Page 4 of Forever Offsides

He gives me a closed-mouthed grin that makes his dimples pop. “Will you think less of me if I tell you my middle name is Butler?”

I gasp. “It is not.”

He nods in a self-deprecating way. “It is. My mother had a big thing for Clark Gable and therefore loved Rhett Butler. She felt Scarlet did him dirty and he deserved better.”

“Interesting.”

“Not as much as having dinner with you would be. What do you say?”

I hold in my smile even if the butterflies are having their way with me. “Sure. I’ll have a drink and dinner with you.” And hope this night turns in a better direction than it started.

2

RHETT

It’s been a whirlwind of a day. I’m more than a little exhausted despite the time change for me. I flew in from Denver on a redeye last night and landed in Boston this morning. I spent all day at Rebels Stadium meeting with the coach, Asher Reyes; the owner, Randolph; and the general manager, Mike Rogers, for more than three hours.

It was a secret meeting. Big shakeups are coming for the Boston Rebels NFL team. No one is to know I’m in town, but the meeting went well. It went so well that they offered me the job as the new head coach starting this season. Mike is retiring as GM, and Asher is taking over.

It’s my first shot at being an NFL head coach. It’s the dream. The brass ring.

The thing I’ve been wanting and building toward my entire career.

The Rebels are a good team, and I’m excited to lead them. I didn’t mention this, but I’m also hoping that as the head coach, if I could make the deal work, I could eventually trade for my son and bring him back to the team. He played here in Boston for a few seasons before he went to Dallas. I tried to get him drafted to Denver, but it didn’t work out, and I had no real clout on the team at the time since I was only a tight ends coach. They had a superstar tight end who didn’t want the competition on the field, but I’d give anything to be able to coach my son. To rebuild our relationship that’s always been tenuous and strained.

I left the meeting with a handshake and a promise of a contract to my agent. I’m still in a bit of a daze and ended up going to the restaurant in the hotel I’m staying in. It’s dark and has large TVs and good drinks, and so far, no one has recognized me.

Then this redhead walked in wearing a tight black dress with legs for miles and green eyes that sparkled like summer grass. She’s young. Probably too young for me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The entire time she was with that guy, I kept throwing glances over my shoulder at her. She looked bored and annoyed with him. It amused and intrigued me.

She stood up, and I could tell she was ditching him, and for some reason, I got to my feet. When she headed for the restroom off the bar, I decided in that moment that I was going to make my move. Quinn. It’s a pretty name. It fits her nicely.

“Here.” I pull out the chair beside mine for her.

“More of your manners?”

My lips twitch. “Something like that.”

She slides into the seat and crosses her legs before she drops her elbows on the counter. I take the seat beside her and move my chair in so we’re closer but not too close that I make her uncomfortable.

She points a finger up at the TV over the bar that’s facing us. “You know there’s an NHL game on, right?” she says to the bartender. “This will decide the playoffs. The World Series won’t be decided in the preseason. Do you think we can put on the Bruins?”

Is it weird that her knowing that and asking him to change the channel makes me hard? I’ve met plenty of women who are into sports. Most love to tell me just how much they know about football, but this girl seems to simply know all about sports without bragging. She’s a true sports fan, and it’s such a crazy turn-on for me.

The bartender changes the channel for her before asking what he can get her.

“I’ll have a…” She hesitates and tilts her head as if she’s giving it some consideration. “A glass of pinot noir and a cheeseburger with fries, please.”

“Any objections to getting a bottle and sharing it with me?” I ask. She spins on her seat and bumps my leg with her knee. She goes to pull back, but I reach down and grasp it so I can hold it against mine. I leave my hand there, right on her kneecap. Her skin is soft and smooth. She shaved, and I wonder if she did it for her date or if she’s the type of woman who shaves regularly.

Her gaze flickers down to my hand before instantly popping back up to mine. “All right. But I won’t share my burger with you.”

I laugh. “Understood. I won’t share my chicken sandwich with you.”

She squints at me. “Nashville or regular?”

“Nashville. Obviously.”

Her lips purse to the side. “I’ll go halfsies with you.”