Page 29 of One Night Only
“Shall we continue?” I ask, hands poised, ready to scribe.
Andy smiles and I see him think of his next line, but before he can say the words out loud, we’re interrupted as his office door flies open with such haste it slams against the wall. Spinning around, I look over my shoulder in time to see two hulking men practically fall through the doorway before one tumbles to the floor while the other narrowly avoids falling on top of him, collecting himself at the last second.
“What the hell are you two idiots doing?” Andy barks.
Robbie pushes up from where he’s laid out on the floor, smoothing his hair back from his face and brushing down the front of his hoodie.
Dallas readjusts the backward cap he’s wearing, grinning impishly before his gaze lands on me, doing an almost hilarious double-take. Standing taller, he squares his broad shoulders, nodding curtly in my direction while trying to play it cool as if he hadn’t just been wrestling his friend for who could get through the door first like a nine-year-old.
I clamp my lips between my teeth in an attempt to stop my smirk.
“We had a ten o’clock,” Robbie says, checking his watch. He looks at me with a casual smile. “Oh, hey Emily.”
Dallas’s heavy gaze remains on me, but I ignore it, focusing instead on Andy.
“Shit.” Andy groans, running his fingers through his hair. “Okay, yeah, come in.” He looks at me then, offering a rueful smile. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you I scheduled these two knuckleheads in at the last minute before their pre-game. Do you mind if we reconvene later?”
“That’s totally fine.” I wave a hand, standing. “You know where to find me.”
Robbie flops down in the seat next to the one I just vacated, and I turn on my heel. Tugging at my silk blouse, my gaze flits to Dallas, who remains by the door, holding it open for me with a casual smile, like he didn’t send me a late-night text ten hours ago sayingI’m lying in bed alone, thinking of you, and a follow up that said,I can’t wait to kiss you again.
When I walk past him, I remain emotionless, casting him a sideways glance, but when I catch the hint of his lips curling up at one corner, I have to look down when I feel my face heat, unable to hide my own smile as I hurry through the door.
The moment I hear Andy’s door click closed, I release the breath I’ve been holding, sagging into my desk chair and trying to slow my thunderous heart.
What the hell was that? Mr.Andy won’t find outwas looking at me like I was a goddamn snack and he was ravenous. Sure, Andy is a dedicated man focused on his business, and sometimes he can be oblivious to things that don’t involve HMC, but he’s not stupid.
I shake my head and turn to my computer, connecting my laptop so I can begin drafting the bones of Andy’s speech for tomorrow night. But just as I’m checking my notes, my phone vibrates on my desk, and the moment I spot the name lit up on the screen, my skin pricks—and not in a bad way.
Ignore it, Emily. You have a job to do, and he’s breaking all the unwritten rules by even texting you while he’s in a meeting with the one man who cannot find out…
I blink hard, tamping down my curiosity as I start to type. But then, of course, half-way through the first line, that infuriating curiosity gets the better of me.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, grabbing my phone and unlocking it.
DO NOT ENGAGE: You look beautiful today, Goldie.
“Oh, God,” I groan under my breath, burying my head in my hands trying desperately to ignore the way my heart flutters in my chest.
He’s good. He’s really, really good.
With one simple text, I feel my resolve start to slip.
Let it be documented that I, Emily Cole, am so fucking screwed.
CHAPTER 12
DALLAS
If someone would’ve told me that one day I’d end up a one-woman, pussy-whipped asshole, I’d have laughed in their face. If someone would’ve told me that it would happen before I even got the girl, I’d probably have bitch slapped them. How goddamn dare you assume that I, Dallas Shaw, would ever wind up ass over tits because of a woman. The entire notion is ridiculous and offensive. At least it was a month ago. Now, here I am, half-suited up for a game, unable to function—barely able to fucking breathe—because after a week of non-stop and frankly pathetic pestering, I just got my first message from Emily. And it’s taking everything I have right now not to squeal like a giddy teenage girl.
Goldie: Good luck.
I’m grinning ear-to-ear at my phone. No doubt I look completely unhinged, but I don’t care. She texted me. She actually fucking texted me before I could go full loser and send her a reply to another imaginary message. She. Texted. Me.
“You good, man?”
I turn to see Robbie looking at me like I’ve lost my damnmind, understandably. Doing a quick check to make sure there’s no one standing around too close, I show him the message on my phone, trying to rein in what little cool I have left.
