Page 56 of The One Timer

“Why take a chance on an indiscrete stranger?” Sabien says.

“He has a point,” I say.

Jason nods grudgingly. “There’s that. I’ve been getting my picture taken far too often in public lately.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re going out with the owner of the fucking team,” Link says.

“We’re not dating.”

I snort. “If it walks like a duck.”

He give me the finger. “For a guy who’s not dating a hot chick he’s obsessed with, you have fucking lost your right to comment.”

The Gala

Unfortunately, the first hot chick I run into at this shindig is not the one I’m obsessed with—I’m copping to guilty as charged on that one because I’m not a fan of self-delusion—is my neighbor and old friend, Sheryl Foster. I don’t know how she can bring herself to flirt with me because it suddenly feels uncomfortable and too much like flirting with a cousin if not a sister.

“Who ever thought the Boston Public Library could look so romantic,” she says and I wonder if it’s my imagination that she leans closer. But when she touches my arm, I know better.

I clear my throat. “The vaulted ceilings are killer.”

Spotting Sabien, he’s returning with our two drinks and hands me one, his casual leer aimed at poor innocent Sheryl. I hand the drink to Sheryl and she accepts it with a warm smile. Shit.

“And who do we have here?” Sabien sounds almost comical, like he should be twirling his moustache the way the old cartoon villains did. And even though I should be thankful for the out and let him sweep her away so I can find Emery, I’m not that S.O.B.

“This is my long-time neighbor, Sheryl—and off limits to you.”

Sheryl’s smiles broadens and she leans into me and oh shit, I think I just put my foot in it bad. She might get the impression she’s off limits because I want her for myself. But my unlikely savior Sabien—like the John Candy of wingmen—comes through.

He frowns, “Don’t let Emery hear that you’re saving Sheryl for yourself.” He turns his attention to her. “I’m Sabien Dumas, here to rescue you from this fraud who’s so smitten with Emery he won’t even admit it to himself.”

Sheryl snaps her head around to stare at me. “Is that true, Chase?”

Fuck. “Not exactly smitten… well maybe--”

She laughs, one of those loud belly laughs like she’s forgotten all about the fact that we’re at a fancy gala and behaves like we’re in her yard and I’ve fallen out of the tree. Yes, that did happen once and luckily, I was unhurt, not that she would have cared.

I raise my hand slightly and give her the finger where only she can see it. “I’m glad you think that’s funny.”

She shifts away from me and slips her arm through Sabien’s “You didn’t expect me to be jealous, did you?” She lifts her chin and I’m not sure if she’s being honest because I see the hint of stress around her eyes, like she’s disappointed.

I shake my head no anyway. “Why would I think that? You probably have a million guys after you at Boston College or you would have jumped at one of the many opportunities Gran has thrown at you with her super obvious matchmaking attempts.”

“That’s right.” She turns to Sabien. “Let’s dance, big boy. You’re French, aren’t you?” She leads him away and I don’t notice him complaining so I let them go and figure he won’t do anything crazy because he knows I’d kill him if he did. As for Sheryl, I have no idea if Sabien is safe in her hands.

The other guys are on the dance floor and I’m grinning, but careful not to aim my amused smile at any of the women who I catch staring. Finally I spot Emery and head her way.

She’s with Gran and mostly hidden, but I get a glimpse of her creamy shoulders and my stupid dick begins its quest to urge me forward. In an effort to tone down my excitement, I picture the fucking scoreboard at the end of our game last night. The memory of our losing score sobers me up.

Weaving through the crowd, my conscience pricks at me, warning me if I want to avoid more of those humiliating losses, I can’t indulge in a smit-romance with Emery. She’s the last person I should be heading for. It’s like I’m racing headlong toward my own doom.

But my conscience is a stupid twat sometimes and this is one of them. We’re at a fucking gala with hundreds of people. Of course I can dance with her without my dick getting me into trouble.

When I reach the knot of people where she’s at the center with Gran, I almost have to shove through a couple of gray-haired men to get to her. But when they part and I get my first full view of her, my breath literally stops.

I blow a low quiet whistle as my eyes lock on her honey gold ones. “My, my, you look …” In my mind the end of that sentence is good enough to eat, but a quick flash of awareness saves me from allowing my dick to take over. “beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Her voice is soft and breathy and we haven’t broken eye contact.