Jasmine didn’t know what to say, his ridiculously sculpted chest covered in fine black hair, tapered waistline, and six-pack—maybe eight—she’d have to count the muscles in his abdomen very slowly to be precise, had stolen her voice and ability to look him in the eyes.
She heard him laugh and clear his throat, then say, “What can I do for you, Jasmine Komisar?”
He looked familiar, but how did he know her name? She met his amused gaze and frowned more out of embarrassment than irritation. “How do you know my name?”
He pointed at the nametag clipped to her collar. “Says right there.” Then he shook his head. “Wait. Hope House?”
“Oh. My. God.” She wanted to run away. “Ty Baxley?”
“You’re that little brat from Penn State Carson hired last year!”
“University of Pennsylvania,” she corrected. “And if anyone is a brat…” Something moved behind Ty, and she looked over his shoulder.
Not one, but two women wearing bikinis joined them at the door.
“What’s taking so long, baby?” one asked, locking her arms around him from behind.
“Thought you were bringing us another bottle of wine,” the other complained.
Jasmine wanted to puke. Every stereotype associated with an overpaid NFL player had just been proven in thirty seconds at Ty’s front door. That’s when she remembered her list of addresses to avoid. She pulled her notebook out of her backpack and opened it. Crap. Ty’s address was on the top of the list.
“What’s that?” Ty asked, still looking entertained at her expense.
“Nothing for you to worry about.” She closed the notebook, but before she could stash it, Ty plucked it from her hand.
“Let me take a peek.” He thumbed through the pages. “No-go list?” He looked at her, then back at the paper. “Avoid 8887 Marlin Avenue, Tyrone Baxley, asshole.”
As he read her notes, she lowered her head. No one was supposed to see that.
“You think I’m an asshole?”
“Well…” she started.
A vehicle stopped in front of the house and an armed security guard climbed out of the truck. “Everything okay, Mr. Baxley?”
Ty’s eyebrows rose and he looked down at her. “Are you going to beat me up or something?”
“No.”
“Just fine, Andrew.” Ty waved at the guard.
“Really?” Jasmine snatched her notebook back. “You needed to ask me that before you dismissed the security guard?”
“Hey,” Ty said. “Dynamite comes in little packages, right?”
“At least you confirmed my observation.”
“What observation?”
“To avoid this house. Thanks for your time.”
She turned to go, but Ty tugged on her jacket. “Wait a second.”
“Come on Tyrone,” the women whined.
“Ashley. Macie. Go ahead back to the hot tub.” Ty shooed them away. “Sorry about the distractions.”
“I have to go. I have a lot of ground to cover.” Jasmine said.
“You’re here to get donations for Hope House, right?”
“Yes.”
“Come inside.” He opened the door wide.
“In there?”
“Um, yeah.”
This isn’t what she’d expected, an invitation inside Tyrone Baxley’s sex nest. “Okay.” She stepped inside the marble-tiled entryway. A crystal chandelier hung overhead, and an antique oval table with a vase full of red roses was arranged against the far wall. Elegant taste. Not what she’d expected.
“Wait here, Jasmine.” He disappeared down a hallway and returned a couple minutes later with his checkbook. “Here.” He tore a check out and handed it to her.
She looked at the check. “Three thousand dollars?”
“Of course. For the kids.”
He had her tongue-tied again. Was she wrong about him being an asshole? He’d certainly acted like one when she’d first met him. But if this was the kind of donation he gave, maybe she should take him off the no-go list. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.” He winked at her. “The kids are lucky to have someone like you looking after them. Tell Carson I’ll call him later.”
“Okay.” She started for the door.
“Hey, Jasmine.”
“Yes?” She turned around.
“Have dinner with me.”
Her gaze moved up his body, taking in every detail, stopping on his big brown eyes. “I can’t do that.” Then she ran out the door before Ty had a chance to change her mind.
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