“Only the cocky, smug ones who show up late to a meeting and then don’t seem to care much when they blow it.”
“I haven’t blown a thing and we both know it.”
My brow knits again as I hold his gaze, feeling the heat of those eyes piercing right into me.
Holden flashes that smile again, only this time it looks a bit more genuine and little less smug.
“Woodside Grill, seven thirty tonight.”
“Seven thirty, or more like eight forty-five.”
His grin spreads across his face, and I swallow the lump in my throat as I eye him, trying to figure out what his play is here.
Hell, trying to figure out what mine is.
“Fine.”
He smirks.
“It’s not a date, so don’t get your hopes up,” I say quickly.
Too quickly.
Holden chuckles. “I just want to explain this all to you; why I want to leave and all.” His eyes trail over mine. “Just business.”
There is nothing “just business” about the way those eyes look at me, or the way they linger on my lips. I take a quick breath, pushing a lock of hair behind my ears as I stand up a little straighter and clear my throat.
“Just business sounds great. See you then,” I add primly, getting ready to turn on my heel and march away.
“Oh, and London?”
I almost gasp as Holden suddenly leans in close to me, so close that I can smell his masculine sweat. I shiver just slightly at his heat invading my senses like that.
“You should probably wear something more appropriate for a nice dinner,” he eyes my running outfit with a smirk as my eyes narrow at him. “It’s a classy place.”
6
Holden
There’s a serious moment of “smug” when the tight little scout walks off that field, after doing her damnedest to pretend she wasn’t doing everything in her power not to eye-fuck me.
Let’s run some drills, shall we?
Please. I’m not a trained little fucking monkey. I’m a fucking MVP. I’m a star. I’m not some groveling little bitch of a recruit begging for a job, and I don’t do crack-of-dawn practices.
Especially after killing a bottle of bourbon last night. I mean, shit, a guy needs his recovery sleep.
But all-in-all, it’s a short-lived feeling of glory. Because deep down, I know I’m not really buying my own bullshit here. I might not be some newbie little groveling no-name, but I do need a job.
Bad.
And I know deep down that I can complain and bitch and moan, and blame her for the debacle of a practice I just crashed though. But I’m not blind enough not to see that I was the one fucking up just now on that field.
And a hangover isn’t the only thing to blame.
I frown as I take another slug of sun-warmed water from my water bottle before grimacing and spitting it out.
Fuck. Why can I play in front of forty thousand people no fucking problem - hungover, or even half-drunk like most of the games at the end of last season. But throwing a fucking ball around with this one stuck-up chick watching me has me all off my game.
And she knew it too, which gets under my skin even more. I saw that little smirk on her face when I stole a glance at her after I fucked up that crossing-pass drill. I saw that smirk and I wanted to wipe it right off her lips.
Problem was, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do that by impressing her here on the field, or by showing her the best damn time she’s ever had somewhere like my bedroom. She’d be doing a whole lot more than smirking if she let me take control and put my hands all over her.
Or my mouth.
I scowl and shake my head. I’ve had a thousand girls, and there’s a thousand more out there far more eager to take a ride on my cock than London Jacobs. Hell, there are a thousand chicks out there far more eager to be in the same room as me than her.
I toss the warm water bottle aside as I grab my shirt off the table where I tossed it and start to yank it back on. This is just nerves is all; that’s what today was. This was letting the stakes at play here fuck with me; my desire to get the hell out of Denver and put the demons behind me screwing with my ability to see the road in front of me.
That’s why I was fucking up today, not because some sassy-mouthed little cowgirl was watching me and judging me with those stupid little spreadsheets of hers.
Nerd.
Like I said, there are a thousand other pairs of tits out there, and I do not need to get my head turned around by some tight-ass little number cruncher.
No fucking way.
* * *
I’m leaving the stadium later, still pissed, sweaty, and brooding, when Randy comes puffing up alongside me.
“Well that was bullshit,” he curses loudly, shaking a fist at nothing in particular as he falls into step next to me. “Utter fucking bullshit. She had no damn right to spring an early morning practice like that on you without giving you time to warm up or anything. I don’t know how they do things down in Houston, but I’ve got fucking standards for my clients, and that is the last time we’ll be entertaining a meeting with-”
It’s not until he suddenly goes quiet that I stop and look up, realizing I haven’t actually been listening to anything he said.
“Huh?”
He makes a muttering sound.
“Holden, I said fuck LJ Jacobs and the Bulls. She had no right springing that on-”
“Randy.”
He stops sputtering.
“Dude, I’ve worked with you long enough to know what you’re doing.” I give him a lopsided grin. “And thanks, but you can stop.”
He frowns.
“Look, we both know I fucked up those drills this morning because I got drunk as fuck last night. And we both know last season sucked, for the same fucking reason.”
“Last season did not suck, you just-”
“I was just drunk, all the time, Randy.” I level a look at him. “You know it, I know it, and the whole upper management here does too, which is why we’re having discussions like this in the first place. So, look, you can stop stroking my ego alright?”
