by Mandy Baxter
“You need something to take the edge off, that’s all,” Carson replied. “There’s plenty of talent here tonight.” He gave Jase a pointed look. “Fuck this shit out of your system, blow off some steam. A piece of ass will do wonders for your attitude.”
A lot of guys used sex to take the edge off during the playoffs. They called them “good-luck fucks” or “playoff poontang.” Crude, sure. But athletes were superstitious creatures by nature and more players than not swore by the power of some good ol’-fashioned sex magic for luck.
“I don’t want the typical ‘talent.’” Jase was a red-blooded American man, but even he had standards. He could have dragged any number of the women here tonight into the bathroom and gone to town. But pounding into some honey up against a bathroom wall wasn’t going to get his mojo back.
“Just get it done, Jase.” Carson spoke as though he needed to get in to have his teeth cleaned or car serviced or some shit. “I need you on the field to keep my ass from getting sacked. You do that, and I’ll keep putting the ball in your hands, brother. You’re the best tight end on the field, Jase, and I don’t give a flying fuck what anyone has to say about it.”
Jase thought about making a joke about Carson’s balls, but thought better of it. He never could out-snark Prince Charming. Another server passed with a tray of drinks and Jase snatched one up in his palm. He loved Carson like the pain-in-the-ass brother he never wanted, and it meant a lot that he wanted him on the field, but Jase would never give him the satisfaction of knowing it. Dude’s ego was too big as it was.
The sound of shattering glass and metal clanging on the marble floor interrupted any further conversation and Jase turned with the collective body of players and guests toward the source of the commotion.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”
Jase rose up on his tiptoes and scanned the crowd until his gaze landed on the woman frantically scooping up bits of broken glass with a dripping wet rag. One of the girls for hire looked like she’d taken a champagne bath—probably not the first time—and was spluttering and glaring daggers down on the flustered waitress. “You ruined my dress, you stupid little skank!”
Classy.
Jase had been an underdog for most of his life, so watching as someone was bullied dug under his skin like a chigger, irritating him past the point of reason. The waitress obviously felt bad; her face was as red as the Texas state flag and she was stuttering out apology after apology as she tried without success to clean the floor with the soaking wet rag.
“She’s the one,” Carson asserted as though he’d found a ruby in a sack of rocks. “If you hook up with her, I guarantee you’ll be right as rain for the playoffs.”
Jase hiked a casual shoulder. It was the only part of his body that hadn’t gone rigid. Christ, even his gut was coiled up tight as a fist. “Could be.” Short, coffee-brown hair brushed her chin as she tucked the locks behind her ear. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, but it just as easily could have been passion. She licked her full lips, biting down on the bottom one as though using the pain to distract her from the moment. And her eyes … bright emerald gems that shone from behind dark lashes. Like a full-body tackle, the sight of her stole the air from his lungs. “There’s a lot of tail walking around tonight, though.” He didn’t want to seem too anxious but there was something about her that damned near had him bouncing with excitement.
“Yeah.” Carson snorted. “But you said yourself, you don’t want typical. She’s far from it if you ask me.”
Jase could agree with Carson on that point. “She looks like she could use some help.”
Carson chuckled. “And you’re just the man to give her a hand.”
He pushed his way through the crowd, shaking his head at the fools who didn’t have the good sense to turn away from the scene as the girl continued to mop up her mess. Didn’t they know they were just helping to turn a simple mistake into a spectacle? His wide strides and sweeping arms cleared the crowd and he crossed the fifty or so feet between them in a couple of seconds.
“You might want to wring that rag out before you go to mopping stuff up again,” he said with a smile. “Here, let me help you.”
* * *
Avery Lockhart looked up from the pool of champagne she was currently stranded in, jaw slack and eyes wide. As if she wasn’t already mortified to the point of speechlessness, now she was face-to-face with the one and only Billion Dollar Blackwell. Holy cats, he was even better looking up close than he was from a distance.
