Stone

“So, that’s the gist of it,” Aaron Andrews says, his smile wide. “We understand that there’s a tremendous amount of interest in you right now, and we’d like to help with that. If we can sideline Devereaux, then we’re doing our job.”

Something’s up and I’m not exactly sure what it is. But from the second I stepped into this meeting, I felt as though there was something I was missing. For the past half hour, Aaron has rambled on about the press and Luke Devereaux specifically, insisting that I need some help in keeping my name untarnished for the remainder of the season.

It sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me.

Regardless, I have to appreciate Aaron’s candor, the way he laid out his concerns without a lot of fluff. He seems to get that my focus is on playing while his interest is continuing to drive attendance along with winning the Super Bowl.

It seems a bit much at a time like this though. If I owned the Wranglers, I can tell you, I wouldn’t give two shits who’s up in my business. The players are groomed for this. We even have some canned responses to certain questions, which help to get us through the endless interviews.

But I can’t help feeling that maybe I’ve done something he’s not happy with.

“I get it,” I agree when the owner of the Dallas Wranglers looks to me for a response. “You need me to keep my mouth shut and to perform on the field.”

“That’s not what he said,” Savannah counters, sitting up straight. “He’s merely interested in putting some structure around the interviews, to keep you from having to deal with the pressure that’s coming from all sides right now.”

Hmm. That’s an interesting way to put it.

“Okay.” I turn to face Aaron. “I’m here for one reason only,” I tell him. “To take this team to the Super Bowl and to win. I think we’ve got a real chance this year, and I’m not gonna let you down.”

That seems to appease Aaron.

However, my reasons for agreeing aren’t completely altruistic.

I came to this decision for two reasons: One, I do know it’s important to talk to the reporters, to keep my name out there and to get more attention. Attention equates to money, whether it’s from a contract or through endorsement deals. I’m not opposed to making money. However, it’s easy for a player to put his foot in his mouth and give assholes like Devereaux something to chew on.

Two—the most important reason—the guy pretty much put his daughter directly in my path. With one short meeting, Aaron Andrews has done what I’ve failed to do the last two times I was in this woman’s presence. Quite frankly, I’ve spent more time than not trying to figure out how to make that happen ever since I met her at the club.

With a schedule as jam-packed as mine, I haven’t come up with any ideas and suddenly I don’t have to think about how to make it happen, only how to keep her from thinking this is only about business.

“Really?” Savannah’s eyes are wide, her mouth partially hanging open. “Not even gonna put up a fight?”

I like her.

A lot.

I could tell from the instant I stepped into this room that she was uncomfortable being here. I’m not sure why because the last time I saw her, we spent a couple of hours talking about the various guests at her father’s party and passing some rather intense sparks back and forth, although neither one of us carried through on the attraction that night, despite how badly I wanted a repeat of our first night together.

During the time I’ve spent with her, I’ve learned a few things about Savannah Andrews.

First of all, she’s funny as hell. Secondly, she’s got a mouth on her. And last, but certainly not least, she’s definitely not interested in seeing where this attraction between us might lead.

The first two are bonuses for me. The third is a challenge I’m openly accepting. It’s been a damn long time since I’ve found a woman who I want to spend more than one night with. This woman has captured every ounce of my attention and she’s holding it somehow. The only choice I have is to run with it, to see where this thing goes.

After all, she did manage to get me to relax at a time when I should be completely stressed.

I showed up this morning with my nuts in a knot, dreading what Aaron Andrews wanted to talk about. I honestly thought he was trying to corner me in an attempt to discuss my future with the team. I should’ve known better. The man is aware that those discussions must go through my agent. It’s what the guy gets paid for.

I could’ve blown him off, but something told me this was going to get interesting. I was right.

I peer over at Aaron to see he’s smiling, his bright white teeth reflecting the light. He clearly likes my answer.

Savannah not so much.

“I’m not opposed to some assistance,” I say in response to her question. “It certainly couldn’t hurt. I mean, my time is better spent on the field, working with the team. Not inundated with reporters.”

Savannah sighs, although I think there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her perfect mouth. I have fucking dreamed about having that mouth on me again. More than once over the past week.

