Page 7 of Sack

His head reared back, a frown pulling at his lips. He took the camera and scrolled. “You deleted them.” Then he started paying attention to the other pictures she’d taken. Other patrons, the restaurant bar, the gaming area, the sign out front.

A sinking feeling hit his stomach. “You’re not paparazzi, are you?”

Her eyebrows dipped and she pursed her lips. “Nooo. Why would you think that?”

“If you have to ask, that must mean you don’t know who I am.”

Her frown deepened, forming a line between her brows. “Your face isn’t familiar, and I watch a lot of TV and movies.”

“But you don’t watch football.” It was a statement. He already knew the answer.

She shook her head. “I don’t watch any sports.”

Feeling like a first-rate idiot, he handed the camera back. “Sorry for the misunderstanding.” He pivoted and took a step.

“Hey! Wait a minute.”

He stopped, turning his head to look at her.

“You’re just going to leave me with a cliffhanger? You’re not going to tell me who you are?”

“It’s probably for the best.” Better for him at any rate. Her gray eyes would already haunt him for days to come, he didn’t want to add knowing her name into the mix. That would make it too easy to seek her out. The last thing he needed was to get involved at the start of the season—no matter how tempting the woman may be. He didn’t have time for a relationship. Not if he wanted to keep his head in the game.

But logical thinking didn’t stop him from looking her direction once he reached his table. The spot she’d been standing in was empty. He scanned the restaurant and saw her at the bar, sitting next to another guy.

Perfect. She had a boyfriend. That should cure his fascination with her.

Ivy

Ivy weaved her way back to the bar and positioned herself on the stool next to Jason.

He turned to her as she sat. “Get what you needed?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s wrong?”

He knew her too well.

“Nothing.” The last thing she wanted was to ignite Jason’s short fuse.

“Nothing didn’t put those lines on your forehead or turn your ears red.”

She sighed, knowing he would hound her until she gave up the goods. “Some guy didn’t like that I took his picture. Got a little handsy—with my camera, not me,” she was quick to correct when she saw the sparks that flared in his eyes. “We had words.”

Jason craned his neck. “What guy?”

Ivy put a hand on his forearm. “It’s over and done with. Let it go.”

“Fuck that. No one messes with you and gets away with it. Now, tell me which guy.”

Huffing, she replied, “Far corner booth. The one with short, brown hair.”

With a hand planted on the bar, Jason stood. She latched on to his arm, prepared to bodily put him back into his seat if need be, but, in a move she wasn’t expecting, he plopped back down himself. When she looked at him, his eyebrows were clear to his hairline.

“What is it?”

“Do you know who that is?”

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