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His mother was going to kill him.
Chapter Three
This was not, and never would be, a real date.
No matter what Wyatt Hamilton had said earlier, this was just repayment for breaking his personal property, and nothing else. Guys like Wyatt didn’t date shy, normal girls like her, and that’s all there was to it. He’d called it a date out of habit, or perhaps to be kind, but they both knew she wasn’t his type.
She kept reminding herself of that, because he was due to arrive at her house any minute now. After all, she’d seen the pictures of him with his endless parade of women on his arm. He never kept any around for long, but each one was always prettier than the last, as if he was trying to one-up himself in dating as well as on the field, and it was clearly working. He preferred tall, leggy, skinny, drop-dead gorgeous supermodels who owned the runway and the world around it.
Even if he did, for some reason, find her slightly attractive, she would never, ever, ever in a million years believe it, or act on it, or even really see it.
That didn’t stop her from thinking about it, though.
Even for just a second.
And, boy, was she thinking about it…and him.
Biting down on her lip, she leaned closer to the mirror and opened her eyes wide as she applied her second coat of mascara. Date or not, she wanted to fit the part to repay her clumsy shattering of a historical vase. This particular brand of mascara claimed that it would increase lash-length ten-fold with two coats, and long lashes never hurt a girl while groveling, right?
Her best friend, Jessica Franze, sighed from the bed and flopped back on it. “I can’t believe you’re going on a date with Wyatt Hamilton.”
“It’s not a date,” Kassidy said, switching eyes. “It’s a debt I owe him.”
“Call it what you want, but in ten minutes, Wyatt Hamilton will be at your doorstep, ringing your bell, and taking you out to dinner at a fancy restaurant where they probably charge three figures for a plate.” Jessica sat up again and pointed at her. “I don’t know about you, but I call that living, my friend.”
Jessica was the only other person privy to Kassidy’s decision to stop being so careful about everything all the time, and she was right. No matter what this was called, she was going out with Wyatt Hamilton, bachelor quarterback for Atlanta, and that was a huge frigging deal.
Grinning, she lowered the wand. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”
“Are his eyes as blue as they seem on TV?”
She sighed, picturing them. She couldn’t help it. “Even bluer.”
“Not possible.”
“Oh, but it is.” She grinned. “And they sparkle when he laughs. Like, actually sparkle. His hair is blonder, too. Not light blond, but not quite brown. You know?”
Jess nodded. “Mm-hm.”
“And his muscles…” She sighed again. “Ugh.”
So frigging big.
“I’m so jealous,” Jessica said, her eyes wide. “What if you’re on blogs and on the news?”
Jessica had been single for a year now, after her boyfriend had cheated on her and left her. She’d been firmly on the men-suck bandwagon with Kassidy ever since.
Butterflies flew in her stomach. The idea of the world seeing her at Wyatt’s side was an unsettling one, at best. What must it be like to be in the spotlight like that? To always have to wonder if you’d end up on TMZ? It must be crazy. No wonder he only dated supermodels, who were used to the pressure.
Women like Samantha Ford, who had been named the hottest Playboy model of the year, and had been on his arm for last week’s Quarterbacks Give Back gala in New York City. The media speculated that this was the real thing and that Wyatt Hamilton had fallen, and fallen hard, for the lingerie model.
“I hope not.”
“But that would be fun,” Jessica argued. “Something to show your future grandkids. ‘This is when Nana was young and pretty and dated a star quarterback.’”
“Embellishment, much?” Kassidy asked.
Did he and Samantha keep in touch?
