I feel my head move up and down, but it’s hard to pull out of the jumbled tailspin. By the time I manage to recover, there’s only one thought left in my tired brain.
Oh Jesus. Not again.
3
Bryant
Ace comes storming into the diner at ten-thirty. It’s amazing to me that after summer camp and then four weeks of pre-season, he hasn’t learned that my father operates under the ol’ if you’re on-time, you’re late proverb, but since he’s performed admirably in other ways, I guess he’ll figure it out soon enough.
“My date’s here so you have to skedaddle now.” I wave my hand toward the poor guy who’s slumped in the booth seat across me.
“But, Bryant, why won’t you give me a chance? I’m a good guy. I don’t cheat on girls. I open their doors. I pay for their dinner. I’m a feminist! Like, I believe women have rights!” Kent beats his fist against his chest, knocking a lock of his overly long bangs into his eyes. He looks like a sad puppy, which is probably the only thing that keeps me from introducing his uber-soft cheek to the hard plane of my palm. Women have rights? Of course, they do. That’s just a given like we need water and tea needs sugar. I shake my head at him as he leans earnestly across the table. “You should give the nice guys a chance. I’ll treat you like the queen you are. These jerks that you date aren’t good enough for you.”
“That’s sweet, honey, but I’m doing fine with my dating choices.”
He blinks dumbly at me. “Is it because they’re needy? Well, I need you, too. I haven’t had a date in, like, six months. It’s been a long dry spell.”
With considerable effort, I manage not to roll my eyes. So much for treating me like a queen. Lord, save me from the guy who thinks he’s a hero because he opens your car door. “I’m not a sex doctor.” I wiggle my fingers at him. “Now, seriously, you have got to go.”
Ace is nearly upon us, and his nostrils are flaring like he’s some bull that’s ready to charge. As much as Kent might need a good kick in the teeth, it’s best if I handle this.
“Your name is Bryant Johnson,” Ace accuses.
My lips part in surprise at the unexpected attack. “It is, indeed.”
He starts to say something else when he notices Kent. “Who are you?” Ace barks.
Kent wilts under the glare of Ace Anderson. Six feet, five inches of athletic grace, a chin that could be carved from rock, and blazing green eyes order Kent to move.
While I’m outwardly smiling lightly, inside I’m squirming with glee. Even though Ace is struggling with his emotional response toward me, his instincts tell him that Kent’s an opponent. For a competitor like Ace, that means Kent needs to be crushed. It’s such a good sign. Because a guy who thinks girls can be used and discarded like tissues isn’t going to get territorial.
“Kent’s leaving.”
“This is the guy?” Kent unwisely hisses at me. “The new quarterback your daddy brought in because he was so much trouble at his last school? Bryant, give up on these losers and give the nice guy a chance.”
I rise, slipping my hand through Ace’s arm, mostly because I want to touch him, but also so I have a handle on him in case he tries to punch Kent’s lights out for the insult. “Kent, honey, you’re already so close to perfect that you don’t need me. Ace, this is Kent Dayton. Kent, this is Ace Anderson. We’ve just started going out.” I smile and look up adoringly at Ace’s stern façade.
“We’re not—” He breaks off and shakes his head as if there’s something caught between his ears. “Look, Bryant, we need to talk.”
His glower sends exciting shivers down my spine. “I agree. Kent was leaving, weren’t you, Kent?”
“But what about everything we discussed? What about me?” he whines.
“Go home and write out a list of everything you want in a girl, and then we’ll talk.”
“You mean you’ll consider me?”
“I'll take a look at your list for you,” I promise noncommittally. Maybe I can hook him up with someone.
Kent’s eyes light up. “All righty, then.” He finally slides out of the booth and gives Ace’s arm a slap. Ace stares at the spot on his arm and then at Kent, who backs away, peeking around Ace’s solid frame to offer one last plug. “I promise you, if you choose me, it’ll be awesome.”
He backs away, giving us the thumbs up.
Ace scowls at Kent’s departing back before whipping around and addressing me again. “What the hell was that all about?”
“Kent was here applying for your position, but I told him it was already full,” I answer airily. I contemplate giving him a kiss but decide against it. Instead, I take my seat again and gesture for him to take his.
The moment his butt hits the vinyl, he pins me with an accusatory look. “Why didn't you tell me your dad was Coach Johnson?”
Is that what he’s mad about? I figured it was because I didn’t wake him up last night so he could have that second chance at rocking my world. Guys are awfully sensitive when it comes to performance in the bedroom. “I thought you knew. I told you what my name was. First and last.” An awful thought occurs to me. “Were you drunk last night?” Horrified, I press my fingers against my lips. “Did I take advantage of you?”
“No. Christ.” He digs a hand through his leaf-brown hair, his biceps flexing in a lovely, mouthwatering manner. “Your last name is Johnson. Do you know how many Johnsons there are in this country? Like eighty million of them.”