At last I’m dropped off in front of Marquise Steakhouse. It’s a five-star joint that’s legendary for being way outside everyone’s price range. It’s a chilly and windy October night, making the fact that I’m wearing basically nothing even worse. Fortunately inside the restaurant a roaring fire starts to warm me right up. A cute hostess greets me by the door.
“Tamber Long,” I say, feeling silly that I can’t say the name of my date.
“Certainly, right this way,” she says.
I follow her through the absolutely gorgeous restaurant. Golden chandeliers hang from the ceiling, every table is lit by a votive candle surrounded by rose petals. A brick face facade lines the the interior walls. The centerpiece is the roaring fireplace that greeted me when I walked through the doors. Couples sit around it sipping martinis waiting for their table. My hostess leads me past all of them into an exclusive dining area where every table is recessed into the wall.
The VIP section in an exclusive restaurant, Gwen Tully what did you get me in to? I see the back of my date reading the menu. He’s huge, broad-shouldered. I recognize those shoulders. Two glasses of red wine sit on our table. Good. I need a drink.
“Here you are, Mrs. Long,” my hostess says.
“I should have known,” I say, sitting down before I even see my date’s face.
“You figured it out?” he asks, flashing me a smile complimented by his clear blue eyes.
“This wasn’t a blind date for you was it?” I ask.
“Told you I’d get your number by the end of the week,” he says.
He takes a sip of his wine, and I do the same. Talk about feeling on edge. Had I known I was talking to a cocky billionaire playboy out on the track, I’d never have made the bet. Of course he figured out how to get ahold of me. He probably gets anything he wants whenever he wants it!
If I had really thought about it, I should have realized that Gwen was going to set me up with Logan. She certainly noticed my reaction to his Instagram.
Logan shaved since the last time I saw him. Seems like he got a hair cut too. Everything about his appearance is perfectly done. His suit fits his muscular body tightly. His thin black jacket barely hides his broad, powerful muscles. A skinny black tie hangs down the middle of his chest down to his waist, reminding me of the rock hard abs underneath his shirt.
“You don’t technically have my phone number,” I say, knowing that Gwen wouldn’t have given it out without my permission.
“That’s all right. I’ve still got some time.”
There’s no hint of sarcasm in his voice. He’s actually serious! He stares at me like he already owns me. What an absolute ass. Why did Gwen think this was ever going to work?
Thankfully our waitress comes by and takes our appetizer order. I stick with a Caesar salad as if I’ll be able to eat anything anyway. I’m not sure what makes me more nervous. That I’m on date with a guy that could buy and sell my entire family, or that Gwen’s little black dress is riding up my legs. There’s also the third option: Gwen in all her infinite wisdom and big fucking mouth probably told Logan that I needed to get fucked.
“So you’re kind of famous,” I say, feeling like it would be impolite to bring up his money on the first date.
“Told you that you knew me.”
“Would you believe I didn’t? I’ve found some things out in the meantime.”
He doesn’t say anything. Instead he’s studying me, figuring out where I’m going with this.
“Nice game last week.”
His eyes light up. “You were there?”
“Gwen forced me to take a break from my homework.”
“Good friend.”
“Sometimes.”
“Like now?” he asks.
“She likes making me uncomfortable,” I say.
“You’re uncomfortable?” he asks. I can tell he takes it personally which is nice. I suppose he wants me to have a good time.
Before answering, I take a nice long sip of my wine. He really is an devastatingly handsome guy. It’s a shame we are completely incompatible for each other.
“I’m afraid that Gwen might have been a little overzealous in setting us up,” I say.
“Hey, I’m the one that wanted to go out with you!” he says laughing.
His easy manner is infectious. I wish I was able to unwind like him. I figure a guy with that much money and talent must not have a single care in the whole wide world, except for whether or not he can get girls like me in bed.
“Sure, but you don’t know me,” I say. Gwen’s going to hate that I’m trying to shut him down so soon.
