Bad Business

by Nicole Edwards

  Now that I’ve got eleven wins under my belt—nine divisional wins at that—guess where I find myself?

  That’s right. I’m rubbing elbows with the upper echelon of football’s greatest, both past and present. I mean seriously, Phil Eddington—you know Phil, the Wranglers’ superstar quarterback from the late eighties—is standing only two feet behind me. The guy was my idol growing up and here I am, breathing the same air he is. Doesn’t even matter that I’ve surpassed his all-time passing record and I’ve got more Super Bowl wins than he does, I’ll never see myself as being as good as him.

  With an eleven and one record for the season, and the team leading the division, it appears people are starting to notice that the Dallas Wranglers are a team that can’t be pushed to the bottom of the list this year. And for whatever reason, they’re giving me credit for that.

  I can’t deny that I should get some of the credit, but a quarterback is only as good as his team. I can only take them so far, only make so many passes. It’s up to my defense to keep the other team from scoring.

  “Hey, Stone! Come over here, son. I’d like to introduce you to a coupla people.”

  I pivot around to see Aaron Andrews waving me over. I fight the urge to turn back around and pretend I didn’t hear him. Not like I could really do that, but it’s certainly more appealing than trying to find something to talk about with a man who’s so far out of my league that it’s not even funny.

  Some people would say that I’m in the same league, but it’s not true. I’m still a small-town boy at heart. Despite the fame and the money—and yes, even my cocky attitude—I’ve worked hard to stick to my values, for the most part.

  “Yes, sir,” I greet, keeping my tone as casual as I can. “Thanks for inviting me tonight.”

  “I’m glad you could come,” he says, waving his hand toward his son. “You remember Will?”

  I’ve met Will, talked to him even, but never in a formal setting such as this. As usual, Will Andrews looks ridiculously like his father when he’s decked out in a suit. Same dark blond hair that’s thinning at the temples, the same pragmatic hazel eyes, same pointed nose. Probably the spitting image of Aaron when the older man was his age, which I guess to be in his late thirties, possibly early forties.

  I clasp Will’s hand when he offers it, shaking firmly. “Good to see you again,” I say.

  “Same to you. Nice game yesterday.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’d like you to meet my daughter-in-law.” Aaron nods toward the woman beside Will. “Eve, Jason Stone.”

  Eve smiles shyly up at me.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too.”

  “And I’d like you to meet my daughter, Savannah,” Aaron states.

  I notice, like his father, Will likes to be front and center because the elusive Savannah seems to be hidden behind him. I’m mentally preparing myself for a female version of Aaron to step around him as I patiently wait, feeling somewhat awkward staring at Will.

  I think Aaron notices that his son is hogging the limelight at the same time I do because he nudges Will out of the way and makes room for…

  Holy.

  Mother.

  Of God.

  Well, hello again, hot chick from the bar, and most recently my bed.

  I pause, praying like fuck I did not just say that out loud.

  When no one glares at me, I assume it was only in my head. Thank God.

  I don’t mean to stare, but it’s not easy to do considering this is the same no-name woman from the bar who rocked my fucking world on that very same night. The same woman who kissed me like there was no tomorrow, fucked me like I was the last man on earth, and slipped out of my bed undetected.

  I’m thinking perhaps there was a good reason for that. For one, she’s Aaron Andrews’s daughter. There’s no doubt she knew exactly who I was when she met me.

  I should probably be angry, but I’m not.

  Regardless, the woman is even more stunning tonight than she was the other night, and that’s saying something, considering that short black dress she’d been wearing has played a role in the countless thoughts I’ve had about her since that very day. Plus, I might’ve jacked off a few times thinking about the way she moaned and writhed as I plowed her pussy for hours.

  Yeah. I probably shouldn’t lead with that.

  I swallow hard, while my lungs attempt to reverse their position in my chest. The first thing I notice is that this woman looks absolutely nothing like her father. Or her brothers.

  “Nice to officially meet you, Jason.”

  “You can call me Stone. Everyone does.”

  You can call me Stone? What am I? A moron?

  Of all the things I could’ve said, that’s what I chose for my second chance with the absolute most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on. Considering I hadn’t caught her name, nor did I manage to exchange phone numbers, I was beginning to think there was no hope of ever seeing her again.

  Honestly, I don’t see this going up from here.

  Savannah Andrews regards me from beneath long, thick eyelashes. Her light green eyes are filled with amusement when she meets my gaze head-on. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s remembering the other night and the fact that she knew exactly who I was while I had no clue she was the owner’s daughter.

  Then again, it explains why she looked familiar. Not that she looks anything remotely like her picture on the team’s website, which is likely the reason I didn’t associate the two. In fact, the site doesn’t mention anything about the fact she is his daughter.

  Sneaky woman.

  Some guys would probably be a little offended that she’d held something like that back. Not me. I happen to admire her for it. She played me and I can honestly say, that doesn’t usually happen.

  “Stone,” she corrects, brushing a lock of dark chestnut hair over her shoulder. “I’ve heard nice things about you.”

  Nice things? Really?

