Chapter 6
HAWK
I was only early because I was hungry. That was what I told myself. It was mostly true. I was starving. My timeliness had nothing to do with seeing Becca again. No way. Why would I look forward to seeing a woman who thought it was okay to act fake? To try and … what? Trick me? Play me?
I mean, yeah, maybe y mind kept returning to the image of her half naked, but no, this was just work and food. That was all.
Full stop.
Then she walked in the door and my mouth went dry, while my balls reminded me they existed.
She looked even more beautiful with less makeup on. More comfortable in her own skin. Her outfit was less revealing, but made me want to peel it off way more than her skin tight dress had. Like a present wrapped up just for me.
Just work, I reminded myself again. Too bad my cock didn’t get the message.
"Hey." I straightened up from where I'd been leaning against the bar. "Can I get you a drink?"
"I can get my own, thanks," she replied.
All right, that was a first. Women usually loved to spend my money. I had enough of it, I didn't mind splashing it around here and there. Honestly, my bank account contained more than I could spend in my lifetime, so why not share it?
I got the feeling she'd be pissed if I insisted. I grabbed my beer and stepped back so she could get in and order.
"Can I have cola please?" she asked the bar attendant. The warmth in her voice, compared with how she'd spoken to me, was like ice and fire.
She tapped her phone and picked up her cola when the attendant placed it in front of her.
"We have a table near the window." I waved in that direction.
Her eyes widened slightly. "Okay."
Another first. Most women were impressed with the idea of sitting in the seats with the best view of the lake.
Becca didn't even blink, beyond the first look of surprise. No gushing, nothing.
I let her walk ahead of me, and got a good look at her firmly rounded ass and long legs. How would they feel wrapped around my—
"I'm sorry about Lori Franks," she said over her shoulder, and there was a boner-killer if I ever heard one. "Fred Franks seems shattered."
"Yeah." I pulled out a chair and flopped into it. While pulling out chairs is still gentlemanly, I could tell it wasn't something Becca wanted me to do. I respected that. "It's a tough time for everyone."
"You're all really close." She sat with more elegance than I had, and rested her hands on the table. "That must be nice. Unless you're the one outsider."
I frowned. It took a moment to figure out her angle. "You think Quinn is an outsider?"
"I don't think you respect him much," she said. "You just called him Quinn, not Coach Quinn."
"Habit." I tried to shrug it off. She was right. I hadn't even noticed it. I'd have to work on that. "He's just as much one of us as everyone else."
"What if he wasn't?" she asked. "Would you still listen to him?"
"Of course. He's doing his job."
We were interrupted by a server dropping off two menus. He gave me a smile and a wink before walking away.
"I think he has a crush on you." A smile touched the corners of her lips.
I looked at the server's back before turning to her with a grin. "Can you blame him?"
"He clearly doesn't know better." She picked up her menu and hid her face behind it.
I hooked my fingertips around the top of the menu and pulled it down just enough to see her eyes.
"What do you mean by that?" I asked.
"Just what I said." She jerked the menu away and put it back up.
I stared at the Gianna's logo in frustration, but decided to let it lie, for now.
I didn't need to look at my menu to know what I wanted.
"Fettuccine Alfredo, please," I said when the server returned. "And garlic bread." Both were made on the premises, from scratch.
"I'll have the same," Becca said. "Please keep the order separate. I'll be paying for mine."
"Certainly, lovely lady," the server said in a flirty voice. "Can I recommend the tiramisu for dessert?"
Her eyes lit up and, for the first time, she looked excited to be here.
"That sounds wonderful, thank you." She handed him her menu. He took it with a flourish, then reached for mine.
"I'll have that too," I said. "It sounds delicious." I didn't usually indulge in dessert, but I could make an exception this once.
"It's absolutely tasty," the server agreed, looking me up and down. I didn’t think pressed, dark grey slacks and a casual button-down white sweater was exactly hot, but he did.
I didn't think he was talking about the food.
Too bad Becca didn’t look at me like that.
"See, he likes you," Becca said as the server sashayed away.
"But you don't," I said. Why not cut straight to the chase?
"Does it matter?" she asked. "We're here to work, nothing more."
I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "It matters. We were friends once. At least, I thought we were."
Her eyebrows rose above her glasses. "You were the guy I was stuck tutoring. That's all."
Ouch. That would have stung if I believed it. Even with the ice in her voice, the tense way she held herself told me otherwise.
"That's not all," I said. "I promised you an exclusive. The least you can do is give me honesty in return."
Her face turned an adorable shade of pink, but it wasn’t in embarrassment. It was anger, aimed at me. "You want honesty? How about you tell me why you laughed in my face when I asked you to the graduation formal?"
A new emotion flashed in her eyes; hurt. I'd seen that there before, so long ago. I'd forgotten, or pushed it aside.
The memory came rushing back now, with such clarity I could hardly breathe.
"Hey, Conrad," she said, an awkward smile on her lips. "So, I was thinking…" She blushed bright red. "If you don't have a date for the formal…maybe we could go together?"
The bark of laughter was out of my mouth before I could stop and think.
Why was it my first reaction? I don't know.
I guess because being tutored in the first place wasn't doing wonders for my reputation.
