Page 10 of Biggest Player (Not Yours #2)

Margot

I can do nothing but stare back at him.

He is at a loss for words, but I can see his brain racking for something witty to say. We’ve only spent a short bit of time in each other’s company, but I feel as if I already know him well enough.

Dex is beyond irritated, which makes this all the more hilarious.

Aww. Poor guy.

He wants to have a clever comeback, but he doesn’t know how.

I’m not doing his ego any favors by giggling at him uncontrollably, but c’est la vie.

It is what it is.

He’s staring at me, eyes scanning my face. What does he see?

Not one of those women he chooses to date, the young, carefree kind who are able to give him the time he clearly desires. Someone who can be at his beck and call. Someone without responsibilities.

Dex is younger than I am by several years.

Yes, he has an insane profession. The deep dive I did on him after seeing him in person, at the restaurant, revealed an impressive NFL career—one that intimidates me, despite me telling him to his face that I am not intimidated by him. His job does, not the man himself.

The two feelings are not mutually exclusive.

“Tell me how you’re going to wrestle a bear, in the mud, and win,” I tease. “I want to hear it.”

“I didn’t mean literally,” he says at last, thieving yet another one of my fries. At this rate I won’t have any left; he is consuming them two or three at a time, the basket dwindling at a rapid pace as he jams them into his piehole.

And what a piehole it is.

I avert my eyes so he doesn’t catch me gawking at him. Dex isn’t my usual type, but who can resist a man built like him? Big. Broody. Good looking and rugged in an in-your-face kind of way. No doubt he has slept with dozens of women; no doubt he was irresistible in college.

I am a grade school teacher.

What am I doing sitting here with a man like this?

“So, besides the outdoors and audiobooks, what else are you into?”

We can’t possibly have any more in common, and I’m determined to prove it.

“I love pizza,” he blurts out.

My head cocks to the side. “Can pizza be considered a hobby?”

“Sure. I’m making it my mission in life to find the best slice.”

Of course he is. Why wouldn’t he be? “All right, fine. Pizza is your hobby.”

“What foods do you love?” He asks me in kind. “Like, what food would you travel the world for?”

“Um—if I could travel the world to find my favorite food, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. I’d be in France.” I let a chuckle escape my throat.

“That doesn’t answer the question.” He chews on a fried calamari, double-dipping in the sauces, first marinara, then the ranch, making a mess out of both containers.

Ugh, this guy.

“I’m not sure—I love pasta.” But who doesn’t? “So maybe pasta. Or.” I nibble on my bottom lip as I ponder. “The world’s best risotto.”

Dex groans loud enough to wake the dead. “I love risotto!”

“Damn straight.”

“You haven’t had risotto until you’ve had Gordon Ramsay cook it for you.” He mentions one of the most famous chefs in the world as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb into the conversation, following his comment with a swig of beer.

Waiting for him to come up for air, I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs.

He sets the glass on the counter. “What? What’s the look for?”

“You just casually mentioned that Gordon Ramsay has prepared you risotto.”

Dex shrugs his massive shoulders. “I mean, we were playing a game in London and he fed us.”

Playing a game in London.

What that life must be like.

I clear my throat. “So yeah. Risotto.” I have no idea what more to say. “Love it.”

“Oh!” he exclaims. “I love Christmas!”

I perk up. “You do?”

“Totally. I start decorating in November.” He gnaws on one of my fries.

I also start decorating in November.

“Do you actually have time to decorate yourself? Isn’t November football season?”

I know enough about football to know the season runs through the holidays. My brother is a die-hard fan; he wears his jersey to Thanksgiving dinner and usually leaves the meal early to catch the rest of the game at home. “In peace,” he’ll say.

“Here’s how I do it,” Dex begins. “Yes, I have help putting up the decorations in the house, but the trees? Those I do myself.”

“Trees? Plural?”

“Yeah, I have at least three. My living room is huge.”

Oh.

Okay.

Wow.

This is a surprising factoid about him. Never would have guessed he would be a guy with a forest full of trees, but I cannot say I’d push him out of bed.

