Addy must be a fan if she knows Juliet Ash isn’t playing anywhere nearby. Good. More temptation for her to resist.
“She’s playing in New York City. I thought we’d make a night of it.”
“Let me get this straight. I told you I don’t have time to date and your response was to buy tickets for a concert in New York and ‘make a night ofit’.”
“You don’t have to worry about a thing. I’ll pay for the flights and hotel rooms.”
She blinks up at me. “Is this what you do? Buy expensive gifts for women to get them to do your bidding?”
“My bidding?”
“Your orders and commands.”
I growl. “I know what bidding means.”
“The question remains. Is this what you do?”
“No.”
I don’t chase after women. I usually don’t have to. Saying my name is enough for most women. They can’t throw themselves at me fast enough.
But not Addy. She doesn’t care about my fame. And, guessing by the scowl on her face when I offered her the tickets, she doesn’t care about my fortune either. It’s refreshing.
And intoxicating. I want to get to know this woman. In every possible way.
Her brow wrinkles. “I don’t get it. Why are you going big for me?”
“Because you’re worth it.”
“You don’t know me. You don’t know if I’m worth it.”
“I know you can sing well. I know you’re an excellent waitress. I know you’re clueless about football.”
She holds up a finger. “I’m not completely clueless about football. My brother plays. I understand the rules. I just don’t follow any teams. I don’t have—”
“Time,” I finish for her. “Everyone has time for the things they love. I figured as much as you love performing, you might want to go to a concert.”
“How do you know I love performing?”
“It was clear to see on your face when you were singing. And the way you got the crowd involved. Everyone in the place was in love with you by the end of one song.”
She chuckles. “I didn’t realize big football players were prone to exaggeration.”
“Because we’re not.” I brush a hair from her forehead. “What do you say, Addy? Let me take you out to the concert of your dreams.”
She retreats a step but not before I notice the way her mouth falls open and her pupils dilate. She’s interested in me, but she’s fighting it. Why?
“I hate to sound like a broken record but I don’t have time. It’s cool you wanted to do something different. But I can’t up and fly to New York. You should have asked before spending the money.”
“I don’t care about the money.”
“Must be nice,” she mutters.
It is nice. I grew up with nothing. Always going to bed hungry. Having to accept charity from people who looked down their noses at me. I won’t go back there. And I won’t apologize for being happy to have money now.
“I’m not apologizing for having money.”
She waves away my non-apology. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have time to date you anyway.”
