Blindsided (9 page)

I smirk. Like that will happen. I can’t stay away from that body. I couldn’t stay away from her taste if I tried.

“She’s sitting by us, right?” I ask Reid, never taking my eyes from my blue-eyed beauty’s.

“Of course she is,” he responds. “And if we don’t sit down right now, my mom is gonna pull out her bitch streak.”

He walks to the table closest to us and, coincidentally, the bar. I smirk as I take my seat because Macey is checking the seating chart right now.

“This is like a fuckin’ wedding,” Jack snaps, watching her. “Can’t I just wave them over?”

“Don’t fuck with the seating chart,” Reid answers. “There. They’re coming over.”

Indeed, they are. Leah approaches with her eyes fixed on mine, and I follow her as she rounds the table and takes the spare seat next to mine.

“Should I be surprised, Corey?” she whispers, scooting her seat in.

“Not really, babe.” I smirk. “Wine?”

“I’d prefer tequila, but sure.”

I pour a glass and rest the bottle back in the ice bucket. Leah takes the glass from my hand and takes a long sip. She shivers as the chill overcomes her, and I slip my hand beneath the table to rest on her thigh.

She glares at me. “What are you doing?”

“Adjusting my balls,” I reply, tickling just behind her knee.

Her leg jerks, and when she regains control, she jabs me in the ankle with her heel.
Fuck.

“I told you,” she whispers, leaning in. “Cut the crap.”

“I planned to. Then you showed up in that dress and my cock got other ideas.”

She turns to me, her expression wholly unamused…except for the twitch of her lips. “Behave yourself, cowboy.”

“I don’t know how to around you,” I murmur truthfully, skimming my fingers beneath her dress.

She smacks my hand beneath the table, and I smirk, snatching her fingers. She jerks her hand from mine and grips her wine glass with it. I let my hand settle back on her thigh, my fingers dipping beneath the tight hem of her dress once more, teasing her skin.

She doesn’t react—except every time I brush my fingers across her skin, she takes a sip. I lean toward her, smelling that sweet smell that is so very Leah.

“Watch it. You know what happened last time you were drinking wine around me.”

Her nostrils flare as she takes a deep breath. Our food is set in front of us, and when the waiter puts hers on the table, she grabs him and requests a vodka and lemonade.

I can’t help the smirk. It’s like a fucking reflex around her.

“Vodka, huh?”

“It makes me a bitch,” Leah replies without batting an eyelid. In fact, she’s cutting into her potato all too calmly.

“Is your bitch side as hot as you normally are?”

“She sure as hell isn’t afraid to call you out,” she responds, examining the potato. “So I’d watch out for that if I were you.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” I sip my drink. “But I sure as hell hope she is a bitch.”

“Surprise, asshole,” she snaps, finishing her drink as her vodka is put in front of her.

My lips curve, because fuck. It’s a kryptonite—annoying her. Like my own personal goal every time I set eyes on her. I figure she’ll eventually be so angry that she won’t remember why she is and she’ll give in. One day.

One motherfucking day.

H
is eyes are crawling over me like he’s never seen a woman before. I felt it the second he noticed me. The heat from his gaze was, and is, incomparable to all others.

Corey Jackson isn’t the only man here tonight who’s looking at me. But he’s sure as hell the only man who means every inch of his stare. No other stare coasts over my body so thoroughly. No other gaze grabs every ounce of my body and makes it react to the intense pull.

No, it’s only him. Maybe I want him.

Maybe, after all this time, I want to remember what it feels to have a guy’s fingertips trail over my skin. And I do. I won’t lie. I do—but not his. Sex is…something to me. It isn’t something you give freely. It’s something you own and control until the moment you’re ready to hand all of you over.

I’m not ready for that.

I’m not ready to let go of all of my inhibitions and give myself freely to the one man who is sure to take it and run with it.

My eyes flit to Macey, who is flirting unashamedly with Jack Carr. He responds in kind, and I know that neither of them will be leaving alone tonight. Once Macey has her eyes set on someone, that’s it. It’s all systems go.

Sometimes, I envy her freedom.

Corey’s hand finally leaves my thigh and I relax a little. Even if there is a chill snaking across my skin where his fingers just were. Jesus, this would be so much easier if I weren’t attracted to him. If he were just…not there.

Yeah, that would be better. If he would disappear, that would be fabulous. Isn’t there an away preseason game soon? A whole weekend without him here, in my face, making me feel unnecessary things.

Because he distracts me. The fight is exhausting, and it means I can’t concentrate on work. I have a file full of photographs of models in my designs from Quinn to approve for the show and I can’t. I’m here instead, struggling against the cockiest bastard I’ve ever met in my life.

His certainty isn’t even endearing. It’s annoying. Mostly because, every time he says something, he really does believe it, and for a second, my beliefs waver.

Eventually, he could wear me down and I’ll give in to everything I don’t want just for some semblance of peace back into my life.