“Fantastic.” Aaron claps his hands together. “I’ll leave the two of you alone to work out the logistics. We’ve only got a few more weeks, but this is when it counts the most.” Aaron looks at Savannah. “Come see me once you have a plan in place. And remember what I said.” His eyes narrow on her face. “Shadow.”

She nods, looking somewhat defeated despite the forced smile on her beautiful face.

If someone had told me that this would be the year everything clicks into place for me, I would’ve told them they were crazy.

Not only was I picked up by a team I’ve wanted to play for my entire life, given the exact contract I was looking for, but I also get to spend unlimited quantities of time with the super-sexy Savannah Andrews.

I glance over to see she’s biting the tip of her pen.

Okay, and now I’m thinking about her mouth.

On my dick.

Shit.

The damn fool is twitching, growing. If I’m not careful, he’s gonna give away my reasons for agreeing to this.

I shift in my seat, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee, my jeans uncomfortably tight. I ease to the left, but it doesn’t help much. In fact, it pinches my ball sac and I grunt, shifting again.

Aaron walks past me, claps me on the shoulder. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

I peer up at him and smile. I’m not sure what more he could possibly offer. I’ve already hit the fucking jackpot.

When the door closes behind Aaron, I relax a little.

Savannah is leaning back, tapping her pen on the table as she stares at me.

“What?”

She shakes her head as though clearing her thoughts, then leans forward. “Are you hungry?”

Wait.

Huh?

That wasn’t what I expected her to say.

“I could probably eat, yeah.” I can always eat, so it’s not really a lie. In fact, that had been my intention once the meeting was over.

“I know this great little restaurant right down the road. Then I’ll have you back in time for your team meeting.”

She gets to her feet and I follow suit, shoving my chair under the table, then following her to the door. I have to make a quick leap in order to reach it before she does. She might be the independent type, but my momma taught me how to treat a lady and I don’t miss the opportunity to open a door for her.

Savannah peers up at me over her shoulder and I have to look down to meet her eyes. She’s so damn small. Not ridiculously short, but I’ve got at least a foot or more on her.

I smile. She returns it.

And then we’re heading down the carpeted hallway and out into the brilliant Texas sunshine.

“I’ll drive,” Savannah offers.

I’m not going to argue. “Sure.”

When she stops, I stop.

She’s looking at me as though I’ve got a third eyeball on my forehead. “What?”

“Are you always this easy?”

“I can be. Anytime you’re up for testing out the theory, just let me know.”

She turns to face me and plants her hands on her hips. I do my best not to stare at her tits. She’s wearing a body-hugging sweater in a rich brown that makes her green eyes practically glow. And the distressed, hip-hugging jeans that don’t quite meet the hem of that sweater do incredible things to her mile-long legs. Not that I’m looking at either of those things right now. I’m doing my best to keep my gaze above her chest despite the fact they’re begging for a trip south just to check out how incredibly hot she is.

Truthfully, I was a little shocked when I saw her this morning. Considering she was decked out in full glamour mode at her father’s party, I didn’t expect her to come in looking quite so casual. With her hair pulled back in a ponytail, a pair of silver hoops dangling from her cute little ears, and a sparkling stud in her nose, she does not look like the executive vice president I know she is.

No, Savannah looks more like the girl next door.

The girl you want to strip and take the time to mentally map out every inch of her beautiful body. After all, I’ve learned Savannah isn’t interested in a repeat. Had I known that the first time around, I would’ve taken my time with her.

Rather than respond, Savannah takes a deep breath, then turns away.

Once again, I follow.

At this point, I’d follow this woman anywhere.

Especially if it means I get a front-row view of her cute little ass.

Savannah

“Denny’s is the great little restaurant you know?” Stone asks when I swing my car into the parking lot, pulling into a vacant spot right near the door.

“You have a problem with Denny’s?” Based on the way his wide eyes dart from the restaurant then back to me, I don’t think he does.

“Of course not. They’ve got bacon. No one has a problem with bacon. Therefore, no one has a problem with Denny’s.”

Turning off the engine, I reach for the door handle. “And pancakes,” I tell him. “Don’t forget the pancakes.”

Without waiting for a response, I climb out of my Mercedes, planting my booted feet on the asphalt and glancing around. The place is pretty busy, but I think we’ll be fine to go inside. Sure, the odds of someone recognizing Stone are about two to one, but hey, a girl’s got to eat, so hopefully they’ll keep their distance while we have breakfast.

