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“I’m Autumn Cartright, the team’s social media manager. I was hoping I could ask you a couple of questions.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Autumn, but I feel like I should call you ‘fall’ instead,” I say, grinning.
She gives me a flat look and loudly sighs. “I’ve never heard that one before. Or ‘winter’ or ‘summer’ either.”
“Jokes are like throws, some are better than others.” I wink.
“Fortunately, your arm seems to be better than your sense of humor,” she drolls.
What does it take to get this girl to crack a smile?
CHAPTER 4
AUTUMN
I’m still dealing with the embarrassment of tripping and meeting Rogan O’Rourke for the first time when I notice Brett’s attention on us. I can tell by the tightness in his jaw, he’s annoyed.Oh, dear God, and now he’s walking over.
His eyes narrow into an angry glare as he stops in front of Rogan. “Get the fuck away from her.”
I briefly place my hand on his arm. “Brett, he’s not doing anything wrong.”
Rogan grins, carelessly pushing his damp hair back from his forehead. “Don’t worry about it. I never pay much attention to what he says anyway.”
Brett’s gaze jumps to me. “Autumn, why are you wasting your time talking to this cheap imitation when you have the real deal right here?”
I barely hold back the pressing urge to cringe. “My job involves interacting with the entire team, not just you, Brett.”
“How unfortunate for you,” he tells me, then sneers at his backup quarterback before walking away.
“So, Brett’s your friend?” Rogan asks, recapturing my attention. I get momentarily distracted by the vibrant blue shade of his eyes before I shake my head.
“Not exactly.”
“What is he to you, then?”
“He’s my ex.”
He grimaces. “That’s even worse, but it’s not a dealbreaker. I can overlook it.”
“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. I never asked you to.”
He leans forward, invading my personal space, which makes my pulse kick up a few beats. “I’ve got a break for a couple of hours. What do you say we get out of here?”
“No, thanks.”
“What do you mean, ‘no, thanks’?” he asks, as if he’s never had a woman refuse him before.
And, sadly, he probably hasn’t.
I shrug. “Just what I said. I’m not leaving. I’m working.”
“I don’t mind waiting for you.”
I laugh. “I’m not asking you to.”
He nudges my arm with his. “Maybe I want to.”
“I don’t even know you.”
