I smile to let him know I got it—fumbling humor and all—then my smile turns into a ruler-straight line when I turn on my heels and see my surfer angel.
Holy shit. She’s hot as sin in a red skirt, white blouse, and black heels. She holds a drink. Her blond hair is twisted on her head. Damn. The smoking-hot look is almost enough to make me forget she blew me off. My dick, the traitorous bastard, has already come down with amnesia. The fucker wants her.
“This is Dani Paige. She’s an attorney for the team,” he says, and I attempt to school my expression as I come face-to-face with the woman who ditched me.
And all I want to do is toss her on my shoulder, stalk to the bathroom, slam the door, and ask her why the fuck she didn’t call. Then when she tells me it was because she was too busy getting off to thoughts of me, I’d kiss the hell out of her until she melted in my arms and begged me to take her. I’d happily oblige. Hoist her up, hook her legs around my hips, and fuck her against the wall until she comes harder than she ever has before.
Instead, I shake her free hand. “Pleasure to meet you.” Then I whisper, just for her. “Jaws.”
Chapter Five
Dani
I knock back my Arnold Palmer in one fast gulp.
Like it’s going to give me the fuel I need to manage this interaction with Drew.
I knew it would happen eventually, but I have no clue what to expect now that he’s here in front of me, with Stuart by his side. Talk about awkward.
The trouble is, I can’t talk about anything because I’ve finished my beverage too fast and it’s gone straight to my head. As in, epic brain freeze. My forehead pulses in a mind-numbing headache. I press my palm against my temple.
The pain. Oh lord, the ridiculous pain.
“You okay?”
I meet Drew’s gaze. “Brain freeze,” I croak out.
“Press your tongue against the roof of your mouth,” he says, and then he demonstrates. On himself. Opening his mouth, sticking his tongue up, and showing me.
It’s the strangest moment and one that is rife for innuendo, because . . . his tongue.
But my head aches like a son of a bitch so I do as he says, pushing the tip of mine against the roof of my mouth. In a few wondrous seconds, the pain in my forehead dissipates.
A smile tugs at the corners of my lips. “How on earth did you know to do that?”
He shrugs. “Big fan of Slurpees. Learned it the hard way.”
Stuart beams, claps his hands, and says, “I can see you two will get along fine. Drew, if you need anything, Dani is the legal liaison to the press department this season. She’s tasked with helping us to make sure we present the best public face, and don’t break any rules. Or laws.” He pauses, then adds, this time with complete seriousness. “Or morals. Especially those.” I nod my understanding and Drew does the same. Then Stuart flashes a huge smile and laughs. “Need to go make the rounds, so I’ll leave you two alone.”
Stuart walks away, and I stand near the bar with the man who ditched me the other week.
Be cool. Be calm. Be a pro. Don’t break any rules.
I part my lips to speak, hunting for words to break the tension that still exists between us. In my best cool-as-a-cucumber tone, I say, “Congratulations on joining the team. Everyone is thrilled to have you.”
He arches an eyebrow and even that simple gesture is impossibly sexy on him. But then, he has an unfair advantage because he’s decked out in a three-piece suit—tailored pants, a dress shirt, and a vest that fits him like a glove. If he wasn’t already stunning, the damn vest alone would knock him into another stratosphere, because there’s just something so ridiculously hot about a man who can pull off that look. You have to possess a spectacular body to wear that kind of three-piece suit. Drew seems to have stepped off the pages of GQ, tailored to within a millimeter of his fine frame. I’ve seen him in shorts, and I’ve seen him in a suit. The man makes the clothes every time.
“Everyone is thrilled to have me?” He sweeps his multimillion-dollar arm out wide, his eyes pinned on me. “Because it didn’t seem like everyone was thrilled to have me.”
My face burns and I don’t know if it’s from embarrassment or desire or a mix. How on earth is he already dropping naughty little hints? Especially after not calling.
I nod, raising my chin. I don’t know what he’s getting at, but I won’t take the bait. I’m not about to let on that I was so disappointed at the silent treatment that I considered smashing my phone with a hammer as a punishment for it not serving up any texts from him.
“I assure you, everyone at the organization is delighted that you’re on the team.”
Ugh. I sound like a mouthpiece.
He steps closer, leans into me, his mouth now dangerously near to my ear. “Cut the act,” he whispers, his voice low and husky and turning me on even though I wish it wasn’t.
“What act?” I ask, my voice as wobbly as my knees.
“You knew I was traded.”
I wrench back. “What are you talking about?”
He taps his chest. “And you knew who I was.”
I scoff. In his face. “I didn’t know you were being traded,” I whisper sharply, not wanting anyone to overhear our conversation. “But obviously I knew who you were. I’m not stupid. If I didn’t recognize you, I shouldn’t have my job.”
“And yet you said nothing.”
“And yet you said nothing,” I fire back at him.