“Waffles,” Stone counters, joining me on the sidewalk that leads to the door. “Pancakes are the lazy man’s breakfast. Waffles require effort.”

“Effort? How so?”

“Drop some batter in a pan, let it spread out, you’ve got pancakes. Waffles at least have shape.”

This guy surprises me at every turn. I honestly expected him to balk at my choice in restaurants, not embrace it.

I smile up at him. “Are we really talking about the consistency of breakfast carbs?”

He laughs and the sound is sexy. It’s funny how I’m here to exploit this connection Stone and I seem to have, yet when I’m around him, I’m not looking to exploit anything. I genuinely like him and the more I’m in his presence, the more time I want to spend with him. He’s funny, witty, even charming, in spite of the underlying sexual innuendo.

That’s not going to make my job any easier—keeping this thing between us platonic is the only way I can do this without feeling like a fraud—I can tell that already. Which means we have to pretend as though that one incredible night never happened.

To be honest, I’m having a hard time not thinking it.

“Carbs are my best friend,” he says as he reaches around me and grabs the door handle, pulling it open. “But they’re also my worst enemy.”

As I brush past him, my elbow slides against his rock-hard abdomen. Carbs, my ass. I know for a fact the man’s hard body lacks even an ounce of fat.

“How many?” the woman at the small counter asks.

“Two. And a booth if you have one,” I tell her. “Preferably in the back.”

“And anyway, you go to IHOP for pancakes,” Stone notes, his voice low. “You come here for waffles.”

“I thought you went to the Waffle House for waffles?”

He clutches his chest right over his heart. “You know about the Waffle House?” His eyes lock on mine. “I think you might be the woman of my dreams.”

“Right this way, please.”

I don’t reply to his statement, not because I have nothing to say but because the woman is now leading us to a table.

Okay, that’s not true. I have nothing to say either. His words, like his face, have sparked a keen sense of interest somewhere deep in my core. Not that I’ll ever admit that outside of my own head because, hello. This is Jason Stone. As of a few minutes ago, I’m his shadow for the remainder of the season. I’m tasked with convincing him to do something I don’t think he wants to do.

And, above all else, being attracted to this guy is not a good idea. Acting on that attraction—again—is just bad business.

“Thanks,” he says to the woman when we slide into opposite sides of the booth and she hands us menus.

“Your server will be right with you.”

I nod, opening my menu. I don’t have time to skim it before a young waiter approaches the table.

He pulls a notepad from his apron pocket, then a pen. “Can I get your…” His eyes lift for the first time, bypassing me altogether and glancing at Stone. “Holy shit,” he mutters. “Sorry. I…uh…shit.”

That makes me laugh because he just said shit twice, obviously without meaning to.

Based on the sideways smirk on Stone’s perfect lips, he’s amused by it also.

“You’re Jason Stone.”

I notice several heads turn toward us, and I can see the recognition dawning.

“That’s what my mother says,” he replies easily, his gaze darting to me. “Jason Daniel Stone, to be exact. She inserts a couple of exclamation points in there when I’m in trouble.”

I’m still laughing when I glance over at the server. He doesn’t appear to be listening, but he’s still staring.

“How about some orange juice?” I ask, talking more to Stone than to the server.

“Orange juice and water, please,” Stone tells the guy, nodding toward the notepad and leaning closer to him. “It’s okay to write it down.”

I can’t help but watch Stone’s interaction with the twenty-something waiter who’s clearly starstruck. Stone’s teasing, but not at all condescending. It’s obvious the server is on the verge of a full-blown meltdown, but it doesn’t seem to faze Stone one bit.

“Yes, of course,” the young man says, scribbling it down. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

When he’s out of earshot, I lean closer to Stone. “And he’ll likely bring the entire kitchen staff with him.”

Those dimples appear and I’m momentarily mesmerized by them. I think that’s the only reason I don’t initially notice the slight blush that infuses Stone’s cheeks.

Well, now isn’t that interesting. A seasoned player still gets shy around fans.

Leaning back and unwrapping my silverware, I drop the napkin in my lap and nod in the direction the waiter went. “I assume that happens to you all the time?”