“No!” You’d think that champagne was acid the way she screeched at him, but if he got down on all fours to help her sweep up broken glass, she’d die of embarrassment for sure. His slacks looked like they cost more than her entire wardrobe. “R-really, please, I can clean this up. I’m the one who made the mess, and you’re going to ruin your pants.”
Oh sweet Jesus, she wished that people would stop staring at her. The hussy sporting the dress that looked like it came from the Jenna Jameson private wardrobe collection was still fuming, her talon-like acrylic nails tapping a quick staccato on the sequined waistline of her dress. If she could, Avery would have melted right into the marble floor tiles and disappeared.
“I’ve got other pants at home. And you know, there’s this thing called a washing machine. It’s revolutionary. You just throw dirty clothes inside, turn it on, and in an hour? Clean clothes!”
Avery paused, her stomach somersaulting through her rib cage. She resisted the urge to smile at his attempt at levity while she swallowed down a groan. The sound of his voice, as dark and rich as grade-A Belgian chocolate, did something wonderful and terrifying to her insides all at the same time. This was torture. Pure, unmitigated, hellish abuse. “Um…” Say something, Avery. Anything would be good. Her mind drew a blank, her vision filled with Jason Blackwell in all of his glory. Christ Almighty he was good looking. “Seriously, I’ve got this. This is your party. Go enjoy yourself.”
She wanted to look away. She really did. But he was like the sun, holding her in orbit with his magnificence. And likewise, everyone else within a twenty-foot radius. Avery’s gaze shifted and her cheeks flushed with renewed heat. It was easy to forget there wasn’t a crowd watching her every move when she stared into his gorgeous whiskey-brown eyes.
But the annoyed and somewhat breathy tone of Porn Star Barbie’s words was enough to break the spell. “Oh, god, I’m absolutely dripping wet.”
Avery hid a smirk. Probably not the first time she’d ever said that in front of an audience. Her gaze met Jason’s and she could have sworn they were having a moment. His eyes crinkled at the corners and his lips twitched as though suppressing a smile. It shouldn’t be funny. Really, Avery was mortified. So why did she suddenly feel like laughing?
“Can someone please get this lovely lady a towel or something?” Jason seemed oblivious to the expression of smug pleasure that blossomed on the Barbie’s face. “And as for the rest of you yahoos, go find something worth staring at. I thought this was a party!”
Nervous laughter followed and the crowd quickly dispersed. Avery had a feeling that Jason Blackwell was used to people doing as he said. Especially when it came to women. As she continued to sweep the shards of glass into a manageable pile, Avery caught sight of someone coming from the kitchen with a large, fluffy towel. Thank god. She was afraid she was going to have to mop up the champagne with her own shirt.
“Here you go, sweetie.”
The towel that Avery thought had been brought for her was draped over the Barbie doll’s shoulders by one of the waitstaff. Lovely. Could this night get any worse? Wait. She probably didn’t want an answer to that.
“Jase, could you show me to the bathroom?” Barbie cooed. “I want to rinse some of the sticky off me.”
Avery rolled her eyes. Seriously? One more crack like that and she was going to lose her cool. She refused to meet Blackwell’s gaze this time. They weren’t sharing a “moment” or anything else. She was the hired help and he was the
football star. Fraternization wasn’t only far-fetched, it was flat-out impossible.
Jase. It was obvious that Barbie was on a nickname basis with him. Avery tried not to think of how cute it was or how the name suited him so much better than Jason. And likewise, she kept her eyes drilled to the mess in front of her as he pushed up from the floor to escort little miss wet ‘n’ sticky to the bathroom. Gag. Avery was willing to bet that she looked just like a Barbie without her clothes, too. Hard plastic parts and not an inch of her the body that god and her mama gave her. Just the way guys like Jason Blackwell liked their women, no doubt.
“I hate to break it to you, but you’re not making any progress.”
Avery’s heart stuttered in her chest as she looked up the length of Jason’s considerable frame. Dang. They really did grow ’em bigger in Texas. “Shouldn’t you be in the bathroom helping my unfortunate victim to disrobe?”
