“You. Your heart.” I push back a strand of hair that has fallen over her eyes. “This isn’t a game, but this is my hail Mary to win you over. Have dinner with me?” I say, nodding to the picnic I’ve arranged on my living room floor.
“I can’t believe you did all of this. How did you—?” She stops. “You didn’t accidentally leave your phone at the office, did you?”
“Nope.” I wink at her. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get time with you.”
“What are we having?” she asks, turning her gaze back to the living room.
“Chicken salad sandwiches, fresh fruit, and turtle cheesecake for dessert.”
“How did you—?” she starts and stops.
“I know you, Sam. I’ve watched you for months, memorizing every detail. I know you love chicken salad from Sanderson’s market. I know that fresh strawberries and grapes are your favorites, and I know that turtle cheesecake is your indulgence.”
“Jase.” My name is a whisper from her lips.
“Yeah, baby?”
“I—” She shakes her head.
Moving to stand in front of her, I place my hands on either side of her face. Brown eyes meet blue as I hold her gaze—willing her to say yes. “Samantha, will you allow me the honor of your company and have dinner with me?”
“So formal,” she teases, a blinding smile lighting up her face.
“I’m not ashamed to admit I’m pulling out the big guns.”
She nods. “Yes, I’ll have dinner with you.”
“Thank fuck,” I mumble, placing a kiss to her forehead. I lead her to the picnic area I have set up in the middle of my living room floor. She puts her hand on my shoulder for balance as she removes her black heels, and hikes up her skirt to step up on the platform I’ve created. Not wearing shoes, I step up next to her and take her hand helping her sit, then take the spot next to her, and begin to unpack the picnic basket. I notice there is a slight tremble in my hands. I’ve played football in front of millions of people. There are pictures of me in nothing but my tight-as-fuck boxer briefs on billboards across the United States, and none of that made me the least bit nervous. Sitting next to a beautiful woman, one who’s done nothing but consume my mind for the last year, makes me nervous. She’s giving me an opening, and I don’t want to mess this up.
Chapter 2
Samantha
I’ve entered an alternate universe. That’s the only explanation for my current situation. I admit I was excited when Royce asked me to stop by Jase’s house and deliver his phone that he left in Royce’s office. Jase Andrews is every woman’s fantasy. At six foot five, with sexy brown hair that you want to run your fingers through, and those blue eyes, it’s all enough to have panties dropping. Add the fact that he still works out and his body is a masterpiece… he has women falling all over him.
I can still remember the first time I ever saw him shirtless. Royce’s parents had a Fourth of July party. I brought my best friend, Carrie. Royce’s younger brother Marshall met us at the house and drove us to the lake in his truck. As soon as I stepped out of the truck, Jase was there, shirtless and in nothing but a pair of board shorts. If it hadn’t been for Carrie, I would have fallen ass over heels making a fool of myself. My bestie had my back as she steered me over toward Lena Riggins, Royce’s mom. We helped her get the food together, which gave my body time to cool down and for me to get myself in check.
He’s a huge flirt, and a player on and off the field, something he rightfully admitted. He claims he’s different now, that I’m different for him. I’ve heard him tell me that hundreds of times in the last year, but this… this moment is different from all the times before. He’s not acting like the flirty teasing player I’ve known him to be. Today he’s something… more.
“Is this turf?” I ask, taking a seat on the blanket spread out on his living room floor.
“Yep. We can’t have a picnic without grass, and it’s too cold outside for a picnic, so I improvised.”
“Improvised? Jase, there is a huge platform in the middle of your living room covered in turf. There are clouds hanging from your ceiling that I’m pretty sure wasn’t blue the last time I was here.” I take in the room and am in awe at the effort he’s put into this. The wooden platform is covered in turf. There is a small tree in a huge flowerpot, and smaller pots of flowers sitting off to the side. In the center is a quilt and a picnic basket. The clouds hanging overhead are incredible. “Are those lights?” I ask, tilting my head back to take them in.
“Yes.”
“You painted your ceiling?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t believe you did all this.” I shake my head as I try to comprehend his efforts.
“This is our first date, Sam. That means something. I wanted it to be a moment that neither of us would ever forget.”
“The player makes a play,” I mumble.
“First things first,” he says, reaching behind him and grabbing a small cooler. He flips the top and pulls out a bottle of root beer. Not the plastic bottles. No, these are the old-time glass bottles that are hard to find. “This is your favorite, right?” he asks, using a bottle opener to flip off the cap.
“H-How did you know that?” I ask, taking the bottle from his hand.
“You said it once. I don’t know where we were, but I remember you saying that you loved them as a kid, and it was your favorite, but you didn’t see them in stores often,” he explains.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” I confess.
“Say thank you, Jase.” He grins. “Now, for the main course.” He reaches back into the coolers and pulls out two sandwich bags containing what I assume are chicken salad sandwiches. “Now, take it easy on me. This is my first time making this. I tasted it, but a chef I am not. I made sure to add almonds and red grapes. That’s how you like it, right?”
“Are you stalking me?” I ask, my voice rising an octave. I have no idea how in the hell he knows all of this about me.
I expect him to laugh or crack a joke, but neither happens. “No, baby, I’m not stalking you. Do I pay attention where you’re concerned? You’re damn right, I do.”
I have no words. Anyone who knows me knows that’s not me. Jase Andrews has effectively rendered me speechless.
“And this—” He reaches back into the cooler, producing a glass container with a plastic lid. “Fresh fruit. I made sure to get extra strawberries and grapes,” he says, pulling the lid off the container and placing it on the blanket in front of us. “I have dip too,” he says, and his dimples wink at me.
“This is a lot of work for sex,” I blurt. It’s cruel, and I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth.
“Samantha,” he sighs. “This isn’t about that. I want to date you. I want to spend time with you. Does that count time in my bed? Sure. But that’s not all that this is. Surely, you can see that?”
“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I just can’t seem to wrap my head around what you see in me. You can have any woman you want, yet you’re chasing me.”