Scored
Page 3
The server brings our dishes to us, and I dig into my mac and cheese while Layton discusses table centerpieces.
“Aw, he did?” Layton touches her cheek and sighs dreamily. “He is just the sweetest. Yes, I do know I’m the luckiest woman in the world. Thank you, Tiffany.”
I lick the cheese off my fork. “Joe to the rescue.”
Eyes shining, Layton nods, setting her phone screen down on the table. “Tiffany said he stopped by this morning and clarified everything for her. They came to a real understanding, which I take to mean he showed her The Binder.”
I snort. “The Binder knows all. It’s like the ring in Lord of the Rings.” The Binder is exactly that, except Layton has had it since sixth grade. Every important event in her life is detailed in it, including the events that haven’t happened, yet.
“It is my precious, and I only trust it to two people in the world—you and Joe.” She points her fork at me. “Back to you. Tell me the real version of meeting Dallas. I’m afraid Nolan isn’t the best when it comes to vital details.”
I give her the nitty-gritty, which makes Layton frown, smile, and then laugh out loud. “Oh, good grief. Stickers were the reason he was staring at you?”
“He said they gave him an excuse to really stare.” Switching to a spoon, I scoop up the last few bites of the mac and cheese. “He also gave me his number.”
Her hazel eyes round. “Have you called him?”
“No.” I was tempted, though.
Layton smiles. “One point in his favor, besides giving you his number, is that he’s honest.”
“He’s also the opposite of me—I have no idea what we would have in common… and he’s more forbidden than wearing white after Labor Day.”
“Forbidden man candy. I like it.” Layton’s eyes go wide. “Your sister is here.”
“What?” I crane my neck, trying to get a glimpse of Finley, and spy her walking across the parking lot. With her jaw-skimming auburn hair, blue eyes, fair skin, and take-no-prisoners attitude, we’re complete opposites. The only thing we have in common, besides two dads who abandoned us, is our momma’s smile, with a small gap between our front two teeth.
Growing up, we never had the money for braces. By the time Finley and I could pay for it, we decided to keep the gap. Our little brother, however, got his fixed his senior year of high school.
The traitor.
“Hi, Layton.”
“You look pretty today, Finley,” Layton says by way of greeting.
“Thanks,” Finley replies, then turns her shrewd eyes on me, “Why do you look so guilty?”
Think, Think. “Do you see the size of this bowl of mac and cheese?”
“I see it, and I want one.” She waves down a server and orders an extra-large bowl with extra bacon. “Desserts, ladies?”
“No,” Layton and I mumble simultaneously.
“We have to be able to fit in our wedding finery,” I say.
Layton smacks me lightly on the arm. “Stop calling it that.”
“You stop calling it that.”
“I said it once, Paige, and that was when I was talking to my great-aunt Pearl.” Layton tosses her hair and huffs, then looks up at the sky beseechingly. “Lord, help me not to kill my friend because she’s the only one can pull off a strapless gown in lime green. Amen.”
Finley grabs her phone from her purse. “The two of you should take it on the road.”
I swing my gaze to my sister. “No one invited you.”
“I invited her,” Layton pipes up.
I shoot her a death glare. How can she do this to me? I can’t talk freely about Dallas with Finley at the table. No telling how she would react. Okay, so I have an inkling of how she would react. She’d freak out and call a meeting, then make Dallas’ life miserable for daring to hit on her baby sister.
It’s how “normal” siblings react to their other siblings’ dating lives.
“That’s awesome.” I smile widely at Finley. “So what’s up with you?”
Finley arches a brow at me, her lips pursing. She knows my smile isn’t genuine. Don’t get me wrong; I love my sister. She’s been more of a mom to me than our own mother. Bless her heart. However, there are times when a girl needs her best friend, and this is one of them.
Layton and I are roommates, but the closer it gets to the wedding, the more she has to go home after work and on weekends, as well as meet with the wedding planner, which means we have little-to-no time to talk privately.
“The usual. Putting out fires and dreaming up new ways for the Renegades to stay in the news, in positive ways.” Finley sits back in her chair. “They don’t always make it easy on me.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” Layton says, tsking sympathetically. “Tell me who the worst offender is, sugar, and I’ll give him a stern talking to, maybe even have him come by the library and do some grunt volunteer work.”
I sit up straighter. Layton is attempting to work her magic to get Finley to talk about specific players.
The server swoops by to deliver Finley’s drink and lunch. Impatiently, I wait for him to leave, so my sister will start talking.
“The cleaning crew has a really tough time reaching the windows in the event space. And we could always use some volunteer gardening. Winter’s coming, after all, and those beds need more pine straw.” Layton winks at me, and I cross my fingers under the table.
Take the bait, Finley. Take the bait.
“It’s a tie between Drake and McHugh. Although Hernandez is a not-so-distant second,” my sister replies.
My heart sinks. Dallas Drake is a player. Ugh. That rumor with him and the three strippers is true.
“What’s so bad about Drake?” Layton asks.
Finley pauses, her fork hovering in midair. “He’s not a bad guy… just full of himself. Big ego. Likes to party and loves women. He is single, so maybe I can’t blame him.”
