Page 11 of Imperfect Player

Chelle is a huge baseball fan. An even bigger Ethan Ambrose fan. So when she squeals loud enough to catch the attention of everyone in the restaurant, I’m not surprised. In fact, I'd actually been looking forward to it.

“Ethan Ambrose spilled a drink on you? And you’re just telling me this now?” She begins to fan herself. “That man is goals. All the fucking goals. Did you talk to him? Jesus, Ev, could your life be any more amazing? The man is gorgeous. Beyond gorgeous. Not to mention how insanely talented he is.”

Even though I work with several of the top athletes in the country, even dated a famous soccer player, Chelle somehow always seems surprised when I meet someone new. Though this time, it is her favorite player, so I will give her that.

“That he is,” I agree, deciding to leave out the part about how amazing his hands feel or how his eyes sparkle. “And yes, we talked. In fact . . . ”

“In fact . . . what?”

Chelle is on the edge of her seat, elbows on the table, eyes imploring me to dish.

“He’s a really good dancer too.”

She falls back against her seat, arm resting on her forehead.

“You danced with him? Hands on him, danced?”

I smile. I nod. I don’t say a word.

“I hate you, you know that?” She throws her hands up in frustration. “I swear I picked the wrong career.”

Chelle is Director of Public Relations for an up-and-coming makeup company. She’s amazing at what she does and most certainly didn’t pick the wrong career.

“You did not make the wrong career choice,” I assure her. “I made the wrong choice on who I should have brought as my date to these events.”

As though it’s dawned on her for the first time in our years of friendship, she stares at me, a stricken look on her face.

“Oh my God. How dare you? How dare you take him and not me?”

“Because I’m a terrible friend. My deepest apologies.”

“Yeah, well, for that, you’re buying dinner tonight.” She flags down the waiter. “I’ll take another.”

With fresh margaritas in front of us, Chelle finally convinces me to tell her all about Ethan and the events of the night.

The memories are still so fresh, it’s hard not to gush and sound like a giddy schoolgirl. Hell, I feel like one.

“You should have taken the ride from him,” she says. “I bet he can give good rides.”

With two margaritas under my belt, I begin to giggle. “The offer was to ride in his limo, not on his dick.”

“Pshh . . . I’m sure he would have offered that up too. This is Ethan fucking Ambrose we’re talking about. It’s kind of his thing.”

“Okay, well, let’s not forget, he flat out told me that he wasn’t interested.”

“I call bullshit.”

“You already called it earlier.”

“There’s nothing that says you can only call it once.” She waves her finger at me. “Especially not when your best friend is full of it.”

“You’re cut off,” I tease her, though we’ve both consumed way more margaritas and tacos than we normally would.

“There is no way Ethan Ambrose is turning down sex. Especially not with a goddess like you.”

I roll my eyes at her compliment.

“He didn’t. He turned down everything with me.”

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