It’s all a blur after that. Did I really drag her back to my table? Did I invite her to wait on me and my friends? What an ass. I just wanted to spend another few minutes with her and she needed to work, so I was at a loss for what to do.
Now, everyone’s ready to leave the bar, but I’m not. I haven’t had a chance to talk to her again. She’s been a tornado down below, rushing from table to table, smiling as she doles out drinks and passes out checks. She’s good at her job, flirting and playing along with that group of guys but careful not to get too close or lead any of them on. Still, I bet one or two of them wish they could convince her to go home with them. They’d be idiots not to.
Melody drops her hand to my forearm, drawing my attention back to the table and my current date. I glance down at her manicured fingers, which are painted a delicate shade of pink. I wonder what color Candace would use on her nails. Bright orange. Yellow. Rainbow stripes. The thought makes me smile.
Melody misinterprets the gesture and sidles closer to me.
“Sorry I’ve been such a bore tonight,” she says gently. “It was a long day on set.”
I feel bad for Melody. This is technically our second date since we went out as a group last week too. Darius made us a reservation at a steakhouse and sprung her on me when I arrived.
“She’s cool, man. She’s been friends with Liz for years. She’s not just some jersey chaser, and she’s used to being in the limelight.”
Liz and Melody both model. According to Darius, Melody is used to dating professional athletes and thus knows the drill. That should have been a plus considering that’s partly why I’ve avoided dating in recent years. I’ve been burned by women who were with me for the wrong reasons. I’ve had women call paparazzi to ensure they’re ready to snap photos at the exact moment we arrive somewhere, women who swore they were in it for the right reasons when in fact they were really only after fame and fortune. It’s done a number on my ego and my general faith in the dating process.
Besides, it’s not as if I have all the time in the world. Even now, in the off-season, I’m still expected to give my career my full attention.
That said, I can’t seem to get excited about Melody. Sure, she’s gorgeous and practically suction-cupped to my side, but there’s no desire burning below the surface, no anxious excitement at the prospect of kissing her good night.
I try though. I try because my mother raised me to be a better man than I have been for the last hour.
“What were you shooting for today?”
“A designer jeans company. They wanted a really sexy feel so they had me in the jeans and nothing else.” She wags her eyebrows teasingly. “It would have been fine except they had an Italian male model on set with me too.” She assesses me then, looking for something. “You won’t have an issue with that, will you? Me working with other guys?”
Why would I?
Oh right, because we’re supposed to be dating.
I shrug. “All part of the job, right?”
She apparently doesn’t like that answer, because she elaborates. “He was obsessed with me. Kept trying to get my number in between takes. And then it got so awkward because we were practically naked and pretending to be into each other. They had us take about a hundred photos where we were nearly kissing.”
I take a sip of my drink, slightly worried she’s going to continue if I don’t stop her. “I’m sure you can handle your own.”
She frowns, and I take a moment to glance back down and look for Candace, hoping she isn’t at the table with the guys again. A bit ago, I saw them force her into taking another shot. She’s tiny—there’s no way she can hold her alcohol that well.
“Are you guys about ready to call it?” Darius asks, stifling a yawn.
He and I both hit the weights early this morning, and I’m feeling as tired as he is. Even still, I’m hesitant to leave Candace here. Why does she work at a place like this when she has that job at The Day School? Why work two jobs? Then I remember her joke about her massive paycheck and it clicks into focus. She’s hustling like so many others, just like my parents did back in Florida before I hit it big. I excuse myself from the group and promise to meet them out back, through the VIP exit, in a few minutes. Then I yank a couple bills from my wallet along with an old receipt.
I go down to the bar on the lower level, keeping my head down so as to draw the least amount of attention. It doesn’t matter. I’m still noticed, but a quick shake of my head deters a few guys from coming closer. I wave down the bartender and ask him if he’s seen Candace.
He frowns, thinking it over. “She’s like a bird, man, flying around this place. I swear she moves faster than all the other servers combined.”
He sounds fascinated with her and I narrow my eyes, wondering if he’s just impressed with her waitressing skills or if it’s something more. Then I shove aside the thought and ask him for a pen.
He hands me the one he has tucked behind his ear, and I jot down a quick note on the back of the receipt before passing it to him along with the cash.
“Make sure this gets to her, okay?”
His eyes widen at the sum of money in front of him. For a minute, I’m suspicious that he’s going to pocket it all and forget my request, but then his gaze locks with mine and he nods reverently.
“Sure thing.”
I’m expecting a call from Candace the next day, and when it doesn’t come, I start to second-guess myself. Chasing women isn’t something I’ve had to do since…ever. I was the star quarterback in high school, the star quarterback in college, and a first-round draft pick into the pros. Just because I haven’t found a relationship that works long-term doesn’t mean there’s been a shortage of women ready and raring to give it a try.
There have been a lot of women, and then there’s Candace. It’s been two days and she still hasn’t called.
“What if I wrote the number down wrong?” I ask Darius as I’m hunched over, gripping my knees and sucking in deep breaths. I feel like I’m about to fucking throw up.
We’re doing sprint drills with our training coach and he’s giving us hell because he’s a sadist. Also because Darius was five minutes late.
“Are you serious? Logan fucking Matthews wrote his number on a damn grocery store receipt—that shit’s worth a million dollars. I still can’t believe you did that. What if the bartender had passed it around? If I were you, I’d change my number.”
“I haven’t had any weird calls. I think he really did mean it when he said he’d give the note to her.”
“Uh-huh. Just wait. Tomorrow, your number will be splashed on the front page of Reddit.”
He has a point. Maybe the bartender pocketed the cash and the note instead of passing it on to Candace. That would explain why she hasn’t called.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t explain why the hell I care so damn much.
“You two about recovered? We’re going again in ten seconds!” Coach yells.
I resist the urge to punch Darius for being late. This day is going to suck.
Chapter Four
Candace