“Are you going soft?” I ask.
“No, he’s… actually, you know what…” Her nose scrunches. “Drake’s been really good lately.”
“By lately, do you mean for the past week?” I quip.
Finley laughs. “I mean for the past year. Don’t get me wrong. He still likes to party, but his drama is all but nonexistent. It’s probably because he’s focusing more on his charity.” She fixes her blue eyes on me. “Speaking of which, I told him to go by the library to check out your event space. He wants to hold one of his Nights to Play in Raleigh. Usually, he has them in Miami, New York City, and Los Angeles.”
I try to answer her, but nothing comes out.
“Oh, he came by. Nolan spoke with him,” Layton says, coming to my rescue. “I doubt he was much help with the way he was fanboying. I’m not sure Nolan even had the presence of mind to tell him to come back another time, so I can give him the tour.”
“Were you there?” Finley asks, and my skin gets all prickly. I can’t lie, but I don’t have to tell her everything.
“Yup. In handcuffs.”
“What?”
“I was filling in for Layton by hosting the toddler’s power hour. We had a magician with not-so-magic handcuffs.” I mime being confined. “Anyway, after it was over, Dallas and I spoke briefly, and then Nolan helped him.”
Finley’s mouth flattens. “I’ll talk to Drake and let him know he should come back.” Then she starts eating. “This so good.”
I stare at her in shock. She’s not going to grill me for details? Demand to know if Dallas asked me out? Unless she thinks there’s no way I’d let things get that far because of her lectures and warnings… or she knows I’m not his type.
Disgruntled, I start to ask if that’s the case, but Layton kicks me under the table. Sharp pain shoots up my leg.
“Ow.” I rub it.
“Sorry, sugar. My foot slipped.” Layton turns to Finley, sounding blasé. “You can give him my number and I’ll set up an appointment, first thing.”
“I’ll do that,” Finley says around a bite of mac and che
ese. “It’s for a good cause. Give him all the assistance he needs if he picks your space. I prefer he confines his events to Raleigh instead of all over the country. Makes it easier to keep track of what he’s doing with his dolls.”
“His what?” I ask sharply.
Finley’s lip curls. “It’s what the press dubbed the women Dallas… sees. Drake’s Dolls. The Double Ds. So classy. If you only knew how much trouble I went through to get the first two pages of Google not to have that as a result, you would understand my frustration. Having the benefit locally will be a relief.”
I give Layton a meaningful look.
She nods.
As soon as my sister leaves, we’re looking up Drake’s Dolls.
“Paige, would you mind helping me?” Layton asks. “With all the wedding stuff, I’m afraid if Mr. Drake were to pick our space, I wouldn’t be able to give his charity the attention it deserves.”
“Um…” I look at my sister, who gives me this ‘what’s wrong with you’ look. “Sure?”
“Thanks, y’all. Knowing the two of you have my back really helps. I’ll make sure to push him in the right direction.” Finley glances at her Apple watch. “Crap. I have to cut this short. Meeting with Coach Kinnear, and he wants to move it up an hour.”
“Thanks for eating with us,” I say, grabbing her hand and squeezing.
“Maybe next time you’ll be the one to ask me,” she says.
I roll my eyes. “Maybe I will.”
Finley leaves enough cash to cover her bill and takes a last gulp of water before bolting out of her seat. Her heels click rapidly on the sidewalk as she hurries to her Mercedes.
“Bye, Finley,” Layton calls out.
Finley waves in our general direction.
I blow out a breath. “I don’t know if I should strangle or kiss you.”
“You can thank me by paying for lunch.” She taps her fingers on the table. “Now we know all about Dallas. Or we will as soon as we learn about his dolls.”
“That sounds so gross,” I mutter as she searches.
“Oh my.” Her brow wrinkles and she gives me a small smile. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
“It can’t be good either.”
She hands over her phone. “Honestly, it reads a supermarket tabloid. No telling what’s true or not. But Finley didn’t seem too concerned about either of us being around Dallas.”
In other words, my sister didn’t think he’d hit on us. Not exactly a selling point. Quickly, I read over the articles.
Most of them seem to point to the fact that he likes to have a good time and lots of female company. He’s a single guy—am I supposed to hold him to the same standard as one who’s in a committed relationship? In fact, none of the women who are interviewed ever accuse him of cheating on them. Only a few out make it sound like he’s having orgies in space or the owner’s box.
Layton’s right. This is exactly like something you’d catch yourself reading in the grocery store. Maybe I shouldn’t hold something against him that he has no way of defending.
“Still…we don’t know everything about him,” I remind her.
“Fair enough, but I don’t recall your sister forbidding you from seeing Dallas.” She grins. “In fact, I think she was encouraging you to spend time with him.”
“Only to help with his charity.”