“I know you’re a super smart workaholic who doesn’t realize how cute she actually is,” he says.
I blush. I actually blush like a horny school girl.
“And you’re a billionaire party boy jock. Not really my type.”
“What’s your type?” he asks.
“Quiet, bookish, nerdy.”
“Opposites attract, you know,” he says without missing a beat.
“I’m not sure I can keep up with your lifestyle,” I say alluding to his late night antics.
“And what lifestyle would that be?”
“The one where everyone gives you exactly what you want because of who you are,” I say.
He looks around the restaurant, and I can tell my comment bothers him. How could he expect people to view him any differently?
“Everyone assumes I like that life. You know? Everyone assumes I want to live the rest of my life in a mansion where people wait on me hand and foot.”
“Sounds terrible,” I say.
“I know you’re joking but—”
“No I’m not joking. It sounds boring as fuck.”
“See I knew I liked you,” he says.
Our salads come and I take a few bites. Logan devours his. We have steaks on the way. I’m not a huge meat fan, but given my lack of appetite anyway, I’m not too worried about it. Meanwhile the wine is going down very, very easy. Logan has a whole bottle brought out to the table. I shudder to think how much this place charges for a bottle of Pinot.
“Tell me what it’s like to be Logan Oliver III,” I ask.
“You first,” he says. “Tell me what it’s like to be Tamber Long. Because all I know is that you’re the amazingly cute girl with the great ass and the great legs that I’ve been dreaming about for two weeks.”
I damn near choke on my wine. “Dreaming?”
“That may be a strong word but…”
“Logan the night after you met me you went out with two cheerleaders!”
“Fair point but—”
“To answer your question, I’m like the polar opposite of you. I come from nothing. School is my only path out of the dirt poor town my parents ended up in. I’m never going back there. There’s no mansion back where I come from.”
He smiles. His eyes travel all over my body. When I notice him checking out my breasts, he goes right back to my face. He’s trying to be sly, but I caught him. Granted I can’t stop looking at his blue eyes, and I wouldn’t mind getting another look at his bare arms. Stupid formal wear.
We would never in a million years work. A guy with that kind of money and privilege has no appeal to me. I’m sure he’s every girl’s dream, but not mine. Doesn’t mean I can’t admire a handsome man when I see one.
“Being me is complicated. Everyone in the world has an opinion on how I should run my life. Do you know why I play football?”
“Because you like getting pounded by men?”
He laughs.
“Okay that came out wrong,” I apologize.
“It’s the one place where people actually expect me to prove myself,” he says.
“Bullshit.”
“I’m serious. Everyone thinks I’m some entitled party body.”
“Well…” I interrupt him with a wry smile.
“Meanwhile, I go out and score four touchdowns. We destroyed Auburn, but because everyone saw me partying the night
before suddenly I’m untrustworthy. I don’t do things their way, and they hate that.”
“Who’s they?” I ask.
“Does it matter? The media, my coach, my dad, agents, pro scouts. Constant, constant scrutiny.”
“Sounds like it’s enough to drive a person crazy,” I say, feeling some sympathy for him. To be honest, I don’t feel too bad for him since he’s still rich as fuck, but I get it.
“People watch what I do every single day,” he mutters.
“See there you go. I would hate that. If my face shows up on one of those gossip blogs, I’d never speak to you again.”
He sees me smiling, but I’m mostly serious. The last thing I need in my life is some gossip site talking about my date with Logan Oliver III. Talk about distraction.
The steaks arrive with sweet potatoes and roasted Brussels sprouts on the side. I pick over mine, taking a few bites before returning to the wine. I realize that I’m drinking too fast, but it’s the only thing that’s calming my nerves. I’m supposed to be on a date, and I feel like I’m sparring with Logan. I never thought I’d be trying to prove to a trust fund baby that I have had the harder life.
