Page 6 of One Night Only
“Thanks, hon.” I flash the woman a panty-melting grin and, naturally, her cheeks flush. She flutters her lashes at me, hesitating a moment longer than necessary before turning quickly and scurrying back inside the restaurant.Cute.
Picking up my silverware, my mouth waters at the sight of the juicy prime rib plated in front me. But before I can dig in, I hear Andy scoff, and I glance across the table to find him staring at me.
“Can you go one meal without flirting with a goddamn waitress.”
With a shrug, I grin. “What can I say? It’s in my genes.”
“Yeah, something’s in your jeans, alright,” he mutters, shaking his head.
I snicker at his comment because, frankly, he’s not wrong. The ladies love me. What can I say?
Andy’s been my agent for four years, and in that time, we’ve become more than just agent and client. He was literally the only person I knew in the city when I was traded from Alberta to New York two years ago. Because of that, we grew close. And since all my family is back in Texas, Andy, his wife Jenn, and their twins, Dotty and Jack, are like a second family to me here.
When his phone starts to ring, Andy mutters a string of expletives as he answers the call, and I take a swig of my beer. But just as I look up, my gaze is snagged by the vision of a perfect fucking ten crossing the street.
Head down, big black sunglasses shielding her eyes, lightblonde hair a chaotic mess of curls that bounce in time with her steps, she’s dressed in a long tan coat that flaps open with the breeze, and I glimpse a tight black dress that hugs an hourglass figure, tits bouncing with every step she takes in a pair of sexy stilettos. She has that timeless kind of beauty—a modern-day Marilyn Monroe. And I can appreciate an attractive woman—hell, I’ve had more than my fair share—but there’s something about this one.
As she turns up 3rd Avenue and begins in this very direction, it’s as if I’ve lost the ability to function like a normal person, choking on my beer like a teenager trying his first Bud Light. I don’t know where to look, barely managing to pull my shit together before the woman of my dreams stops right at my very table.
Puck Bunny. Fucking jackpot.
Clearing my throat, I lift my sunglasses to rest on top of my head, ready to give her the fullDallas Shawexperience.
“What’s up, darlin’?” I push up from my seat, closing the distance and offering a hand, my six-four frame towering over her in that way that drives the bunnies wild. “Dallas Shaw. Voted sexiest goalie two years in a row.”
I prepare for fawning. A flirty giggle. Maybe even a sneaky brush of her hand against my crotch. The usual. But there’s none of that. In fact, there’s something else entirely.
As if in slow motion, she glances up at me, removing her sunglasses to reveal a set of big doe eyes, pretty pink lips falling open on a soft gasp. And when I get a good look at her, I’m taken aback by more than just her beauty. There’s something about this woman, alright. She’s not just hot. She’s fucking familiar.
“Goldie…” My voice is barely even a whisper, but it’s the best I can manage when really, what I want to say iswhat the fuck? Andwhat are you doing here? Andwhy the hell did you sneak out on me a month ago?But of course, before I can say anything, I’m stopped by my agent losing his ever-loving shit on the phone and ruining the moment in that way that’s justsohim.
“For fuck’s sake, Steve, what do you want me to do? Wipe your fuckin’ ass? Work it out, Einstein. I’m not here to do your goddamn job for you.” Andy ends the call, tossing his phone onto the table and causing the glasses to clang before glancing up at me.
His gaze flits from me to my one-night stand, brows climbing high. “Oh, hey Emily. Did you bring the file?”
Huh? My brows bunch together as I look from her to Andy and back again.
“Yeah.” She smiles, although it’s tight and awkward, her hand trembling as she rifles through the oversized Louis Vuitton tote hanging off her shoulder.
Pulling out a manilla envelope, she hands it to Andy, that big, caramel gaze flitting to me before back to my agent. “I was just on my way to collect your dry cleaning. Is there, um… anything else you need?”
My head moves side-to-side, watching the back and forth between them like I’m at the goddamn US Open. What the ever-loving fuck is going on?
“No. I’m flying up to Boston to make a BU game after this, but you have a good weekend,” Andy says, far too interested in the contents of the envelope to bother granting her another glance. But that’s okay, because I’m all fucking eyes, baby.
“Okay, I’ll see you Monday.”
I just stand there, gawking, my jaw slack. But can you blame me? I shared one of the most amazing nights of my life with this woman. Hell, she came back to my apartment. No woman hasevercome back to my apartment. That’s a hard rule. But I broke it. For her. We had amazing, mind-blowing sex. She even wore my goddamn jersey while I fucked her. I don’t think she knew it was technicallymyjersey; I assume she thought I was just some hockey fan with a weird fetish, but that’s not the point. I thought we had something. I thought we connected. But then I woke up the next morning, naked and alone, with nothing but thelingering hint of her scent trapped in my bed sheets. What the fuck?
When she glances at me again, she tucks a wavy lock of glossy blonde hair behind her ear, and it almost looks as if she’s going to say something. But she doesn’t. Instead, she turns quickly and walks back the way she came, crossing at the lights before disappearing down 49th Street.
I release the breath I’ve been holding, looking at Andy. Sitting back down, I stare at him long and hard, waiting for at least some sort of explanation. When he doesn’t look up from his paperwork, I make a point of clearing my throat, and he casually glances at me, doing an almost hilarious double take when he realizes I’m gaping at him.
“What’s up?” he asks, taking a sip of his iced water, gaze flitting about as if he’s missed something. World’s most clueless bastard, I swear.
“Um—” I shake my head once as if to saywhat-the-fuck? “Who was that?”
“Who?” Andy looks around again because sure, he’s one of the best sports agents in the entire country, but my God, the dude is thick as fuck.
