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“Fuck, woman. You gotta stop.”
Blinking twice, I paused.
Excuse me?
I lowered my phone slowly, confused for all of a second before I processed that I was not in fact alone on this side of the terrace, and that a nearby stranger had just been eavesdropping on every second my misery.
It was precisely then that my eyes lit on fire and transitioned from wistful tears to a death look worthy
of Medusa. Right away, there were about a dozen profane versions of “mind your own business” warming up on my tongue, and I was beyond ready to launch every one of them at this random, remarkably rude and nosy asshole behind me. But as soon as I turned around and let my stare land on him, something inside me yelled hold fire!
And it was definitely not my brain.
Because wow.
Seriously. Wow. That was a whole lotta man standing in front of me.
Are you actually Thor? I was genuinely perplexed as my eyes traveled up the sheer length of this man’s torso. Jesus. If any one person deserved to be the picture next to the Oxford definition of masculinity, it was definitely this prick right here. He was so big he cast a shadow over me. If I had to guess he stood at least six-foot-three with a negative percentage of body fat.
That said, I was heartbroken, not a fucking doormat, and there was no way in hell I was going to let him talk to me like that.
“I’m sorry, but who are you and what exactly is the problem here?” I demanded, my eyes still on fire as I watched the stranger exhale and dare to look fed up with me. What in the actual fuck? His enormous shoulders were slack and his head was tilted back just so. He had the gait of a man who was on his third hour of arguing with his wife, which made no sense at all because he was the one who’d come over to bother me. “Did you really show up just to interrupt my private conversation?” I asked incredulously.
“I’m pretty sure a conversation involves two parties.” He looked down his nose at me. “Not one drunk girl rambling to the voicemail of a guy who’s moved on with his life.”
My jaw dropped at his nerve.
Okay, wow.
I paused to shift gears because clearly, the level of assholery I was dealing with was beyond what I’d originally expected. I was sure his words would’ve crushed me if I weren’t so busy being completely appalled by how brash and mean he was. I guess it was appropriate that he looked like a frickin’ Viking. His dark blonde hair was longer at the top than the sides and the scruff on his jaw screamed man’s man like no other. Judging from that tan, he spent a very good amount of time outdoors, and while he wasn’t flexing, every muscle on his body strained against his white button-down like they desperately wanted out.
I gave myself a second of eyeing the veins on his forearms before I squinted up at him.
“And remind me why my conversation is any of your business?” I questioned. He took no time responding.
“Because I found this nice, quiet spot to sit and think in, and then you came along and started crying everywhere and bumming me out.”
“I’m bumming you out? Who are you?” I demanded just as the light shifted an inch and I realized exactly who the hell he was.
Oh.
Ohhh, I nodded to myself as I took in the asshole for a second time. This guy. I’d seen this guy before. Not just in tabloids and on TV, but also once at Aly’s and my pop-up restaurant in East Hampton – the very place I’d quit working at for Mike.
But that was a whole other story.
Right. Got it. No wonder you look like that, I thought. I mean most of Emmett’s friends were handsome and put-together but this guy was something else. The degree to which his body was built only made sense for world-class athletes, and that was exactly what he was.
An insanely famous, entitled and cocky star athlete.
“You know what – ” I held a hand up. “You don’t have to answer that because I actually know exactly who you are, and now I think I understand why you’re so comfortable being this rude.”
“Is that right. And who is it that you think I am?” he asked, amusement already curling his lips like he expected me to somehow get this wrong. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
“You’re Drew Maddox,” I said bluntly. “You play for the New York Empires. You’re on the cover of everything. You’re very, very famous, which is why you have very little empathy for normal people with normal problems.”
“Ah.” He raised his eyebrows and nodded in a way that was deliberately patronizing. “Very nice. You know my name, what I do and you can identify my face on a magazine. Beyond that though, I can promise you don’t actually know anything about me. In fact,” he paused for effect, “I know a lot more about you than you know about me.”
I laughed right in his face.
