The Wild Card: A Small Town Fake Dating Sports Romance (The Wild Westbrooks Book 3)(5)

Who the hell is that guy? “You know him? He bothering you?” I hear my tone harden protectively. “He’s a client from work? Or a business deal gone wrong?”

“What…?” The quick, embarrassed look she gives me tells me that I’m way off base. Whatever is going on with her and that guy isn’t business. It’s personal.

If he’s not a client, then… “That loser was your lunch date…” I deduce.

He’s her date. Mr. Slick Hair is her date.

Nadia’s eyes bug out as I put two and two together. I’m absolutely appalled at her taste in men.

Really? That’s her type? The guy’s hair looks slipperier than my Grammy’s driveway after that deep freeze that swept over the tricounty area a few weeks ago. And I’d bet he’s one of those pretentious creepers whose cologne you can taste in your food when he’s sitting across the table from you.

She won’t give me a shot but she’d date that guy.

Normally, I’d dive headfirst into jealousy knowing she came here with another man, but at the anxious expression on Nadia’s face, I make a detour into protective territory.

Before I can stop myself, my fingers curl gently around her upper arm. “Is he the reason you’re hightailing it out of here? Is he giving you trouble, Nadia?”

She scoffs dramatically, shaking loose of my grip. “No. No, he’s not the reason I—I don’t need you to—I—I…” She glances in his direction again.

Her unconvincing tough girl response makes me smirk. Seeing the always-level-headed Nadia Chester flustered in this moment is pretty cute. It’s a side of her I’ve never seen before.

“You sure about that? ‘Cause I’ll beat him up if you want me to.” I bring both my arms up high and make a show out of flexing my biceps. I grin at her.

It takes a few seconds, but eventually her perfect heart-shaped lips curl into a faint grin of her own.

Victory! Her, smiling at me feels good.

“No. Beating him up won’t be necessary,” she says dryly as her smile fades away. “He’s long forgotten about me. I think he’s trying to slide the waitress into his 3:20 slot on Saturday.”

“His 3:20 what?”

“Never mind. Doesn’t matter. Anyway, it was nice seeing you, Harry.” Nadia gives me a polite nod, shifting around me and moving toward the exit.

I turn and my gaze follows her. As if I could stop myself.

My eyeballs slide down her elegant back, getting glued to her perfect ass. Damn. No one looks better in one of those skirt suit things than Nadia.

“Nice seeing you, too,” I call out. I’d like to see a whole lot more of you. Wearing a whole lot less clothes.

Right before she’s about to walk out the door, she peers back at me over her shoulder. Her pretty dark eyes narrow to slits and her lips collapse into a frown when she catches me staring at her ass. Those delicate nostrils flare, and I know I’m in trouble.

Whoops! Guilty…

She shakes her head, mild annoyance settling on her perfect forehead. “I was gonna say, have a good game tonight,” she says flatly.

I nod, grinning at her thoughtfulness. “Thanks, Nadia,” I say, even if she’d clearly rather take it back now.

She disappears out of the restaurant, hustling toward her car in the cold. And my head is a damn mess, replaying our interaction as I saunter on over to join my friends at the table they snagged. As promised, there’s a wooden high chair sitting on one end.

“Assholes,” I mutter, elbowing Knox in the ribs as I squish into the booth next to him.

“Better watch it. She’ll get you locked up in some prison off the coast of Nowhere if you keep staring at her like a perv,” Jace deadpans. The rest of the guys laugh and give me shit.

“Whatever.” I wave them off.

I don’t even care. I’m used to being the butt of my teammates’ jokes. That mostly comes with the territory of being the youngest at the table.

But I’m just glad to be at the table at all.

I’m playing for my dream team, earning the kind of living most people can’t even fathom, in front of stadiums full of people screaming for the Paragons. And the best part is, I’m here in Sin Valley, just across the bridge from my hometown, Honey Hill. A short drive away from my crazy ass family. I’m ‘living the life’ so I’m not complaining about a damn thing.

Quickly forgetting about me, the guys return to their conversation. Maxwell is still trying to justify his unjustifiable outfit. “You guys just don't know fashion. Trust me. All the media will be talking when I step off that plane later.”

“Yeah. Talking about how dumb you look,” Jace bites out then stuffs the last of his burger into his face.

By the time the check comes, to be honest, I couldn’t even tell you if they guys continued making fun of Maxwell, or me, or if they moved onto more exciting topics. My head has been firmly on The Nadia Express this whole time.

Maxwell covers the check and rises from the table. “Come on, guys. We’ve got a flight to catch.”

Meanwhile, I’m imagining Nadia in the stands at our away game tonight. Cheering me on. Yelling my name. A toothy grin spread from ear-to-ear across her gorgeous face. Wearing my jersey. With a pair of tiny denim cut offs and some six-inch stilettos. Ooh, and fishnet stockings—why not? This is my fantasy, dammit.