Текст книги "Game On"

Автор книги: Katie McCoy

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter Four

I was halfway across the field when the girl Nathan was talking to looked up and noticed me. She raised a hand in a wave and I saw that she had a camera looped around her neck. A photographer? I knew the Register hadn’t planned on doing any candid shots—they wanted to do a more formal photo shoot after the article had been approved—was she from another paper? Obviously they knew each other.

I waved back just as Nathan glanced over his shoulder. His smile faded. I kept mine firmly fastened even though my stomach dropped a little. Great. He was still upset. I gritted my teeth, smiled even wider and hoped I didn’t look like a sweaty, disgusting mess. As I got closer, I added a swing, but just a little, to my hips and powerwalked my own shapely ass over to him, prepared to apologize and ease his anxiety a little. For a moment, I thought about whistling the theme from “The Bodyguard,” but I had a feeling he wouldn’t think it was funny this morning, so I just gritted my teeth and smiled as I walked up to them.

But before I could say anything, he jerked his head towards the girl.

“This is Mandy,” he said. “She’ll be showing you around.”

Mandy was cute—curly blonde hair and freckles, wearing a flowery sundress that somehow looked charming instead of childlike on her petite frame. It was the way she held herself—she might have been little, but there was no doubt in my mind that Mandy was fierce. I made a mental note to befriend her, rather than upset her.

I reached out my hand, keeping my smile open and happy. I wasn’t going to reward Nathan’s brush-off with any kind of response. “Nice to meet you, Mandy. I’m—”

“Sophie Hall.” Mandy gave me a smile of her own. “Nathan has told me about you.”

“Great things, I’m sure,” I said, careful to hide my sarcasm in the cheery tone.

Because the stormy look on his face and the apprehensive one on hers told me that I probably didn’t want to know exactly what he had told her. I was close enough now that I could smell the same wonderful scent that he had been wearing last night. It didn’t have that chemical smell that aftershave usually did—was it possible Nathan just smelled that good all the time? I realized I was smelling him again and that my smile had gone slack.

I wasn’t the only one. Nathan was looking down at me, a slightly dumbstruck look on his face. The stormy look was gone and his attention was focused on my mouth, which I had always been told was one of my better features. Full and naturally red. Lush, an ex-boyfriend had called it. I remembered how he had looked at my mouth last night. How I had licked my lips and he had groaned. And even though I knew I shouldn’t, I slowly, carefully, bit my lip. I couldn’t help it.

His eyes went hot, just as they had done last night. And my knees went weak, just as they had done last night. I thought about kissing him, and I could tell from his expression that he was thinking the same.

Last night it had been the dress and my uninterested attitude. What was his excuse now? Today he knew the truth, knew who I was. I was standing in front of him, heart racing and mouthwatering, with the evidence of my drunken night written all over my puffy face, and he still was looking at me like he wanted to rip off all my clothes. And I was thinking I would be more than happy to let him.

Finally Mandy cleared her throat and we broke eye contact. I felt my face go red when I realized I had basically eye-fucked this guy in front of a near stranger, but Mandy didn’t look embarrassed, just amused. I liked her. Nathan, on the other hand, was now staunchly refusing to look at me.

“I’ll see you after practice,” he said to Mandy, those beautiful green eyes focused downward, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Is that when we’ll get a chance to talk?” I asked, trying my smile again. But he didn’t look up, instead pulling his cap down low and turning away. He stalked back across the field towards the rest of the players and I watched him go, enjoying the view.

“Don’t take it personally,” Mandy said. “He just doesn’t like journalists.”

“So I’ve heard,” I said, climbing into the bleachers and settling into the seat next to her. Glancing around, I noticed there were several people sprinkled throughout the stands, all watching the practice. Most of them were young women. I couldn’t blame them. Who in their right mind would say no to a show like this? Cute guys in tight pants? For free? God bless America, I thought. We totally picked the right pastime.

I looked over at Mandy and lowered my voice. Especially since a few of the girls were already looking in my direction and exchanging whispers. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had been present at the bar last night. No doubt they wouldn’t think too fondly of someone who had turned down their beloved star pitcher. And I couldn’t blame them.

“Would it help if I said I’m not a very good journalist?”

“Would that be the truth?” Mandy asked, raising an eyebrow. I liked her even more. Most of the girls that had hung around Nick had been idiots, or chosen to act that way. Smart girls were my cup of tea, and Mandy looked like she was better than your average smart girl. A cup of tea spiked with something good. Like tequila.

