Page 2 of Worth the Scandal
Once again, I almost forget I’m not alone—he probably thinks by now I’m eitherreallyslow orreallydrunk—Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome puts out his hand in a formation to introduce himself, it’s rough calloused it’s the hand of a working man, and a player. It takes me back to the callouses my dad would have after bailing hay in the off season and mum and I would sit up on the wrap around porch drinking a cold crisp coke with an esky of beers waiting for him when he was done. No. Not tonight. Tonight is about fun. A distraction. I vowed no boys…or men, even delicious loner men on cold balconies.
Fuck it’s got to be the tequila amping up this sexual tension, I’m usually not a sexy eyes at first sight kind of girl.
I try to think back to the last time Jason and I had sex – one of the “many things” going on at the moment in my life, my loser ex (the baby cucumber guy) who happened to be on the home team tonight—I just left him for sleeping with half the cheerleaders behind my back—3 months? Surely not that long. Iwaschecked out about 6 months ago though so makes sense.
Tall, dark, and handsome is about to tell me who he is as his hand waits between us lingering for a handshake—I decide to cut him off before he can introduce himself.
“I’m working on a new motto. A ‘live in the moment’ kind of thing. So, for the love of God, don’t give me your name. Don’t tell me you’re a star footy player ready to take on the NRL. Tell me one interesting thing about you, and maybe—maybe—I’ll decide if you deserve an introduction.”
He doesn’t hesitate. Confident. Iloatheit.
Or do I?
“First of all, love the motto. Second, I was actually about to pull you over here to sit down, because you’re scaring the shit out of me that close to the edge. And third, fun fact, I don’t even like footy really. But you’re right—I’m very good at it.”
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, and damn it, it’s a good one. His gaze flashes over me again, up, and down. I like the way he looks at me. He doesn’t feel sorry for me or pity me, he doesn’t see the girl with the dead mum and the fuckwit ex. He just sees the drunk, hot mess in front of him.
“Well, Mr. Hates Footy but Is Good at It, I don’t hate footy. But I guess you could say I’d be good at it though.”
I chuckle to myself because that’s not a joke he’ll get. He frowns, confused, his perfectly shaped brows drawing together.
“So, I don’t get a secret in return?” he asks.
“It wasn’t supposed to be a secret. Just something interesting.”
“Alright. Give me something interesting, then.”
The tequila makes my decision for me. I probably won’t remember this tomorrow, and he’s just some stranger at a party, right? Time to test if those come fuck me eyes can handle me. I am the architect of my own chaos—another infuriating personality trait I possess,so here I go.
“My mum died two weeks ago,” I say, voice too steady for what I’m about to confess. “And the last time we spoke, I told her she was the worst person in the world.” Ah I should’ve went with I’m out tonight because my ex is the hooker for the Sydney Sharks—and I wanted to watch you guys beat his ass.
His expression goes blank, and the fun of the moment evaporates.
I think I start crying. But I’m also laughing, because—is it really that serious?
Yes, Scarlett. It is.
I. Am. A. Mess.
Without missing a beat, he scans me over, thoughtful, but his dark gaze still lingers. Okay was that not the world’s biggest turn off.
“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay, because that’s the most insincere thing someone can do. But do you need a hug, another shot, or a shoulder to cry on? I have pretty big shoulders.”
He does have big shoulders; this man could carry me away from all my problems on those bad boys.
His eyes burn with warmth. Trust. I’ve always been good at reading people, and this one. He’s a good guy. I can tell. Shame really, considering my current man hiatus—thanks again Jason you sleaze bag. At least his team got beat tonight, and the front rower for the Western Big Cats took his head off in a head high tackle.
“I’ll take the hug,” I smirk. “That would be nice.” Did I just tell a guy I’m horny for that my mum died? Well grief does bring with it a whirlwind of emotions, so I’m learning.
He steps forward, wrapping me up in the biggest, warmest bear hug known to man. And by God, he is a man in every sense of the word. I let myself sink into it, inhaling the deep, oaky scent of him, laced with something just faintly fruity.
The only man in my life now is my dad, and I haven’t seen him since the funeral. He’s too busy, too caught up in his commitments and I think he’s using everything and anything to distract himself from what’s happened—like father like daughter. Mum was his high school sweetheart; she was his world. The only person her death has hit harder than me, is dad.
I’m still wrapped in this hug. Breaking rule 4 wouldn’t hurt right? Not if it’s not my normal plan of attack. I’m not a nun by any means but it’s been 3 months of celibacy, and I could use this distraction. Tall, dark, handsome, hates football but good at it distraction. I wonder what else he’s good at…
As if he’s felt my heart rate hike up through his polo and my mind go over all the ways I’d like to please him—He’s the first to pull away, his eyes searching mine.
“Do you want another drink, actually…” he laughs “do you need another drink or like a water or something?”
