Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 104766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
“Do you think it was this restaurant?”
“Probably. He’s the one who gave me the name of this place.”
I make a mental note to check out the bathrooms—not that I want him going down on me in them later, but I am curious. What self-respecting girl wouldn’t be?
“I can’t say it’s on my bucket list of activities to try, but then again—what do I know?” I shake my head in amazement, still chuckling. “Well, I guess that’s one way to make a memorable dining experience.”
We’re both laughing when a voice interrupts.
“Hey, uh—are you Drew Colter?”
A man stands beside our table, his eyes wide with recognition—and excitement, which is wild, considering he’s my dad’s age and not a young fan.
Drew glances up, a warm smile lighting up his face. He sets down the butter knife and leans back in his chair.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Dang, I couldn’t tell if it was you or your brother.” The man grins, clearly thrilled. “Man, I’m a huge fan of yours! Huge. I’ve been following your career since forever. It’s crazy that all you play football.”
“I know it blows people’s minds that all four of us play football. Like the Manning brothers or the Kelce brothers, but times two.” He smiles politely.
He doesn’t seem to mind the interruption, and it’s almost as if it happens to him often enough.
“I’m Mark,” the man says, extending a hand to Drew, who shakes it with a friendly smile. “My son Kyle is also a huge fan. He’s eight.”
“Oh, well, tell Kyle I said hey. Does he play football?”
Mark nods enthusiastically, his eyes darting around. “Look, I’m not supposed to be over here. I’m on my way to the bathroom, and my wife says I’m not supposed to interrupt your date.”
He’s babbling, but Drew doesn’t seem to mind.
“It’s okay.”
“Can I get you to sign something?” He’s patting his pockets as if a pen will magically appear in one. “Shit, I don’t have a pen. Or paper.”
A server lingers nearby and overhears him. Digging into her apron, she produces not only a pen but also a ticket pad. She rips off a sheet of paper from it and hands it to Mark.
Who hands it to Drew.
“I’ll sign this to Kyle.” He scribbles quickly. His autograph is all sharp angles and one long flourish.
It’s a masculine signature, and I stare at his hands the whole time he’s jotting a note to Kyle. Those rough hands have been on my body. Big. Strong.
Capable.
And listen to me, sexualizing his hands when all he’s doing is writing his name.
Wow. It’s like I haven’t had sex in months, the way I’m objectifying him.
Drew hands the sheet of paper to Mark. “Well, it’s been good to meet you, Mark. This is my childhood friend, Tess,” Drew tells him.
I do a double take.
His childhood friend?
My heart sinks, damned if it doesn’t, and I stop listening to whatever they say.
Childhood friend.
Huh.
Not almost the mother of my child? Not potential future girlfriend?
He could have simply said, “This is my friend, Tess.”
But he didn’t.
Mark launches into a passionate monologue about his favorite football team that has Drew nodding along in support. He talks about other players on Wisconsin’s teams, their best game last year, and the unforgettable moments that have made him a die-hard fan.
I’m annoyed.
Childhood friend.
I mean—yes, that’s what I am, but here, I thought I was more. Are we not on a date? Was this not supposed to be romantic?
Drew listens to Mark intently, asking questions and engaging in the conversation with genuine interest, dragging the encounter out even longer. And fine. So what if I can’t help but admire his ability to connect with people on a personal level, even when he’s the one being recognized?
As Mark finishes his enthusiastic monologue—which almost puts me to sleep, ha ha—he finally backs away from us.
“Shit, I better go back to my table. My wife is going to kill me.” He sticks out his hand again for another shake. “It’s been such a pleasure meeting you both. Can I get a picture?”
Drew nods, and Mark fumbles with his phone, snapping a quick selfie with Drew and then with both of us. He thanks us profusely, his excitement still evident in every word.
Lordy.
Mark eventually walks off, leaving us alone again until the server drops by with our entrées.
I push the asparagus around on my plate with a fork tine, debating how to begin the conversation or if I should let it go.
It’s not a big deal.
It’s not.
So why do I feel like it is?
If Drew notices my silence, he hasn’t let on. He cuts his steak with a knife and happily pops a piece in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he smiles across the table at me.
Clueless.
Like a typical male…
But this is our first date, and I don’t want to ruin it by being salty.