“Thank you.” She practically whispers.
We sit there for an hour, recapping the wedding and the strange guests we begin creating backstories for. The woman makes me smile like I haven’t in a long time. Before the dark times. Before we know it, the waitress has laid down the check.
We both reach for it, but I grab it first. “No fair, you’re faster.”
“I’m a linebacker, honey. No one’s ever said that about me.” I raise one brow, and head out of the booth and toward the counter to pay.
I’m definitely asking Carlie out. She straight up said the date is over, so I don’t feel bad. Maybe she’ll come out to a game, or I can come back on my off-week. I know it seems crazy, but after the bout of loneliness I’ve been in, it feels so good to have a true, honest connection with someone again. It doesn’t hurt that she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
As the cashier takes my card, raised voices pull my attention away from paying. The two guys are over at Carlie’s booth. I don’t know what they’re saying, but Carlie’s body language tells me she doesn’t like it.
“I’ll be right back.” I say to the cashier, already three steps toward Carlie.
“What’s the problem?” I ask the bigger of the two guys.
“No problem.” He smiles at me through grayish teeth. “Right, sweetheart?”
“Don’t call her that.” I spit through gritted teeth.
The other guy, bent over the table, stands tall and meets my gaze. “Says who?”
“Says me, motherfucker.”
“Listen, big, bad football boy.” The bigger guy pushes his way in front of his friend so that he’s in my face. “This ain’t your playing field. It’s ours. I’ll take the little lady home.” The big guy grabs Carlie by the arm.
“Stop!” Her eyes go wide. “Let go.”
“The hell you will.” I mutter, then punch the bastard square in the eye. He falls backward until he’s flat out on the floor. I shake my hand, feeling the ache of my knuckles against his cheekbone.
“He’s out cold.” The smaller dude says. “Call the cops. This guy just assaulted my brother!”
ChapterFive
Carlie
By the next morning,the internet screams Griffin’s name. Every headline a lie—well, except the part about him knocking some hick in his already rotting mouth for messing with, and I quote, his “rent-a-date.”
This is bad. This is very bad.
According to sources, he went back to his room at The Rose Mountain Inn, and the cops showed up almost instantly. I can’t say I’m surprised. The thing about a small town is the cops arrive quickly. The media was still in town, and staying at the same Inn, covering the wedding. Which is how they got a picture of me with Griffin at the reception.
Just after, the cops came to my house and questioned me; Griffin had given them my name in an attempt to clear his own. It didn’t work. He may still be labeled a bad boy, but I’m labeled something worse, something close to a call girl—which I most certainly am not.
The business I worked so hard to build is evaporating before my eyes.
I toss my phone on the bed, cursing myself for taking this job against my better judgement. I was drawn in by his goddamn good looks and that thick wad of cash. I let out a little yell and fall back onto my bed, taking deep breaths as I try to formulate a plan.
My phone buzzes. Since I don’t recognize the number, I answer as professionally as I can.
“This is Carlie Howell.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I panic. What if it’s the press? What if it’s next week’s client calling to cancel because they give a shit about ESPN? Fuck my life.
“Carlie?” I gasp, and fly to a sitting position.
“You promised, Griffin.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” There’s no hiding the defeat coloring his tone. It drains all of the anger out of me in less than a second. It would be easier to go off on him, but I know he’s a good guy, and I know why he hit that stupid asshole. He’s in trouble because of me.
“Where are you?”