He squatted down beside her and was still a good foot and a half taller. He had to be pushing six and a half feet if he was an inch, and carrying at least two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle around on his large frame. Close your mouth and stop staring, you idiot! Jason Blackwell was a tower of masculine perfection.
“There were more than a few able bodies ready and willing to help your victim out of her dress,” Jason remarked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I left them to it so I could bring you this.”
He pulled a stack of white kitchen towels from behind his back and Avery almost squealed with delight. The rest of the waitstaff had treated her as though she were all but invisible, leaving her to flounder in a pool of champagne and a pile of broken glass as if her clumsiness was a communicable disease. She’d been just about to go on a quest for a mop and bucket before Jason showed up with the towels. “Would it be cheesy to say that you are officially my hero?”
“Hell no,” Jason replied. “In fact, I demand official hero status from here on out. But I do think you owe me a reward for my gallantry.”
“A reward, huh?” Avery wasn’t sure what he was angling for, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to pull up her skirt as a thank you. “Don’t heroes usually perform good deeds out of the kindness of their hearts?”
He flashed her a wicked grin and Avery was pretty sure that if she wasn’t already on her knees, that smile would have gotten the job done. “What’s your name?”
“Avery,” she remarked.
“Avery? Really?”
Aaaand enter the jokes, teasing, and comments that she had a boy’s name. She’d heard them all. “I take it your parents hadn’t planned on you being anything but an Avery, am I right?”
Stunned silence followed. Wow. Not even a single wisecrack. “Um, yeah. That’s pretty much it. My dad was planning on naming me after my great-grandpa. When I wasn’t a boy like they’d thought, he slapped my name on the birth certificate before my mom had a say.”
“Avery. I like it. I’m Jase Blackwell, by the way. Also known as the hero of the night.” He motioned to the stack of towels. “How about you let me take you to dinner tomorrow night? I’ll even help you mop up the champagne.”
“Yeah, that’s probably not a good idea. I mean, you’re—and I’m—” How could she possibly explain to him why a date was the worst idea ever? She took the towels out of his hands and averted her gaze. “It probably wouldn’t work.”
“You’re gonna shoot me down, just like that? You wouldn’t believe what I had to do for those towels.”
His nonplussed expression only solidified why it wasn’t a good idea for Avery to go out with him. Guys like Jase Blackwell got what they wanted when they wanted it. And the girls they dated were equally self-confident and just as gorgeous. Avery wasn’t exactly arm candy material. She wouldn’t last a second on a date with Jase before he realized what a monumental mistake it was. Ultimately, she was doing them both a favor by turning him down.
“You don’t have to do me any favors, really. This isn’t the first time and it sure as hell won’t be the last time I make a fool of myself in public. You don’t have to feel obligated to help me. I can wrap this up all by myself. Thanks for the towels, Jase. You’d better get back to the party.”
TWO
“Obligated? What the fuck does that even mean?”
The burn of Avery’s cool rebuff was still simmering just under Jase’s skin even after having a week to cool down. He couldn’t get her out of his head, his memory overwhelmed with images of her dark hair cut into an edgy bob, and the most gorgeous green eyes he’d ever seen. There was a pretty good chance he could have bench-pressed her petite frame with one arm she was so tiny, and she had the cutest button nose he’d ever laid eyes on. In a word, she was stunning. And the fact that he couldn’t have her, made him want her that much more.
“How in the hell should I know what it means?” Carson sat on his couch, watching game footage. There wasn’t a day of the week the guy wasn’t eating, breathing, or sleeping football. “I know I said she was the one, but maybe you should have cut your losses and moved on. The room was full of supermodel-gorgeous women.”
Supermodel-gorgeous? Hardly. More like rode hard and put away wet. The tension and bad-luck streak he’d hoped to end with a wild romp with Avery had crashed and burned. And rather than find some other woman to get the job done, convincing Avery to go out with him had become Jase’s single-minded obsession. “Can you just give me the name of the catering company?”
“I can, but I gotta say, this isn’t the best time to start anything. You were supposed to hit it and quit it, dude. Not chase after her like a lovesick puppy. The playoffs are around the corner and I want your brain getting the necessary blood flow. Know what I mean?”
