Page 10 of Provoking the Punter

Garrett’s heart lurched. He swallowed hard and kept his grin in place. “Didn’t you hear me tell everyone else? I’d been drinking, and I got into an argument that had nothing to do with football.”

“And now you don’t drink… Good luck with that tonight.”

“I don’t drink at work events, like charity dinners, anyway.” That and he didn’t drink gin—which is what the place was known for—were truths he didn’t have to lie about. He’d done his research; he wasn’t going in blind.

The owner was a mid-thirties guy with perfect hair, who made no apologies for being gay or having several visible piercings—did interviewers not grow tired of asking the same questions and getting the same answers?

Garrett suspected there were several piercings that weren’t visible while in a suit. It was both hot and terrifying the way the owner, Chester Monroe, didn’t give a fuck and was wildly successful.

James considered him for a couple of seconds and stepped back. “You’re a liar.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I’m going to.” He took another step back and laughed as a couple of guys walked toward them. “Great talk. I’ll see you round.”

CHAPTER

FIVE

It wasn’t uncommon for players, especially the young ones, to be uncomfortable at any kind of event. Chester half expected Garrett Stevens to be the same. To need his hand held and for Chester to keep the conversation going.

But Garrett wasn’t like that at all, and in the media snippets Chester had watched, Garrett was the same as he was now. He could catch a football and hold a conversation.

Not only that, but he also talked about more than football. That was the real revelation.

While Chester sat on one side of him, so he could step in as required, there were six other people at the table. Three other tables were full, all waiting to take a bite of Garrett.

If anyone noticed Garrett wasn’t actually drinking, no one said anything. The soda water had a slice of lime as if it was vodka, lime, and soda. That had been the only special request Garrett had made.

And one Chester was happy to fulfill, but he had questions, because every other time he hosted one of these dinners, the guys took advantage of the open bar. Even those that didn’t usually drink gin had a couple.

“Honestly, when I first started college over here, I had no idea what a freshman or sophomore, or any of that was. In Australia, it’s university, not college,” Garrett said as part of the ongoing conversation and the differences between Australia and America. It had begun with football but quickly moved onto other things.

“You don’t use feet and inches,” the businessman, who’d paid top dollar to be seated on Garrett’s other side, said.

Garrett shook his head and took a sip of his drink.

“How do you work out how far to kick?”

“A yard is a bit less than a meter. As for the actual distance, that’s just math and practice. You have to know where you want to go, know where you’re standing, calculate the distance, figure out how strong the wind is and which direction it’s coming from, and how much the opposition wants to flatten you.”

“And you do all of that in a few seconds?”

Again, Garrett shook his head. “No, I’m aware of the conditions the moment we step onto the field. Then, as I’m walking on, I’m paying attention to the wind, to the rain, if there is any. I’ve already done the math. What I am doing is visualizing where the ball is gonna land. I’m thinking about the catch and the kick. Of getting it away fast before it can be blocked.”

“And then you walk off in under two minutes. I hope all your plays aren’t over so fast,” Chester said with a grin, unable to resist making the comment.

Garrett blushed and once again he flicked Chester that look.

That look was the reason Chester had been bold enough to make the joke. Garrett had arrived fifteen minutes before the event was going to start. Dressed immaculately in a charcoal suit with the team white and gold tie, Garrett looked more like a businessman than a football player. However,Chester had seen the muscles the suit hid, and nothing could hide the extra six inches in height. Being around football players was the only time Chester felt short.

Chester had offered him a glass of gin before the event started and that was when they discussed the drink situation. He hadn’t pressed, but was also sure it wasn’t because it was mid-season. He made sure his staff knew what they were to make for Garrett, no matter the order unless it came from him.

Garrett had given him that smile with the dimples, and his gaze lingered a bit too long, as if he liked what he saw, which had encouraged Chester to hold his gaze a little longer than needed.

It was only then that Garrett’s smile had become a touch forced, the dimples had faded, and he’d looked away as if plotting an escape route.

It wasn’t as though Chester wanted to make Garrett uncomfortable, but he wanted that smile, and those dimples, directed at him instead of at a businessman who didn’t give a fuck. Tomorrow they’d mention how they had dinner with a rising star NFL player or something and write off the ten-thousand-dollar dinner as a tax deduction. For them, this was nothing but an ego stroke.

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