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One
Presley Warren parkedbetween a seriously hot red convertible and a tricked out truck. As she opened the door the late August heat radiating off the blacktop reminded her of the annealing room in her studio, and she wouldn’t be surprised if the buckles on her sandals left scorch marks on her ankles.
She popped a mint from her stash, checked for a hair tie, and grabbed her hobo bag. Her pale blond hair looked cute down now, but the next three hours of heat could change that quickly. Especially when she had no clue where her seats were for the game.
Her roommate, and best friend, decided that the Syracuse University’s first home game was the perfect time for a blind date. Why the hell had she said yes to this?
Oh, right. She’d been impaired by wine and a binge watch ofSupernatural. So many things went wrong when she made decisions in a lusty haze with a side of date drought.
Natalie should be protecting her from poor decisions, dammit.
She stepped out of her car and smoothed her hand down her shirt making sure the front was tucked into her shorts enough tomake her seem presentable. More often than not she had burn marks and holes in her clothes from her work. Like the one at the hem of this shirt. Oops.
Rushing up the walk, she joined the crowd of season ticket holders making the trek into the Carrier Dome—it had a new name, but it would always be the Carrier Dome to the people from Syracuse. The line was filled with orange jerseys, T-shirts, and tank tops. As well as a few sundresses and questionable crop tops in deference to the ninety-degree evening.
She didn’t mind the heat, her white shorts accentuated her strengths. Three hours a week of spin classes gave her an ass and legs like Carrie Underwood, and a bit of leftover tan from her last trip to St. Maarten made them look pretty damn good.
A bit of vanity had urged her to wear wedges to tip the scales on her rockin’ legs. It remained to be seen if Daniel Perkins, Esquire would be worth her screaming arches later.
His picture had been pretty cute if a little preppy looking. Her bag buzzed and she unearthed her phone. Speak of the lawyerly devil. She texted back that she was heading to the main entrance.
The closer she got to the stadium the more her stomach fluttered.
Blind date—that’s what she’d been reduced to. Working for the family business, Warren Jewelers, left little time to eat a microwave dinner let alone meet men. And the ones that came into the studio were usually buying for a significant other.
Or a mistress.
Natalie had been so tired of listening to her rants about the middle-aged men coming in to buy their piece on the side something shiny that she’d finally demanded Presley needed a change of pace.
That change of pace included hot dogs and beer evidently.
She wasn’t sure she agreed, but even she was sick of listening to herself bitch about the abysmal state of her dating life. A friend setting her up on a blind date had to be better than diving into dating apps.
She was going to remain positive and hope for the best.
“Presley?”
She followed the waving hand and snaked her way through the crowd of people. “Daniel?”
“Hi there. Wow, you look great.”
She pasted on her winning salesgirl smile as she came face to face with her date. He was a little above average height—leaving them on even footing with her four-inch wedges. Sandy brown hair fell in what she thought of as the businessman’s cut. A little long on top and ultra-short on the sides and in the back.
He had friendly blue eyes that matched his polo shirt. Deck shoes and perfectly pressed shorts fairly shouted weekend lawyer mode. He was clean-shaven with the perfect amount of crinkles next to his eyes. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a stereotype in the flesh until just then.
“Thanks. You look great too.”
He stroked a hand down his nonexistent belly. “I’ve got to admit I’m looking forward to a beer and a few hot dogs. I’ll just have to run an extra five miles tomorrow.”
“Impressive.”
“You must do something. As much as any of us want to pretend we don’t, once we hit thirty, the trips to the gym get longer. Am I right?”
So, she looked thirty? Great. “Guess I’m lucky I’m still rocking my twenties.”
“Oh.” He dipped his hand into his pocket and took out his phone. It buzzed again in his hand. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said with a distracted smile. “I just need to quickly reply to this.”
“Sure.”