“What your sister doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“That’s because she’ll be the one doing all the murdering.” I take the bill from the server, pulling out my purse and fishing out my wallet to get my debit card. “Besides, I have no reason to date him. Other than him knowing Finley, I bet we have nothing in common. And you know I don’t like the cocky he-man types. I prefer my men like Darcy… well-spoken, well-read, and—”
“—swimming in an ornamental pond in a white shirt that clings to their muscular chest?”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t know—romantic literature has been your wheelhouse for such a long time that maybe you should consider action and adventure.” She wriggles her brows at me. “Dig deeper into the human ecology of men and women—specifically, a librarian and a football player. How would the two interact? Would their social environments keep them apart, or make it all the sweeter when the two decide to explore—”
“I got it. I got it,” I say with a laugh. “Okay, if he asks me out again, and that’s a big if, I’ll consider saying yes. But he can’t ask me back to his place. It has to be a proper date.”
Layton smiles beatifically. “That’s all I can ask, but you still have to make out with the best man at the reception.”
CHAPTER 4
Dallas
I’m a risk/reward type of guy. The greater the risk, the greater the possible reward. I’ve lived my entire life like that, unafraid to take chances. For the most part, I’ve always landed on top. Even when I didn’t, I learned from the experience, never let it hold me down or back.
When I first realized I could make an actual career out of football, I wanted to play for the Cowboys so bad I could taste the BBQ sauce on the ribs. In fact, they drafted me… and after the season was over, they got rid of me. Any other guy would have talked shit about the team, made everyone think they were the ones missing out on keeping Dallas Drake. But that wasn’t remotely true at the time.
I was a nobody in a sea of somebodies, each one with a personality bigger than life itself. I thought by keeping my head in the game and simply playing when Coach sent me in that I would be safe, that the fans would come, and I would be mostly secure in my position. That little fantasy came to a quick end. I have to thank the Cowboys for doing me a favor, actually. If it weren’t for them, or advice from Aiden that I followed, I wouldn’t have broken away from the pack, became famous, and been drafted as a starter for the Renegades.
According to Aiden, football players had to be known for two things to get attention i.e. endorsements and playing time.
1. A reputation worth notoriety.
2. Skills on the field that make fans give that notoriety.
Back then, I knew acquiring a reputation would be risky, but if I were careful, I could be writing my own paycheck. The thought of being so financially free was enough incentive to risk it… so I went all in and reaped the rewards. Hell, I make so much off endorsements that I haven’t touched the money I make from playing football in years.
I don’t simply apply that philosophy to my career; I use it to assess situations in my personal life as well.
Right now for instance, I’m weighing the risk of sleeping with the hot blonde—first name: Jasmine; Last name: Not Sharing—who is practically sitting in my lap—against losing the bet with Aiden.
To Jasmine’s credit, she’s making it hard on me by being fun, easy to talk to, and not expecting anything more than what I’m willing to give. Plus, she’s a friend of Ellen’s, a hot redhead I used to hook up with regularly… until she reconnected with her childhood sweetheart. I was a guest at their wedding and at the dedications of all three of their kids. She and her husband Mike are good people with big hearts.
So if Ellen says she’s legit, then I can rest assured if we do take things to the next level tonight, it won’t end up on social media.
However, Paige is still on my mind. I haven’t been able to get her out of my fucking mind for six days, and I doubt that’s going to change. There’s something about her smile and pretty blue eyes that makes me want to get to know her.
Or maybe it’s because she hasn’t texted or called me.
Either way, I keep replaying our conversation in my head, relishing the part when she blushed over the stickers and it became obvious she had no idea who I was.
That’s becoming harder and harder to come by with each passing season. I hate meeting women and not really knowing if they want to get serious because they think I’m truly the one or because they want to be the one who has access to my bank account. At thirty-three, I’m too damn old to be playing guessing games.
The thing is, even if the bet wasn’t in place, I don’t think it’s a good idea to hook up with a woman tonight only to ask out an entirely different one tomorrow. There are a lot of guys who wouldn’t blink an eye at that and would think I’m being a pussy.
I don’t give a good damn.
“Jasmine, I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Sam.” I stand up and hold out my hand, helping her up when she takes it. She follows to where my teammate is sitting, drinking a nonalcoholic drink and more likely than not already watching film from the game. He’s an overachiever like that.
I respect him for it.
“Sam, I want to introduce you to my friend, Jasmine. She loves football, rescuing dogs, and owns a vintage clothing store in Brooklyn,” I say.
Sam looks up from his phone, one of his signature goofy smiles on his face. “Any friend of Dallas’ is a friend of mine.” He pulls out a chair for her and kicks one out for me. “Have a seat, you two.”
“Nah, I’m turning in early.” I roll my shoulder forward. “Got tackled by number forty-five on the Skins’ defensive line one too many times.” Actually, I feel pretty good after today’s game. Well, compared to other games where I was legit injured, I feel damn good.
Jasmine’s forehead creases. “Are you really leaving?”
“Yeah. I’m so sorry, but don’t worry, Sam is one of the best guys I know. He’ll take good care of you and make sure you get home okay,” I assure her. This isn’t me bullshitting her. Sam is the rescuing-damsels-in-distress white knight type. He lives for moments like this.
“Ma’am,” he says in that Kansas drawl I’ve come to associate with smooth talkers who have innocent faces. “I promise to not only make sure you get home safe, but also that you will have a wonderful time. However, if you’d rather spend it with someone else, then point them out to me and I’ll take you to him.”