“You’d never date a guy like me would you?” he asks.
I think about it. He’s so fucking handsome. Gwen is right even though I’ll never admit it to her. I do need to get laid. That’s the wine talking. It’s all distraction. My mom had her whole life ahead of her and then she allowed one night of distraction. Now look at her.
I keep telling myself it doesn’t have to be like that. It doesn’t matter. In the back of my head all I can think about is my mom explaining how she met my dad. Granted dad wasn’t a billionaire, but it’s all the same. Settle. End up pregnant. Toss out all your dreams. That’s the life that scares me. That’s the life I don’t want.
“You’re a nice guy Logan,” I say, taking a pause, sipping some wine, figuring out my thoughts. “A nice guy with a life full of drama.”
“You’re talking about the paparazzi?”
Gwen would find it hilarious if the paparazzi camped outside our apartment because they caught wind that I’m seeing Logan. A nightmare scenario plays out in my head where I’m running late for my last class and I get ambushed by them. I can see the headline now: “Girl arrested for punching reporter, reportedly screaming I HAVE A PROJECT TO TURN IN!”
“You know why I was so secretive about this date? No one has any idea we’re here.”
“I think we’d be better friends than anything else,” I say. When the words come out of my mouth, I immediately want to put them back! Who says something like that? Me. Tamber Long. Professional idiot. Gwen is going to kill me.
Somehow when I opened my mouth the words that hadn’t really full formed in my brain came tumbling out. Disappointment is so damn evident on his face. He looks like a guy who just put a ton of money on red only for the roulette ball to land on black. After a few awkward moments, the disappointment on his face turns to resigned respect.
Logan sighs and then smiles. “I had to try right? By the way, remember what I was supposed to win for getting your number?”
I think about it. Then it hits me. “A date.”
He laughs. I giggle. What are we even doing?
“Can I take you home?” he asks as the waitress drops off the check.
Against all better judgment I agree. He’s been nice, and way less arrogant than he was out on the running track. For one he hasn’t talked about his cock once.
“Even if this was a total bust, I’m glad you came out. You’re a cool chick Tamber,” he says.
After he pays with his exclusive black credit card, another reminder of his wealth, Logan gives me his coat. When he wraps it around my shoulders, I can feel the heat of his muscles against my back. Silently, I wish that he would hug me. I’m my own worst enemy ultimately. I’m the only one in my way, and it’s always been that way.
The wine hits me as soon as we step out of the restaurant. I overdid it a bit. My head is going to hurt in the morning.
The four-inch heels don’t help either, and when we walk into the chill night air, I stumble a bit. Logan catches me and helps me to his cherry red BMW that the valet pulls around. He stops before he gets into the car and looks around. I know he’s checking for paparazzi, but it seems like he doesn’t spot any blood thirsty photographers.
He drives me straight home. He’s the perfect gentlemen and doesn’t try to make a move on me once we’re alone in the car. However when he parks in front of my apartment, I don’t get out of the car right away either. Logan really is a nice guy. Going out, getting away, has been such a relief. I wish this night wouldn’t end.
There’s an awkward silence between us. Attraction with no action. This couldn’t get more awkward, yet I can’t force myself to get out.
“Well,” Logan says breaking the awkwardness. He lays his strong heavy hand on my bare leg. I don’t flinch. I don’t push him away. Somehow it was the exactly right thing he could have done.
I turn to him and look deeply into his blue eyes. He grips my thigh and part of me wants him to touch me all over. Inside I’m practically screaming out for affection. Rationally, I know that’s a mistake. I swore off boys for a reason, and Logan Oliver III is the biggest distraction there is.
“I guess if we’re going to be friends, you ought to have my phone number,” I murmur.
He grins. “Told ya.”
“I honestly thought there was no way you were ever going to get my number,” I say.
He pulls his cell phone out, and I tell him my number. He texts me and my own phone lights up. The billionaire party boy gets what he wants. In the morning I’ll be kicking myself even though right now it seems like the right thing to do.
