Game for Trouble (Game for It 2)

ilable. Hell, he’d even gone shopping at some expensive-as-hell men’s clothing store and bought an entire new outfit just to impress the woman.

She was now officially twenty minutes late. He’d most likely been stood up. Fuck all if that didn’t irritate the ever-loving shit out of him.

His cell rang, and he grabbed it hurriedly, pissed when he saw it was his mama. Damn, he’d have to talk to her tomorrow. Hitting ignore, he shoved the phone back into his pants’ pocket.

Only Willow would stand him up. But why? She was a damn fool to reject him if she wanted that building so badly for her business. Of course, he’d given her reason not to trust him…when they were kids.

Fine, he’d given her reason to not trust him right now by not telling her he was the one who owned the very property she wanted to lease. He did it with good intentions though. Maybe not well planned but hell, when it came to Willow she had a way of making him do dumb things. Anything he could do to be with her, he’d do it. He knew what he wanted.

Willow. By his side. And if he had to bribe her to get her to spend more time with him then so be it. Damn it, he’d never gotten over her. Maybe he needed a new strategy. They were always coming up with new game plans in the locker room, out on the field.

Looked like he needed to adopt a new one when it came to his love life and getting Willow back in it on a permanent basis.

Slugging the rest of his soda back in one swallow, he slammed the glass onto the table, glancing around the small, intimate restaurant. Couples. He was surrounded by couples who were having romantic dinners, laughing and talking and looking so damned pleased with themselves he wanted to slap them all silly and tell them love didn’t exist. It was all for fools and suckers.

Right? Man, he sounded bitter. He needed to get over himself.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Her soft, sexy voice called to him like a siren and he glanced up, finding Willow standing beside the table, her chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath she took, her expression contrite.

Damn, she was beautiful, wearing a black dress that appeared to cover everything but somehow revealed it all, too, considering it fit her so perfectly. Her hair was down, spilling past her shoulders in luxurious waves he wanted to bury his face in. A delicate gold chain wound around her neck, simple and elegant and so fucking perfect that all thoughts of being angry with Willow for being late evaporated in the mist.

“Did I keep you waiting?” she asked when he hadn’t answered.

Nick cleared his throat. “Sort of. But you’re forgiven, since you’re wearing that fuck me sideways dress.”

Rolling her eyes, she settled into the chair across from him, her dress pulling against her chest, emphasizing the delectable curve of her breasts. His gaze lingered there, his head buzzing pleasantly. He hadn’t sipped a single drop of alcohol but he certainly was drunk on the sight of her. “Eloquent as always, aren’t you, Hamilton?”

“Sure am, Cavanaugh. You know you love my blunt talk.” He decided to go for it. He couldn’t worry about irritating her—she’d already irritated him beyond belief. “I remembered you liked it mighty fine when I was whisperin’ dirty words in your ear, reciting all the things I planned on doing to you when I got you alone.”

“I am so tired of you pulling out the ‘we used to fuck so that makes us fine old friends’ card.” She slowly shook her head, adding a yawn for emphasis. Bored, eh? “Let it go, Nick. We’re finished. Through. Done.”

He was still left reeling by the fact she said fuck. Seeing that choice word fall from her perfectly glossed pink lips evoked all sorts of fantasies. “See, that’s exactly what I wanted to propose to you tonight. After dinner, though. I need something to eat before I launch into my plans for what I’m going to do to you. Need to work up some strength for fear you might try and beat me.”

“No liquid courage tonight?” She smiled serenely, as if she knew he didn’t drink during the season. Which she probably did, considering she was so close to Sheridan, and Jared did the same thing.

First few seasons he played pro ball, he also partied like a rock star, and it showed in his game play. Now he and Jared, plus a few other teammates who’d been around the block a time or ten, swore off liquor for the entire season every year. Being sober kept them more focused.

“I don’t drink during the season. You know this,” he told her.

“Sounds like you might need a drink, considering you have to deal with me.” She laughed and shook her head. “It’s going to be fun torturing you tonight, you know. We could’ve taken care of this earlier, back at the realtor’s office.”

She sounded amused at his expense but at the moment, he couldn’t give a damn what she thought. “You know what I don’t appreciate? You keeping me waiting,” he practically growled, feeling like an ass.

She leaned back, her eyes going wide, though he swore he saw a hint of a smile teasing the corners of her lips. “So sorry. You never even asked what my excuse was.”

“What’s your excuse?”

“Traffic—accident on the One. Awful, too.” Her gaze dimmed. “Looked like someone was probably hurt pretty badly.”

Well, how could he fault her for that? “That sucks,” he said awkwardly, knowing he sounded like an ass, but damn. What else could he say?

Raising his hand, he waved down the waiter. At the very least he needed another basket of bread, considering he demolished the one they’d given him when he first arrived.

The moment the waiter fled to refill the breadbasket, Willow got down to business. “Let’s not draw this out any longer than we have to.” She leaned over the table, the neckline of her dress dipping, giving him a tantalizing view of her cleavage. She wore a black, lacy bra beneath.

The woman was trying to straight up kill him.