  My brain runs through a list of things the media has claimed about me. Some of them might be “nice,” but not all of them, I’m sure.

  I want to ask her what she’s heard, or more importantly, what she remembers of that night we spent together, but manage to hold my tongue and nod. It’s not hard considering I’m having to make an effort not to drool because…

  Holy.

  Mother.

  Of God.

  Savannah

  I think it’s evident, I wasn’t able to get out of coming to this party.

  Nor was I able to slip out undetected by the uber-sexy quarterback who is now eyeing me suspiciously.

  Jason Stone looks exactly as he has every other time I’ve caught a glimpse of him.

  Well, maybe not exactly the same since tonight he’s sporting a sapphire blue tie to go along with his charcoal suit, unlike a couple weeks ago at the club when he was wearing a crisp white dress shirt and slacks. Or, later that night when he was wearing nothing. My favorite, by the way. Or, when I’ve seen him at the practice facility wearing shorts and a Wranglers T-shirt or the team’s white and blue jersey and pads.

  However, there is one thing about him that seems to be consistent. He’s still tall, dark, and distractingly handsome, plus he’s still got that cocky smirk down pat.

  Not that I’m paying much attention.

  What I do pay attention to is the way Stone’s currently looking at me. Which, if I’m being honest, makes me a tad nervous. It’s the very reason I didn’t introduce myself to him the first night we met, the very reason I’ve never broken my rule against sleeping with players. Not until him, anyway.

  I’ve seen plenty of football players look at me like that over the years. And no, it has nothing to do with ego that I acknowledge this. After all, I am th
e daughter of the NFL’s wildly popular Dallas Wranglers’ owner. Well, him and my supermodel mother, who hasn’t been a big part of my life since I was seven, when she decided that there was more glitz and glory to be had on the other side of the world.

  Nevertheless, I am Aaron Andrews’s daughter. In that regard, I’m a catch. These guys don’t even have to know that I graduated summa cum laude from Stanford, that I’ve held a job and worked for what I have since I was eighteen—even while I was in school—or even what it is I do for a living to think that either. I can’t tell you how many up-and-coming football players have looked my way.

  Although I’m only twenty-nine, I’ve turned down far more dates than I’ve ever been on. It’s true. Pathetic, but true.

  Some of them might’ve even been good guys, but I refuse to find out. I made the mistake of dating a couple of players in the past, and it only took a few questions like You think we could hang with your dad this weekend? or What do you say we invite your dad to dinner tomorrow night? before I realized I was nothing more than a way for them to get closer to my father.

  Thanks, but no thanks.

  Unfortunately, I’ll likely have to deal with Stone considering I broke the cardinal rule and, although I didn’t date him, I did have sex with him. For that, I probably owe him a little explanation.

  “I really am glad you could make it, Stone,” my father says, his tone jovial. “I thought it would be mutually beneficial to bring you into the fold. Considering the direction you’ve taken the team this season.”

  My father is in his element tonight, which explains the huge grin on his face. Right now, it seems everyone wants a piece of my dad. Since the team’s running hot, with an outrageously entertaining rookie running back and a highly gifted veteran quarterback, everyone wants to hear his thoughts and to make their own projections. And my father’s eating it up.

  “Thanks for havin’ me. I’ll never turn down free booze,” Stone says, and I think I hear a hint of self-recrimination in his tone. He doesn’t necessarily look nervous, but he certainly sounds it.

  “Well, if that’s all it takes,” Will jokes, “we’ll be sure to keep some on hand.”

  Stone smirks.

  My father steps back with a hand on Stone’s shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to talk to someone, but I’d like to catch up in a bit.”

  “Of course,” Stone responds, but his eyes are still locked on me.

  A second later, my brother excuses himself, taking Eve’s hand and leading her over to a group of men I was talking to a short time ago. And now I’m left standing next to football’s bad boy, who just so happens to still be staring at me.

  “What?” I ask, putting my hand on my lips. “Do I have something on my face?”

  “What?” He sounds appalled. “No.”

  “Something in my teeth?” I smile.

  Stone shakes his head, drops his gaze to the floor, and chuckles. “No. Shit. I don’t mean to stare. I just…”

  “What?”

  He cuts his eyes over to me. “You might’ve failed to mention who you were the other night at the bar.”

  “Hmm. It must’ve slipped my mind.”

  He returns my smile, but I can see a hint of concern in his dark eyes.

  I continue, wanting to put him at ease. “And if I recall correctly, we agreed to anonymity.”

  “Not exactly fair considering you knew who I was.” He doesn’t sound put out by this in the least.

  It’s true, and I can’t help but smile at that. I liked that I had one up on the playboy quarterback.

  The guy has definitely been around the block a time or two, so I’m sure he’s thinking I was deceiving him. I wasn’t. I merely wasn’t interested in playing his game. I’m still not, even if I can’t seem to stop thinking about that night.

  “I’m sure you got over it,” I tell him, trying to play it off. I have no intentions of trying to hook this man. We had one night, that was all I wanted, and now it’s time we put the past behind us.