I set my knife and fork down on the plate and take a sip of my drink. Then I studiously avoid Corey’s gaze. I’m determined not to get drawn into his game tonight. That’s what this is. To him, it’s a giant game. Well, I’m not a pawn, and I don’t want to play.

I always hated games.

My phone buzzes in my purse and I pull it out. The e-mail is from Quinn, and I open it below the table.

Leah, I need your approvals on the designs in twenty-four hours. We need to get the models into fittings. Overnight the file our usual way.

I swallow my sigh. This is why I should be at home. Working. Right now.

Got it. Mom will call the courier.

I hit send then bring up my messages and ask Mom to do exactly that. She responds with an, ‘
Okay
,’ and I drop the phone back into my purse.

“Don’t you know it’s bad manners to use your phone at dinner?”

I look at Corey. “Don’t you know it’s bad manners to repeatedly not listen to someone?”

“Touché.” He smirks. “Important?”

“Private.” I drink.

He leans in. “Boyfriend?”

“Yes. I’m in the habit of kissing other guys when I have a boyfriend.” I roll my eyes. “Please. If I were seeing someone, the media would make sure the world and its asshole knew about it.”

“Just checkin’.”

“Why? You wanna fill the empty slot?” I raise my eyebrows in disbelief.

He laughs and flips my hand over on the table. He grabs my arm, and his thumb traces little circles on the inside of my wrist. Shivers snake down my spine at the gentle yet erotic touch.

“Possibly,” he murmurs. “Are you taking applications?”

“Absolutely, but there is a condition. Assholes need not apply, so looks like you’re out of the running.” I snatch my wrist away from him. “Excuse me.”

I get up, grab my purse, and walk through the room. I say a few hellos to people I know, but I don’t stop to talk. Hell no.

I shove the restroom door open and lock myself in a stall. Fuck it all—I’m leaving. Every time he speaks to me, he draws me into his game, playing me until I fall into his setup and he wins the round.

Someone get a bell to warn me of this shit.

The heels of my hands dig into my eyes, and I unlock the stall door. Then I head straight for the doors and hand my ticket to the valet. He nods and goes to collect my car.

“What are you doing?”

I look at Ryann. “I’m going home before I end up in an orange jumpsuit for the rest of my life. Thank you,” I add to the valet, taking my keys.

“And when he asks me where you are?”

“Tell him I’m sick. Add ‘of him’ if you want to.” I shrug and get in the car. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“All right. Hey…you’re okay, right?”

“I will be when I get home.” I smile and put my foot down.

I blow out a long breath as I drive away from the hotel. Jesus, I’m not this girl. I’m not the girl who fucking runs just because it’s too much. I’m the girl who stays and battles through to the end because taking shit isn’t something I was raised to do.

The problem is that it doesn’t bother Corey. I can see it in his eyes. He thrives on getting me angry. It’s funny to him, and he’s slowly finding every one of my buttons.

He knows I’m not his type. He knows I’m not the girl who will roll over onto her back and beg for him. He knows—one hundred percent—I won’t sit back and let him do whatever he wants without any consequences.

That’s why he wants me. He said it himself. He wants the challenge. He wants to push me to my breaking point. Then he wants to bury himself inside me and tip me over the edge.

A part of me wishes I were his type, that I were the kind of girl who could stomach one-night stands. I’m not against them, but they’re not who I am.

I enjoy sex as much as the next person. I enjoy slow, deep lovemaking, and I enjoy hard and fast fucks. But I respect it, too. I respect the connection that comes from being so intimate with someone, and I won’t ever lose that. I won’t let it go. Sex is for relationships, for trust and strong feelings, not hurried looks and drunken liaisons.

Which is why he won’t get what he wants.

I lean out of the car and push the code in for the gates. They open, and I drive through, desperately wishing my mind could get the hell off him and onto the fifty possible outfits waiting for me on my desk.

I wish I could focus on scarves and neckties, on socks and gloves.

I park the car in front of the garage and shove my keys inside my purse.

“Leah.”

I turn at the sound of his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“What are
you
doing here
?
” Corey responds, slamming his car door.

“I live here.” My jaw clenches.

He walks toward me, his steps strong, his gaze unwavering. I swallow as he gets closer because, although it’s dark, I can see his expression. The light from the house gives me a full view of his tight jaw, his pursed lips, his strong cheekbones. The annoyance in his gaze glints bright green, and I wonder how he’s the one who is annoyed when I’m the one he pisses off.

I stand steady, but he doesn’t stop when he reaches me. Instead, he grabs me and pushes me against the wall, his fingers sliding into my hair and his mouth descending on mine.

I murmur a protest, but it’s futile. He’s stronger than I am, and he holds me in place as his lips attack me. I grip his shirt at his waist, curling my fingers into the soft material, and succumb to the sensation of his hard kiss.

He tugs on my hair and tilts my head back. His tongue slips into my mouth when my lips part, and the sweep of it against mine stokes a low fire in the pit of my belly.