She couldn’t see who it was at first, but then Jordan was coming her way, parting the crowd like Moses through the Red Sea, a giant bouncer of a man beside him fending off requests for selfies and autographs. When he finally reached her, the bouncer stared down his would-be fanatics. More cameras flashed, blinding her.
“Nat! I’m so glad you’re here. You’ve gotta see Blake. He finally won the Smuck Award.”
Her mouth parted in shock. “You’re kidding!” This was monumental enough to make her mind stop turning cartwheels at the thought of Blake’s job offer.
“And I dressed him,” he proudly said, pointing to his chest. “Hey, aren’t you Nat’s bro?”
Andy smiled and stuck out his hand. More cameras flashed, and people started whispering and pointing at her.
“She’s Blake’s ex-wife,” a dishwater blond woman whispered, taking a not-so-subtle picture with her smartphone.
Then a tall guy behind Jordan, who looked like he was barely out of college, said, “She’s the reason he left football. I don’t care what the press said about his brother. Why else would Blake move to Dare Valley right after she did?”
Her head started to pound. It took a moment for her to return her focus to her friend and her brother.
“Yes, Andy,” her brother was saying.
“The doctor or the lawyer?” Jordan asked, not caring that everyone around them was listening with prurient interest and snapping pics. God, she’d never been able to tune out this sort of thing.
“Good memory. The doctor.”
“Awesome. Come join us. It’s going to be impossible to get to the bar in this crowd.” He leaned close to her ear. “We have our own waitress.”
“Sure you do,” she said, “but I don’t think...”
Jordan wasn’t even listening anymore. He put a hand on her back to lead her through the crowd with the bouncer. More whispers followed her. She even heard someone boo her. Jordan’s jaw tightened, and she knew he must have heard it too. Andy craned his neck to see who it was, his mouth pressed into a flat line, but it was impossible to tell in such a close crowd.
Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, she thought. When they reached the closed-off area, another bouncer nodded at Jordan and let them all through. The guys were clustered around the pool table as Logan and Zack squared off. In the corner, trying to be inconspicuous, sat Blake. But there was no way someone in that get-up could avoid attention. She started laughing, all the earlier whispers and boos and worries erased by pure hilarity.
“Guess who I found?” Jordan called out.
Some of the guys tossed out greetings while others nodded to her. Logan winked, that little rascal.
“I had to invite her and her brother, Andy, to join us. I mean, who better to see Blake the Smuck than Nat?”
Blake pushed off the wall and took off the horrible black sunglasses. When he reached them, Jordan clucked his tongue.
“You have to wear the shades, Blake,” the quarterback said. “It’s part of the look.”
“Didn’t you have to use the ladies’ room, Jordan?” Blake asked, meeting her gaze.
The look in his brown eyes was intense, and it shot a bolt of heat down to her very toes. Blake was studying her like he was trying to figure her out after their earlier interaction. Unable to sustain eye contact, she looked down, her heart pounding. Even dressed like an idiot with some hair product spiking up his curls, he fired up all her engines.
“I ran into Nat on the way and couldn’t pass this up,” Jordan said. “So, what do you think of Ace’s walk of shame?”
Her eyes ran down his outfit as he and Andy exchanged greetings. The Call Me Maybe logo in pink was enough to set her lips to twitching, but the acid-washed jean cutoffs showing off his incredibly fine legs made her laugh. Loud and hard. Sexy and funny. It was impossible to resist.
“Go ahead,” Blake said, putting his hands on his hips. “Have your fill. These guys still haven’t.”
“Not even close.” Jordan kissed her cheek. “What do you want to drink?”
“How about a Guinness?”
“Great. Andy?”
Her brother was trying to keep a straight face and failing. “Same. Ah, Blake, what in the hell do you have in your hair?”
He dug his fingers through the spiky curls. “Mousse. James Dean over there plans to be a stylist when he retires from football.”
“That’s a good one, Blake,” a couple of the guys called out.
Everyone knew about Jordan’s flair for hair products. Even ESPN’s commentators had joked he had the best helmet head in the NFL.
“I don’t know why you haven’t gone with that style before,” she said, sputtering.
His lips twitched. “I knew this would make you laugh.”
The intimacy in his voice made her stop guffawing mid-laugh. Andy coughed and shifted on his feet.
“We don’t want to barge in on your party,” she said, trying to recover from the shift in her awareness of him, from the sudden desire to run her hand down the hard line of his jaw. “We’ll just…”