One Night with a Quarterback (2 page)

“You scared them off by telling them thanks but no thanks to the drink offers.” Anya sighed. “Just as well though.”

“You know the rule. We buy our own drinks.” Their unwritten rule for never getting so trashed they made dangerous choices. She turned when Anya pointed and ordered two bottles of water from the waiting bartender. After sliding him the cash, she caught an interesting face over Anya's shoulder. “Hottie, twelve o'clock.”

Anya stared over Cassie's head. “My twelve or your twelve?”

“Mine.” She closed her eyes a moment to laugh at herself. When she cracked the seal on the bottle and took a healthy swig of cold water, her entire body shivered in response. Oh, that was good.

“Big fan of water, huh?”

The interesting face had wandered up to stand next to them. She gave him a quick perusal. Cute, definitely cute. Toned body, much taller than her—but most guys were, given she was only five foot four. His hair had the look of total disarray, like he couldn't keep from running his fingers through it when he needed to push it back. It was an interesting mix of gold and brown, not quite one or the other. And his eyes were dark behind cute frames.

“Big fan of not being dehydrated.”

Anya scooted closer to her.

“I'd offer to buy you a drink, but something tells me you'd say no.”

“Good guess. Thanks for the thought, though.” She took the last sip of water and screwed the cap back on.

“I saw you up there, on the platform,” the cute stranger said, watching her closely through lenses that were a little smudged.

She resisted rolling her eyes. Right. Trolling for pussy. He probably thought she was a stripper on her day off or something. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he echoed, then grinned. “You sucked.”

She blinked, then laughed. Laughed until she almost doubled over. Holy hell, that was unexpected.

“That wasn't very nice,” Anya said indignantly.

“Not nice, but true,” Cassie admitted on a gasping breath. “Very true. I've never been a good dancer. But I can't help myself.”

“That was my favorite part.” His eyes confirmed he was in on the humor. “That you could block it out and not care, and love it anyway.”

Cute and intuitive. Her last night of freedom was getting more promising by the minute. “You got a name? Wait, let me guess. Nigel.”

He blinked. “Huh? Why would you guess that?”

“Nigel Lythgoe. One of the judges from
So You Think You Can Dance
? Okay then,” she added when he showed no signs of following along. “Never mind. Lay it on me.”

He hesitated a moment and took a sip of beer. “Trey,” he said finally. “My name's Trey.”

“Cassie.” She held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you, Trey Who Judges Dancing.”

“It's a gift,” he said somberly, and made her laugh again.

Cute, intuitive, and funny. Trifecta.

She turned to Anya. “You're tired?”

Her friend nodded immediately. “Exhausted. You ready to call it a night? Let's catch a cab.”

“A cab? Our hotel's not even four blocks away.” That was the beauty of staying in a hotel in downtown Santa Fe. Everything they needed for fun was walking distance away. Although Anya had argued for staying outside the city, Cassie had pushed and won. “Not ready to call it a night, yet. But ready to bust outta here, I think.” She glanced sideways at Trey. “Know a place where a girl can get a good stack of pancakes at one in the morning?”

His smile was contagious. “Can't Dance Cassie, I've got just the place.”

* * *

Trey waited while Cassie conferred with her friend about meeting back at the hotel where they were staying, then a few more private details he couldn't quite make out but weren't his business.

She didn't recognize him. She had no clue who he was. That might be shot to shit when they left the club and walked into the decently lit diner, where she could get a better look. But he was ready to fully test it out. Plus, he was positive the little diner a few blocks down served breakfast all day, and knew this late at night, it'd be nearly empty.

Stephen's theory had been that people mentally place faces in context. Seeing him on the field or in his Bobcats jersey wearing the fake glasses would be worthless. But him in the glasses in a darkened club? He could just blend.

The theory was worth testing out. And thus far, Cassie seemed like the perfect subject. Hot, sure. But she also could laugh at herself, and wanted to have fun for fun's sake. Not attention.

Even if she recognized him eventually, Trey had a feeling she wasn't the type to bust out her iPhone and tweet the details right then.

And if she figured it out, he was no worse off for having had a night out.

“Ready?” Cassie walked back to him with her friend in tow. “I promised Anya we'd walk her back to the hotel first. It's just a couple blocks south of here.”

“Yeah, sure. The diner's about eight blocks south, so we're heading that way anyway.” He waved at Stephen as they made their way toward the door. His friend blinked in surprise, then smiled and waved, adding a thumbs up when Cassie's back was turned.

Trey knew what that meant. His horn-dog friend thought he was scoring a threesome. So let him think it.

They walked in near silence until reaching the revolving doors to a decent, mid-range hotel. Not top of the line, but safe and reasonable. He stood back and watched as the friends parted again. Women, in his experience, always took about five times longer than men to say good-bye. What could be accomplished with a back slap and a
See ya
in the male world required conversing, hugs, reassurances, and more talking with women.