I read the text.
Remember the side bet?
“Remember the side bet?” I ask him.
He leans over to kiss me. His gorgeous lips are so close. There’s no way I’m pushing him away now. His lips press into mine and I absolutely melt.
I kiss him back and touch his cheek with my palm, feeling his beautiful and powerful face. His tongue slips into my mouth, and I let him. I’m violating my every principle, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
His strong fingers curl through my hair, gripping the back of my head, pulling me closer to him. The warm, sexy taste of his tongue kills me. My lips stop, hanging open, waiting for him to kiss me again. His tongue glides along mine and my lips, and I’m feeling things I haven’t felt in years.
My hands take a trip down from his face to his chest. His strong, firm pecs practically burst through his dress shirt into my hands. I want more. I want to feel every inch of him.
Gripping my thigh, he slowly slides his hand up my leg and under my dress. He’s certainly going too far, but I’m not going to stop him. Momentarily, I lose all sense of control. I want him to feel me, touch me.
His kiss is that powerful, that electric. Shivers shoot down my spine, and Logan ignites feelings in me that maybe I haven’t ever felt. I hate to admit it but Gwen might be right. There’s something about athletes, their drive, their ambition.
My own hand continues to travel down his pecs to his abs and comes to rest on his thigh. Or what I think is his thigh. I freak and pull my lips away from his.
“Oh my god is that?”
“Sorry,” he murmurs.
“Is it really?”
“Told ya, you’d be asking about it.”
“No really how…oh fuck I just lost the side bet too didn’t I?”
I start laughing like crazy totally ruining the moment. He pulls back from me and swivels in his seat, giving me space.
“Sorry Logan I—”
“No it’s okay. I shouldn’t have kissed you. We’re just friends right?”
“Right,” I say, thinking on it for a minute. “But seriously it’s that big?” I thought I was grabbing his thigh for God’s sake.
“It’s kind of a Rome urban legend at this point,” he says.
Looking in the mirror, I adjust my hair. Honestly, I’m trying to look anywhere else other than Logan’s lap. His huge, hard cock. If I needed a reason not to fuck him that’s enough. There’s no way I could handle such a thing.
My hand goes to the door handle, and Logan gets the idea. He offers to walk me up to my apartment. On the way up, he wraps his arm around my waist. Instead of the crazy hot tension from moments earlier, he feels more like a friend now. I’m not sure what came over me in the car. Something about his eyes and his lips. It’s like he put a spell on me. I’ve never shared a kiss with a boy that intense.
At the door to my apartment, he stops me and pulls me close to him. I’m helpless and wanting.
“How about friends with benefits?” he asks.
I frown and he knows he’s gone too far.
“When I said we were just friends I—”
“Damn. Had to try right?”
I’ve never met anyone as in control as Logan. I’m overwhelmed by his presence. It seems that when he wants something he gets it. It take every fiber in my body not to invite him.
“Just friends,” I say.
“Just friends.”
He kisses me on the cheek and I slip into my apartment, wondering if I did the right thing.
CHAPTER SIX
Logan
Saturday morning. Game day. Another test of my undefeated record. We’re going to be national champs, and I’m going to be the number one pick. Every game is a test, an opportunity to prove myself. I crushed Auburn last week, and all the media could talk about was my lifestyle. So last night I kept my nose clean. Instead of a couple of strippers or some super models, I spent the night with a really sweet girl. Tamber Long.
I can’t get her mocha-colored hair out of my head. She’s short like a tall cup of coffee.
Sugary.
Sweet.
Good to the last drop.
I could have had her last night, but I played the gentlemen. A girl like her deserves that. She’s not a cheerleader, and she’s not a social climber. When we fuck, it’s going to be love. When she comes, it’s going to be magic.
Third and Long: A Sports Romance Page 4
