Page 3 of Best Year Ever
“Gloria Reilly.”
I look up and see an unexpected face. Landon Battle.Wow. He knows my name?
“Gloria, that’s your full name, right? Hi, I’m Landon.”
I stand there, stunned. I may be used to being around pro athletes, but I’m shocked that I’m on his radar.
Landon’s the definition of an American celebrity athlete. I don’t follow football that closely, but he’s been impossible to miss over the last few years. I remember hearing his name non-stop during the college championship game three years ago—he was considered the country’s top collegiate defensive player and made a bunch of big plays. If my memory is right, he was one of the first players drafted that year when he landed in the pros with Orlando’s team.
Fast forward to now, he’s currently in a zillion commercials and has become a household name. Mainstream talk shows, sports media, and gossip pages—they all love Landon.
Most noteworthy at the moment? He's even more attractive three feet in front of me than when I’ve seen him on a screen. Like in the mythology books that I used to love as a kid, a Greek god come to life. Curly light brown hair, chiseled jawline, hazel eyes, and six foot four with muscles everywhere.
My brain is on overload, but I push through it.
“Yes, that’s right. How did you know that?” I ask. “Everyone calls me Rori.”
“I know. The next American hope in tennis,” he says, with respect in his voice.
Normally, I’d roll my eyes at that dubious title, but all I feel right now is surprise. “You follow women’s tennis?”
He grins back. “I might have googled you earlier, when you came into the party and I recognized you from an ESPN segment.”
What?“That still doesn’t explain how you figured out my full name.”
“Yes, well…” He pauses and then whispers, still smiling, “I read the Google results carefully. I thought I might need to stand out a bit when I introduced myself.”
“Ha,” I huff, but my mind is churning. Landon Battle feels like he needs to stand out withme?
“So, do you live in New York? Or just here for the party?” he asks.
“No, I live down in Tampa when I’m not on the road for tournaments.” I can feel myself relax into the conversation a bit. “I’m surprised Google didn’t tell you that.”
He laughs. “I guess my stalking skills are limited.”
“Like you need to stalk anyone,” I joke lightly, memories of all the pictures of Landon with women that circulate on gossip pages filling my mind. “You seem to do alright for yourself, from what I see online.”
He takes a moment to reply, looking slightly surprised at my comeback. Maybe he was expecting me to flirt back, not tease him? Then he recovers quickly.
“You sound like my sister Grace,” he says with a chuckle. “But don’t believe everything you read.”
I get that. The media has been paying attention to me for barely six months, and some of the stories seem like they came fully out of the writer’s imagination.
“I know. Last year at Wimbledon, a UK tabloid made up an entire story about a pop singer and me dating after he showed up to my match.”
“Oh, so you didn’t date him?” He winks at me. That Google search must have been thorough if he sawthat.
Landon Battle truly spent his precious time during a New Year’s industry party trying to find out about me.
Mind blown.
As he takes a sip of his beer, I take a longer look at him, my eyes roaming up and down his body. In a crisp gray tailored suitwith no tie, he looks beyond sexy. All man yet beautiful at the same time.
“Hmmm,” he says quietly, seeing me check him out and letting me do it. His eyes start to intensify in focus as he seems to be processing something himself.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asks, breaking the moment.
“I have to stick to water tonight,” I respond, holding up the water that I’m still nursing. “I’m in training for our first swing into the Australian Open.”