“How many trees do you have?” he asks me.

“Um. One. ” Like a normal person. “I don’t have a ton of room in my house for more than that.”

Dex nods. “Makes sense.”

“Are you only into the decorating, or are you into other holiday festivities too?”

“Like what?”

“Like ...” I consider the holiday festivities one might partake in. “Shopping. Or going to see a play. Holiday concerts. Ice-skating.”

“I don’t have lots of time for anything else, but I enjoy looking at lights and shit.” Dex clears his throat. “There’s a competition show on TV that I watch where the contestants compete to see who can decorate their yards with the best and most lights, and the show picks one winner.”

Interesting. “I’ll have to look for that in the fall.”

He makes a humming sound. “When I was younger, my grandma used to drive us around looking at holiday lights around town—that’s probably why I get into it so much.”

I can relate. “My grandma used to decorate her tree to the hilt. Garland and tinsel—tons and tons of tinsel—the whole nine yards.” I love tinsel and would roll around in it if I could.

Sigh.

I wish I had more room, but I do have a bunch of my grandma’s ornaments; I inherited them when she died.

I sure do miss her, and now I wish it were the holidays so I could decorate!

“I like most holidays, except Halloween, if I’m being honest.” Dex takes the last calamari from the basket and holds it out toward me. “Want the last one?”

I shake my head. “All you.”

“People can argue that Valentine’s Day is too commercialized, but I like it anyway,” he goes on, chewing. “Any excuse to do something fun, eh?”

I grin; I can’t stop myself. “What I’m hearing is that you’re kind of romantic.”

He shrugs. “Don’t know about that, but I do try.

No reason not to.” Dex sighs, rubbing his fingers on the napkin to clean up the oil from the appetizers.

“We didn’t have much growing up—my parents spent most of their money on stupid shit, and all they did was fight.

So once I got older, I just ...” He adjusts himself in his seat, shifting his ass.

“I had a girlfriend my freshman year of college who was big into celebrating absolutely everything. She kind of changed my mind about it.”

This perks me up.

The fact he was open minded about celebrating things simply because his girlfriend was into it says a lot about him. It tells me he’s easygoing and open to new ideas. It tells me he’s willing to compromise when someone he likes wants to do something he might not have been interested in doing.

Huh.

Who would have thunk?

“How long were the two of you dating?” Curious minds want to know what his past relationship status was like.

“Probably a year? Maybe less, I can’t remember, we were young.” He pushes the empty baskets away so the bartender can collect them, signaling for another round. “Do you want anything?”

My drink is half-full, but the ice has started to melt and dilute it, so I nod. Why not?

We’re having fun, aren’t we? No reason to rush home; no one is there.

I watch as Dex speaks to the guy behind the bar. Their easy conversation has them both grinning.

Perhaps Dex isn’t the giant asshole I pegged him to be the first time we matched on Kissmet. Perhaps I misjudged him. Or maybe you went at him so hard and aggressively he was automatically on defense.

Yup. There’s that . . .

Guilty as charged.

Was I the asshole in this situation?

I gulp, reaching for the water glass that has been on the counter in front of me this whole time, the condensation making a watery mess of my hands.

I sip from it, debating. Maybe I should say something about my bad attitude a few days ago? I mean, it’s water under the bridge at this point. I don’t get the sense he is holding a grudge. He seems like a decent dude.

Dex is actually . . .

Great.

Deep voice. Ridiculously large hands.

He definitely smells incredible. I’ve been tempted to lean over and give his neck a whiff the entire time we’ve been sitting here.

Shit. Do not start fantasizing about him, Margot—he’s not into you.

Well, maybe he is—it’s hard to tell—but the fact is, he made it clear he does not want to date someone with kids, and getting involved with a guy (and by involved I mean have sex with) who has made his boundaries clear would be a mistake.

Your mistake, not his.

Honestly, Dex is hard to read.

He’s friendly to everyone. Charming. Personable.

He’s chatty. Willing to share information.

He’s asking questions and answering them back.

Shit.

He is so damn good looking ...