He chews on it for a sec before he clears his throat and gives me a small grin. “Okay, okay; fine.”
“I set up a dinner with London for tonight to hash shit out. Let’s move forward with whatever the Bulls have for a starting offer.”
He raises a brow but nods. “Alright. So, at this little dinner tonight, we'll get her to dish a little more about the offer; see if we can get her to spill a little more about benefits, incentives, endorsements, and-”
“Randy.”
He looks up to see me shaking my head at him slowly.
“There’s no ‘we’ tonight. It’s just me and her.”
He instantly changes his tune.
“Oh hell no! No. Holden-”
I laugh. “Dude, it’s going to be fine. I’m a big boy; I can handle myself.”
Randy dabs his forehead with a handkerchief as he pulls on his tie. “Yeah, I know exactly what you handle by yourself, pal. That’s what I’m fucking worried about.”
I grin. “Hey, I can behave.”
“No, you can’t.” Randy scowls as he shakes his head at me. “This is the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Look, it’s not a contract negotiation, it’s just an informal thing so I can feel her out.”
Randy groans and I grin. “Dude, I can handle this. C’mon, you don’t trust me to say the right things?”
“I don’t trust you not to sleep with your future boss’s daughter,” he mutters.
I laugh and clap my manager on the back. “Randy, relax. At the end of the day, scout or not, she’s a chick.” I smirk. “And as much as she was trying to hide it, she was eye-fucking me just like every other chick does.”
I grin wolfishly as I grab my junk through my shorts. “You know what I mean.”
Randy drops his face into his hands and groans. “Jesus fucking Christ. Do you want this or not?”
I snort. “Oh, I wan-”
“The job, champ, not plowing Archie Jacobs’s daughter.”
I laugh. “Plowing? Fuck, Randy, no wonder you’re failing at Tinder.”
“Fuck you.” He glares at me. “Seriously though, losing team or not, Archie Jacobs holds serious clout in the league. Do not cross him like that and stay the fuck away from his daughter, alright?”
I grin as I pop the door to my car and start to get in. “Relax, I’m just going to mess with her.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Holden, if you were my son, I’d have given you up for adoption.”
I laugh as I shut the door and roar off home.
7
London
“Knob Creek, neat?”
I thank the bartender for the drink and knock it back in two gulps. Normally, I’m a sip and savor type of gal, but right now, I need something to calm my nerves.
Yeah, nerves; me.
I catch the bartender’s eye and motion for a second, smiling and thank her again before I turn back to watch the front entryway to the Woodside Grill. This is a power move, arriving early. Even if the other party is exactly on time - which I sincerely doubt Holden will be - they’re instantly on the defensive since you’ve “beaten them” there.
It sounds stupid, but it works.
I sip slower on this one - this round meant more for something to be holding when he walks in as opposed to the medicinal, nerve-calming last one. I might not have picked up my dad’s sense of “hunches” and “gut feelings”, but everything else is all him - including my love affair with good whiskeys.
That all said, this was a terrible idea. I shouldn’t be here, meeting Holden under these sort of conditions or in a place like this. I glance around the room with an approving look. He was right, this is a nice place. I’m suddenly more thankful than I thought I’d be of the cap-sleeved, thigh-length floral print Saint Laurent I packed at the last minute.
But that’s irrelevant, because this meeting should be happening in a meeting room somewhere, or his manager’s office, or literally anywhere else but a low-lit, romantic, oak and brick interior restaurant serving fifty-dollar entrees.
After the lingering looks, the lip-biting glances, and the forbiddingly hot little daydreams going through my head over the last two days since walking into Holden Cade’s physical therapy room?
Yeah, this “meeting” is a terrible idea.
I play with the hem of my skirt, nursing the whiskey and frowning as the minutes start to tick past seven-thirty.
So much for my little power-play.
Another minute goes by, then five more. At quarter till eight, just as I start to feel my blood boiling for being shockingly stood up by an arrogant prick like Holden, I feel a hand on my hip.
“Sorry, sugar.”
I whirl, ready to give him a thick serving of “nice knowing you”, but that’s when I stutter and just stop; my mouth going a little slack.
Damn.
Okay, he cleans up good.
He cleans up really good.
Holden Cade looked sinfully, deliciously, temptingly good in a towel. He looks downright irresistible in a dark blue suit and a crisp white shirt.
Horribly, unfairly, inappropriately irresistible.
He’s got the shirt open one button too many across his bare, inked chest, but instead of looking smarmy or Euro-trashy, it only serves to make him even more attractive. He’s clean-shaven, the dark hollows of his cheeks and the slightest hint of a cleft across that perfect chin smooth of the scruff he wore earlier. And he’s wearing…something that should be goddamn illegal because I’m sniffing at him like he’s wearing some sort of drug.
His hand is still on my hip.
“Uh, hi.”
That’s literally what I say. Me, the power negotiator.
So much for my grand intro.
He grins at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners and those perfect lips parting across his pearl-white teeth like he’s completely aware of his effect on me. Like he’s amused at getting me tripping over my own tongue and off my game.
