Page 18 of False Start
He dipped his head closer to me, the scent of warm spice with a hint of… cookies? Or something sweet wafted over me. Why did I feel so safe with this man?
He ran a hand up over my shoulder and loosely collared my throat like he had the first time we met. The move made my knees weak, and his arm tightened around my back as he took my weight.
“Good girl,” he muttered, his hazel eyes dropping to my throat. “You won’t embarrass me. I’m proud to have you on my arm tonight. Besides, fuck these guys. I genuinely wouldn’t care if you offended them. They’re all assholes.”
I nodded along, pretending my panties weren’t growing wetter by the minute as we stood together in our bubble. The crowd moved around us like we were invisible, and I had no problem with that. At all. Especially if he continued to call me a good girl.
“Have you eaten today?” he asked, breaking the spell.
“Wha…? I don’t know. I don’t think so. Why?”
“You need to eat, Georgie girl. Your hands are shaking. Come on, let’s check out the canapes.”
We followed the crowd into a large ballroom that was full of people mingling over champagne and finger food. I picked up two flutes from a nearby server and offered one to Weston. In return, he passed me a small piece of toast loaded with tomatoes and basil.
People began to approach us in ones and twos, asking the same questions about Weston’s shoulder and his career plans, and I tried to stay inconspicuous at his side. The pretty sidepiece who didn’t cause a stir. Every time a new plate of food passed, he interrupted the conversation to retrieve a piece of food and offer it to me until I had to beg off before I exploded. It felt… unusual. Someone taking care of me, even in such a small way. I was used to judgment and competition, but he was different.
And I didn’t hate it.
As the night wound down, Weston guided me toward his truck with a hand on the small of my back.
“Our first game of the season is next weekend. Will you come?”
I knew nothing about football, but after having spent the night in his company, I’d accept any excuse to see him again.
“I’d love to.”
Gia
What the hellhad I gotten myself into?
I looked across a sea of people, broken into sections of red and gold with pockets of the teal and silver of the San Francisco Wolves, the visiting team. The noise of the crowd was overwhelming, and as I stood there feeling overdressed in my skirt and heels, I wondered how Weston would even know I had come.
Lydia had told me my seat was in the field level suite. To get there on time and be ready to be photographed.
A harried security guard pointed me in the right direction, and I picked my way through the crowd to a glass walled room behind the end zone. I’d spent hours the night before reading through theFootball for Dummieswebsite, hoping to get a basic understanding of the game. Inside, a bar lined the back wall, while two rows of huge, plush seats faced the field. Several seats in the front row were occupied by men, women, and children chattering excitedly as others filtered around them retrieving drinks and plates of food from a buffet table set up against the far wall. I stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure whetherseating was allocated, or if I should wait until everyone else had found their place to slot in somewhere.
The rumble of a throat being cleared startled me, and I shifted aside to make room for a distinguished looking grump of a man who scowled at me as he eased past.
I was so out of my depth.
Somehow, I needed to sell the image of an excited football player’s girlfriend when all I wanted to do was sink into a hole and disappear.
“You look a little lost.”
I jumped at the sound of the masculine voice, so close to my ear. A tall, thin man — taller than me, but he would still have looked tiny next to Weston — leaned against the wall behind me, far closer than was comfortable. His ball cap sat backward on his head, and his posture screamed confidence as he leaned further into my personal space. “Need someone to watch the game with?”
“Not in this lifetime or the next. Fuck off and find someone else’s ass to crawl up. She’s taken.”
The woman was petite, but built like an athlete with her long, dark hair scraped back in a ponytail. Silver hoops hung from her ears, and her nails were perfectly manicured as she waved away my unwelcome visitor.
“You Georgie?” she asked.
“Gia, yeah,” I corrected, unsure whether to treat her as a friend or foe. She took me in with a sweep of her light brown eyes and inclined her head toward the group of people I’d noticed on my way in.
“We’re over here. Come sit with us.”
She led me over to two women who turned with smiles as we approached. The blonde nodded in greeting while the other, whose hair was bubblegum pink, practically bounced out of her chair.
