Page 3 of Filthy Player
His eyes were blue, a thick pile of blond hair on top of his head. His cologne wafted off him in gentle, subtle waves I barely picked up over the scent of burgers and beer. He was also the only one in the group sporting a simple gray T-shirt instead of dress shirt and tie.
He totally rocked it.
By the smirk he gave me, he knew it.
“Two pitchers of whatever local IPA you have on tap.”
“We have Vortex and Freak Nature.” There went my voice. So much for strong. It wobbled harsher than our willow tree in the wind.
I usually didn’t have a hard time being sane and normal around these men. They were guys like everyone else, they just made millions more than I’d ever see and wouldn’t have to worry about taking care of their ailing parents.
Still, there had always been something about Beaux Hale that got to me in places I didn’t quite hate.
Sacred, sensitive places.
“I don’t know about the rest of these chumps,” Beaux said, lowering his voice and leaning close, “but I like a little bit of freaky nature every now and then.”
Oh goodness. I’d fan myself if it wouldn’t make it too obvious. So much for my ability to stay unaffected by these guys. Hale was on a different plane than the rest.
I’d seen too much of him on Sportscenter and the covers of People and GQ. He was Raleigh’s new hero, leading the team to their Super Bowl victory last season.
There were claims they were ready and able to do it again this year. They certainly had the talent.
I knew because I watched more ESPN with my dad than any other channel on television. And all summer long, the news since the draft and last year’s win had been if the Rough Riders could come back for a two-peat.
So far, Vegas odds were pointing toward yes due to the fact they had just won all four of their pre-season games.
“Okay then,” I said, and my voice had gone soft. Dreamy. Good grief, thirty seconds around the man and I’d turned into Hannah.
“Anything else?” I asked the table forcing my gaze to move from Beaux.
“I think we’re good,” one I didn’t recognize, said.
“Oh,” Kolby Jones, one of the team’s wide receivers, said. “I think I’ll have what Hale’s having.”
“No one’s getting what I’m about to have.” The firmness and richness of Beaux’s voice startled me and I looked at him. “I don’t share,” he continued. His glare turned to the table before coming back to me. Then the glare evaporated, the blue eyes sparkled at me, and he winked.
Ruining my fantasies and snapping me back to reality.
Right. This man took a two-week long RV trip every summer and based on tabloids my dad had shared, because he shared everything Hale related, he’d had quite the summer. His adventures pictured him partying with various blondes and brunettes and a few redheads. Apparently the man didn’t discriminate. All of them were dressed in barely there bikinis while Beaux’s board shorts fell low on his hips, showing off a bare chest and a stomach that put washboards to shame.
He might have had an arm like a rocket and accuracy better than any Olympic archer, but this guy played the field of women faster than he threw a pass.
It was the last thing I needed.
“I’ll be back with your drinks and to take your orders in a few minutes,” I said, refusing to look at him. Around the table, men wore smirks as well as they wore their loosened ties.
No amount of tips was worth this stress. I’d give it to Hannah and work a double next weekend.
“What if I already know what I want?” Beaux asked, turning in his chair. One of his arms draped over the back of his chair, one rested on the table. Both of his hands were close enough he could brush his fingers over my thigh or against my ass.
My body shivered with anticipation before I scowled, his meaning clear.
“I’m pretty sure whatever you want isn’t available.”
I turned and hurried away to the bar and placed my order, refusing to look back, refusing to see if I had his attention.
I already knew I did.
