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Oh, wait. That’s exactly what just happened. Apparently, we’re still getting cockblocked.
Great.
I glare over my shoulder and find a huge black guy with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. My eyes narrow as I try to place him.
“Daniels! You’re holding up the line!” the stranger yells, his deep, baritone voice slightly muffled from the glass. “You can make out later.”
With a dry laugh, Owen nods and calls back, “Save us a seat, Johnson. We’ll be right in.”
Johnson. That’s right. Jalen Johnson. The burly football player was a lineman on Owen’s college team and seemed to be his wingman too. They were inseparable in college.
Satisfied with Owen’s response, Johnson gives us a tiny salute, then saunters into the building like he owns the place.
Owen grimaces. “Sorry about that, Say. But he’s right. We should probably head inside.”
“Fiiine.” Clutch in hand, I reach for the passenger door when Owen stops me.
“You. Stay.”
Then, he dashes out of the driver’s side, tosses the keys t
o the valet, and rounds the front of the car before tugging my door open.
“Such a gentleman,” I compliment.
“Mama raised me right.”
“She sure did.”
“And it helps that my first, and only,” he clarifies, “girlfriend used to always reward me with a kiss anytime I’d open the door for her.”
“Is that right?”
“Mm-hmm,” he hums, his tone low and husky. “Positive reinforcement works wonders.”
Unfolding myself from my seat, I take his offered hand, then press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Sounds like your old girlfriend was quite the catch.”
His eyes heat. “You have no idea. Come on. Let’s get inside.”
Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, along with sleek, black marble floors and giant white pillars that remind me of the pantheon. But it’s the tuxedos and shimmery dresses that really sell the place.
I gulp, fighting off the urge to fangirl over all of these very famous football players.
With his hand on my lower back, Owen leans down and murmurs, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar,” he teases. Again. “Ya know, I always took you for an honest girl, but this is the second time I’ve had to call you out tonight.”
I roll my eyes. “Gee. Thanks.”
“Stop stressing.”
“I can’t help it. This is crazy, Owen.” I motion to the onslaught of fanciness that surrounds us.
He shrugs. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“I recognize half of these guys from ESPN,” I argue with a smirk. “Only this time, they’re all spiffed up, and they’re staring at you.”