I clear my throat and remember to breathe before I quickly push his hand away and frown at him.
“Wow, surprise, you’re late.”
He only grins wider. “I got stuck signing autographs outside.”
I note that it’s an explanation, not an apology.
“I’m sure.”
He laughs. “You know, when you’re a winning team, people wanna be around you and wanna get your name written on posters or tits or whatever.” He winks at me. “You probably wouldn’t know that though, with the team you’ve got.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh is that what you were busy doing? Signing tits?”
“It’s not an easy move, you know. Requires a firm hand.”
And now I get what we’re doing at this dinner. Holden Cade thinks he can out-play me.
Game on, dick. Let the psychological warfare begin.
I lean in, smiling sweetly at him.
“Imagine what you could sign if you actually won a season?”
The grin drops from his face as I turn back to the bartender with a smug look on my face.
“We’ll take that table now.”
* * *
“You strike me as a modifications chick.”
I arch a brow over the top of my menu across the table at Holden.
“Excuse me?”
He grins. “You know, modifications - to your order, I mean. You’re one of those girls who wants no onions, no gluten, baby kale salad instead of fries, dressing on the fucking side. Oh, and some sort of super sweet Chardonnay or a Bellini or something.”
I give him a look as he wags his brows at me across the table. “I’m right, aren’t I.”
“How on earth do you get dates when you act like this at dinner?”
Holden laughs. “Thought this was a business dinner, not a date.”
“Oh, it is,” I say, rolling my eyes into my water as I take a sip from the glass.
“Thanks for clarifying.” He grins. “And anyways, my ‘dates’ tend to skip the dinner part and go straight for dessert.”
I frown. “Why would you skip din- oh.”
I can feel the heat flush through my cheeks as I quickly look down at my menu. Holden just chuckles across the table from me.
A waitress appears, smiling at us both, and her eyes practically jumping out of her head as she’s realizes who’s sitting at the table.
“Oh my God, Holden Cade?” Her jaw goes slack as her whole body turns to mush right in front of us.
Oh calm down, he just throws a ball for a living, sweetheart, I mutter inside my head.
“The one and only,” Holden says with an easy grin, resting with his elbows on the table and leaning casually towards her.
“And what’s your name?”
“Oh, who, me?” The waitress’s voice wavers as she starts to gush.
I roll my eyes and desperately wish I still had a fresh drink in front of me.
“I’m just Karen,” she giggles, biting her lip and completely ignoring the fact that I’m also sitting at the table.
“My boyfriend loves you,” she gushes out, still blushing and stammering. “Oh, I mean, uh, we both do, of course.”
Holden is just grinning at her stammering there in front of us like a fisherman might watch a fish flop on a line.
“Yeah?” He grins wider at her. “Well where’s your boyfriend tonight, Just Karen?”
She looks like she might actually die at the sound of her name from his lips.
I might if I have to keep watching this.
“Oh, he’s- he went out of town with some friends. They went to a casino for a bachelor party.”
Holden makes a tsking sound. “And he left you here all alone?” He shakes his head. “His loss, huh?”
Before Karen actually has an aneurysm right in front of our table, and before I gag myself with my sa
lad fork, I loudly clear my throat.
“We could, uh, order?” She turns to me abruptly as if just realizing there’s someone else at the table.
“You know, if you think you’re going to be okay?”
She blushes furiously, darting her eyes back to Holden for a second. He flashes her another dazzling smile and nods, as if giving her permission.
“Oh, yeah! Sure!” Karen whirls back to me, all smiles with her cheeks still bright pink.
Holden grins at me across the table. “She’s going to have some sort of really boring salad with literally every ingredient changed to something even more boring.”
Karen raises an eyebrow at me. I only smile benignly, ignoring Holden.
“I’ll have a porterhouse, medium rare, extra onion soubise, right on top.” I frown dramatically and tap my finger against my chin. “Oh, and what comes on the side of that?”
“The chef serves it with a side of bistro fries, but we could always substitute a kale-”
“Fries sound wonderful, thanks, Karen.”
She nods quickly, writing down the order.
“Anything to drink with that? We have a wine list I could show-”
“You know, I think I saw a really nice looking bottle of the Pappy Van Winkle 23-year Special Reserve bourbon behind your bar earlier?”
Both her and Holden’s brows shoot up.
“Yes ma’am, we do?”
I smile. “Wonderful. I’ll have one of those neat with little splash of water on the side.”
Karen turns back to Holden, but he’s not grinning and mooning at her this time. He’s staring at me with what just might be a begrudgingly impressed look on his face.
Take that.
“Well, huh,” he says, still looking right at me with an intrigued look in his eyes. “So much for that theory.”
He clears his throat and looks up at Karen. “I was going to do a salad, but I have a feeling I’ll regret ordering that now.”
I resist the urge to laugh out loud.
“I’ll do your salmon filet, light on the oil, with steamed vegetables on the side.”
Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 4