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“You don’t need to come, Miss Brielle. I’m well aware that you don’t work weekends. It isn’t expected,” he replies as he sips his coffee.
“I want to watch Will play. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.” Willow smiles around her mouth full of cereal.
Mr. Masters’ eyes hold mine, and if I’m not mistaken, they have a new intensity to them today. Something is different with him this morning. He’s playing with me. It’s like he’s silently daring me to flirt with him, just so he can reprimand me if I do.
I’m screwed if I do and screwed if I don’t.
Who am I kidding? Any screwing with him would be good screwing.
Damn him and his all-confusing sexiness.
I raise an eyebrow at
“Very well, as you wish. We leave in half an hour,” he tells me calmly.
“Okay, call me when we are leaving.” I hurry back to my room so I can try to get control of these hormones.
I need to calm my farm.
I sit in a fold-up chair at soccer, with the morning sunlight on my face and my boss sitting beside me.
Julian Masters.
Also known as Hugh Hefner.
Big dick. Check. Arrogant asshole. Check. Off the scale fucking hornbag. Double check.
These fucking soccer milfs are pissing me off. One by one, they all slide up next to him and make small talk. He’s always polite, and he flirts with ease as they hang off his every word.
Does he even realize that he does it?
“Oh, I heard you won your tennis semi the other night,” he says.
The attractive woman with the dark hair beams with pride. “Yes, it was a great victory.” She fakes a laugh. “We still need to get that game in, Julian.”
“I know, as soon as time permits. We shall.” He smiles. “I’m looking forward to it, although I hope you’re prepared to suffer a loss.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, Julian, you kill me.”
I fold my arms and roll my eyes. I’m right here, you know. For fuck’s sake, he’s an idiot.
“Call me.” She smiles as she walks off.
We both watch her walk away, and his eyes eventually return to mine.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I mimic with a roll of my eyes.
“Why the sarcasm?” he teases. “I look forward to spending time with you, too, Miss Brielle. Don’t feel left out.”
“Oh, please,” I mutter. “I’m not in line with these… these… desperate old hags.”
His eyes dance with delight, and I narrow mine. Damn my jealous streak showing now.
I fold my arms in front of me. This fatal attraction is beginning to piss me off. I don't need this shit. Who knew that football could be the home to such pickup tricks?
The blonde from last week walks up next. “Julian, where have you been hiding, darling? I’ve been searching all over.
Oh God, it gets worse. I keep a straight face as I watch the game in front of me. When it eventually comes to an end, the crowd claps at the result. I have no idea of the score. I
