Page 130 of Biggest Player
“Oh hey.” I pretend as if I’m hearing and seeing him for the first time, my eyes doing a quick scan of a man I’ve only heard about in passing.
Tall. Blond.
The cocky arrogance of a guy who knows he’s good looking, who looks as if he plays golf four days a week and probably gets hit on by his girlfriend’s married girlfriends—and is regularly tempted to cheat.
Polo shirt, jeans.
Yup. I was right: Colton is a total toolbox.
He looks as shocked to see me as I was to see my mother that time I was eating out Shelby Sullivan in our basement in high school.
“You must be Wyatt’s dad.” I try to smile, but even I know it doesn’t reach my eyes. This guy is a complete grade A douchebag, and I have no desire to be friendly. Not after the shit I just overheard him say to Margot.
Not today, Colton.
He finds his voice box. “Who the hell areyou?”
His tone is rude, which I don’t deserve.
I raise a brow, a laugh escaping my mouth. “Dude, you totally know who I am. You said so yourself, it’s all over the internet. Isn’t that why you’re here? To make sure what you read was bullshit?”
He doesn’t respond, but the blush spreading across his cheeks is enough of an answer for me.
I put my hands up. “Surprise! Margot has company!”
Colton has zero idea what to do with himself or how to react now that he’s face to face with me and Margot isn’t alone to defend herself against his onslaught of negativity.
Sucks to be him.
“I’m Dex.” I do not offer him my hand. “And she’s not wrong—I’m not a celebrity. I’m more like an athlete.” I hesitate, then add, “And not to brag, but you may have seen me in the Super Bowl a few times.”
Salt, meet wound.
This dude is so obviously butt hurt.
He nods. “I’m Colton. Wyatt’s dad.”
“I gathered.”
The room is silent as everyone racks their brain for something new to say.
Then,
“Clearly you’ve met my daughter.” He sounds unhappy about it.
I nod. No denying it. I’ve met his kid, and “She’s awesome.”
“I know my daughter is awesome,” he sarcastically replies, not remotely impressed with meeting me, a legend.
Whoa, calm down, dude. I was giving her a compliment,which is basically a compliment to both you and Margot since you raised her.
“It’s not necessary for you to be so defensive,” Margot points out, biting on her bottom lip. She looks nervous, like she wants to get the hell out of here and out of the situation.
It’s awkward and uncomfortable, no doubt about that.
His eyes turn to me, sizing me up. Which is laughable because, well—I’m me, and he’s him, and if this were a dick-swinging contest, I would win because like I said: I’m me.
Like how can you compete with me?
