Page 16 of Falling for the Quarterback

And not being controlled by a man who thinks he owns me, I think to myself.

He nods. “Good for you, pet. I need to get going, but it was such a pleasure to spend time with you. Thanks for indulging this old man with your lovely conversation.”

I smile and lean in for a proper hug, wishing my parents were more like Hubert. He clearly saw I didn’t want to talk about Oliver and dropped the questions.

He kisses my cheek. “Right, then. Good night, Charlotte.”

I smile as he leaves and then sit back down to wait for the waitress to return with my box, using the time to think through the last part of our conversation.

I thought I was doing well and had come so far in getting over Oliver. But his name dredges up all those old feelings I’ve tried to bury and move on from.

That incredible one-night with Joel had given me the morale boost I needed to push forward in my life and forget about the messy breakup with Oliver.

In fact, that one-night stand made me realize something I never knew about myself when I was with Oliver: I can orgasm with a man and I like being told what to do in bed.

I flush at the thought just as two beers and a box are set down on my table. I blink and stare up at the waitress.

“I didn’t order any more beer. I only wanted the box,” I insist, but she throws a look over her shoulder toward the bar and then shoots me a grin.

“They’re from Hendy.”

ChapterSix

Hendy

I slide off my barstool and slip a twenty-dollar bill into Cassie’s hand as she walks past me. She gives me a side-eye glance and mutters, “Go get her, QB.” Then I take a seat at the table opposite of Lottie as she stares incredulously at me.

“I can help you drain those,” I offer with a quirk of my brow, gesturing with a finger to the beers. “Having a nice night, Professor?”

She frowns at me and I stare into her gorgeous green eyes, her reddish-gold hair glowing even in the dim bar lights. I swear the air crackles with the electricity between us.

Fuck me. This night would be better if I could run my hands through her hair and over her curves.

This attraction to Lottie is extremely inconvenient and one I can’t seem to shake. I understand her reasons for wanting me to stay away and to steer clear of any potential rumors between us, but how can I do that when she is so goddamn beautiful? And it’s not just that. This thing between us feels like an invisible force stronger than any magnet on the planet pulling us together despite the odds.

“I was having a good evening, thanks for asking,” she murmurs, folding her hands together on the table. “Until you showed up.”

I make a tsking noise and slide the invitingly frothy beer toward her, hoping to persuade her to stay for a drink.

When I showed up at the bar tonight, it was for the sole purpose of meeting up with a few of my old teammates to play some darts and pool since we don’t have any games to watch yet. Under normal circumstances, I’d be out with my crew, but now that EJ and Killer are graduated and gone, and Lucy, Grace, and Kelsie are busy with school, I don’t have anyone to hang with.

So I came early to have dinner and do a bit of homework while I waited for Mac and my other dudes. I had a spot at the bar and was watching the big screen TV when I heard Lottie’s voice from behind me. Before I even turned around, I knew it was her. My confusion, however, stemmed from the old man she was talking with.

Is he her father? Her boyfriend? Jesus, I hope not.

Lottie is far too young to be dating a guy that age. There had to be a thirty-year age difference between them. Almost as wide as the age difference between Bill Belichick and his girlfriend. I’m all about loving who you want, but dating someone old enough to be your grandparent? That’s where I draw the line.

It makes me wonder exactly how old Lottie is? I stare at her pale, smooth complexion and the soft curve of her cheekbones. She can’t be over thirty.

“Who was the dude you were with?” I keep my voice neutral, but I’m feeling a bit proprietary, which is lame because I have no claim to her. No right to even ask.

But I do anyway.

Lottie narrows her eyes and puckers her lips. “None of your business.”

I laugh it off, knowing she’s right.

“I think we need to talk,” I say, fighting back a suggestive smile. She drags the pint glass toward her and then brings it to her lips. The creamy foam dots the top of her full mouth, but she swipes it away before I can lift a finger to do the honors for her.

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