Oh, this day was going to be fun.
***
Saylor
Worst. Date. Ever.
How the hell did stuff like this keep happening to me?
When I’d agreed to go on a date with Tad, he’d been normal. Fun. Amusing.
Then he’d picked me up, and it was like I’d gotten his evil twin instead of the man that I’d met at one of my father’s family club parties.
See, my father was a Dixie Warden. The Dixie Wardens were a motorcycle club out of Benton, Louisiana. A very popular, very well-known MC that was filled with members that were cops, firefighters, ex-military and current military.
Though my dad lived in Benton, Louisiana, they still tended to have events down here with their sister chapters. The event that I met Tad at being one of them.
Tad was the son of an Alabama chapter member.
I’d met his parents.
My dad had met Tad.
He’d approved!
And then I get—whatever the hell Tad had turned into.
When I moved to Texas, I thought I was getting a fresh start.
New dating pool. No father constantly checking in, hovering, and generally making it hard to live my life as a single woman.
I began my own cake business part-time and was a newly graduated ultrasound technician.
I had a good life.
Until it came to the dating game.
Then I didn’t have a good life.
I had a piss poor excuse for one.
I should’ve expected it, to be honest.
I had shit luck when it came to dating.
“You want a drink?” Tad asked, sounding as if he was enjoying himself.
He should be.
Every single woman that had walked by him or come close to him had drawn his attention.
I swore that he’d almost reached out and grabbed a few asses as if he couldn’t help himself.
Today when Tad had picked me up, I’d smiled at him and offered him a kiss on the cheek. He’d palmed my ass and pulled me in close to his obvious erection.
I’d yanked myself away as if I was on fire, disgust rising in my features.
When I’d asked him not long after not to take such liberties again, he’d laughed.
I should’ve just turned around and gone back inside my apartment building. Sadly, I hadn’t taken my own sage advice.
Which led me to now, sitting at a baseball game—I didn’t even like baseball—next to a man that had been flirting with the woman on his other side for the last twenty minutes.
I was fairly sure he’d gotten her number, too.
I rolled my eyes, contemplating calling for an Uber to take me home.
In fact, I looked over my shoulder to see how far away the exit was when I saw him walking down the steps toward me.
Our eyes met and held, even from the long distance that separated us, and I felt my heart start to beat in my chest like a roaring freight train barreling down at a railroad crossing.
I licked my lips and looked away, but it didn’t matter. I was more than aware of him.
I just knew that he was heading toward the seats that were next to me, too.
Sure, there were other seats spaced out around me. One here. One there.
But there weren’t two together, and in the brief glance that I’d taken of the man, he had someone in front of him.
That meant they would need two.
Two.
The only two seats that were together side by side were the ones right next to me.
Son of a biscuit eater.
I really, really didn’t do well with attractive men.
So much so, in fact, that I sometimes found it hard to breathe, let alone speak.
Honestly, that was probably why I had such a hard time dating.
If the man was attractive, then I was either a clammed-up shell of a person, or a chatty Cathy that said the stupidest things.
“Excuse me,” a female’s voice said, finally making me look up. “Excuse me.”
The woman that was coming down the length of the aisle was gorgeous.
She had long, reddish-blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and beautiful pale skin that looked like she would burn in seconds.
But just as fast as I looked at her, I looked away.
Because the male coming our way had stolen my attention.
I swallowed hard.
Oh, God.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
He. Was. So. Fucking. Hot.
And he…fuck me sideways, he was going to have to sit right next to me.
I swallowed hard and allowed my gaze to linger on the man’s thighs.
They were encased in a pair of navy-blue golf shorts—and the only reason I knew they were golf shorts was because I’d bought my dad the same pair for Father’s Day last year.
The man’s thighs were thick and filled out the fabric of the shorts well.
My eyes drug over the length of his lower body, skimming over the package at the apex of his thighs, and focusing on the man’s defined calves.
Holy shit.
I’d never seen calves so defined in my life.
And why the hell was I so stuck on the man’s calves?