The Wild Card: A Small Town Fake Dating Sports Romance (The Wild Westbrooks Book 3)(2)

“That’s very impressive, Nadia. Giving back to the community means a lot to me.”

I’m too elated and too nervous to even breathe properly. Don’t screw this up, my cavewoman is shouting at me. Don’t screw this up.

I drop my eyes back to my phone’s calendar. “What about Sunday?”

Yes, Sundays are good. Sundays feel…intimate. Sundays say, ‘I want to do more than just bang your brains out’.

Laurent winces slightly. “Sundays aren’t great for me. I’m hanging out with my sister’s kids during the day while she helps our mom prepare the weekly family dinner.”

“You…babysit?” It comes out as a whimper.

His faint and fleeting smirk tells me he most definitely heard my pathetic whimpering. But he won’t rub it in my face. ‘Cause he’s a gentleman. Obviously.

“Well, I’ve never liked the word babysit. It makes it sound like such a chore. I prefer to consider myself a mentor, a role model, and an active participant in the lives of the future generation of my family.”

If he doesn’t stop, I’ll be purring like a kitten in his lap in thirty seconds flat.

How is the guy still single?

I quickly clear my throat to cover up how awestruck I am by this man I just met.

Laurent reaches across the table and clasps my hand. Oh…okay…we’re holding hands now. His hand feels big, strong, and capable wrapped around mine. I like it.

Some women find a self-assured man intimidating but me? I need a man who’s comfortable in his skin. Someone who won’t cower away from a woman who finished seven years of college and passed the bar on the first try. Someone like Laurent.

His gaze falls back down to his phone, and he lets out a heavy sigh. “Damn. This sucks. My schedule is slammed all week.”

“I…I’m willing to be flexible.”

Crap. Do I sound desperate? Yeah, probably a wee bit desperate. But this is my soon-to-be life partner I’m sitting across from. He’ll understand.

At this point, my sole objective is to snatch this guy. Right off the dating market.

His blue eyes meet mine. Gosh—his eyes are mesmerizing. “It kills me to do this but…the only way I can see you is if I slide you in on Saturday.”

My brows pinch together and I’m not particularly loving the idea of having to ‘slide into’ his schedule. But that’s okay. Every solid relationship requires compromise and sacrifice. We’re two busy, career-focused individuals. We might just have to be a little creative until we figure out our schedules.

“That works,” I say, not wavering.

Laurent mumbles absentmindedly as he scrolls through his schedule. “Let me see—I have a late lunch date with Chelsea from the gym,” he mumbles without lifting his eyes from his screen, “but we’ve been hooking up for a minute, so she’s usually understanding about these things…Plus, most of the time, we don’t have to go back to my place…We just handle business in the backseat of my car. I’ll make it quick.”

Um…?

Laurent squints at his phone and carries on, totally lost in his monologue, like I’m not even here. “Then I have a six o’clock dinner with this new girl I met on an app. Shit—I can’t remember her name.” He gives his head a quick shake. “Anyway, I want to be on time for that. To make a good first impression, y’know? She has some huge, gorgeous tits.” He holds his hands up in demonstration, then he chuckles to himself. “After that—I’ve got a late night booty call with Louisa from my office—and holy fuck—her blowjobs are spectacular, so I really don’t want to postpone that.” Finally, he sets down his phone. His eyes find mine before he takes my hand again and gives me a seductive smile. “So, Nadia, was it? If you’re okay with it, how about I cancel my barber appointment and slide you in at, let’s say 3:20-ish?”

Is he joking right now? I am so confused. I just blink owlishly, carefully extracting my hand from his grip.

His eyes flicker over my face like he’s trying to read whatever expression I must be making. “Is 3:25 better? 3:30 would really be pushing it, but…”

This man sitting across from me has switched on me so fast, I’m having a serious case of mental whiplash.

I fold my hands in my lap, trying to regain my composure. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure I am understanding this right. You already have three dates for Saturday? And now you’re trying to ‘slide me in’ as your fourth?”

“Well, yeah.” He shrugs shamelessly. “I work late five days a week, and sometimes even Saturday mornings, so I have to stack my dating as best I can.”

“Stack your dating?!” I choke out.

Am I imagining this? Am I hallucinating? Is this cologne-poisoning? Probably cologne-poisoning.

“So basically, you’re out here just booking dates like a dentist scheduling teeth cleanings! Do you have an assistant who handles the foreplay for you, so you can slip in at the last minute, do your business and move on to the next?”

He shakes his head, like I’m being dense. “Nadia, you seem like a great lady and all, but I don’t think you realize that there’s competition out here. Especially for a man of my caliber. You have to get in where you fit in, honey.”

Well, damn. Why don’t you just pour a glass of ice water all over our meticulously-planned out future?!