“How can you be sure?” I cock my head. “You’ve known me for all of ten minutes.”
“Gut instinct.” He smiles down at me. “I’ve got a good feeling about you.”
Honestly, I’ve got a good feeling about him too. I’ve never had such an easy time talking to a guy I just met. In ten minutes, Anton has proven that he listens and he can make me laugh. He’s also humble and incredibly attractive. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but this feels a lot likelikeat first sight. Like, really like.
That’s a problem. Because he’s my job. I can’t let my real feelings get involved.
The band shifts to a new song, and the energy in the room rockets up another notch when the lead singer starts belting “Callin’ Baton Rouge” by Garth Brooks.
“Great song,” I say with a smile, grateful to the music for diffusing the intense moment. My knee involuntarily starts bouncing along to the beat.
Anton stares at me and then bobs his head to the center of the bar. “I’m not much of a dancer, but I think we should. You game?”
“To dance? Always.” I set my drink down. “Lead the way, Mr. Quarterback.”
He grabs my hand and tugs me forward.
I crunch my way through peanuts, trailing him as he plants us directly in the middle of the line dancers. We find Del and the other guys, who Anton introduces as players on his team. I already know their names from the background dossier I received ahead of my assignment, but I act natural.
We start shuffling along with the crowd. Anton wasn’t lying about not being much of a dancer. He spins the opposite direction from the rest of us, and the bewildered look on his face when he gets knocked sideways by a woman with a flannel shirt tied above her naval and rhinestone white cowboy boots makes me giggle.
Anton points at me. “Laugh it up.”
And I do. So does he. There’s something really refreshing about a man who isn’t afraid to make a fool of himself and do something he’s not great at. Anton Bates has cool confidence in spades, and I’m being sucked into his orbit at an alarming rate.
We stomp and slide in the sea of bodies until he grabs my hand and spins me out of the center of the dance floor to an open patch of peanut-strewn ground. He wraps his arms around my back, and we sway to the iconic fiddle interlude before he drops to a knee and serenades me with Garth’s bridge. I fall into the character of Samantha, picking up a pretend phone and listening on the other end of the line.
When the song ends, I throw my hands in the air, cheering in appreciation with the rest of the bar. I can feel my shoulder-length hair fanned out and frizzing around my head. There’s sweat pooling above my lip. My shirt has come untucked. I should be self-conscious, but Anton grins down at me, and all I feel is free. And happy.
“Thanks for the dance.” I’m a little breathless. High on Garth Brooks, peanuts, and the man in front of me.
I could get addicted to this.
“You got it, Sammy Rose.”
Del and the rest of Anton’s buddies barrel into us at that moment, but Anton holds my gaze, shooting me a wink.
I’m going to go ahead and choose not to overthink the fact that he’s calling me Sammy after the Samantha in the song…the one Garth sings about wanting to spend every last dime calling until he can see her again.
“Come on, man. We gotta bounce. Strength and conditioning in the a.m.” Del massages Anton’s shoulders.
My stomach sinks at the thought of him leaving. But I check myself. I accomplished what I set out to accomplish tonight. I made contact. Heck, I made more than contact. I’ve got myself a new nickname. It’s probably best to pace myself where this guy is concerned.
“Give me a sec.” Anton waves Del and the guys off, promising to meet them in the parking lot.
He comes to a stop, standing right in front of me. We’re chest to chest, and I have to look way up into his eyes. He’s staring at me like I’m the only person in this bar.
“Maybe I’ll see you around?” I don’t have to work hard to sound hopeful.
Anton dips his chin, completely serious. “Can I call you?”
I nod, holding out my hand. He fishes his phone out of his back pocket and places it in my palm. I type in my name and number before handing it back to him.
He checks the screen, and a grin spreads over his face.
Was it bold of me to list my contact as Sammy Rose? Maybe. But I want him to remember me.
And not just for the job.