“No,” I said. “I’m a great journalist.”

She laughed. “Well, he certainly prefers, uh, journalists with confidence.”

“Does he?” I leaned in conspiratorially and saw some of the other girls behind us in the stands straining to do the same. “Tell me more about the kind of journalists he prefers.”

“Well.” She eyed the field, a playful twinkle in her eye. “I’ve seen him with brunette journalists in the past, though I’ve heard from some of the guys that it’s been a while since he’s had any good interviews.”

I grinned at the implication, but couldn’t help being surprised. I mean, just glancing around would show at least half a dozen girls who would be more than happy to show Nathan their, uh, press credentials. Surely a guy like him had no shortage of journalists looking to interview him in the most personal way. I could only imagine what I would do if I had his undivided attention. I would interview him all night long. Probably halfway into the morning as well. He looked like someone who was good with a long, hard line of questioning.

Goddamn my thoughts kept veering into extremely inappropriate territories. I blamed the baseball pants. They were too tight for their own good. Too tight for my own good, in fact. I wondered if there was somewhere nearby I could get a quick ice bath before I burned up thinking about Nathan’s butt. Instead I cleared my throat. “Good to know.”

“He also doesn’t like to be played.” Mandy was blunt, and this time she didn’t look at me. Instead she kept her eyes on the field and I followed her gaze. Nathan and the rest of the team were warming up. The rest of them looked fit and fantastic in their clean practice uniforms, each nicely shaped, from wide shoulders to tight buns, but I barely paid them any mind. All I could see was him. I had never really cared for guys in baseball hats, but it seemed that Nathan Ryder was singlehandedly reprogramming all my previously held preferences. Those preferences were gone. All I wanted was him. In that hat and nothing else, if I could swing it.

I smiled at my own little pun and then quickly shook my head. He was going to make me lose focus and I couldn’t allow that.

“I didn’t mean to play him,” I told Mandy, and I was telling the truth. “I didn’t know he was going to be at the bar. Besides,” I leaned back in the plastic stadium chair. “He approached me.”

“I know,” Mandy said, looking over at me with a smile. “I was there.”

I sat up. “You were?”

“Oh yeah,” she said, fiddling with the lens on her camera. It was a pretty fancy piece of equipment and she clearly knew how to handle it. “It’s the best bar in town. It’s where everyone goes.” She glanced behind us, and waved at some of the girls in the stands. “And I mean everyone.” She gave me a wink.

I scooted down in my seat, noticing some of the girls openly glaring at me. I probably owed every female in Austin an apology for my behavior last night. It was clear no one thought I was deserving of his attention, especially after I had rejected it. “So everyone saw what happened between us?” I vaguely remembered the table of guys in Longhorn hats, surrounded by tables of young women. Had Mandy been among them?

“Mmmhmm,” she said, lifting her camera and taking a few pictures as the players warmed up.

“I didn’t flirt with him,” I said and felt my face go red again. Nothing like having an audience while you embarrass yourself in front of Austin’s favorite ballplayer. Should have just stayed in your room last night, Hall, I thought to myself.

“Mmmhmm.” Mandy’s camera clicked and whirled with each shot she took.

“Well, I didn’t intend to flirt with him,” I said, though it was sounding a little pathetic, even to my own ears. Obviously I had enjoyed sitting at the bar with him, being on the receiving end of that smile of his. But who wouldn’t have wanted to be in my position? If I really thought about it, I had been totally helpless against his charms. It wasn’t my fault that he was so terribly good looking. I had just reacted the way any normal, red-blooded, straight (or bi-sexual) woman would have reacted.

If anything, it was his fault for turning on the charm so high. He was a menace to women in general and should be monitored accordingly. And, if anyone in this town had any good sense, he should have been ticketed for his unlicensed flirting last night. The thought of someone getting arrested for flirting popped into my head. And then I thought about Nathan getting arrested, by me in a tight cop’s uniform. And then I thought about Nathan in handcuffs. In my bed. My palms began to sweat. Shit. What was wrong with me? My imagination was working overtime imagining everything I could and would do to a guy like Nathan if given a chance. Focus, Hall, I told myself once again. Focus.

“Mmmhmm.” From the look on Mandy’s face, I could tell that she was sensing my incredibly naughty, very unprofessional thoughts.

