3. Kate
Chapter Three
Kate
Yup. As predicted, Gwen’s “ten minutes” had stretched into twenty. She’d barely glanced back after disappearing with the player who’d already hijacked my attention the second he walked in.
I’d noticed him straight away. There was something about the cut of his shoulders, the way he carried himself with self-assurance.
That and the fact he wasn’t exactly hard to look at.
I’d tried to shake it off, turning my focus back to my drink, to the chatter and the buzz of the room.
But he stuck like an itch in the corner of my mind I couldn’t ignore.
Then I felt it, that flicker of awareness. A shift in the air behind me. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t touched me, but somehow, I knew he was there. Just…a presence, not leering or obvious. Just…there. And God did he smell good.
“Double whiskey?” he asked with a voice so low and warm, it could unravel a woman’s common sense without even trying.
I turned.
Dear God.
He was tall—ridiculously tall—with forearms that had bad intentions written all over them.
He was tanned like he’d been poured from sunlight itself, with damp, dark curls framing his face, and just enough scruff to make my mouth go dry.
And yes, it really was a moustache. It shouldn’t have worked on him, but it absolutely did.
“Bold move for a Tuesday,” he said, nodding at my drink.
“I’ve earned it,” I replied coolly as I turned back to my glass, willing my voice steady. “It’s been a long day.”
“Can’t argue with that.” He leaned against the bar like he could belong anywhere. “Though personally, I’d have gone tequila.”
“You strike me as that type.” I smirked.
He grinned. “Oh? And what type’s that?”
“Cocky,” I said, taking a sip. “Probably thinks sleep is for the weak, but just charming enough to pull it off.”
“That so?” He leaned in slightly. “You think I’m charming?” he asked with a sly grin.
“I think you’re trouble,” I said, hiding a smile behind my glass.
He chuckled as if he weren’t used to anyone resisting. ”You work with Gwen?”
“Freeloading off her passes, as always.” I tilted my glass. “Perks of being best friends with someone at the LTA.”
He nodded. “You do this every year, then?”
“Religiously.”
“What do you do when you’re not flirting with danger at Wimbledon?”
“Educational psychologist,” I replied.
His brows shot up, surprise flickering across his face. “So like…you’re a doctor?”
“In work, technically I’m Dr Kate Ashford.” I winced. “But I hate using that title. Makes me sound like a knob.”
He laughed warmly. “That’s impressive. You don’t look like a doctor.”
I raised a brow. “Should I be offended?”
“Not at all, I’m just surprised.” He tilted his head. “You’ve got more…edge.”
“Edge,” I echoed, amused.
“Yeah. Like you know more than you let on. You have a cool, slightly terrifying energy to you.”
“Sounds like you’re scared of me.”
“Only in the best way.”
That one landed. Harder than I wanted it to. This guy really was trouble.
“What did you think I was, then?” I asked, intrigued by his first impressions of me.
He shrugged, sheepish. “PR maybe? Or fashion. Something where you tell other people what to do.”
“Terrifying and high-maintenance. You’re doing great,” I deadpanned.
“No”—his smile softened—“you’re just…not what I expected is all.”
Neither are you.
Before I could reply, a voice cut through the hum of the bar. “Oi, Jordan!”
We both turned to see a man at the entrance tapping his watch like a disappointed dad. Jordan sighed.
“That’s my coach…apparently I’m late.”
“Don’t let me keep you,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed.
He hesitated, his body refusing to turn away quite yet. “It was really nice meeting you, Kate.” He held out a hand. “I’m Jordan.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Jordan.”
His hand was warm and rough. Confident. The kind of handshake you felt all the way up your arm. His gaze lingered, just for a second, on my mouth. “Hope I see you again.”
The heat in my cheeks flared before I could stop it. “Me too.”
He walked away. But not before glancing back once and giving me a reluctant smile.
Right on cue, Gwen reappeared at my side, smirking like she’d been eavesdropping on my inner thoughts.
Which, let’s face it, she probably had been.
“So…” she sang.
“Don’t even start.”