“That thing you just did right there,” he says close to my ear. That thing where you defend my son and put me in my place. You have no idea how sexy that is.” Those big hands end up on my shoulders, and he turns me around. “We have that in common. I don’t date celebrities, athletes, or single fathers either.” He smiles, showing off that single dimple. “Athlete is my job. Get to know Colt.”
“Right. You’re just a boy from Alabama.”
“Man,” he corrects me. When I stay quiet, he says, “Aah. I get it.”
“What is it you think you get?” I ask, looking into his dark brown eyes. Just like the night we met, he has about a day’s worth of stubble on his face. I want to touch it now as much as I did then. His dark curly hair gives him a boyish look, much younger than his twenty-nine years.
The Manhattan Mischiefs just renewed his contract, four years for three hundred million dollars, and that doesn’t include endorsement deals. Every time I turned on the television this week, he was in a commercial. He’s filthy fucking rich, but unlike some of his teammates, he’s not flashy. In fact, a few of his teammates tease him and call him cheap Chastain.
“You New Yorkers.” He does a bad New York accent, making it sound like New Yowkahs. “You guys think this city is the center of the universe and look down at everyone else. Especially a good ol’ southern gentleman like yours truly.”
“You mean New York isn’t the center of the universe?” I shrug and say, “It should be.”
“You don’t deny it.”
“Seems like you’ve already made up your mind. Who am I to contradict you? Believe what you want. No skin off my nose.”
“I think you live to contradict everyone.”
I gasp and pretend to be offended. “Wrong again.”
“Again? So, it’s not my southern heritage that offends you?”
I let out a loud laugh. “My dad is originally from Columbia, South Carolina. We visited there every summer when I was a kid. I love the south, so you could not be more wrong.”
But there’s still no way I would ever get involved with you.
“Oh, really?” He wipes his brow as if he’s relieved. “Thank goodness, but just in case, you should know that I traced back my ancestry and I’m one percent Yankee.” He puffs out his chest in pride as if that’s supposed to be significant.
“Yankee?” He nods, doing his best to appear solemn. “Is that the word they used?”
“Let’s go eat, and then I’ll take you back to my place and show it to you.”
“Show it to me?” I eye him up and down. “I have a pretty good idea of whatitlooks like, and I’m not interested. I’m not hungry,” I tell him.
“Are we going to be one of those couples?” Bemused I take a step back to look at him. “You’ll be the girl who says she’s not hungry and then eat half of my food?”
That’s exactly what I do to Alan all the time. He’s so used to it that he orders two entrees whenever we go out.
“We won’t be anything because we’ll never be a couple.” Especially to a widower because there’s no way in hell I can compete with a dead wife. The circumstances behind her death are unknown. The theories range from cancer to a brain aneurysm to a drug overdose.
“I think your sister said the same thing to the man she currently lives with.”
“I’m not my sister.”
“And my kid is really cute.”
He is, and he did everything to keep me away from his father, including sitting between us. He dragged his father away from me so they could go play video games in the basement with Alan. He even faked getting hurt so his father could get away from me and check up on him.
“He is,” I agree. “No denying that. I love kids. Kids aren’t the problem.”
“You’re giving me whiplash, Queen Vee, but okay. Don’t date me. Eat with me instead. I don’t want to date you either, remember?” His full pink lips turn into a frown. “I found about a dozen other reasons why I won’t date you.”
“Eat and that’s it? Why didn’t you say so? I can always eat if all you’re after is sharing a meal with me. You’re buying, right?”
“I’d never let a lady pay.”
“Right. A true southern gentleman.”
