The Wild Card: A Small Town Fake Dating Sports Romance (The Wild Westbrooks Book 3)

The Wild Card: A Small Town Fake Dating Sports Romance (The Wild Westbrooks Book 3)

Cassie-Ann L. Miller



1





NADIA





Well-groomed? Check.

Career-oriented? Check.

Confident? Check.

Confidence is a must on my list. Mmm…as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing like a man who oozes bold conviction.

I prop my chin on my fist and tune out the low music and quiet chatter of the Snow Moon Brewery. Smiling, I listen to my date tell me another funny story.

Ooh…Sense of humor? Double-check.

Laurent is in residential real estate development around town. He’s ambitious, polite, and oh-so-handsome. Plus, he’s a little older, which definitely reflects in his maturity level.

He invited me to one of the fancier hipster breweries on the outskirts of town and knew exactly what beer to order, without obnoxiously mansplaining his brewery knowledge like some guys enjoy doing.

We’re near the end of our lunch date, and I can feel my excitement mounting. For the first time in a long ass time, I’d have to say I found a guy who has potential. I shift in my seat, feeling almost giddy.

I’ve been on a lot of first dates. A lot. I won’t even try to count how many—that shit’s embarrassing—but as far as first dates go, this one is checking all the boxes.

The important boxes, at least.

He’s not perfect, of course. Nobody is. But the flaws I’ve uncovered so far seem…work-with-able. For example, he’s a teensy bit over-cologned.

Okay, fine. A lot over-cologned.

In fact, I can taste his cologne at the back of my throat with every bite I take of my mushroom and spinach lasagna. I lift my glass to my lips and take a little swig to drown out the pungent taste. See? It’s nothing a tiny, little sip of alcohol can’t fix.

Also, he has this mumble-reading thing that he does. I swear, he muttered the entire menu under his breath to himself before he could finally decide on the beef samosas. He did the same mumbling thing each time a text message came in on his phone. But that’s a good thing. That means there will be no secrets between us, right?

And I’m being honest, the physical chemistry between us isn’t exactly scorching up the tablecloth, but I’m not willing to write him off over something so inconsequential.

Look—I’m focused on the positives right now. The nagging, over-analytical voice in my head that’s trying to find fault with this damn near perfect man will not win today.

Laurent meets so many of my criteria. And the last time I appraised my lacklustre dating life, it was clear that prioritizing physical chemistry over a man’s more substantive qualities has consistently left me nursing a bruised ego and a shattered heart.

So physical chemistry is secondary. I’ve been burned too many times by my feelings. I’m doing things differently now.

We’ve got to make sense on paper first. My head gets the first say. Then, if Logical Nadia approves, I’ll let my heart get involved.

I take my final bite of lasagna. When the waiter comes by, my date doesn’t hesitate to pay, handing over his credit card before the server even sets down the check. I feel a sudden sense of urgency surge to life in my tummy—my window for securing a second date is closing. Fast.

I take a deep breath, swallowing my nerves—and another throatful of his cologne. I pull up my big girl pencil skirt and decide that if I’m going to get what I want, I need to grab the bull by the horns.

“So, Laurent…” I trace a finger around the rim of my glass. “I enjoyed our lunch together, but I’ve got to get back to the office. Would you be interested in doing this again sometime soon?” I sit a little taller, feeling pretty darn pleased with myself for being straightforward with my date. I may be confident in my career, but dating and romance? That’s a whole other beast.

He beams at me. No pause. No hesitation. “Yes, definitely.”

Internally, my ovaries fist-bump each other. Hell yeah, bitches!

He picks up his phone and immediately starts scrolling through his calendar app, happily mumbling to himself the whole time.

I pull up my own schedule, thumbing through meetings and appointments, making mental reminders for things I need to finish for work.

“Is Thursday good for you?” I ask hopefully.

Without looking up, he shakes his head, stroking his neatly-trimmed salt-and-pepper beard with his free hand. “Nope, sorry. Thursdays are out of the question. I volunteer at the homeless shelter that evening.”

My ears twitch. For real. Did I hear him right?

I try to keep my voice steady. “You…volunteer?”

“Every Thursday, like clockwork.” Our eyes connect and he gives me an unassuming smile. And in this moment, he might as well be shirtless, oiled up and flexing on the cover of a romance novel.

Oh my freaking god.

My inner cavewoman has been triggered. Must reproduce with this man! Must do it now! In this moment, my lady-bits definitely want the opportunity to get familiar with this man’s man-bits.

My ovaries are ready to jump out of my uterus and chase him home, so we can make some adorable, successful, humanitarian babies. With the state of humanity these days, I think we’d be doing the world a pretty big favor.

“I volunteer, too.” I smile my most charming smile. “In fact, I recently established a non-profit organization to help seniors in Sin Valley and the surrounding areas come together and have social activities a few times a month.”