbre of his voice low and calm and settling Anna’s nerves.
She shook her head and took the handkerchief from him to finish up. “You really should go say hello.”
“I’ll go with him.” Roman gave his fiancée a look broadcasting the fact that she was now in charge of ensuring Anna didn’t bolt. His expressions were pretty easy to read, and Anna had had a lifetime of practice.
Drake adjusted his jacket to cover the spill on his shirt before heading toward the area where the Medfords stood surrounded by a group of men who looked like…well…linebackers.
“That was quite the...” Sadie bit at her top lip.
“Sometimes things just get off to a rocky start, that’s all,” Heather assured, but her tone lacked that inexplicable yet undeniable quality that actually did reassure a person.
Anna continued to wipe at the skin along her forearm, even though she didn’t need to because Drake was nothing if not thorough. “I’m so freaking wet right now.”
“Your arm?” Sadie asked.
