“Aw, come on…” I trailed off as she marched over to the rest of the cheerleaders. I wanted to keep arguing with her, but Isabella was watching me.
I’m going to pay for this later, I thought.
As I hit the showers, I replayed the argument in my head. And that just made me angrier. There was no way I misread her number. I was certain of it. The numbers were clearly written without any smudging or smearing. Even Taylor admitted she had perfect handwriting.
The only explanation was that she gave me a fake number. And then, when she was caught, she turned around and accused me of not calling her.
Seeing Taylor had left an ache in my chest. The redheaded smokeshow I had spent all summer trying to forget had reappeared here at the Stallions practice facility, the last place I expected to see her. She wasn’t just a figment of my imagination. She existed.
But she didn’t want to see me again.
That stung. It stung badly. I thought we had hit it off during trivia. The chemistry between us was powerful. Dates like that—if you could even call it a date, since it happened by accident—didn’t come along very often.
She must have thought I was beneath her. Just a regular Joe at the bar who knew a lot about sports and not much else. A girl like Taylor was probably used to dating guys with several degrees. Someone who could match her intellectually.
I’m just a football player. I play a game for a living. The ache in my chest deepened, but for a totally different reason.
I met Isabella by my Jeep in the parking lot. She was wearing a cocktail dress and heels, whereas I had on jeans and a T-shirt.
“You’re going to need to change,” she told me. “We have reservations at Zoe’s Steakhouse.”
“I didn’t realize we were going somewhere fancy,” I replied.
“It’s our anniversary,” she said, as if I were an idiot. “Of course we’re going somewhere nice.”
We drove back to my penthouse. I didn’t think a one-month anniversary was a big enough deal to go out to the fanciest restaurant in the city, but Isabella liked those kinds of things. So I didn’t fight her on it.
When I parked, Isabella stayed put. “You don’t want to come upstairs while I change?” I asked.
She snorted. “I don’t want that thing to slobber all over my dress.”
I ignored the way she insulted my dog as I went upstairs. It was probably for the best. Luna didn’t like Isabella, either. “Women,” I muttered as I went upstairs alone.
After changing clothes—and giving Luna a few minutes of attention—I went back downstairs and drove Isabella to the restaurant. Apparently she had informed them about the occasion, because the hostess congratulated us on our anniversary. Isabella ordered a bottle of champagne for us and two appetizers.
We made small talk about how fast the last month had gone by, and how our first date seemed like it was just yesterday. But it didn’t take long for the subject to return to Taylor Fox.
“It’s funny, you knowing one of the other cheerleaders,” Isabella said casually. Dangerously.
I laughed it off and said, “Yeah, small world, huh? Didn’t even know she was a cheerleader, so it wasn’t worth mentioning. Nothing happened. Not even a kiss. You don’t have to worry about anything.”
“I’m not worried about anything,” she replied testily. She then immediately contradicted herself by saying, “You were arguing very heatedly for two people who barely know each other.”
“Yeah, she was real mad about the whole thing.”
“You were heated too,” Isabella pointed out.
“Because she accused me of ungentlemanly behavior! I take that personally. My momma didn’t raise an asshole.” I leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek, but she leaned away and sipped her champagne.
“Is that where the pint glass came from?” she asked.
“What pint glass?”
“The one you’re always drinking out of. Even when it’s dirty, instead of getting a clean glass, you wash that one out and use it.”
“I guess so,” I said carefully. Suddenly it felt like I was walking through a minefield.
“You called her T-Foxy.” Isabella studied one of her long nails. “A pet name for someone you only met once?”