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What I don’t tell her? I’m staring down the very real possibility that my dream of winning a title died with a missed field goal on a blustery Sunday afternoon back in December. I have one season left on my contract to make that dream come true, and then I’m retiring. Why the fuck not grow a beard at this point? Helps hide the post-season bloat too.
“So your punishment for losing is looking like Santa’s erstwhile son?” she asks.
I let out a bark of laughter, making the guy behind Amelia glance over his shoulder at me this time.
Whatever. This is the most fun I’ve had all night.
“Yes. Although I’d like to think it’s less of a jolly fat guy look and more of a Tom Hardy in beast mode idea.”
Amelia gives me a slow shake of her head, eyes narrowed, clearly unimpressed. I imagine her giving a toddler the same look when time-out is imminent. We don’t bite our friends, Tommy, and we definitely don’t feed them our boogers. In the corner, now.
I feel another zing of electricity at the idea of Amelia putting me in my place. I ignore it.
“So,” I say.
“So.”
I should go. Clearly, Amelia has nothing more to say to me. I’m on the verge of being flat-out drunk, and I have no business chatting up the girl who fucked with my head so badly I nearly lost my scholarship, my career, and my future, all in one fell swoop.
I have way too much on the line right now to play this game.
Still, I can’t seem to make myself move. I smell her perfume, something spring-y that’s equal parts sexy and sweet, and I’m gripped by the sudden urge to make her laugh out loud for me.
Finally, Amelia straightens, shaking the ice in her glass.
“Welp, I’m going to hit up the ladies’ room, and then it’s time for a refill.” She meets my gaze. “Take care, Rhett.”
I can read between the lines. What she really means: take care, and I’d really like us to ignore each other the rest of the night, please and thank you.
“You too, Amelia.” She’s turning away when I reach out and touch her elbow, making her turn back. “And the beard—scruff—I’ve played five seasons in the pros, and I’ve followed the facial hair rules for all of them. Hasn’t won me a ring yet. Figure I have nothing left to lose.”
Her expression softens. “But you do have something to lose.”
“What’s that?”
“A shot at getting laid.”
I laugh again. Amelia always spoke her mind, but she was never this ballsy.
I resist the temptation to move in closer. “C’mon, the scruff isn’t that bad.”
“It kind of is, though,” she replies, smiling wide again.
“You’re mean.”
“I’m joking. And hey, I’m not the one growling at people.”
“Maybe I’m trying to keep them away.” I look at her, and she looks back. “Seems to be working with you.”
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, still smiling. “Goodbye, Rhett.”
“There’s probably a line for the bathrooms,” I say. “Use the staff entrance past the front desk—there’s an employee bathroom through the doors to your right.”
I don’t work at Blue Mountain Farm, but I grew up on the property. My family developed and now owns the five-star resort. I’ve spent countless hours in those offices bugging Beau, our CEO, or my sister Milly, Blue Mountain’s event planner. I know the place like the back of my hand.
I also know that creeper who looked at Amelia like he wanted to eat her just headed for the public restrooms. Best if she doesn’t run into him.
“Okay,” she says. “Thanks.”
“Anytime. Night, Amelia,” I reply, and I watch her disappear into the crowd.
In true Samuel form, my brother invited a hundred fifty of his “closest” friends to tonight’s party, held in The Library, a large room off the lobby. It’s packed, but I somehow manage to pick out Amelia until she’s at the doors to the exit.
She disappears.
Growling, I knock back what’s left of my whiskey and slam the glass down on a nearby sideboard, making a few nearby guests look up.
“Your conversation with Amelia went that well, huh?”
I glance down to see Milly standing beside me, casually sipping her cocktail.
“Conversation went fine,” I grind out, then clear my throat again.
“Thirsty?”
“No.”
“Poor thing,” Milly says, shaking her head, “losing her mom like that. I still remember how awful it was.”
My chest clenches at the memory. I cross my arms, wondering if I should make sure Amelia got to the employee restroom okay. “I need a drink. Wanna go with me to the bar?”
“You need many things. A drink is not one of them. Also, wouldn’t getting another drink mean you are, in fact, thirsty?”
I grit my teeth. “Milly, so help me God—”
“Kidding.” She nudges me with her elbow. “I’m just kidding, Rhett. Wow, you’re touchy tonight. Anything you need to tell me?”
