Page 26 of Hard to Score

Drew Bowman is hot in a football uniform. He is sexy at home, barefoot in his sweatpants. But in a dark suit and tie? He’s absolutely devastating.

I look away for a split second as I try to process all the emotions swirling inside of me. Or maybe it’s just sheer lust from the sight of him.

The problem?

When I look back up, he’s staring straight at me and now I have nowhere to hide. Not that I want to.

He walks toward me, one hand holding a drink, the other buttoning up the buttons of his blazer/suit jacket. His expression reads confused but his smile lights up the night.

Too bad when he speaks, the irritation in his voice sounds nothing like his smile looks.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Look at you all fancy and dressed up.”

“What are you doing here?” he repeats, accusation in his tone.

“Jules is one of my good friends from college.”

He nods and takes a sip of his drink as his eyes take an unabashed stroll up and down the length of my body. I know desire in a man’s eyes when I see it, and it’s there all right.

“Small world,” he murmurs and starts to walk away, completely dumbfounding me.

“What? Wait!” I grab his arm and he turns around. “Why are you here?”

The muscle in his jaw tics. “Because Archer McMasters is my friend.”

“Small world,” I repeat as we start moving with the herd of guests inside the decked-out ballroom. Intricate arrangements of flowers line surface after surface in white and beige tones. Fabric drapes from the ceiling and crystal lines the tables. Somehow, it’s elegant yet shabby chic all at the same time.

“It sure is,” he says.

I was hoping to have heard from you.

“I hope whatever happened the other night . . . that you were able to resolve it.”

“Yes. It’s fine.” His eyes hold mine, and I swear it’s like he’s struggling with something. Then he offers me a tight smile. “Good seeing you, but if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to my table.”

I watch Drew walk away, more than befuddled over how this is the same man I had dinner with the other night.

Did I do something wrong? Say something?

How did I misconstrue the vibe I got from him at his house? The almost kiss I’m certain was going to happen? His comment suggesting we do it again sometime?

Am I that off my rocker and desperate for love? That pathetic?

I know I’m not.

I know for a fact, and yet . . . maybe Dekker was right. Maybe I see things through hopeless romantic eyes, even when there isn’t anything there to begin with.

With confusion owning my thoughts and dampening my mood, I head for my assigned table. The irony? When I approach it, I find Drew standing there, staring at the place cards—one his, one mine—seating us next to one another.

I should’ve guessed when I was assigned to table thirteen that it was a bad omen.

Now I know it is.

“Looks like we’re sitting next to each other,” I say and infuse cheer into my voice that I really don’t feel. While he’s not exactly being the most cordial, he at least has manners and pulls my chair out for me.

He sits down and grumbles under his breath as others are taking their seats, and the first round of food is being served.