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “No? Did you spend the last few weeks pining away for me?”

  “If I said yes?” His smirk is devious.

  “Then I’d say you’re lying.”

  When he doesn’t say anything more, I take that as my cue to go. I’ve already spent two hours smiling and greeting people and quite frankly, I’m tired. I would like to slip out onto the veranda, kick off these toe-killers, drink some wine in quiet, and wait for this party to be over with. If it wouldn’t upset my father, I would slip out altogether, but I know he frowns on that.

  “Well, it was nice to officially meet you,” I say, allowing my eyes to rake over Stone’s slightly rugged features. If it weren’t for his perfect lips, his angular jaw would likely get all the attention.

  Mocha-brown eyes lift to meet mine and I see the same intrigue I’ve seen before reflected back in them.

  And that really is my cue to leave.

  Without waiting for a response, I turn to go. I don’t make it two steps before I feel a warm body at my side.

  “So, how long have you been…uh…?”

  Chuckling, I turn to see Stone’s face scrunching up.

  “My father’s daughter?” I ask, laughing.

  “Well, that’s not what I really wanted to ask.” He smiles and two perfect dimples form in his cheeks. “But since I don’t know the first thing about you, other than you’re rather witty and a lot secretive”—his voice lowers to barely a whisper—“plus ridiculously hot between my sheets, I kinda jumped the gun on that one, huh?”

  I flinch, but keep walking, making my way over to the bar, and Stone stays right at my side.

  “White wine, please,” I tell the bartender.

  The man lifts an eyebrow at Stone. He waves him off. “No, nothing for me, thanks.”

  “You don’t drink?” I ask.

  “Oh, I drink. But when there’s an off-chance that I’ll put my foot in my mouth and someone’ll print that shit, I tend to shy away from alcohol.”

  “So, not the whole my body is my temple?”

  “Oh, my body is my temple, so feel free to worship as you see fit,” he says, grinning.

  Been there, done that…Okay, fine. Maybe I’d like to do it again, but I’m not telling him that. “Not sure that’ll fit into my schedule,” I say. “But I’ll keep it in mind if I’m ever bored.”

  His smile doesn’t falter and I can’t help but like this man.

  While I wait for my wine, I turn to observe the party going on around us. Most of these people I know, many of them I’ve seen week after week at one event or another. My father is all about rubbing elbows with people. More importantly, people are all about rubbing elbows with my father.

  See, to millions of people the National Football League is a phenomenon consisting of thirty-two teams facing off during prime time for seventeen weeks, starting the weekend after Labor Day and ending shortly after the first of the new year. For my father, this is a twenty-four/seven business. This is money. This is not fun and games.

  And for me, this is impeding on my personal time. Sure, I give one hundred ten percent in the office, but I do happen to prefer time away from it all.

  “So, do you like football?” Stone asks when the bartender delivers my wine.

  I peer up at him, surprised by his question. “Wouldn’t you automatically assume I do, considering who my father is?”

  His eyebrows lift. “No. Maybe you prefer baseball. Or hockey. Maybe the ballet.”

  I smile at that. “Do you prefer the ballet?”

  He grins and I’m captivated for a moment.

  “Not particularly, no.” He puts his hands in his pockets and shifts his stance. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was nervous. “
Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I guess I’m waiting for the bad boy I encountered the other night.”

  “Bad boy?” There’s that smirk again. “Is that what you’re into, Ms. Andrews?”

  “Bad boys don’t do it for me.”

  “So, no cock and no boys,” he says, his voice low and deep as he leans in and I can’t help but inhale his sexy scent. “I’m starting to think it’s not just me.”

  “Oh, I’m interested in boys. I just prefer mine to be less…annoying.” I say the last word with a chuckle. The wine is going to my head and teasing this man is far too much fun.

  “Trust me, I can think of plenty of things I can do that won’t…annoy you.”

  I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “Launching a football is not a prerequisite of mine,” I say, purposely misunderstanding. “However, I am a little surprised that you’d ask if I’m interested in the sport my father’s name is synonymous with.”

  “Really? Let me guess. I should’ve asked who your favorite player is?”

  I find myself still grinning. “I don’t have a favorite player.”

  He leans down, those dimples flashing. “Give it until the end of the season,” he says, his tone low. “I’ll change that.”

  Laughing, I meet his eyes. “Confident?”

  “Determined.”

  Of all the things I thought he would say, that wasn’t it. Although he’s got an air of confidence about him, he’s not quite as cocky as I accused him of being. At least not around me. I’ve seen interviews in which Jason Stone believes he’s God’s gift to football, so the cocksure attitude is a part of who he is, but I’m wondering if it’s more of a front than anything else.

  That’s a point in his favor, along with the tall, dark, and distractingly handsome thing he’s got going on. Not to mention, I did happen to witness him turn down that redhead the other night. The very same redhead who cuddled up to Brian Dowling just a few minutes after she left Stone’s side.

  “Well, to answer your question, most people assume I’m as into football as my father and brothers are. Truth is, I’m not. Not anymore, anyway.”