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An impressive congregation of players milled around the tables, accepting fluted champagne glasses from white-gloved waiters. She took a glass and moved with the officiating crew to their designated table.
“Clearly we’re trying to keep up with NFL,” she said and pointed to a photographer taking snaps of players standing with what she assumed were donors. A few players stood in tight circles, scarfing down the appetizers—black bread with beer radish dip, smoked trout on cucumbers, German pickled eggs. She set down her glass, not sure what sounded good.
Running, maybe.
Because that’s when she spotted Hudson.
He took her stupid breath away in a form-fitting teal blue suit that made his eyes practically glow and his shoulders look a mile wide. He cut a powerful form as he stood talking with, aw, of course, a beautiful, petite blonde who wore her hair back in a high, elegant ponytail and a black dress that stopped above her knees. She was smiling, nodding, probably enraptured by his words.
Next thing out of his mouth, he’d tell her that she was targeted for danger, take her hand, and run off to Greece—
Oh,stop.
The woman was probably a smitten cheerleader or something. And there were rules about dating cheerleaders. Not unlike the rules about dating officials, although, technically, there was nothing formal in the regulations.
Still.
“Ah, I see you have spotted the prey,” Zach said into her ear as he came back from somewhere with his plate loaded.
“Please stop talking,” she said and sighed. “Where did you get the food?”
“There’s a buffet past the pillars. And the doors are beyond that.”
“I’m not running away.”
“You had a look.”
“That look is I-think-I-hate-you-for-making-me-wear-this-dress.”
He opened his mouth, but she held up her hand and walked away.
She spotted Toby, the tight end from the Vikings, at the table. He glanced at her, then again, and smiled. “Please wear that to the game.”
“One word out of you and I’ll throw a flag.”
He laughed. “Nice to see you, Iris.” Then he shot a look at Hud. Back to her.
And what wasthatabout?
“Ready for the game on Saturday?” She picked up a plate and perused the offerings.
“I think so. It’s really just practice for the Vikings game in Vienna, but with the NFL looking at Hud, it’s a big deal for him.”
The NFL was looking at Hud? Oh, and she didn’t know why that nearly took her out at the knees. But of course they were. Good for him.
Good for both of them. Get him out of Europe and away from—
She wasn’t watching him, really she wasn’t, but for some reason, she spotted him when he took the blonde by the elbow and herded her past the pillars.
And then out the side doors.
“Entschuldigen Sie mich, bitte.”
The voice jerked her out of the crazy tightness of her chest and back to the food. No, to the waiter who waited to fill the pickled egg tray.
“Sorry.” She stepped back. Then walked over and set her plate on a discard tray.
Then she walked over to the table, slipped off her stupid shoes, and sat down.
