Page 2

Drake

T his dude is about as funny as a pulled hamstring.

He certainly thinks he’s a riot—but he’s woefully wrong.

I should be partying it up in Miami, not wasting time at The Improv with half my team.

I down the rest of my drink and stand, needing a change of pace.

I go to the bathroom and then stalk outside where it’s more humid than the steam room at the Bucs’ AdventHealth Training Center.

I’m googling clubs around here when, as luck would have it, the most gorgeous brunette I’ve seen stumbles out the back door and into my arms. “Well,” I say, “I was having a bad night but it just got a whole lot better.” I don’t even try to hold back my grin—I never do. It’s like my signature, all me.

“Oh my gosh,” the girl says, righting herself and pulling out of my arms. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you.” She swipes at her face, and then at her dress, and I’m wondering if she knows who I am and that’s why she’s uncomfortable.

“All good,” I drawl, knowing my Texan accent usually soothes people when they meet me—I know, I’m a huge, potentially scary guy with my size and the tattoos, but people seem to think a Southern accent makes you less menacing.

Mama always says my voice could talk a rattlesnake out of striking—though this girl is more rattle and less snake.

She visibly relaxes, and just like that, I get a smile.

My night officially improves. Touchdown.

She leans against the wall beside me, her back against the stucco.

I turn so that I’m facing her, my shoulder against the wall. She glances over, her startlingly blue eyes tracing my form, widening as she really takes in all of me. I pull a can of Dr. Pepper out of my jacket pocket and crack it open.

“You just carry around a can of Dr. Pepper in your pocket?” she asks, wide-eyed.

I take a long sip, the fizz crackling through me before I shrug. “It’s a Texas thing.”

“So if I go to Texas right now, everyone’s going to have a can of Dr. Pepper hidden somewhere on their person?”

I chuckle, wondering what sort of girl says on their person .

“I guess it’s mostly a me thing, then. Fueled by my Texan pride.

” When she’s still frowning up at me, I clarify, “Dr. Pepper is the nectar of Texas. Invented there, long before Coke.” I say Coke with a grimace, as one should.

“I even went to the Dr. Pepper museum in Waco on a field trip in fourth grade.”

“Okay,” she says, dragging out the word.

She seems content to sit in silence, but something about this girl makes me want to talk to her more. “You need a break from that joker too?” I ask, gesturing toward the comedy club.

Her nose scrunches up adorably. “He thinks he’s funnier than he really is.”

“I was just thinking the same thing. That dolphin joke? Criminal.”

She raises her hands in agreement. “Thank you! You can’t criminalize the world’s most beloved sea creature.”

“Should be a federal offense.”

We both laugh—it’s the most laughter that comedian will get from us tonight—and her gaze holds mine, her eyes sparking with something that intrigues me.

A current of electric heat wraps around us.

I know I’m not the only one who feels it because she bites her lip, glancing away shyly.

The gesture only makes me more drawn in by her and I lean closer, lowering my voice.

“I’m trying to bust outta here but my whole team is back in there.”

“My cousin is in there too,” her voice matches my tone as if we’re sharing secrets. As she talks, I notice a little of her red lipstick is smudged.

“You have a little something here,” I say, gesturing around my own lips to show where her lipstick has smudged. She swipes at her mouth—only to smear the red even more.

“Oh shoot,” she says, looking down at her hand, which is smudged with red. “I forgot I had that on.” She wipes at her hand with her other palm, which only further spreads the red around.

I can’t lie, I’m enjoying watching her squirm. There’s something about this girl that feels real in a way none of the girls I usually hook up with do.

For starters, those lips? Full and kissable, but definitely no filler. And the little wrinkle between her brows as she frowns at her stained hand? Yeah, no Botox either—unlike most of the NFL groupies I’ve met.

“Can I?”

She looks up at me, her eyes a little startled at my offer to help.

“Uh, sure.” She holds out her hand, but I bypass that to cup her face with my palms, tracing around her lips to wipe the excess red off of her face.

Her breath hitches as I move, my thumb lingering below her lip.

Her skin is so incredibly soft, it makes me wonder what her lips would feel like.

With any other girl, I might use this as an excuse to kiss her—but with her?

I get the feeling she wouldn’t let me get away with it—even though I can tell she’s attracted to me and can feel my attraction to her.

She continues to stare at me with those mesmerizing blue eyes while I finish removing any trace of lipstick from outside her lips.

I let my hands fall away before I can do anything she might not like—and I notice that she takes a deep shuddering breath when my hands leave her.

“Hand?” I ask.

“Huh? Oh.” She holds out her lipsticked hand to me and I take the bottom of my button down shirt and wipe the lipstick off. “It might stain your shirt, I don’t know what’s in this stuff,” she says.

“Now I’ve got a souvenir to remember you by,” I tell her as I reluctantly drop her hand, even though I want to pull her against me. I’ve played this game before, but something about her makes me want to rewrite the rules.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she says quietly. It’s not sassy or snotty—it’s a sincere statement, and my heart squeezes. She may or may not be right—I can’t say I’ve ever wiped a girl’s lipstick before, but I’ve certainly told a girl I’ll remember her and promptly forgotten her.

“Only the beautiful ones,” I say, reaching out to tug gently on one of her curls.

I don’t think I’m imagining the tiny inhale she takes.

She’s looking at me like she’s trying to decide if I’m dangerous or decent.

Truth is, I’m not even sure yet myself. “So, what’s it gonna be?

Are we ditching this place, or do I have to suffer through another dolphin joke first? ”