Page 2 of A Searing Acquaintance
“Nope, but I’m going to find out. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in ages. Look at all that blonde hair.” He sighed. After a minute, he spoke again. “Come with me; it looks like she’s with friends. See that brunette in the hoodie?”
“Are you serious? No. Sitting in this sea of orange is bad enough, but you’re not going to get me to chat up some frumpy female football fanatic. She looks like a bloody pumpkin.”
Elizabeth froze in her hoodie.Pumpkin? Frumpy female football fanatic?That sounded even more insulting in his pompous British accent. She turned her head slowly and leveled her sights on the dark-haired man in black. “So alliteration rather than titillation is your game? Pity.” She turned away from his shocked face and resumedwatching the game. Jane soon rejoined them and ordered a second round of drinks.
Mindless of the exchange between his friend and the brunette, Charles moved over a few seats, leaned forward, and introduced himself to the three women. Within minutes, he was sitting next to Jane. For the next half hour, Elizabeth kept up a running commentary with Charlotte on the plays made on the field, only occasionally glancing at her sister smiling and laughing with her new friend. Charles Bingley seemed pleasant and definitely eager to make Jane’s acquaintance, unlike his surly friend, who appeared less than pleased with the altered seating arrangements. Elizabeth sipped her drink and pondered the unsmiling man.Trapped and abandoned in a sea of orange. Poor man. My hoodie might be orange, but my jeans are as black as his mood.
Darcy nursed his gin and tonic and averted his eyes from the happy sparking going on in front of him. Bingley never failed expectations; everywhere they went he made friends, usually of the pretty blonde variety. He’d smile, laugh at their jokes, praise their fashion sense, or chuckle at the silly story every woman had about her college roommate, annoying boss, first trip to Paris, or favorite celebrity chef.
This one seemed no different. Perhaps a bit quieter and more contained than the women Bingley typically met. Definitely more demure than Darcy would expect to see at a college football game. Certainly, she wasn’t loud and angry like that brunette she was with. He glanced over at the women he’d yet to officially meet. The one with the thick ponytail was giggling with the other brunette, the one with the rather large nose and an unfortunate pixie haircut.Her girlfriend, perhaps?That would explain her hostility toward him and Bingley. Or maybe she was angry to see so-called stereotypical male behavior: a man sees three women and gravitates to the blonde. Of course.
It was obvious that she was quite intent on the game, and from the odds and ends of conversation he could overhear, she appeared quite knowledgeable about the arcane rules and strategies involved.
“He’s going to roll to his left, throw a fake, and run it in.”
“Are you crazy, Liz? Moorehead had knee surgery; he can’t run.”
“Wait for it.” Elizabeth leaned forward in her seat. She’d quickly realized one did not stand or yell in skyboxes. Mr. Dark and Menacing had already shot her an annoyed look when she’d leapt up to cheer a half-field kick return.
The quarterback’s fifteen-yard end-zone run to tie the game brought the crowd, even the pampered bums in the leather seats, to their feet.Well, not every pampered bum,Elizabeth noted. The sulking one was leaning back and looking at…her.What the hell?
Charlotte noticed it too. “Mr. Anti-Orange doesn’t act much like a football fan,” she observed quietly. “But he does seem to find you rather interesting.”
“He’s just following my informed commentary on the three-man backfield sweep. It looks like he’s never been to a game before. I mean, who doesn’t know to wear the team colors?”
Charlotte turned her head and appraised the object of their intrigue. “Hmm, true, not a spot of orange on his wildly expensive outerwear. That’s a seven hundred dollar barn coat from Barney’s.”
“I’ll check his socks,” Elizabeth said, a mischievous smile on her lips. “I’ll leave his underwear to you.”
She leaned back and turned in her seat. “Excuse me, sir. We’re doing a quick survey and wondered what color socks you’re wearing.”
Darcy stared at her. “Pardon me?”
Elizabeth could see that her question had put him on guard.
“Your socks, sir. This is a Meryton football game, and the wearing of the orange is practically de rigueur,” she explained. “Clothing requirements are on page seventeen of your game program.”
Darcy slowly shook his head. “I’m required to wear orange? There are rules?” he huffed. “Figures.” He glanced at Bingley, who was on his phone but had turned his attention to the conversation.
“Shhh, Caroline. Darcy is being interrogated by the sock police. I’ll call you later.”
“I don’t have a program,” Darcy said coolly. “Show me the rules, please.”
Elizabeth smirked. “Certainly. My colleague will find those for you.” She nodded at a bemused Charlotte. “In the meantime, would you please satisfy our curiosity so we can complete the survey?”
“You want to see my socks? Seriously?”
“Oh yes, sir. Unless you’d prefer to show me your underwear.”
He leaned closer to Elizabeth and gestured at his trouser leg. “Be my guest.”
Elizabeth bent over the back of her seat and put a finger on the cuff of his black slacks.
Seriously, who wears wide wale corduroys to a football game? I bet he calls jeans “dungarees.”She looked up and met his intense gaze.He calls that a poker face?
Elizabeth curled her finger under the cuff and slowly lifted the thick fabric.
“A drumroll, please!” Charles cried.