I lean forward to take the drink from the bartender’s hand when he walks it over, smiling and thanking him, at the same time sneaking a sniff of Dex.

He smirks. “Did you just smell me?”

“Pfft. No!” I do not sound convincing.

“I think you did.” He moves toward me. “Go ahead. Take another whiff.”

“Knock it off.” I shoo him away, scoffing, but my heart beats a little faster, betraying me and my good sense. “I wasn’t smelling you.”

Still.

Flirting isn’t a crime, and I could sure use the practice.

“You’re such a liar.” He grins, taking a swig from his new glass of beer. “It’s Blue Steel.” He tells me. “I’m their spokesperson.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” I droll, watching as he pulls his phone out of his back pocket and begins scrolling through the gallery.

“See?” Dex holds it toward me, forcing my eyes to the screen.

Forcing my eyes on the bare-chested photos of him, surrounded by a dark background, dim lighting, glistening skin.

Of course, he’s wearing boxer shorts.

He’s tan.

He’s . . . he’s . . .

Jesus. He’s perfect.

I swallow.

“Nice” is the best I can do, not wanting to gush or blush or make a fuss.

“I felt like a pig they were oiling up.” He laughs, tucking the phone away. “But I have a lifetime supply of cologne. And I bought my childhood best bud a condo with the money.”

A little pit forms in my stomach.

“That was very sweet of you.”

Dex takes another drink of beer, bobbing his head in a nod. “Yeah. Dude has been with me through thick and thin. He’s like the only family I have, besides Landon and a few other guys.”

I almost make an Aww sound. I almost simper.

Almost.

’Cause the truth is, Dex is making my heart beat faster and my palms begin to sweat and my brain feel a bit addled.

Damn him.

Damn him for being a great guy.

A small part of me wishes he was the asshole he was when we first started talking on the app, so I would have a reason to push him away.

“So.” His tongue peeps out of his mouth, running along his upper lip, licking the beer foam. “What’s your story?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—what’s the deal with Wyatt’s dad? Or is that too personal?”

“He’s around,” I tell Dex. “In the picture, I mean. We got pregnant young, but we didn’t want to get married or stay in a relationship just because I was having a baby, so we broke up when I was around six months.”

Dex’s mouth moves. “Ah. So he pulled a Tom Brady.”

I don’t know what that means but go with it. “Sure.”

“No drama?”

“Nah, not really. I’ve only dated a few people in the last few years and no one that my family has met, so there hasn’t been an opportunity.” I take a sip of my cocktail. “I have no idea how he’d act if I had a boyfriend.”

“Huh. Interesting.” He pauses. “Is he seeing someone?”

“Yes, he has a girlfriend.”

“How do they get along with your kid?”

“Fine. Obviously I worry, but—what can I do? I can’t control his household; I can only control mine. And things are great, I’m just missing that one thing.”

“Regular boning?”

I choke on my cocktail, shocked by his words.

No—shocked isn’t the right word. Amused? Surprised?

“You went straight for it, didn’t you?”

“It’s one of my favorite words for sex besides the word sex .” He laughs.

“Well, that’s not the one thing that’s missing—there’s always a vibrator for that.” Ha ha. “You know I meant a relationship. I would love to ...”

Not be alone.

Have a partner.

Not have to rely on myself for everything.

“I would love to have someone other than my mother on my emergency-contact list,” I finally say, hoping he’ll find it funny.

And he does.

Dex gives me a chuckle, eyeing me over the rim of his glass. “I get it. My emergency contact is my agent.” He rolls his eyes. “How fucking lame is that? My agent and Landon Burke. Like, what the fuck are they gonna do if I break my neck or tear a ligament?”

I blink. “Break your neck? Isn’t that a bit extreme?”

“Hey. Out on that field anything can happen.”

“Jesus,” I breathe. “Your health insurance must be wild.”

Dex’s snicker is low and deep.

I pry my eyes away from his lips. His mouth.

I lift them to his eyes, only to find him staring at me.

“You’re funny,” he says at last.

I pause.

“Thanks.”