Also my panties, Anna thought. Instead of saying this out loud, she said, “I mean, did you see him? Hear him? Can you believe I actually had that? Even for a little bit? He’s so far out of my league that it’s like we’re playing different sports in different countries on different planets.” And his scent? Amazing. Like expensive shampoo and quarterback. “He smells nice, too,” Anna said.
“Do not sniff his hair in front of everyone,” Sadie said, suddenly serious. “That’s the thing that could definitely make this evening more awkward.”
“Ahem.” Anna heard the deep rumble that she knew very, very well came from behind her.
She glanced at her friends, her heartbeat seeming to stop completely.
Horror, once again, took residence on their faces.
Therewassomething else that could make the evening more awkward.
“He’s behind me, isn’t he?” she asked, all the blood free falling from her head to her toes.
Slowly, like her life was a slow-motion replay of a particularly gnarly injury, she turned.
“You know what?” Heather latched on to Sadie’s arm. “We’re just going to—” She pointed toward a random spot near the entrance and pulled Sadie along with her.
“I…” Drake fumbled the word, recovered, and said smooth as a testicle ornament, “Sorry to interrupt, but I need our table number.”
“Twelve,” Anna said quickly. “Lucky number twelve.”
He smiled at that. A grin that totally lit up his eyes this time.
The wattage of that look…dear goodness, the wattage was something that she wanted to tuck in her clutch and remember forever.
Twelve was, of course, his player number.
Because of course it was.
Chapter 3
Drake
The fact that Anna was still into him meant something. Something he hoped he’d be able to turn into more. Now that he had his opening, he wasn’t about to step away again.
The conversation he needed to have with Medford could wait.
Despite what his fans might think, he wasn’t all he was cracked up to be. At least, that’s what his grandmother told him relentlessly when he showed up to visit her for Thanksgiving every other year. More recently, that’s what the owners of his pro football team told him when they handed him walking papers. Countless completed passes, hundreds of wins, four championship rings, and they werestillpushing retirement. Early. Retirement.
That was the problem in his life. See, on the field, he knew where he was supposed to be and when. He was the best at his job and everyone in the football world knew it—until recently. Drake had an impressive accuracy that made commentators and other pros sit up and take notice.
Unfortunately, last season wasn’t his best. He’d been dealing with a rotator cuff that acted up and a hamstring that could’ve picked a better time to go to shit.
But it was one season out of a dozen. Another shot was all he needed to get back in the game, if he was going to be cliché about it.
“Thanks for this.” Anna handed over the now-sopping handkerchief.
“Sure.” He took the handkerchief, searching for a trash bin or someplace to drop the thing to be disposed of easily.
One of the waiters took pity on him and relieved him of the cloth.
Anna lifted her gaze to meet Drake’s and he took it like a hit in the gut. He’d missed her like hell since they’d had their argument. The argument that came two hours after Miami’s formal request that he retire.
He had been in a spiral, and clearly, Anna moving to Miami had not been the best option given thathewouldn’t be there.
But he’d handled her feelings like a rookie and hurt her.
That was unacceptable.
