Page 18 of Lucky Baller
“I can only assume they’re nervous or trying to impress you. Me, on the other hand, I’m neither,” I say, taking another bite. If I thought he was being real about this “let me take you to dinner” thing, that it was more than just the chase, I might be nervous, too. However, he’s not, and this is the only dinner he’s getting. I’ve seen the women on his arm, the models, the actresses. I’m nowhere in their league. That’s not a dig at myself, just stating the facts. He plays on and off the field, from what I’ve read, and I turned him down. I’m probably the only woman in America to do that. I’ve stunned his ego, so now he has to prove he can get me to say yes.
“Maybe that’s what it is,” he mutters.
“What?”
“I’m sure that’s what it is. You’re right.”
We finish our burgers, his two to my one, and start on our fries. “Can you hand me my purse?” I ask. He does as I ask and places it next to me on the couch. Pulling out my wallet, I grab a ten-dollar bill from my wallet and hand it to him.
“What’s that?” He looks at the ten-dollar bill as if it offended him.
“For dinner.”
“I’m not taking your money, Tessa.”
“Please.” I try to bat my eyelashes to see if he’ll cave. No such luck.
“No. Put that away.” His voice is stone serious, which is not something I’m used to seeing with him, so I nod and put the ten back in my wallet.
“Thank you for dinner. Thank you for bringing me home, taking care of things at the shelter, all of it. Thank you, Landon.”
“Was that so hard?” he asks.
“And to think I was starting to believe you might not be that bad.”
“Hey, I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Oh, yeah, and what reputation is that?”
“With the ladies.” He bounces his eyebrows up and down, and I try my best not to laugh, but I can’t hold it in.
“Laugh it up. Your boy’s got skills.”
“No. Just no,” I sputter with laughter. When I finally stop laughing, I finish off my fries and throw my trash in the bag. “That hit the spot, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He gathers all his trash, shoves it into the bag, and stands.
“Where are you going?” I ask, craning my neck to watch him as he walks into the kitchen.
“Looking for the trash can,” he calls back. A few minutes later, he’s back sans bag of trash, but holding an ice pack from the freezer and a towel from the drawer beside the stove. He places the towel over my ankle and the ice pack on top of it. “That okay?” He peers up at me.
“Thank you.” I’ll admit, I never expected this side of him. I had him labeled as rich and pretentious, not soft and caring. It’sa definite contrast to how I had him categorized in my mind. His taking care of me makes him more… endearing. It’s dangerous. I need to keep my wits about me. I can’t let one afternoon of being nice allow me to fall in line with the masses that fall at his feet.
He nods, steps over my legs with his long-ass ones, and takes his seat on the couch. “Now what?”
“Um, I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
“Want to watch a movie?”
“Don’t you have places to go and people to see or do?” I ask.
“Yes. I have to be here, and I have to see—” He pauses and glances down at my chest, before his eyes come back to my face. “Or do you.” He grins.
“You’ve been here, we had dinner, I let you pay, and I appreciate your help, but I’ve got it from here.”
“Come on, just one movie. It’s still early.” He reaches for the remote on the coffee table and turns on the TV. He makes himself at home, pulling up Netflix and searching through the movies. “What do you feel like watching?”
“Landon.” He turns his head to look at me. “Go home.”
