Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Chapter Three
Logan
I’m a real asshole the rest of the night. Sure, I sit in that booth, sip on my drink, and nod along with conversation, but I’m not really paying attention to any of them. I’m looking for Candace. I’m scanning the bar down below, hoping to catch another peek of her. I keep my eyes on that group of assholes who were taunting her before. I could hear them all the way up here in VIP, and it’s what first drew my attention.
Then I saw her there with them and I froze for a moment, wondering if I’d gone insane. Sure, I’ve thought about Candace some since we met at my nephew’s school. I thought of her in the weight room the next day and through a lunch with my agent that dragged on an hour too long.
She’s a puzzle to me, and I’ve tried to figure out what it is about her that keeps bringing her back to the forefront of my thoughts. She’s pretty, sure, but I’ve been around some drop-dead gorgeous women before, and it’s not as if she’s my type. I usually go for women who are more polished, women who know the game and how to play it.
Candace doesn’t just seem like a novice in regards to my world; she seems wholly oblivious to it.
When I told her I play professional football, she couldn’t have looked less impressed.
It threw me for a loop, especially because of the last few weeks. Ever since my team and I clinched the win in the Super Bowl, the attention from my fans has reached a whole new level. There’s not a person on the street who doesn’t know who I am. I can’t go to the grocery store or the bank, or hell, even out to my car without getting stopped and congratulated on my stellar performance.
Except for Candace. She didn’t congratulate me, and maybe that’s why she’s been stuck in my head.
Or maybe it’s because she’s British. Could be the accent paired with the sweet smile and the self-deprecating humor that forms a tantalizing combination of qualities I can’t help but notice.
I want to spend more time with her. I wanted to ask for her number when I picked Briggs up from school, but I didn’t because it seemed highly inappropriate. Instead, I’ve thought about her—so much so that for the first few seconds when I caught sight of her in District, I wasn’t 100% sure I hadn’t conjured her out of thin air.
Then I heard her speak and the accent thrust me into action. I pushed to my feet before I could stop myself. Melody shot out of the booth to let me pass, assuming I had to use the bathroom or something, and I didn’t correct her. I only had one thought: get to Candace and rip that asshole’s hand off hers.
It’s all a blur after that. Did I really drag her back to my table? Did I invite her to wait on me and my friends? What an ass. I just wanted to spend another few minutes with her and she needed to work, so I was at a loss for what to do.
Now, everyone’s ready to leave the bar, but I’m not. I haven’t had a chance to talk to her again. She’s been a tornado down below, rushing from table to table, smiling as she doles out drinks and passes out checks. She’s good at her job, flirting and playing along with that group of guys but careful not to get too close or lead any of them on. Still, I bet one or two of them wish they could convince her to go home with them. They’d be idiots not to.
Melody drops her hand to my forearm, drawing my attention back to the table and my current date. I glance down at her manicured fingers, which are painted a delicate shade of pink. I wonder what color Candace would use on her nails. Bright orange. Yellow. Rainbow stripes. The thought makes me smile.
Melody misinterprets the gesture and sidles closer to me.
“Sorry I’ve been such a bore tonight,” she says gently. “It was a long day on set.”
I feel bad for Melody. This is technically our second date since we went out as a group last week too. Darius made us a reservation at a steakhouse and sprung her on me when I arrived.
“She’s cool, man. She’s been friends with Liz for years. She’s not just some jersey chaser, and she’s used to being in the limelight.”
Liz and Melody both model. According to Darius, Melody is used to dating professional athletes and thus knows the drill. That should have been a plus considering that’s partly why I’ve avoided dating in recent years. I’ve been burned by women who were with me for the wrong reasons. I’ve had women call paparazzi to ensure they’re ready to snap photos at the exact moment we arrive somewhere, women who swore they were in it for the right reasons when in fact they were really only after fame and fortune. It’s done a number on my ego and my general faith in the dating process.