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Chapter Seven
Saylor
“You look gorgeous.” Isabella grabs the bag from my hand. “Go ahead and mingle. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Crap. I knew it was too much. I should have stuck to my jeans and sweatshirts. Sweat pools in my armpits.
“Ok….” I start to speak, but before I can get the word out, she’s disappeared, moving through the room as if she’s on a mission.
Knox ambles toward me, and my brain short circuits. Long legs. Firm thighs. Flat abs. Broad shoulders. Flip. He’s too much. What in the world do I say to him? I glance around the room. Shit. Everyone else is a couple. We’re the only single people here. Talk about awkward. No wonder he’s coming to talk to me.
Damn it. I cursed again. And again.
“Hello, Saylor.” He smiles, making my heart stutter in my chest and the butterflies in my belly dance.
“Hi,” I squeak. Perfect. Way to make a great second impression. I rub my hands together.
“I need to apologize for my call the other day. It was rude to take it, and by the time I was off the line, you’d disappeared.” He stops inches away from me. So close that the heat radiates off him, warming me.
“It’s fine.” I dig my nails into my palms to keep from touching him. It’s stupid. He has a girlfriend, and I’m ready to paw all over him.
“No.” He shakes his head. “It isn’t.” The sincerity in his eyes throws me off. How can he look at me like I’m the most important person in the room? Well, not this room. That’s not a good example. All the other women are taken.
“You don’t owe me an apology, but I accept it anyway.”
“Perfect.” He grins, causing his dimples to pop and his eyes to twinkle. Oh Lord, save me. He clasps my upper arm with his large hand, and my knees wobble.
When he doesn’t let go, I swallow over the Sierra desert in my mouth. “I don’t want this to come out wrong, but you look stunning.”
The wooden slats of the floor are a dark shade of brown. What is that made from? Oak? Maple? Hickory? “Thank you.”
He places his index finger under my chin and tilts it until we’re staring into each other’s eyes. “You were beautiful before, but now, you seem radiant. More comfortable.”
Holy hell. This is crazy. I step back to break the intensity of the moment. If I was his girlfriend, I wouldn’t want some pathetic girl clamoring after him.
“Thank you.” He stands back, dropping his arm to his side as his eyelids lower, hiding his response from me. “Ashley and Dani took me to a personal stylist. It was a lot of fun. I found out what clothes look and feel the best to me and got a make-over.”
“You didn’t need one. You looked great before.” He shoves his hands into his pockets.
Liam and Isabella breeze through the spacious dining room while carrying platters of food. The table is enormous with two leaves and a place setting for fourteen people.
Quit stalling. What do I say? Think of something. Anything. “What did you go to college for?” You’ve got to be kidding me. This is the small talk you’re going to go for? The man is a millionaire from playing football. What he went to college for is the last thing that matters to him.
“Business administration and finance. You?”
“I also got a degree in business administration.” I clasp my hands together and shift from one foot to the other.
“It seems like we’re kindred spirits. We both love the holidays, football, and business. My goal when I retire from football is to open my own business consultant company.”
“Wow.” My face heats. “Shit.” Fuck, I cursed. And not just in my head. “I didn’t mean to curse.” Get it together. The fact he flusters me so much I forget my grandparent’s years of training is a testament to how out of my element I am. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I don’t want it to seem like I don’t think you’re smart enough to operate a business after you retire.”
“It’s fine.” He chuckles, removes his hand from his pocket, and claps my shoulder. This time, I don’t freak out. Clearly, he’s a touchy-feely kind of guy. I can deal with it. It’s a requirement for football.
“My grandparents were tough. They pounded into my head to be respectful because the world is in too short of a supply of it.” The scent of Italian seasonings fills the room as Isabella plops down a platter of lasagna.
When was the last time I ate? My stomach growls. I’ve been too busy tossing items out of my closet and into the dumpster to eat.
“They weren’t wrong.” He steps closer, but not so close I can’t see around him. “I run a charity for foster to adopt children. My goal is to have a positive influence on the children of tomorrow.”
