Page 49 of Draft Pick
I listen, but my hands rattle against my thighs as Vance tells me all about his job in rocket engineering. Or is it aerospace? I can’t remember. All I know is that he works on rockets and that’s good enough for now.
Vance seems kind and steady.
No kids. No crazy exes. Just a normal guy looking for a normal girl.
Simple enough. Or so I would think.
A pint of beer lands in front of me, followed by a daiquiri for Vance, and I know right away it’s my favorite kind. The dark foam at the top is a dead giveaway. Lagers are my favorite beer, not only because they’re packed with so much flavor, but they’re bold without being overly bitter like a stout.
And it seems Mr. Suburban Daddy here has been paying close attention to my alcohol order. Does he know which food I prefer?
“Nice choice in beer. Not that I ordered it or anything,” I comment, hoping to make it known I’m onto him.
Crew smirks, and why does he have to look so hot doing it?
Vance clears his throat beside me. “Well, I for one, love an ice-cold IPA when I’m craving a refreshing wheat beverage.”
I’m instantly mortified, laughing to try and take attention off Vance’s weird comment. Crew doesn’t need to know this date won’t see past dinner. “I don’t think I’ve ever tried an IPA.”
“Oh, you’d love it. Here, try mi?—”
“Onion rings, anyone?” A plate of piping hot food interrupts Vance’s sentence, Crew coming in out of nowhere. Where did that plate even come from?
“Figured you might be hungry, boss,” a tall blond guy with tattoos says from behind Crew. “Go take a break, man. We got this.”
“All good here. Just chatting with a friend,” Crew tells him, smile directed at me. I guess this was meant to be his food, yet somehow, he managed perfect timing in shoving it at us.
“That’s okay.” I wave him off. “I’m kind of busy on my date, anyway. Go ahead and eat, Crew.”
Could this be any more awkward?
“Ya’ll know each other?” Vance asks, reaching for an onion ring and dipping it into the zesty sauce.
“I’m his daughter’s doctor,” I note while Crew interrupts, “We go way back.”
I cut him a sharp look. “Way back, as in two months ago.”
“Best two months of my life,” he sings, and for the first time since we’ve met, I want to punch him square in the face.
“You something special then, man? Those women over there keep looking at you,” Vance asks, nodding toward the group of women to our right.
“Nah. They know I own the place. Nothing more.”
“That and the fact that he plays for the Strikers,” I add, anxious to call him out. Heisinterrupting my date, after all.
“No shit. You’re Crew Briggs. Starting centerfielder.” Vance bobs his head in amazement. “I knew you looked familiar. You’ve got a killer arm, dude.”
Crew ignores him as if he’s not even there, turning to face me once again. His gaze lingers longer than necessary on my clavicle, dropping lower and running down the length of it. His forest-green eyes mark my skin with heat, and home in on my hand wrapped delicately around the beer glass. I never knew something innocent could feel so sexual.
Or maybe it isn’t innocent? But there’s no way Crew would be looking at me like that, right? Like I’m attractive to him.
“Speaking of my fielding skills,” he inquires with unfamiliar intention. “Will I see you there?”
Cocky bastard.
My eyes bounce across the room, searching for a physical clarification that he’s talking to me. “See me?” I ask, hand to my chest, and he nods. “See me where?”
“At the game Monday night.”