“He approached me,” I said again. Now I sounded like a child. I slumped back in the chair, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the pounding of my heart. Now I probably looked like a child. My head had begun to ache again. It also didn’t help that I hadn’t eaten breakfast. I realized belatedly that I was hungry.

Mandy turned and gave me another smile. “He’ll get over it. He just needs some time.”

“I don’t have time,” I said, feeling frustrated. “I have an article to write.”

Mandy let out a low whistle. “Well,” she said, looking out towards the field. “Good luck with that.”

***

A few hours later, I was starving, covered in sweat, dying of thirst, and doing my best not to rush the field and leap onto Nathan each time he bent over to pick up a bat. Since when was I so intent on playing grab-ass with a guy I barely knew? Clearly I was starting to get loopy in the heat—yeah, let’s blame my X-rated thoughts on the heat—and I began to wonder how long practice was going to go for.

The heat had even proved too much for most of the fans. Mandy and I were the only ones sticking it out in the scorching sun, despite the brilliant display of masculinity taking the field. At least we had my growling stomach to keep us company. It had not shut up for a least an hour.

“Here.” Mandy leaned forward and dug through her bag, coming up with a cold bottle of water. “You look like you could use it.”

We had been sitting in companionable silence (except for my stomach, which she politely ignored) while she took pictures and I read over my notes on Nathan, but damn it if she didn’t have an instinct for being helpful. This whole situation would have been a billion times less fun (and probably more frustrating) if I had been sitting out there by myself, especially considering the daggers some of the girls had been throwing with their eyes. If they had been real I would have been dead a thousand times over. But I would have died pretty darn happy considering my glorious view. I placed the cold water bottle against my throat and smiled at Mandy.

“Nice camera,” I said as I took a long drink.

“Thanks.” She patted it. “Took two part time jobs, about a million night shifts and working half a dozen holidays to get it.”

“That sounds like me and my computer,” I told her. It had taken a really long time to buy my beloved laptop and now I guarded it with the ferocity comparable only to mother bears and their cubs.

Mandy tested the camera’s heft in her hands. “She’s my baby,” she said. “I even sleep with her on the pillow next to mine.”

“That must get crowded,” I said, half wanting to just ask if she was also sharing her bed with Nathan, but she had been rather kind to me and I didn’t want to ruin any goodwill that had been created between us.

“Not currently,” she shrugged. “Just me and my baby.” Mandy gave it an affectionate smile before lifting it to take more photos. I saw her shoot me a sideways look. “I’m not sleeping with Nathan, if that’s what you wanted to know.”

Dammit. I was annoyed at myself for being so unsubtle. Usually I was a little better at getting information out of others, but I had clearly been off my game since arriving in Austin.

“It’s not any of my business.” I tried to backtrack, not wanting to seem like I was digging for information, though that was exactly what I should have been doing. But any interest I had in this particular piece of information was strictly personal, though I knew my editor would want me to include it in my article.

“Mmhmmm.” She seemed to say that a lot. And didn’t say anything more.

I clearly wasn’t going to get much information out of her this way, so I decided to stop studying my notes and take a moment to study her. My mom had always told me that you can learn all you need to know about someone if you just know how to look for it.

Even if she hadn’t said anything about her camera, if I had been paying attention I would have been able to tell it was a precious item just from the way she was holding it. She was clearly confident in the shots she was trying to get. I could tell that she was still getting used to it, as she occasionally needed to stop and check out some of the settings. And she held it with an overly firm hand. Her knuckles were white from holding it tightly. This was something that was important to her.

I also would have been able to tell that it was something she had saved for. While the camera was new, the camera bag was definitely not. It was old and frayed—clearly had been inexpertly repaired many times over.

“How often do you come to practices?” I asked.

“Whenever they tell me to.” She pulled out a badge from her bag and showed it to me. She looked ever younger in her picture with her curly hair pulled back. Adorable, of course, but there was that focus in her eyes that I admired. A focus that was evident in my own photo on the press badge currently in my purse. “I take pictures for the university paper.”

“Can I see some?” I could see her reluctance to hand her camera over to me and I couldn’t blame her. I barely trusted myself with my computer, let alone a near stranger. “I’ll be very careful.” I placed a hand over my heart as a promise. “I swear.”