Finally, Cassie disengaged from her friend, who headed inside with obvious reluctance.

“She could have come with,” he offered.

Cassie shook her head and walked beside him. “She really is tired. We're not often out clubbing. Her stamina's lacking. Thanks, though.”

“Want to catch a cab from here?”

She shook her head. “You said it's just a few more blocks, right? I want to see the area a little.”

He took her arm to guide her around a good size crack in the sidewalk. Her skin was soft and warm, and he held on just a second longer than necessary. “How do you guys normally spend a Friday night, if you're not out badly dancing?”

“Oh, the usual. Pillow fights in our underwear, practicing kissing on each other.” She grinned when he stumbled a little. “Sorry. I've got a smart mouth. My mother always told me it'd be the death of me some day.”

He hid a smile. “Yeah, you kind of do.”

She gaped at him a moment, then slugged him in the arm and pulled back like she'd been burned. At her wince, he gently took her fist and rubbed his thumb over her fingers. That had to hurt.

“Okay, are you packing rocks in there?” She hissed in a breath, then let it out slowly when he took a chance and kissed the back of her hand. “That's a little better,” she murmured.

“You should learn to pick on someone your own size.”

“Who, a fourth grader?” When he didn't let go of her hand, she stared at their now-laced fingers a moment, then kept walking.

She went with the flow. He liked it.

“So what does a guy who hangs out in clubs, wears cute glasses, has biceps like boulders, and takes random chicks with smart mouths for pancakes in the middle of the night do for a living?”

“Oh, just hanging out, looking good in glasses and taking random chicks out for pancakes. Throw in some weights and that's about it.” He smiled at her eye roll. “Not a bad way to make a living.”

“Uh-huh.” She stopped for a second, stepping off to the side to admire a shop window. The store behind was pitch black, but the window display of shoes was illuminated. And from the look on her face, she would have climbed in and rolled around in a pile of the things if she'd been able.

“Like shoes?”

“Love,” she corrected. “Love shoes.” She popped one foot to the side and raised the leg of her jeans a little to show off her heel. “When you're as short as I am, you learn to compensate.” After another fond gaze, she shook back her hair, then bent over at the waist. Surprised, Trey stepped back from the whipping hair and watched as she deftly arranged the long strands into some messy bun thing. “That's better.”

Another hundred feet, and he opened the door to the diner for her. She paused for a moment, as if still weighing the pros and cons of going with him. He let the door shut again, still outside.

“You can head back. I'll walk you to the lobby.”

Please don't say yes.
He'd do it, but it might kill him.

He wanted more time with her. Almost craved it. Needed to know if she could handle him without imagining him in his number sixteen jersey, and everything that went with it. Needed to know what she, Cassie, thought of him as a man.

“No. I'm good. We're good.” With a brilliant smile, she reached over and opened the door herself, stepping through and giving him another minute of hope.

Okay. Hot guy, check. Stack of pancakes, check. Last night of freedom . . .

Damn it.

Cassie stared at the nearly empty plate in front of Trey. The man ordered almost three times as many pancakes as she had, and demolished them.

Of course, they were damn good pancakes. Where the diner had lacked in ambiance and service—their server was sitting at the bar, practically asleep on the counter, head pillowed on her arms like she was hungover—the food had been amazing. Her own plate was nearly empty. If it wouldn't have been disgusting, she might have been tempted to run her finger over the sticky remains and lick the syrup off. But not only would that be disgusting, he might take it as some sort of really bizarre seduction.

And please. She had better tricks in her bag than that. The point was, did she want to use them?

“So, Cassie,” Trey asked after a healthy gulp of milk. Milk. The man drank milk. It was almost adorable. Like the way he had to slide his glasses back up his nose an inch every time he looked up from his plate. “What does a smart mouth with a healthy lust for shoes do for a living?”

“IT stuff, mostly.” She leaned in a little, careful not to stick a boob in the syrup, and whispered, “I'm a nerd in disguise.”

“An IT nerd, huh?” He thought about that a second, scooped up the last of the pancake, and motioned at her with the full fork. “I thought all those guys wore weird T-shirts with techie-double entrendres on them and dreamed about hot girls like you from their futon in their mom's basement. How'd they let you in the nerd club?”

Typical stereotype
. She smiled sweetly. “They'd never seen real boobs before, so I flashed them at the interview. Job lock.”

He nearly choked on his milk.

Good.

After mopping up the spilled milk, he asked, “Do you work for a company out here?”

“No, I work for one in Atlanta. Or at least, I did,” she added. The leave of absence had been approved, as long as she agreed to take some smaller jobs she could do from her laptop in the hotel. But Cassie had a strong feeling if she became a sensational headline scrolling across the
Yahoo!
homepage, her company might see her more as a liability and feel the need to make the leave of absence a permanent one.

