The Playbook

“Sorry I’m late,” he grins, falling into the seat opposite me. I glance behind me. Is he drunk? Or has he lost it completely?

“Um, pardon?” I ask, using all my energy to muster up my voice.

“We said eight, didn’t we?” he asks, cocking his head.

I’m about to ask him if he’s okay when it clicks. Mel still isn’t here, but Jake is. This is her idea of taking care of it? Setting me up with Jake Tanner? I can’t breathe. There is no way I’m sitting though dinner with him. Never mind the fact that he’s oh so hot. He’s a cockhead, and this has to be a joke.

“I’m sorry,” I apologise. “I was under the impression I was meeting a friend here tonight, and I’m having trouble getting my head around why you’re here instead.”

The poor guy looks confused. “You mean you didn’t arrange this? Wow, this is embarrassing,” he mutters, running his hand through his hair.

“More for me than you,” I promise him. I pause, dying to know how the hell she got him here. None of this makes any sense. “I’m not exactly sure how Mel got you to agree to come on a date with me, but I’m not really interested in sticking around to find out. If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to take off.”

I start to stand, not expecting him to argue with me, because I’m sure he’s just as keen to get away as I am.

“Hey, wait a minute. You’re here. I’m here. Is there any harm in having something to eat before we split?”

I can think of plenty of harm.

“I guess not,” I finally respond. At the very least, who knows? I might stumble upon another story. We order, complete with a very expensive bottle of imported sparkling water that Jake insists on. I laugh as the waiter pours two glasses. “Somehow I never thought of you as the sparkling water type,” I tease.

“Yeah, well, as of last week, I don’t exactly have a choice,” he replies, making a face. “I’m guessing you know who I am?”

“I know you’re a cocky, arrogant so and so who is used to getting what he wants?” I offer. His eyes widen, and I’m not sure who is more shocked: him or me. “Sorry,” I mumble.

“Don’t be,” he laughs. “I can be that guy, but only because it’s what everyone expects of me.” His eyes sparkle as he takes a mouthful of his drink. “What else do you know about me, Abbey?”

“I read the papers, so it’s safe to say I know a lot,” I reply.

“And do you always believe everything you read?” he asks.

“I believe everything I see,” I retort. “You’d be surprised how many reports come with photographic evidence.”

“Photographic evidence,” he repeats. He leans back in his chair, a grin on his lips. “You like studying photos, do you, Abbey? They tell you a lot about a person?”

I nod. “A photo doesn’t often lie.”

“You probably saw the photo of me in the dumpster last week, then. Did you study that one hard, from every angle? Photos don’t lie, Abbey,” he reminds me, his voice teasing. I blush and his eyes gleam. Is he trying to get me to admit that I think his package is impressive?

“Probably Photoshopped,” I say, eyeing him coolly. “I have a theory that you leaked that one yourself.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Trust me, it’s all real. I’m sure plenty of women would attest to that.”

“Am I here just to boost your ego?”

MORE

I shake my head as I wander back out to my car. Did that really just happen?

I want to murder Mel for doing this to me, but I also want to kiss her for the same reason. My experience with footballers, although limited, is less than great, so I’m in shock at how much I enjoyed his company—even if he was a total cock. Where many girls would’ve been fangirling over his “status,” I refused to treat him like a god.

Jake Tanner just proved my theory that all footballers are arseholes. Who would’ve thought?

My phone rings just as I exit the parking lot. I pick it up and balance it to my ear, not taking my eyes off the road. I’m sure it’s Mel, dying to know how it went.

“I’m going to kill you,” I say with a laugh.

“I’d like to say that’s the first time a woman has said that to me, but I’d be lying.”