It was a heavy camera, but I kept a firm, respectful grasp on it as I began to scan through her photos. They were good. Really good. Mandy had an amazing eye for not just action, but emotion. She knew when to shoot wide and when to go in close.

“Who’s this guy?” I asked, pointing to one of the players—number 24—who appeared to be in the majority of her pictures. I glanced out on the field, looking for the same guy and found him standing next to Nathan. He wasn’t as tall as the star player, but he was definitely as built. Those uniforms really were a gift from the gods.

“That’s Chris,” she said. “He’s the catcher.”

“He’s cute,” I said, watching her face for a reaction. Bingo, she went instantly red and reached for her camera. I handed it back to her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“No, it’s—” She lowered her head, blonde curls falling into her face. “Is it that obvious?”

“Not at all,” I said. “I’m a journalist. I have a nose for these things.” I didn’t think it was necessary to mention that if anyone looked through her photos and saw that roughly half of them were of the catcher and all of them were incredibly flattering, then yes, it would be totally obvious that Mandy had a crush on this guy.

“He’s just a friend.” Mandy put the camera in her lap.

“He’s really cute,” I told her.

“He’s Nathan’s best friend.” Mandy looked over at me. “You should probably interview him if you’re doing a piece on Nathan.”

“I will.” I made a note to do exactly that. “Thanks.”

We were both silent for a moment, looking out onto the field.

“He likes you,” Mandy said abruptly.

“Who?” I glanced over at her.

She nodded out towards the field. “Nathan. He likes you.”

I couldn’t ignore the thrill I felt in hearing that. Not that it was important. He didn’t really need to like me, he needed to respect me. Trust me. “But will he let me interview him?” I asked. I had to stay focused. His fond feelings towards me weren’t what mattered at the end of the day. Getting the story was what mattered.

Mandy shrugged. “That depends. What are you hoping to find here? A scandal? Some deep, dark secret to reveal to the world? Because there’s none of that where Nathan is concerned. He’s a nice guy. A really good guy.”

“That’s what I want to write about,” I said. And it was true. I wasn’t the paparazzi, I was a serious journalist. “I think he’s a nice guy too. And that’s what I want to show the rest of the world.” Or just people who read the Register.

Mandy looked at me and I couldn’t tell if she believed me.

“I swear,” I raised my hand solemnly. “I swear on my computer. The one I earned by working the closing shift for almost six months.”

She smiled at that. “Well, if you swear on your computer.” She quirked an eyebrow in the direction of the field. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Before I could thank her, though, my stomach let out a horrifyingly loud growl. “Sorry,” I said, slapping a hand over my tummy. “I skipped breakfast.”

Mandy looked at her phone. “And lunch too,” she pointed out. It was well past two.

“No wonder.” Suddenly all I could think about was food. I needed to eat something or I would die. I glanced over at her. “I don’t suppose you could join me for a late lunch?” I asked. “Tell me more about the team. And Nathan?” I added hopefully.

She smiled. “How do you feel about tacos?”

Chapter Five

Mandy took me to a place called Taco Flats and we ordered enough tacos to feed at least half the baseball team. Even though her stomach had remained silent, the way we both attacked our food when it arrived revealed that she had just been as hungry as I was.

I felt a little bad skipping the rest of practice to hang out with Mandy, but I told myself that I could use this opportunity to get to know her better—and hopefully Nathan as well. If he wouldn’t open up to me, then maybe she would.

“How long have you known Nathan?” I asked as we started on our second round of tacos.

“Since freshman year,” she told me. “I was the sports photographer at my high school and started going to games to get shots to show the editor here. Took a while before they started using my work, but I had gotten to know the guys pretty well by then. Baseball is my favorite.”

“Mine too,” I confessed. “I used to watch MLB with my best friend from high school. He loved the Dodgers¸ but I’m loyal to my hometown. Astros all the way.”

Mandy laughed and pulled out a notebook that had an Astros sticker on it. “I had a feeling I liked you,” she said. “Even though baseball’s big here, I haven’t been able to find a lot of female friends that are obsessed with it like I am. I tend to spend most of my time with the team and the girls I meet usually just want me to introduce them to the guys. Which is fine,” she shrugged. “But not great for making friends.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “My ex-boyfriend was in a band. Lots of girls wanted to hang just to get to his band mates. And him too, I guess.” I tried to smile and failed.

Mandy gave me a knowing look. “So how long have you been a member of the single-ladies-with-shitty-ex-boyfriends club?”

