Chapter 3 #2
I didn't normally go for men who looked quite this polished, but there was something about him that made it impossible not to pay attention.
Maybe it was the confidence, maybe it was the smile, or maybe it was simply the fact that he looked entirely too damn good standing in front of me for me to pretend otherwise.
“Oh really?” I asked amused.
“I’m serious,” he replied earnestly. “I watched you walk in and haven’t taken my eyes off you since.”
“I admire your honesty.”
His eyebrow lifted slightly.
“You sure you’re not a model?”
I laughed softly.
“I’m sure. You sure you aren’t the model?”
“Me?” He grinned. “Oh no. I’m a stockbroker.”
“So you’re good with numbers then?”
“Very good."
He stepped slightly closer, not enough to invade my space or make me uncomfortable, but just enough for me to notice the subtle shift between us. It was the kind of move a confident man made when he knew exactly how much attention he had and wasn't afraid to use it.
“Interesting,” I said while holding his gaze.
“So good that if you recite yours to me right now, I’d be able to call you later without writing it down.”
I laughed softly while taking another sip of tequila.
“It’s that easy huh?”
He looked at me like I’d offended him.
Intrigued, I slowly recited my number while taking a few steps backward toward the DJ booth, and the entire time his eyes remained locked on mine without wavering once.
Most men looked away eventually, distracted by the crowd or trying too hard to play it cool, but David didn't. He simply watched me with an easy confidence that felt genuine rather than forced, and for reasons I couldn't quite explain, the unwavering attention sent a small tingle down my spine.
That was interesting because I didn't even know his name yet, but somehow the mystery made the interaction more exciting.
There was something refreshing about meeting someone with no expectations, no history, and no preconceived idea of who I was, and as I made my way back toward the booth, I found myself smiling at the thought of finding out more.
I finally made it to the DJ booth where thankfully it didn’t take much convincing to get him to switch the music.
The second the beat changed, the entire rooftop energy shifted with it.
People got up dancing.
Tables grew louder.
Even my girls started screaming when I walked back over.
Hannah yelled. “The vibe has arrived!”
“You’re welcome.”
I slid back into the booth and noticed Mr. Fine Chocolate sitting across the rooftop now at a large table with a group of wealthy-looking men deep in conversation.
But every now and then, I caught him glancing over at me.
And every single time…
I looked back.
The rest of the night flew by.
We laughed until tears formed in our eyes talking about old college games, horrible coaches, locker room drama, and the reality of life after basketball.
Some of the girls still played overseas, chasing the dream we'd all talked about back then.
Others had moved into coaching, pouring everything they knew into the next generation, while one of my former teammates had twins and somehow managed to look completely exhausted and genuinely happy at the same time.
And then there was me, the girl who had come within reach of making it all the way before a knee injury changed everything, somehow finding a different purpose in a life I never planned but had grown to love anyway.
“Still crazy seeing you train J5,” Hannah said while shaking her head. “Like that’s major, Ni.”
I shrugged slightly even though hearing it still meant something to me.
“He works hard.”
“No,” she corrected. “You work hard.”
The table agreed immediately, and for a second I allowed myself to sit in that feeling because they understood what it had taken to get here.
They understood the pressure, the long days that seemed to bleed into one another, the sacrifices nobody saw, and the constant expectation to perform at a high level no matter what was happening behind the scenes.
They knew what it felt like to dedicate yourself completely to something and carry the weight of other people's expectations on your shoulders.
That's why I knew getting J5 back healthy could change the trajectory of my career completely.
By the time we finally wrapped things up for the night, hugs were exchanged, promises were made to get together more often, and everyone slowly began heading in different directions.
I said my goodbyes one by one, lingering a little longer than I expected because seeing them had reminded me of a version of myself I didn't visit often.
Eventually I made my way back to my truck and headed home, mentally exhausted in the best possible way.
My social battery was completely drained by the time I walked through my front door. I kicked off my shoes, took a long shower, worked through my skincare routine, and finally slipped into bed wearing a silk nightgown, grateful for the quiet after such a full day.
I had barely settled beneath the covers when my phone lit up on the nightstand.
It was an unknown number, but I answered anyway.
“Hello?”
“I told you I’d remember.”
My lips curved immediately at the sound of his voice.
It was mister tall, dark, and handsome stranger from earlier.
I sat up a little straighter against the headboard, suddenly far less tired than I had been thirty seconds ago.
“Very impressive,” I said with a bit of humor in my tone.
“What’s impressive is how you managed to stay on my mind all night and I still don’t know your name.”
I laughed softly.
“Well?” He waited.
"Nia," I said
“A beautiful name for an even more beautiful woman.”
That compliment should have been cheesy.
Instead, somehow, it worked.
“Thank you,” I said, smiling into the phone. “You're not going to leave me hanging and not tell me yours?”
“David Scott the Third.”
I laughed immediately.
The sound of his own full government name rolling off his tongue was entirely too funny.
“David Scott the Third?” I repeated.
“Yes.”
“That's a lot of name.”
His laugh filled the speaker.
“It's the only one I've got.”
“Very formal.”
“I'm very serious about taking you out.”
I settled deeper into my pillows, tucking one arm beneath my head as a smile spread across my face.
“And if I say no?”
“I'd probably ask again.”
I laughed.
“And if I say no again?”
“I'd assume you weren't thinking clearly and ask one more time.”
“Wow. Persistent.”
"Very," he said.
I learned that he traveled more than I did, loved good food almost as much as I did, and had a dry sense of humor that kept catching me off guard when I least expected it.
Somewhere between laughing and exchanging stories, I found myself getting comfortable enough to curl beneath my blankets and completely forget how exhausted I'd been only minutes earlier.
Most men I dealt with were athletes, entertainers, or somewhere in between.
David felt different.
Calmer.
Intentional.
By the end of the conversation, he finally asked officially.
“Friday night. Let me take you out properly.”
I pretended to think about it longer than necessary.
“Hm.”
“Nia.”
“Let me think about it.”
“I'll take it”
I laughed softly into my pillow.
I shook my head smiling.
“So tell me, David Scott the Third,” I said while settling deeper underneath my covers. “Why aren’t you married?”
There was a brief pause on the other end before he answered smoothly.
“Because I’ve been waiting on you, Nia…”
He let my first name linger intentionally like he was waiting for more.
I smiled immediately.
“You want my full government too?” I joked.
His laugh was low and rich through the phone.
“I do actually.”
“It’s Kingsley.”
“Well okay then, Nia Kingsley,” he replied smoothly. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you sleep on the idea of me taking you out Friday and your beautiful self can get some rest. I know you’re tired from working that room tonight.”
I burst out laughing.
“Oh brother.”
“No seriously,” he laughed softly. “You walked in there like you owned the place.”
I smiled to myself staring up at the ceiling.
Most men flirted with me because I was attractive.
David seemed fascinated by me.
There was a difference.
And honestly?
I liked it more than I should’ve.
What surprised me most though was his sense of humor.
For somebody so polished and obviously wealthy, he felt easy to talk to.
Not stiff.
Not overly serious.
Just confident enough to say exactly what he wanted without trying too hard to impress me.
That was rare.
“Well, goodnight Mr. Scott,” I said softly.
“Goodnight beautiful.”
I hung up the phone and laid there smiling to myself in the dark.
What a delicious surprise.