The Wild Card: A Small Town Fake Dating Sports Romance (The Wild Westbrooks Book 3)(8)

He’s wrong for me. So wrong for me.

But crashing into his arms earlier today sure felt right.

And I can’t deny that I felt a flicker of…curiosity when he had his big hands on my hips. I close my eyes for a second and twirl a coil of hair around my finger, allowing my body to relish in the memory of his palms cupping my hips and his chest flush with mine. The heat of his skin. The mild scent of his bodywash. The feel of his—

“Uh, um, Nadia? Ms. Chester? Um...”

I jolt in my seat and my eyes spring open. I find some rumpled, doe-eyed intern standing in my doorway.

“Mr. Kline wants a copy of the revised Wild Garden Restaurant Group lease agreement…?”

I straighten in my seat and clear my throat. Then I flip through the files on the corner of my desk. “He’ll have it within the hour,” I promise with a forced smile.

The kid gives me another strange look and then a quick nod before pivoting on her heel and hustling down the hallway.

Good god. What is wrong with me? Getting caught up fantasizing about a football player on the job. I must be hornier than I realized because my body is acting ridiculous right now.

I turn my focus back to my computer and manage to shut all distractions off. Being able to compartmentalize my thoughts on command is a talent I’m proud of. Actually, it’s not that hard since I freaking love my job.

My position here is not the average in-house attorney job by any stretch of the imagination. With my boss owning half this town, I get to split my day handling real estate legalities, overseeing lucrative business deals, and keeping the Paragons team out of hot water. I love the variety.

I manage to get a lot done and call it a day just before 7:00 p.m. I get home and shed my work persona at the door. I kick off my heels, take a hot shower, and slip on my most comfortable, ratty pajamas.

I roam around my spacious, modern bungalow in my fuzzy socks, watering my houseplants and telling them about my terrible lunch date as I do.

“Sometimes, it feels like my options are, a) continue to pursue my career ambitions and scare all the men away, or b) be some insecure guy’s emotional punching bag until he finds a more agreeable woman,” I mutter, using a spray bottle to water my tower of succulents. “How is that even fair? I’m a catch, dammit.” I say it with conviction. “So I’ll gladly choose my career every time—if I can’t find a man who’s on my level, emotionally and intellectually. That’s not unreasonable.” I drop against the back of my couch and stare at my fern. I can’t help pondering out loud, “Are these my only options, though?”

I won’t lie—as satisfying as it is to make my mark on the business world, it would be nice to have a strong pair of arms to fall into at the end of a long work day. A warm chest to lay my head on. Someone to listen. Someone to care for. Someone to share their secrets with me.

My succulents don’t give me any answers. But they sure look pretty.

I didn’t use to be a plant person but last summer, Sera’s sister, Katrina, hosted a bunch of events for the singles around town. By the end of it, almost everyone was paired up with their perfect match. Everyone except for me.

Being the kindhearted empath that she is, Kat felt sorry for me. She convinced herself that I must be lonely. She said I’m gone too many hours each day to have a pet, so she figured that a house full of beautiful plants to take care of was the next best thing for me. She showed up at my door with an army of succulents one Saturday morning. And it’s been me and ‘the girls’ ever since.

I settle onto my couch with a huge bowl of popcorn to watch tonight’s primetime football game. I sit my laptop next to me along with a few files I brought home from the office, planning to get some work done during the commercial breaks.

Working for Liam’s firm has quickly turned me into a closeted football fan. When it’s a home game for the Paragons, I try to make an appearance in person, but for away games like this, I like to watch from the comfort of my couch.

During the kickoff, I’m listening to the announcers make their predictions for the outcome of the game. My brain stutters when Harry’s face pops up on my TV screen.

That charming smile of his squeezes my tummy, and I try to ignore it. I try ignoring his square stubbly jaw and that too-long messy dark brown hair. But the playful light in his brown eyes does me in. And I don’t like the tingly feeling in my chest as the sportscasters talk through his stats.

Why is my body doing this to me?

Reining my thoughts in, I try to focus on his stats. For a second-string wide receiver, his yardage is pretty impressive. And he’s pretty good at catching, too. No surprise—he has those big, firm hands. They must come in handy for catching a football. And for squeezing. For groping. For—

Oh my gosh, Nadia. Focus on his stats. His stats!!

Luckily for me, my phone rings on the cushion next to me just then. It’s a video call. I smile when I see my younger sister’s name.

“If Charlie and I leave our kids behind and runaway together, would you take us in?” Nova blurts out as her face appears on my screen.

“Hi, Auntie Nadia!” Madalyn’s chocolate-covered face appears over her mother’s shoulder.

“Auntieeeeeee!” Bryan squeals, his head popping out of Nova’s armpit. Then he’s climbing up onto the back of the couch.

I spit out a laugh. “Hello, my favorite dumplings,” I say to the kids before giving my attention to their overwhelmed mother. “I’m not aiding and abetting child abandoners, Nova. How could you abandon those adorable little faces?”