“As of last night,” I confessed.

“Ugh. Girl.” Mandy flagged down a waiter. “We need a couple strong margaritas,” she told him, before looking at me. “Right?”

I grinned. “Right.”

Two margaritas later I was outlining every single dirty detail of my six-month relationship with Nick.

“And he could never get it up!” I told her. “First three months? Great. Hot and heavy. Then he moves in with me and suddenly, pfft!” I threw up my hands. “Nothing! At first it was fine, you know, that happens, but then it just kept happening. So I suggested he stop smoking pot for a while. Or drinking. Or try something different, but noooooooo. He needed it for the music.” I sighed. “I guess I wasn’t as important as his drug use or his music career.”

Mandy nodded seriously, her slight drunkenness indicated by how heavily her head bobbed forward. “My last boyfriend was like that,” she said. “All that mattered was what he wanted. He didn’t care about my photographs or really anything at all.”

“Exactly!” I waved over the waiter, ordering us another round. “Exactly. Nick never cared about my job. He wasn’t even proud of me when I got this article.”

Mandy rolled her eyes.

“He doesn’t even watch sports,” I confessed. “I showed him the series I wrote for an online magazine, the one that got me the job at the Register, and he didn’t get it!”

“What was it about?” Mandy leaned forward, eagerly grabbing one of the margaritas that was set down between us.

I could feel myself on the verge of nerding out. I was really proud of that article and so far everyone I had told about it hadn’t been very impressed. But I could tell that Mandy would be on the same wavelength. “I put together a historical dream draft of current and former greats. I built teams and then every week I would write up articles about them playing each other as if I was watching it and reporting on it, including famous plays and record breaks and all that kind of stuff.”

Mandy was silent for a moment, her eyes wide. “Wow,” she said, and I found myself holding my breath, hoping she wouldn’t think I was a total loser. “That is AMAZING,” she finally responded, and I couldn’t stop the grin that spread over my lips.

“Thanks,” I told her.

She took another long drink of her margarita. “You should tell Nathan about that.”

I shook my head. “I’m not here to talk about me,” I said. “I’m here to talk about him.”

“He doesn’t like to talk about himself.”

“Why? Does he have something to hide?” I joked, but Mandy went silent. Oh no. Did he? I couldn’t imagine handsome, all-American Nathan with a deep, dark secret. I also realized I didn’t want to.

Mandy cleared her throat. “I just think you’ll have more luck talking to him about baseball than talking about him.” She waved for the check. “Probably time to head back to the field.”

We were both still drunk by the time the guys were finishing practice. Mandy hurried back to get something from the stands and I waited by the locker room exit, trying to stay steady on my feet. I was joined by a swarm of undergraduate fans, holding baseballs and other paraphernalia waiting for Nathan. I couldn’t blame them.

He really was an amazing player. I had seen videos of him, but nothing compared to watching it in person. Complete control of the ball, spinning each curveball with a graceful, yet wicked edge. And he was fast. Really fucking fast. There were a couple of times I had seen Chris, the catcher, wince after catching one of Nathan’s fastballs. It was magnificent. It wasn’t surprising that the majors wanted him now. Even though it was unusual for a college player to get recruited so immediately, I could tell that they were making the right choice. He was going to be a star. And if possible, I was going to help him become one.

He emerged from the locker room with Chris, Mandy’s crush, and the two of them were laughing and smiling. Even if I hadn’t been drunk, the sight of him might have made me dizzy. They both had that great athlete’s build, but Nathan was taller and leaner than Chris, who was stockier but just as handsome. Both of them had dark hair, but Chris’s was buzzed close to his head, while Nathan’s looked like it was due for a haircut, his wavy hair curling over his forehead. They both had just showered, and their skin glowed in the way that freshly washed skin did. It was damp against his neck. He looked fresh and clean and utterly gorgeous. Graciously, he signed all the items that his fans handed to him, keeping a smile on his face the entire time. He had such an amazing smile. Which completely disappeared the moment he saw me. He held up a hand as I walked towards him, making sure not to sway on my feet.