If I was seen in public with my tutor, I'd be the laughingstock of the team.
I liked her, I really did, but what my friends and teammates thought of me was everything.
My ego lived and died on their approval.
So I laughed.
Like the teenage asshole I was.
"Um, yeah." She forced a laugh. "I guess it was a pretty funny joke. That's all it was. As if we would ever… Hey, look at the time. I have to go."
She'd picked up her stuff and all but ran out the door. That was the last time I saw her until graduation. She wouldn't even look at me there. She must have avoided me during the formal, because I didn't see her—
Oh, shit.
I shook my head. "You never went," I guessed, my voice low.
She frowned. "To the formal? Of course not. I wasn't going near it after you made me feel like… Like…" She shook her head.
"Like shit?" I suggested.
"Yeah, like shit," she agreed. “‘No thank you’ would have been enough. Or tell me you already had a date, even if you didn't."
"That would have been the classy thing to do," I agreed. "Past me was a dumb jock."
"As opposed to present you?" she retorted.
"Absolutely." I smiled without humour. "Look, it was a stupid, insensitive thing to do. Back then, I was obsessed with appearances. I thought everything I did would decide whether or not I ended up here."
"You're not obsessed with appearances now?" She gestured around us.
I paused, mouth open for a good half a minute. "I'm obsessed with good pasta," I said finally.
She snorted.
Also, who was she to talk about appearances?
"Ironic, considering how hard you tried to get my attention earlier today," I said.
"You seemed concerned with your own appearance.
What was that all about? Wait, let me guess.
You wanted a scoop? Maybe you wanted to create a scandal of some kind, then you could spill it to the world.
" I wouldn't put it past any journalist.
"You think I want to make money by selling sleaze?" She seemed genuinely offended by the suggestion. She really was hot when she was pissed off.
"Some people will do anything for money," I reminded her.
"And some will do anything to appear to be more than they are," she shot back.
"How much of your apparent distress at the press conference was real and how much was for appearances?
Gotta be the good guy, the genuine guy." She gave one of her world-ending eye rolls. I remembered those well from school.
Now I was angry. "Every. Bit. Was. Genuine," I ground out. "You really think I'd use a dying woman to score points?"
That took her aback. "You might not," she admitted. "But it makes a good story for a media-trained quarterback."
"You would know about good stories," I snapped.
The arrival of our meal prompted a temporary ceasefire from both sides of the table.
Once I'd eaten a few mouthfuls and got my temper back under control, I said, "So you hate my guts because of the formal thing? That's a long time to hold a grudge."
"I cared about you," she said around a mouthful of food. She made no attempt to eat daintily. I appreciated a woman who ate pasta with the same gusto I did. Even if she was infuriating. "I thought we were friends."
"You wanted more," I suggested.
She paused between forkfuls and twisted her mouth to one side. "I suppose so." She popped the food into her mouth and chewed.
What would it have been like to walk into the formal with her on my arm? Present me found the idea appealing, especially with her looking like she did now. Past me found the idea appalling. He would have shrunk away from the stares and the pointed fingers.
I was going to have to come to terms with the fact that past me was a bit of a jerk. Fortunately, present Hawk had a better handle on things. I changed, and I wasn’t going to let past me linger in my mind anymore.
"I'm sorry I was dick," I said finally. "I didn't have a clue back then. All I knew was one thing; getting here. Making it." Well, two things, but the other was too personal, too raw, even now.
"Yeah. I was the awkward nerd," she said. "What business did I have thinking the star quarterback would be interested in me? Other than to get you through English."
I hated the look of pain on her face. Back then, her feelings for me were genuine. That was obvious. I doubted there was anything I could say which would erase the hurt, no matter how bad I wanted to.
"So you decided to get my attention and…what?" I asked. I still wasn't convinced she hadn't done it for a story. I had women approach me for a variety of reasons, not all of them nice. Some saw money, others saw fame. What was her angle?
She shrugged. "Maybe I just wanted to get you to ask me out, then turn the tables on you."
"You were going to laugh in my face?" I asked. "I can't say I wouldn't have deserved it, I suppose."
"You totally would," she agreed.
I washed the last of my pasta down with a gulp of beer and set the glass on the table.
"Is this where I suggest I try to make it up to you?" I asked. "To get you to like me again?"
She gave me a disbelieving look, eyebrows arched. "I doubt there's anything you could say or do to make that happen."
What can I say, I'm a competitive guy. I hate to lose and I like nothing more than a challenge. She was already proving to be just that.
I sat back and regarded her. "I'll tell you what. Give me…" I thought for a moment. "Give me three weeks. I'll show you how much I've changed, that I actually am a good guy. If you don't feel the same way about me that you did back in high school, I'll give you…"
"Every exclusive of the season?" she suggested.
A slow smile crept across my face. "That works." What was I really suggesting here? That I could make her fall for me in just three weeks? Considering the look on her face right then, I was all but prepared to lose. That didn't mean I wouldn't try though, and try hard. She was going to be worth it.
"What's in it for you?" she asked.
"I get to keep my ego intact," I replied. Sure, that was all. Nothing to do with mental bikini images. Nope, not at all.
I was down bad, and so fucked.