Page 2 of Dating the Grump

Unknown

Enjoy your night.

I scowl at the phone and then shove it back into my pocket. That was easier than I thought. Maybe I should have fired her a week ago.

I flick my gaze back at the television, only to find it running a commercial. I tip my beer up and finish it.

Before the last drop even passes my lips, the blonde waitress who has been stalking my table all night scurries over, beaming at me.

Jesus H. Christ.

"Can I get you another, Mr. Hunt?" She bats her lashes at me, licking her lips as her eyes rove over me.

I narrowly avoid rolling mine. I'm not a bad-looking guy. At least, that's what women tell me. Usually, right before they call me a dick and then storm off, as if it's my fault they get their feelings hurt when they throw themselves at me, and I don't take the bait.

At six-three and two hundred and fifty pounds, I'm fucking massive. It comes with the territory when you've played professional football your entire adult life. But we both know she isn't interested in me. They never are. She's interested in my name and my bank account. As soon as her coworkers told her who I was, her eyes lit up with dollar signs.

Unfortunately for her, it isn't going to happen. She's beautiful, sure. But she isn't my type. I'm not even sure I have one of those. Football has been my life since I was in college. But when I think about what I want in a woman, it's curves and ass, someone soft and round. That's what gets my fucking cock hard when it's in my hand. This girl is petite and tiny.

"Nope," I say. "I'm good."

Her face falls into a pout.

"You can go now," I mutter, not mincing words. Is it rude? Yes. Is it necessary? Also, yes. The only way to deal with these women is by not entertaining their bullshit.

Her hazel eyes flash with annoyance before she spins on her heel with a huff. She storms away from my table. I watch as she hauls ass back to the bar, undoubtedly to tell her coworkers that I'm a dick—I'm actually not. I just want to be left the fuck alone. It's not really that complicated.

Halfway to the bar, she bumps into a goddess, nearly knocking her on her ass.

"Oh!" The curvy goddess stumbles in her heels, tripping backward. Her arms wind-mill as she tries to keep herself upright. Jesus Christ. She's beautiful. Her blonde hair tumbles down her back in wild curls, framing her heart-shaped face and startling blue eyes.

The waitress doesn't even apologize.

I’m on my feet in an instant, my dick roaring to life. My heart in my throat. My fucking stomach twisting into knots.

I storm across the bar.

By the time I reach her side, she's managed to steady herself. I grab her arm anyway, gently holding onto her.

She flicks wide blue eyes up at me, startled. "Oh," she whispers, her lips parting slightly. "You're huge." Her cheeks immediately turn pink.

"You're not."

Confusion swirls through her eyes. "Um… thanks?"

"I mean, are you okay?"

"Yes. Thank you." She gently pries her arm from my grip, blinking up at me. "I thought for sure I was going to eat the floor. That would have been humiliating."

"She owes you an apology," I growl, glaring toward the waitress who bumped into her.

"Who?"

"The waitress who knocked you over."

"Oh. I tripped." She scowls down at her shoes. "Stupid heels."

"She bumped into you."

---