Page 3 of Play Dirty

“I was planning to Uber.”

“I can drop you off if we’re ready to go at the same time.”

“As soon as we eat?” I tease.

She holds up her champagne flute. “That could work for me.”

Of course, nothing is ever that simple.

We’re seated with a good group for dinner, including my teammate on the L.A. Phantoms, Connor Brooks, and his on-again, off-again girlfriend Effie, who’s also a model. Another teammate, Canyon Marks, is sitting with us, along with his girlfriend, Saylor. The table is rounded out with the Phantoms’ head trainer, Gene, and his wife Marnie, and the team’s assistant trainer, Rowan, with her fiancé, Blake. Blake was called up from our minor league affiliate during the playoffs, so I don’t know him that well, but Rowan is amazing and I’m glad to see her happy.

Fuck.

It feels like the whole world is in love.

Except me.

And Stevie.

As fucked up as my life is, hers might be worse.

I don’t know the details, but I know her ex pushed her over the railing of the second floor of her New York brownstone, leading her to need emergency surgery that almost killed her. It happened last year around Thanksgiving, so it’s only been seven or eight months, and my understanding is that she’s had a rough time of it.

My wounds are all emotional; hers are both emotional and physical.

You wouldn’t know it to look at her, though.

She’s stunning.

A tall, lithe brunette with long hair and big blue eyes.

I’m usually partial to blondes, but if I were in the market or even remotely interested in dating, I would ask her out.

She seems frail somehow, like a woman who needs someone to hold her.

And I don’t mean that to sound as sexist as it probably does.

Well, maybe I do, but not in a bad way.

She just seems so delicate, like a brisk wind would be too much for her. Like a woman who needs a strong man to hold her hand, make sure she’s okay. Love the hurt out of those pretty blue eyes.

It’s notmyjob. Not by a longshot. And she absolutely doesn’t need a guy whose life is a shit show, but I can’t help but hope there’s a good guy out there who’ll make her forget what her asshole of an ex did.

“Marty?” Stevie’s gentle voice startles me, and I glance over.

“I’m sorry, were you talking to me?”

She smiles. “Would you want to dance? We’re the only people not out there and…” As her voice trails, she lifts one shoulder a tiny bit. “I don’t know. I just thought it might be fun.”

Once upon a time, I loved dancing.

Until Brenna told me I sucked at it.

But Stevie wants to dance, and those soft blue eyes seem so sincere.

“I’m not very good at it,” I admit.

“That’s okay. It’s a slow dance.” She gets up and holds out her hand.

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