“Atlanta?” Trey's brows rose. “Did you just move here?”

“I'm not . . . I mean, I might be . . .” She sat back, unsure how to answer. “I guess I don't know.”

“So you're here for pleasure, not business.”

She shook her head. No way were they traveling down that road. That road led to thinking about tomorrow. And tomorrow wasn't at all what she wanted.

But what did she want? She had about twelve hours left before her meeting tomorrow. Today? Whatever, it could be tomorrow, since she hadn't slept yet. The real question was, how did she want to spend the time?

The answer formed almost immediately, and the embodiment of that answer was watching her with a curious amount of intensity, from across the table.

* * *

Trey pushed his plate to the side and watched Cassie wave down their server, motioning for the check. “In a hurry?” he asked, trying to keep disappointment out of his voice.

“I am,” she agreed.

Huh.
He settled back, draping one arm over the back of the booth. And here, he'd thought things were going well.

The server walked by, black checkbook in hand, and he reached for it automatically. Cassie snatched it practically mid-air and deposited her credit card in the slot, handing it back to the server.

Trey waited for recognition, but luckily the server seemed exhausted enough from working the graveyard shift that she didn't give him a second glance. He was all but invisible.

Maybe there really was something to this hiding in plain sight thing. He never would have guessed one simple pair of frames would have done it. But then again, he'd been laying low long enough, people had stopped looking for him out around town.

“I could have taken care of that,” he said.

“I'm sure you could have. But you know us techie geeks. We make a good living, since we're not paying rent while living in our mother's basement.” She grinned when he snorted. “Okay, ready for the frank stuff?”

Frank stuff. He sat up straighter, which meant he had to readjust the glasses. They worked, so he couldn't hate them. But it didn't mean he wasn't annoyed as all fuck with them and ready to throw them across the room. “By all means.”

“I like you. I want you. I think you want me. So I'm mostly in a hurry to get back to my hotel room and see if you're as funny and good looking naked as you are sitting there eating second dinner.” She said it so simply, like she was telling him she wanted another round of pancakes.

And for the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt tongue-tied in front of a woman.

She waited a few beats, then waved a hand in front of his face. “Is your sudden muteness a sign I should slowly back away and make for the hills?”

That snapped the thread of sanity back into place. “No.” He reached for her waving hand and stared at her for a moment. He had the oddest urge to trace a pattern between the three little moles that dotted the left side of her jaw. Like a constellation.

The server walked back and slipped the checkbook onto the table without a word. They both ignored her.

“So, it's not just me,” she said slowly.

“No. It's not.”

Her pulse thundered under his fingertips, hinting she wasn't quite as cool and collected on the inside as she looked from his side of the table.

Then she tugged a little on her hand. He didn't let go.

“I need that to sign the check,” she said dryly.

“Right. Sorry.” Feeling like a seventh grader with no moves, he let go of her hand and waited for her to sign the check with a flourish. Then she dug around in her purse for a moment, came up with a cell phone, and snapped a photo of him.

Fuck.
Was he made? Had she figured him out? Shit. His photo wearing this stupid Superman disguise was going to be over every entertainment blog by morning.
Look how stupid Trey Owens is, did he think that disguise was fooling anyone?

She grinned and started typing with her thumbs. “Insurance.”

“Insurance for what?” he growled.

“I'm texting this to my friend. If she doesn't hear from me in two hours, give or take, she'll have your description for the police.” She glanced up into his startled face. “What? I mean, you're adorable and I've had a lot of fun. But a girl's gotta be smart, you know.”

His heart slowed, just a fraction, and his muscles relaxed. Not for press. Just a single girl trying to take precautions. He couldn't fault her for it. In fact, it was damn smart. He pulled out his phone from his own pocket and cleared his throat.

When she glanced up, he snapped one of her.

“What gives?”

He waved the picture of her looking annoyed. “A guy's gotta be smart, you know.”

Her jaw dropped, then she bust out laughing, palm slapping the table. “Oh, my God. Tell me you're not sending that to your friend in case you disappear overnight.”

“Hey. You're small, but looks can be deceiving.”

“Delete that,” she insisted, grabbing for his phone. He held it out of reach. “Seriously, I look awful.”

“And mine was better?”

He stuffed the phone back in his pocket. He wouldn't send it to Stephen. But he also couldn't bring himself to delete it just yet.

Her text finished, Cassie put the phone back in her bag and stood, holding out a hand. “Ready to roll?”

He took it and stood beside her. “Hell yeah.”

* * *

Cassie stood six inches away from Trey in the elevator, vibrating with need. No, not need. Want. She wanted him, but she didn't need him. That was the delicious part of it. At the end of the night, she'd have taken what she wanted, he'd have done the same, and they could move on.