“I’m late. Can’t talk to you tonight,” he said. It was a lie. I could tell by the way his gaze shifted over to Chris and Chris’ eyes dropped to the ground. Neither of them wanted to talk to me. Dammit. Had I totally ruined my chances with him? Was I going to have to call the Register and tell them that the star of the story I was sent to interview refused to speak to me? Nope. Fuck that. I had worked for four years as a waitress, catering to customers who wanted grilled chicken without the grill lines on them and still managed to get a good tip at the end of the evening. I could get an interview out of one stubborn ballplayer.

“Then when can we set up our interview, Mr. Ryder?” I asked, flashing a smile. “I’m entirely flexible.”

Wrong wording, I realized as soon as it came out of my mouth. But it got him to look at me, that same hot flicker in his eyes that had been there that morning and last night. “I’m sure you are,” was what they said. But his lips remained tightly pressed and there was a slight tick in his clenched jaw. He sighed and took out his car keys.

“I would be happy to do the interview at whatever time would be best for you, Mr. Ryder,” I said again, trying my most winning grin on him, but he just sighed again.

“Call me Nathan,” he acquiesced, but I could tell he was still annoyed. Still, I would take my victories, no matter how small.

“OK, Nathan,” I said, widening my smile now that I had his attention. I was aiming for charming, but not flirtatious. Trustworthy. Honest. “How about tomorrow? You could give me that tour you promised.”

The frown deepened and I realized I had misjudged that statement. Not the best angle to work. I sobered up immediately.

“I promised that to a girl in a bar. Not a journalist.” He sounded like he was clenching his jaw. OK, so the smile and the angle wasn’t the way to work this. I needed to try something else and fast. But before I could tone it down, he was already walking past me towards his car.

A truck, of course. A big, “let-me-help-you-into-the-cab-by-putting-my-hand-on-your-butt-and-giving-you-a-lift” kind of truck. A boy car through and through. Shiny red and recently detailed.

“I promise, I can be both.” I tried to catch up, but he was already yanking his car door open.

He turned to me, baseball cap still pulled low. I saw a glimpse of his green eyes beneath the lip, but he was not making eye contact. “Last night was a mistake. And it’s better for both of us if we just forget it happened.”

“I didn’t mean to lead you on.” I hoped he could tell that I was being honest.

“Maybe one day I’ll believe that.” He got into his car.

“See you tomorrow!” I said, trying to sound upbeat even though I was kicking myself.

He clenched his jaw again and shut the door. There wasn’t much I could do as he pulled out of the parking lot, leaving me behind in a metaphoric cloud of smoke. So I just stood there, trying to figure out what my next move was going to be.

I heard a throat clear behind me and turned to find Chris standing by his own truck. It was parked next to a car that was more my style, a beat-up old Nissan that looked like it was on its last legs. It reminded me of my poor Honda Civic, currently sitting in the fancy hotel’s parking garage no doubt feeling terribly out of place. Kind of like its owner.

“Come back tomorrow,” Chris told me with a slow smile. From everything I had observed about him today—during the few moments I had torn my eyes away from Nathan—I had been able to gauge that he was a pretty decent player himself. Not necessarily MLB material, but he probably had a good shot at a career in the minors. He didn’t have the same intensity as Nathan, more of a slow-moving, take-it-as-it-comes approach. Not a bad way for a catcher to be. “Maybe he’ll be in a better mood then.”

“Thanks.” I walked over to him. “I’m Sophie.” I held out my hand, relieved when he took it.

“I’m Chris.” He gave me a once-over. Slowly. “You don’t seem like trouble.”

“Is that what Nathan called me?” Trouble was hardly the worst thing I had ever been called. But Nathan didn’t seem like he hated me, more that he didn’t trust me. And I couldn’t really blame him for that. “My intentions are pure.” I held up a hand. “I swear.”

“Well, your intentions might be pure.” Chris smiled. “But I don’t think it’s your intentions that are really bothering him.” He leaned forward, his expression just slightly conspiratorial. “We all saw you guys last night. He doesn’t hit on women in bars. Ever. I think he feels kind of stupid that you turned out to be a journalist.”

That explained why he was more annoyed than angry. And why he kept looking at me like he was imagining me naked. Not that the feeling wasn’t completely mutual. Inappropriate and distracting, but totally mutual. “I should have said something sooner,” I admitted.

“Probably would have turned out the same way,” he shrugged. “We know you’re legit. He’s just feeling kind of dumb about the whole thing. Don’t give up.” Chris smiled. He had a nice smile and seemed like a nice guy. Apparently all of them lived in Austin. It was no wonder that Mandy liked him.