Page 41 of Rich and Bossy

“It’s an insane view.” The game’s about to start, too, though I can’t bring myself to care much.

This is nuts. He’s way too old for me. Even if he behaves like he’s younger. I shouldn’t be here. It feels wrong. I glance out and down below at all the fans down there. That’s who I belong with. Not up here in this swanky penthouse of a suite. Yes, it’s ridiculously nice, but how many seats could they have fit for more people out there? Why do the rich people get to enjoy the best seats, the best food?

And what does he want from me?

Is he trying to get me into bed?

I mean, if things were different, I wouldn’t mind one bit. But I can’t do that. What is happening here?

Just get through this. Just be nice and polite, and get through it. You’re being paid to watch football, in a suite, with food.

We eat sandwiches and drink beer and cheer whenever there’s a good play down on the field. He tells me about his family, his nephews.

“You ever bring the twins, your nephews?”

“No, they’re not big on patience. They’d tear this place apart. I can’t wait until they’re old enough to come though.”

“No offense, but I find it hard to believe this image of uncle you’re painting for yourself.”

“Oh, yeah?” Before I know what he’s doing, he strips off his coat, then lifts the back of his sweater until his ribs are revealed—along with a bruise roughly the size and shape of a four year old’s shoe. “Two days old. Little shithead blasted me in the ribs trying to climb onto my shoulders.”

“Ouch.” Can he possibly hold that shirt up a little longer so I can examine the rest of him?

Hazel Strous!

You were thirsty before, but getting a small peak at his chest and abs was too much. Holy hell, is it hot in here? Am I fogging up the glass?

“You’d be surprised the damage a four-year-old can inflict. Multiply that by two, and you see why I’m constantly on the DL.”

“The down low?”

He laughs. “The disabled list. They injure me, weekly.”

It’s obvious he adores them. His face practically glows when he talks about them, and he does a lot of that. It’s so freaking sweet it almost makes me want to like him.

I think I do like him, actually. Way too much. Why’d he have to bring me here? This sucks!

It doesn’t suck to stare at him.

Shut up!

You would suck, right now, if he asked you to.

Oh. My. God.

He gets so into talking about his nephews, it’s almost halftime by the time the subject turns to my family. I don’t have nearly as much to say as he does. “Just the three of us. I was a late baby, and my parents didn’t even expect to get lucky once. I’m their little miracle.” I grin when I say the last word.

“You’re something. I don’t know if I’d call it a miracle.”

I punch him playfully on the arm. His big, solid bicep. “Hey!” Damn, it was hard as a rock too, like punching a brick wall.

“Iama miracle.”

“Okay, okay, I take it back.” He laughs. “I’m glad they got their miracle.” He looks right at me, his smile warm. “I’m sure they’re happy about it too.”

“Yeah, I suppose, most days.” I laugh, but it’s an awkward laugh. Ugh. I’m in serious danger of liking this man way too much. Why does he have to be so charming? And for crying out loud, why does he have to be so hot? Turtlenecks have never been so sexy. Did I like turtlenecks before this?

No, but on a six-four mountain of muscles, they do something for me.

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