All about satisfying the baser instincts. One last jolt of adrenaline and fun before tomorrow.

And she would have been firmly in that healthy mindset, if he hadn't silently reached over and taken her hand in his much larger one. Just to hold. He didn't look at her, but held her hand. His thumb stroked over the back of her hand softly, like he could soothe the vibrations of her nerves with that simple touch. And if she were being honest . . .

But why be honest when she could ignore complicated things and focus on the instant fun?

The elevator bell chimed, grating harshly over the nerves skittering just under the surface of her skin. She grimaced, hoping it would pass for a sort of smile, and stepped out ahead of Trey. She took her hotel key out of the inside pocket of her purse and walked the few steps down the hall to her room. The whole time, her body was aware of Trey, just a step behind her. Not crowding, but present.

“You would've made a good bodyguard,” she said absently as she stopped in front of her door. She looked up and found him staring at her, confused. “What?”

“Why do you say that?” he asked, tilting his head a little like he was considering her.

Her hand froze over the key reader. “Just, you know, your size and how you move.” And because he made her feel comfortable. Safe.

He seemed to consider that for a moment before nodding. So apparently he wasn't offended by her ten-second psych analysis.

Opening the door, she walked in and whipped out her phone again to text Anya.

Here in the room. I've got company. Remember, I'm in 702.

The moment her message was sent, she could see Anya typing a response.

I'm texting you in an hour. Answer it, or I'm calling management. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.

Cassie rolled her eyes, but smiled. She'd dragged Anya into more than one exciting adventure, but Anya had dragged her own ass back from the brink of trouble more than once, too. They balanced each other out perfectly, which was why she'd begged her friend to come with her on this newest step in life. The moral support was priceless.

“Something funny on that phone?”

She glanced up to see him sitting on the edge of the made up bed. Her room was a double, and she'd slept in the bed on the right since arriving at the hotel two days earlier. And she appreciated he seemed to sense the personal nature of that, and perched on the edge of the left mattress.

She held up the phone. “Just Anya, my friend. She's two rooms down, and will be sending a
Please Don't Be Murdered
text in about an hour.”

He raised a brow at that. “You two seem to be very cautious.”

“A girl can never be too cautious in a new city.” She set her purse and phone on the TV console before kicking off her shoes and curling her toes in relief.

He laughed a little. “I knew those shoes were tall, but damn, you're a little thing.”

She scowled. “Being vertically challenged isn't something to laugh at.”

“No, of course not.” He managed to work up a contrite face, but she wasn't buying it. Then he settled back, his palms flat on the bedspread, watching her. Waiting, she assumed, for her to make the first move.

“What if I said I was tired?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I'd walk out the door with a hard-on.” Then he grinned devilishly. “Unless I could convince you to take a nap, and be ready for the challenge later.”

She laughed, then stepped forward into the space between his knees. Her thighs brushed against that aforementioned hard-on, and she felt a little surge of power when he hissed.

“Right answer.” She leaned down, hovering a breath away from his lips. “Trey?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm not tired.”

* * *

When her lips brushed his, Trey nearly groaned in relief. His heart was still catching up to a normal rhythm from when she'd mentioned being tired. He still couldn't explain why, but the thought of leaving her without experiencing Cassie full out was, to quote a damn good movie, inconceivable.

He smoothed one hand around her waist, pressing lightly against her back so she would take another step into him. She felt so tiny, his pinky and thumb able to span the width of her back easily. But his large hands had been an asset on the field. He was known for his big hands, and how well they palmed the pigskin.

No football. Hot girl kissing time.

She made a little sound of approval when his tongue parted her lips and swept in for a taste. Sweet, like maple syrup. And a bit of spice, he found, when she playfully nipped at him with her teeth. Cassie would definitely not be a passive participant.

And his body tightened even more in anticipation. He pulled her flush against him, breasts pressing into his shoulders. Her nipples were hard little points, and his hands worked their way to cup the flesh, pinching the tips.

Her head fell back, shoulders rolling and working in time with each caress. Her hair almost reached her butt when she did that, and he gave the locks a little tug. She looked at him then, eyelids heavy, and dove in for another kiss. This one not an exploration, but a possession.

And his damn glasses knocked askew, nearly snapping in two at the corner.

“Oh, oh God. Sorry!” She pulled back and settled the frames on his face again. The look of concentration as she angled them this way and that was too adorable to resist. “Not used to kissing a guy with glasses.”

“Let's just get rid of them. They're going to piss me off in a second anyway.” He pulled them off, folded them, and tossed them onto the other bed far out of harm's way.

Then he realized he'd lost the one flimsy barrier he had left in her recognizing him. Now that the pathetic excuse for a disguise was gone, would she put two and two together?

But she merely watched him, waiting. Then raised a brow. “Are you near sighted, or far?”