Page 2 of Forever Offsides

Wow. Usually, a speech like that would have them pissed off and running. This guy is a cut above.

I return the wink he gave me earlier. “You go ahead. I’m sure a man like you could tell a girl like me exactly what I want for dinner.” I toss my purse on my shoulder and head toward the bathroom because I do actually have to pee.

The waitress who brought me my second drink high-fives me as I pass her. “You’re his third date here this week. Glad you’re walking out on him.”

No wonder she understood the assignment so well. “Hopefully I’m not the last to.”

I go straight for the restroom that’s located off the bar, but as I reach for the knob, someone’s hand covers it, and I end up gripping them instead of metal. Both of us jump back.

“I’m sorry,” we say in unison.

His hands shoot up in surrender, and he laughs. “My fault. You go first.”

I look up and up since he’s so tall. I mean, I’m tall at five foot nine, but he’s got several more inches on me, and I’m in heels. He’s broad-shouldered with a trim waist and the sort of musculature visible even beneath his light blue button-up shirt that speaks to either an intense exercise regime, being a former athlete, or both. Some black ink peeks out beneath his rolled-up sleeves, but I don’t focus on that. I’m locked on his face with his short, dark blond hair and well-groomed beard.

And the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.

Damn.

He’s older. Definitely older than me. Maybe late thirties?

“No, it’s fine,” I tell him. “You got here first.”

He smiles, and deep dimples sink into his cheeks, framing his perfect white teeth. “I’d say it was a tie, so how about ladies first?”

“I believe in equality, and your hand hit the knob before mine. That means you were safe, and I didn’t get the out.”

His head tilts, and he does a slow rake of me, his eyes burning a path from my heels up my calves to the hem of my cute dress, where it meets my thighs, on up to my waist, and the peekaboo of cleavage I have at the square neckline, all the way back up to my face.

“You like baseball?”

“I can take it or leave it. I’m more of a hockey or basketball girl. A Sox preseason game is on in the bar.” I point to the TV that’s visible from here. “The analogy felt appropriate.”

He doesn’t bother to turn to look. His gaze is squarely locked on me. “What about football?”

I squint, wondering if he recognizes me somehow. Being a Reyes in this town comes with a lot of notoriety, whether you want it or not. That’s what having a famous and beloved professional football legacy as your immediate family gets you.

It’s yet another reason why football is… “Not my sport,” I tell him.

He grins. “What’s your name?”

“Quinn.”

“All right, Quinn with the beautiful green eyes. I can’t go before you. Equality or not, which I firmly believe in, I was raised with the manners of a gentleman.”

I fold my arms. “And I was raised that a win is a win, so I insist you go first.”

“You’re being stubborn.”

I smirk and shrug.

He steps forward until he’s almost hovering over me. He smells good. Like men’s bodywash and musky cologne and bourbon. Smooth with a sexy bite on the end. My heart beats a little faster, and my blood heats. I crane my neck and cock an eyebrow at him. Most people don’t invade a stranger’s bubble space so quickly.

All I get in return is more of that sexy, somewhat cocky smile.

“How about we flip for it?” He digs into his pocket and pulls out a large coin.

“Is that your good luck charm?”