“Dude. I don’t even want you thinking about where my blood is flowing. Know what I mean? Just give me the damned number and get back to your home movies.”
“You’re going to appreciate these home movies come next week. Especially when I decide to throw an outside right pass.”
Translation: give me any more shit and you won’t even touch the ball next game. “Have I ever mentioned how much I love the fact that you watch so much game footage? I mean—”
“All Occasions Catering. Now get lost.”
“Thanks,” Jase said as he headed for the door. “See you at practice tomorrow.”
“Don’t be late!” Carson called after him. “Cuz we’re going to the Super Bowl, baby!”
Another reason why Jase loved Carson: his unfailing optimism.
* * *
Throwing together yet another last-minute party wasn’t as easy as it seemed. Especially since most of the people he’d invited had already been to one of the three he’d thrown last week or they had other plans. What had started out as a full-on bash was now more like a dinner party on steroids. Just a little bigger and bulkier than you might expect. Definitely not the sort of shindig that would warrant a handful of waitresses. Of course, just like for the past three parties, there was only one waitress that Jase wanted in attendance tonight.
He’d requested her again specifically and since the team—and now Jase—had thrown a lot of business their way, the caterer had assured Jase that Avery would be there without question. Jesus, he was nervous as a newborn calf, all wobbly legs and unsure steps. Twice already tonight he’d tripped on his own damned feet and he doubted that would do much to make an impression.
Unless he was planning to send her running the other way.
At half past six, the caterers arrived, carrying in boxes full of food that made Jase’s stomach growl. He’d requested good old-fashioned Texas barbeque tonight, the kind like his mom used to make. Brisket, beans, potato salad, and cornbread. Tailgating food.
“I swear, I’ve been here so many times in the past week, I feel like this is my own kitchen. I don’t even have to ask where the plates and silverware are anymore. I’ll go ahead and get the table set.”
Jase looked over at the caterer—Penny? No, Peyton. He’d been preoccupied, searching for one face in
particular. “Sorry, what was that?”
Peyton repeated herself, but again Jase didn’t hear a word. Avery walked into the kitchen beside another woman, each of them carrying a cardboard box. His gut clenched tight and his mouth went dry. Damn, just the sight of her sent him reeling, like the rush of taking a shot of top-shelf bourbon. He was drunk on nothing more than her nearness.
“Mr. Blackwell?” the caterer gave him a quizzical look.
“Sorry?” Jesus, he wasn’t doing much to come across as a guy who had his shit together. He forced his gaze from Avery and let Peyton lead him toward the patio. Right, she’d asked something about where he’d wanted her to set up the buffet. “I’ve got tables ready to go over here.”
* * *
“I think someone has a crush,” Kristie whispered in a singsong tone into Avery’s ear. Her stomach was slowly clawing its way to her throat and no matter how many times she swallowed, she couldn’t seem to get rid of the lump.
“I seriously doubt that,” Avery replied with a grin. “Just because he asked me out once, doesn’t mean he meant anything by it. He only took pity on me because I’d made a fool out of myself.”
“Uh-huh. Right.” Kristie’s rueful tone rang out in the expansive kitchen that gleamed with polished granite and stainless steel appliances. It was the sort of gourmet layout that was every aspiring chef’s dream. She’d kill for a kitchen like this. “This is the guy’s fourth dinner party in just over a week, Avery. And Peyton told me that he’s requested that you work every single one. I doubt it was your superior serving skills that put you at the top of his list.”
“Ha. Ha. Thanks.” Avery knew she wasn’t the world’s most graceful person. Her middle name was klutz. And as a server, she sucked. She’d taken this job with the hopes that Peyton would eventually put her in the kitchen doing what she loved most: creating culinary masterpieces. But so far, she’d done little more than arrange hors d’oeuvres on serving platters. Not exactly fulfilling her life’s ambition. “I think you’re wrong, but I’m not going to complain about the extra hours. It’ll be a nice pad to my paycheck.”