“Yeah,” he says, although it lacks any enthusiasm.

“Is that a bad thing?”

He meets my gaze. “It can prove to be…inconvenient at times.”

“I can understand that.” I glance around. There are several people pointing, a couple of them whispering loudly.

It’s only a matter of time before someone forgets their manners and drops by the table for a selfie.

“But, you just kinda get used to it,” he continues.

“Is that what this is?” I motion toward him. “You being used to it?”

Jason opens his menu, but doesn’t look away from my face.

“Try going out when I’m with my brother.” His smile is warm. “Talk about a traffic jam.”

I laugh. “That would be interesting to see.”

“My mother eats it up.”

“So she doesn’t mind that her boys are famous?”

“Are you kidding? If you meet her and you don’t know who we are, she’ll run down our stats and have you signed up for the NFL channel before she leaves your side.”

“Is she by chance looking for a job?” I’m only partially teasing. The woman sounds like a publicist’s dream.

“Be careful what you wish for.”

I chuckle. “I’m sure she’s completely charming.”

“Oh, she’s more than charming,” he says, and I can see the pride in his eyes. This man loves his mother and he’s not ashamed for people to know it.

Another thing I find myself liking about him.

“I remember when I was a kid. It was my fifth birthday and my mom took me to dinner and I saw Owen Smith, you know, the former running back for the Wranglers? Anyway, I saw him at the restaurant and I thought my mom had gotten him to go there because of me.” He laughs. “I was so excited, I couldn’t even eat.”

Okay, if he keeps that up, I’m going to have a really hard time finding anything to dislike about him.

“Most mothers would’ve thought it was cute. Not my mom. She took my hand, led me across the restaurant to where Smith was sitting, and made an introduction. Told him that my brother and I would one day be two of the NFL’s most valued players.”

I already love his mother and I haven’t even met her. “So you were into football since you were a kid?”

“Loved it. There was a group of kids in our neighborhood who would get together in the front yard across from ours and play every single day. They eventually invited my brother to play—he’s three years older than me. Never would let me be on a team, but I sat on my front porch and watched in awe.”

I can’t help but watch his face. The memories are clearly good ones for him.

I tap him with my foot. “Bet those guys have been kicking themselves in the ass since you went pro. Probably thinkin’, hey, I should’ve been nicer to that kid.”

Stone smiles and his eyes brighten. “I don’t know about all that. Their claim to fame is the fact that they played touch football with Jeremy.”

“So, where’d you grow up?”

The server returns at that moment with two glasses of orange juice and two glasses of water.

“Are you ready to order?”

I realize I haven’t even looked at the menu, so I quickly glance down, then up at Stone. “You know what you want?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Go ahead,” I tell him. “I’ll figure it out in the meantime.”

“I’ll take the Fit Slam,” he says. “Times two.”

I instantly glance down to find it and smile as I read: egg whites scrambled together with fresh spinach and grape tomatoes, plus two turkey bacon strips, an English muffin, and seasonal fruit.

Jason Stone makes healthy choices. Granted, I’m sure he has all sorts of clauses in his contract stating how much weight he can and cannot gain during the season. However, as a veteran, he’s probably figured out how to play the system. Nonetheless, it gives me an idea for a photo opportunity. I mentally jot it down for later.

“And throw in a couple of extra slices of bacon. Not turkey bacon either.”

“Yes, sir,” the guy says, his eyes wide.

I look up at the waiter. “I’ll have the same. Single though. Not double. And without the extra bacon.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m impressed,” I tell Stone when the waiter leaves. “You didn’t do that because of me, though, did you?”

Another blush steals over his face. “No. I…uh…” He grins sheepishly. “Let’s just say, I wasn’t a small kid.”

“No?”

“God, no. Big as a house by the time I was eight.” He shakes his head. “Not because my mother didn’t try either. She certainly did. But I ate everything I could get my hands on. It wasn’t until seventh grade when I started playing football for school that I shed all that weight. Knew at that point that I wasn’t one of those guys who could eat whatever I wanted and still run down the field.”

As I sit here looking at this wildly attractive, devastatingly charming man, I realize that taking on this job might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

And it has nothing to do with befriending him either.

No, my issue is likely going to be how to manage to keep my clothes on when I’m around him.