Page 15 of Dating the Grump

I eye her skeptically.

“We can’t stay cooped up forever, Hunt. Eventually, we have to deal with people.”

“I hate people,” I mutter around a bite of eggs. Truthfully, they’re all starting to piss me off. Every time we go out, it’s a problem. I’m tired of people bringing up my injury or treating her like crap. No matter how many times I growl and snap, it just happens again the next time. I’m over it. The damn gossip column isn’t helping anything. We’re the new “It” couple in town. It’s ridiculous.

“No, you don’t,” she says, smiling sweetly. “You just hate that they won’t leave us alone. But I don’t want to feel like we have to hide.” Sadness drifts through her eyes. “We can’t live that way.”

Well, fuck. If this is important to her, then it’s important to me. I can’t tell her no.

“We’ll go out,” I say, and then I narrow my eyes. “But I’m not going to promise to be nice, goddess.”

She glances up at me, smiling. “Do you ever?”

When it comes to her? Fuck no.

“Why the fuck is everyone staring at us?” I growl, glancing around the Park Avenue Bar as I lead her toward our usual booth later that night, my hand on the small of her back. I swear to God, they’re staring as if they’ve never seen us before.

“Oh my gosh,” Molly groans, digging through her purse. “I bet the stupid gossip column put something else in there about us!”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. The gossip column has become the bane of my existence. It’s bad enough that people bug the fuck out of me everywhere I go. Now, they bug the fuck out of Molly, too. Every old lady in this town keeps asking when we’re getting married or when we’re having babies. I keep wanting to snap at every one of them that I’m fucking working on it if they’d give me five damn minutes to ensure she’s in love with me.

Half the time, I think she might be. I’ve started to say it a thousand different times. Like this morning. I came so fucking close to telling her. But like usual, I bit my tongue, worried that maybe I’m rushing it, and if I tell her, she’ll go running for the hills.

If I lose her now, it’s going to crush me.

I thought walking away from football was the hardest thing I’d ever have to face. I was wrong. Losing Molly will fucking destroy me. Football was a career. My surly ass survived when it was gone. I won’t survive without her. In two weeks, she’s flipped everything on its head. She’s invaded every part of my life, become necessary to my survival.

I help her slide into our booth before sliding in beside her. She fumbles her phone out of her pocket while I look around, groaning when I see the same waitress who always gives us problems glaring from across the bar. I swear, she fucking hates me. Which is typical, but she’s a bitch to Molly, too. That pisses me off.

“Oh my gosh!” Molly groans, shoving her phone at me. “Look at this.”

I stop scowling at the waitress and slide my arm around Molly. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“Another freaking story about us.”

I scan the column.

Breaking News!

Word on the street is that our resident QB has scored a touchdown with a certain blonde moneymaker. She hasn’t been spotted at home in days. I see football hunks hauling junk in the future!

“My stuff is not junk,” Molly huffs. “That’s rude.”

I crack a smile. “That’s the part you’re upset about, huh?”

“Yes. They called my stuff junk.”

I gently tangle my hand in her hair, tipping her head back to kiss her. “This football hunk will haul your not-junk anytime, goddess. Just say the word.”

Her wide blue eyes meet mine. “Hunt, are you…?”

I open my mouth to tell her that, fuck yeah, I’m asking her to move in, but before I can, the bitchy waitress slams menus down on the table, clearing her throat. I growl, pulling away from Molly.

“What can I get you?” she snaps.

“A better attitude, for starters.”

Her green eyes narrow.

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