Page 35 of Scoring His Obsession

Davis: I’m sorely tempted to loop in the guys to show them how soft you are right now. We knew shit was going down when you got back to your sets and PR’d your squat.

Talk about having pent-up energy. I seriously considered going into the bathroom to rub one out, but thought I’d better channel my sexual frustration into the gym. It was the best workout I’ve had in a long time.

The door to the apartment opens, and I jump out of the car, storing my phone in the cupholder. “I was coming up,” I tell her as I round the vehicle.

She lifts to her tiptoes and then back down. A silk emerald-green dress fits snugly against her body, the deep V cut showing off her breasts, and suddenly, I’m certain I made the right decision in buying the restaurant out. No distractions. None.

“I saw you from the window,” she says. “Tab’s on a tear tonight, and I thought…” She shrugs. “I thought maybe I better not subject you to her crazy.”

“But Tab likes me.”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean. She’s all…” she brings her hands to her head and shakes them, “talking nonsense.”

“Like?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I most certainly do want to know.” I sense the apprehension in her voice, but I have to pry. Her doubt about us is a slow disease. When she refuses to say anything, I shrug, “I could just call her.”

She peers up at me, startled. The fire in her gaze wants to call my bluff, but she knows me better than that.

Clearing her throat, she says, “She thinks you, you know, like me.”

I smirk. “I’m insulted you think that’s nonsense. I thought I made that pretty obvious.”

“No, it’s just that…” She takes a deep breath, clearly uncomfortable. “She thinks youreallylike me.”

Her voice comes out in a whisper that wraps around my insides like a noose. We’ll have to work on her confidence. This is something she should be shouting from the rooftops with a bullhorn, not murmuring it like she’s afraid of being reprimanded. “Raeann Gorman. I don’t know what kind of lies you’ve been telling yourself, but let me be very clear. Are you listening?”

Her eyes widen incrementally, holding my gaze.

“I don’t date, but I’m dating you. I don’t talk acquaintances into an orgasm over the phone, and I certainly don’t give random people I have no interest in a credit card that draws on my account. Understood?”

“But—”

I step closer, aware of how intimidating I can be next to people of normal size, and certainly, even more so to women who are at least a foot shorter than me like Raeann. “This is our first date, and I intend on wooing you enough to claim a second and a third until you’re happily proclaiming to everyone that you’re my girlfriend, then fiancée…” She sucks in a breath, and I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “…then Mrs. Raeann Freeman. If Tab said any of those things, then she is a genius, and you should listen to her until you can believe it yourself.”

I hold my hand out for her, and it’s so much more than a kind gesture, it’s a lead in as to whether she’s willing to go on this journey with me. One I’ve already mapped out for us, including our country home we’ll retire to after my football playing days are over. We’ll sit in rocking chairs on the wraparound porch and tell our grandkids how we fell in love.

She stares at me, then at my offered hand. In the end, she slips her long fingers into mine, despite not appearing truly convinced. It’s as if she’s willing to play along, but I want her all-in, chips in the middle of the table.

Baby steps, I remind myself as I lead her to the passenger seat. The fabric of the dress hugs her hips, making me second-guess the decision not to relieve myself earlier. It’s going to take some mental fortitude not to think about her sexy moans. But she wants to see that I don’t only want to fuck her, so that’s what I’ll show her.

The drive to the swanky part of town isn’t far. Raeann’s perfume fills the car, and I’m happily entranced, like floating on the waves of the ocean.

I park in back, like Davis said. When I help Raeann out of the car, she peers up at the building, scanning, and I wonder if she’s looking for any identifying signs of where we are so she can text Tab, just in case I turn out to be a serial killer.

The nondescript door at the back of the restaurant opens easily, and we’re greeted by Davis’s Michelin chef. “Mr. Freeman, Miss Gorman.”

He leads us to a table in the back, the same place we’ve had several team dinners before.

“Where are we?” Raeann whispers while a waiter dressed in all black fills our water glasses.

“Don Dilelo’s.”

Her eyes widen in surprise.

My shoulders pull back. “Have you ever been?”

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