AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Holy shit. Brooke can cook. I groan in appreciation.
“Oh please,” she says. “It’s just from a bag from Trader Joe’s.”
I scoff. “Doesn’t make me like it less. This is tasty.”
I appreciate the grub—food and I are good friends—but I like the company even more. So much, I don’t want to go. But I should. Soon.
Very soon.
I just want to lock in another date first.
I clear my throat. We agreed to talk about work later, and nowislater. “I feel like I played hooky today. Sunday always feels like a workday to me. I’m used to working pretty much every Sunday during the fall. I play football,” I say, then take another bite, relieved to finally be forthcoming about who I am.
She smiles softly. A hint of a secret lingers in her grin. “You’re the quarterback.”
I pause, my fork midair. “Um, yeah.” I feel like I hit my head again. I wasn’t expecting her to know, so I add stupidly, “For the Los Angeles Devil Sharks.”
She squeezes my arm, smiling again. “And you had a hell of a season. One of those where-did-he-come-from years. Your passer rating was in the top eight last year, and your touchdowns thrown were in the top six.”
I set the fork down so I don’t drop it from shock. “You know all that?”
“Drew, I love sports. I work in the sports business too. And to be clear, I didn’t help you because of that.” She fidgets with her napkin. “I didn’t even realize who you were until we’d been sitting on the sand and talking for a while.”
Oh, shit. I didn’t mean she has to justify herself. “It never entered my mind that you only saved me because I’m a player,” I say, grabbing her hand from my arm, threading my fingers through hers. “I was surprised you knew, not annoyed. Also, kind of amazed at the depth of your knowledge.”
She lets out a long breath. “Good. It felt weird knowing who you were and not saying anything, but it seemed like you didn’t want anyone to recognize you. So, I went along with it.”
I grimace, worried I might have come across as foolish as I feel now. “Did I sound like I assumed you were a football groupie?” God, I hope not. “I never want to sound like that kind of sexist jackass. Like I think I’m a star or that I assume all women want…” I can’t even finish the sexist thought. “I swear I don’t think that.”
She shakes her head, reassuring me. “I’ve worked in this field for five years now. I understand players value their privacy. I wanted to make sure you had yours. I figured you had your reasons.”
This woman. She’s some kind of luck, falling into my lap. And the next time I see her, I am going to feed her tacos and go for a walk on the beach and then fuck her to six, maybe seven orgasms. “Have I mentioned you’re a rock star? Because you are.”
But enough about me. There’s still so much I want to know about her. “Do you do sports law? My agent is a lawyer, and he’s pretty badass. I could see you wearing a cape and flying in to save clients from scuffles, like you did with a dude in distress in the water.”
“My job is not nearly as exciting as being an agent or a quarterback. I’m an attorney for the Los Angeles Bandits,” she says, naming the city’s baseball team. “I work on vendor contracts.”
“I love baseball. It’s the second-best sport, and those guys are having a great season,” I say, digging into the dish for another bite.
“They are. We’re hosting the All-Star Game next season, so that’s keeping me busy, working on deals in advance of that.”
We chat a bit more about baseball as we finish the meal. I help her clean up, and when we’re done, I reach for her hand to pull her close. “That was amazing. Let’s do this again—the beach, the drinks, the sex, the meal...”
“But no angry oars next time,” she says.
“I’ll do my best to avoid them,” I say.
She purses her lips like she’s holding back a smile. “I had the worst week. This has been…such an unexpectedly nice end to it.”
“Good. Then I’m thinking tacos and ice cream and you holding me to my deal. How’s Thursday night?”
“I’m in. For all of it,” she says.
It’s a promise—another time. Another night.
“There’s a great place about a mile from here. Tacos Are Life.” I grab my phone from my back pocket. Takes my text app longer than usual to open, but when it does, I say, “Give me your number.”
“Yes, sir.” She snags her own phone from the kitchen counter and opens her texts. “Hmm. I’ll enter you as My O Dealer.”
