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He’shot.
Not just, like,hot, but steamy, spicy, sexy, book boyfriend material hot.
He’s got dark hair that’s styled in a trendy sort of lazy way, and his blue eyes seem to hold me hostage. He looks surprised, and my eyes fall to his full lips that are slightly parted and the scruff peppering his strong jawline.
Holy hell. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a man up close like this that’s just so…so…so…gorgeous.
He’s wearing an obnoxious paisley gold jacket, and oddly, it’s the perfect complement to my dress, as if we planned the coloring even though we didn’t. I look around him at the woman on the other side of him, and she’s leaning in and kissing the man she’s with, so I assume she’s not his date. As they part, I see the man she was kissing is Grayson Nash.
I realize my father coaches for an NFL team, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a bit starstruck by these men.
Still, I pull it together. I act like I have no idea who he is.
“Oh, uh,” I stammer. “Is this seat taken?”
He chuckles. “It is now. I’m Asher.”
“Desiree,” I say, giving my full name rather than the shortened version everyone calls me by.
I leave out my last name on purpose. I can’t tell him that I’m the daughter of his new OC—especially because I’m interested, and there’s a very real possibility my father has already warned his players off dating his daughter.
He puts out his hand to shake mine, and as our palms touch and his eyes catch mine, a crackle of something sizzles between us.
He glances down at our joined hands, and he pulls mine up closer to inspect the cut on my finger. “What happened?”
“Champagne tray accident a few minutes ago,” I admit, and he chuckles.
He presses his lips to my fingertip, and it’s both oddly intimate and extremely hot. “All better.” He lets go of my hand and leans in playfully toward me. “Want to play the role of my date tonight?” He jerks his head at the woman next to him. “Everyone at this table is married, and they’re pretty much always doing, well, that.”
I chuckle even though heat rises up my back. The role of his date?Hell yes. “I think it’s sweet.”
He wrinkles his nose. “I was just sitting here hoping this seat would get taken so I had someone to talk to.”
“You’ve got me now,” I say. “And I’m interested in hearing more about what playing the role of your date would entail. Is it talking through dinner?” If it’s more of his lips on my fingertips, I’m in.
“Well, the seat you’re in was supposed to be for my date, and I gave it up at the last minute since I couldn’t really come up with someone I wanted to drag along to this. And now you’re sitting here, so it feels like fate.”
I roll my eyes. “Are you always this cheesy?”
He laughs. “See? You’re already calling me out on my shit. It’s like we were meant to be.”
I giggle. “Okay, so fate had us written in the stars.”
“Right. So we share a meal, maybe a drink or two. Dance the night away, and then…” His eyes are on mine, and his are getting darker and hotter.
Or maybe it’s my imagination.
Maybe it’s the shot plus the martini and a half.
But I want him to say something else—something that’ll take us past a meal, a drink, and dancing.
He wouldn’t be that forward, would he? I think I want him to be. I’ve heard about his reputation, and as sleazy as it sounds, part of mewantsto be one of the women on the list of women he’s been with. He’s hot as hell, and my curiosity is piqued. I want to know if the rumors are true.
All of them.
Maybe this is my shot at a friends with benefits thing, or maybe he can be my Vegas hookup. I want to have the kind of Vegas experience that I can use to brag to my friends when I get home. I want the book boyfriend treatment in real life—the hot, bad boy football player with a bit of scruff and navy eyes taking a random woman he meets at a charity event somewhere private where they can bang.
I can tell that beneath that paisley jacket, he’s fit and trim. I’d love to snag a peek at thefullpackage.
