Gambling For The Virgin:A Dark Billionaire Romance(164)

I pause for a second as I think about what's going to happen.

I'm going to go into the club. I'll probably pick up two or three of  these women along the way. Take them out of line. Put my arms around  them. Get some bottle service. Wine the women. As they're drinking run  my hands along their bodies. Feel their legs. Squeeze their ass. Rub my  hand under their skirt. Move that thong to one side. Stick a finger in  that puss. Pull it out. Have them lick it. Lean back, let their hands  unbuckle my belt. Let their fingers wrap around my cock. Watch them as  they stroke my cock. Lean back as they lick it with their tongues.

And eventually, if we don't do it in the club, then I take them back to  my limo where they hike up their dress and climb onto my massive  schlong, and then they ride it till they fucking come hard. And then I  let them out of the car, and never have to see them again.

But none of that makes sense anymore  …  not after today's game.

After seeing Fiona.

Her blonde hair, her perfectly gorgeous face with those wide, innocent looking eyes and sexy lips.

Those fucking tits. So fucking perky. That slender body. That fantastic ass.

No.

It's not happening tonight.

Not till I find out more about her. About Fiona.

Ignoring the looks of disappointment from the ladies in line, I turn  around, and with a sigh, get back into the limo. I tell the driver to  take me home.





126





Fiona





"You lucky girl," Becca cries out so loudly that I have to push the cellphone away from my ear. "Danny Manning! I'm so jealous!"

It's a quarter to eight, and I'm already on my way to the restaurant. I  was such a nervous wreck that I grabbed my phone and called Becca, for  moral support. She saw it all happen on live TV, and we already talked  about it the moment I got home from the game, but every time Danny  Manning comes up she acts like it's the first time she's hearing about  it. I guess it isn't every day that a world famous athlete asks a  regular girl out.

"Don't be so jealous," I tell her, looking out at the street through the  windows of the car. "He's a football player …  It's not like he's going  to have the manners of a prince or a billionaire," I say, trying not to  get my hopes up. I mean, I have to be realistic about the whole thing.

Manning is rich and famous, but he's known because of his athletic  prowess  …  not because of his manners, about which I know nothing. As far  as I know, he might just be an asshole who wants to get inside my  pants, and then I'll never hear from him again. And that's if I'm lucky.  Nothing guarantees that he even remembers about our date. I wouldn't be  that surprised to find an empty table when I get to Per Se. Which would  be a shame, since I spent almost two hours with Becca, picking the  perfect dress, and another hour putting on the perfect makeup.

I might not be a top model, but I think that I'm up to the challenge.  I'm wearing a classy black dress, and it hugs my curves like the hands  from a caring lover. It ends right above my knee, and I'm hoping it's  the perfect combination of sexy and classy.

"C'mon, Fee, don't act all depressed like you're on death row. You're  about to have the time of your life!" She continues in that excited tone  of voice, so loud that my Uber driver can probably hear the whole  conversation. In fact, I notice that he has eyed me once or twice  through the rearview mirror, and I'm pretty sure that he has already  recognized me as the girl from the Nailers/MILFs game.

After the game ended, a lot of news stations had a field day. They  started with the crushing defeat the MILFs suffered at the hands of the  Nailers, and then highlighted Danny's amazing performance throughout the  whole game (I think they replayed his touchdown a gazillion times). To  wrap it all up in a neat little bow, it seems that every segment about  the game ended with the "lucky girl by the 50-yard-line." That's me, by  the way.

If Danny's touchdown got to be played on an almost endless loop, what's  to say about the way he asked for my number? 2 million views on YouTube  and counting, and it's only been 24 hours. So far, though, I don't think  anyone has discovered who that "lucky girl" really was, or I'd suspect  my cell phone would be ringing every single minute.         

     



 

"I just don't want to get my hopes too high, ya know? As far as I know, he might even be a jerk."

"Oh, sure, but he'd be a hot jerk nonetheless!" Becca cries out,  exasperated. "That's just like you …  You won the lottery and are  complaining about it! Cheer up and enjoy it. Some women would straight  up commit murder to switch places with me …  And I have to be honest, I  kinda would've done it last night if that placed me in the same room as  Danny Manning."

"Thanks, Becca. It's nice to know that my roommate is a psycho."

"No problem," she laughs, "I thought you'd already figured that out by now."

"And here we are," the driver tells me, looking at me through the  rearview mirror with a smile. I look out the window again, the Time  Warner Center twin towers towering over the traffic. I thank him with a  nod and a smile and, as the car halts to a stop right in front of the  entrance, I step out onto the street. "Good luck with your date!" The  driver waves at me before driving off. Am I some kind of celebrity for  the day?

"So, I'm here. Which is the Per Se floor?" I ask Becca as I blend with the crowd.

"The fourth! You're gonna love it, Fee," she continues in that excited  tone. She seems as excited about the fact that I'll be having dinner at  Per Se as she is about my date with Danny. According to her, it's not  that easy to get a reservation at Per Se.

I head straight through one of the elevators, my heart suddenly deciding  to pick up the pace. Okay, calm down, Fiona; this is just a date, I try  and tell myself, but I'm not sure if it's working.

When I finally see the entrance to Per Se, I suddenly feel my heart  sinking. The place is completely deserted and, for a restaurant as  acclaimed as this, it can only mean that it's not open for the public  today.

"Becca, remember when I told you he might not even show up?" I start,  feeling as if someone kicked me in the stomach. I mean, Danny has my  phone number, but I doubt he'll even bother to call.

I'm glancing at the empty dining area, and about to turn on my heels to  leave, when I finally see him. He's sitting at a table in the center of  the room, wearing a tailored black suit that fits his built frame  perfectly. In his hands there's a rose.

"Yeah, what's happening, Fee?"

"Oh, my. Gotta go, babe. I'm about to be swept off my feet." Without  waiting to hear Becca's reply, I end the call and stuff the phone inside  my purse.

With a deep breath, I walk inside Per Se and head straight toward the man I spent the whole night dreaming about.





127





Danny





Do you know how hard it was to book a whole restaurant like Per Se on a day's notice? We're talking 3 fucking Michelin stars.

Not easy, that much I can tell you. But after last night's game, my name  carries some weight in New York. I just had to pull a few strings and  now here I am, the whole dining room to myself.

It's five to eight, so Fiona should be here soon. I don't know what came  over me to ask her out like that yesterday, but that's just how I do  things. I can be impulsive. If something feels right, I do it without a  second thought.

It's funny, though; I have models and actresses dying for a few minutes  of my time, and I don't really care for them and their fake plastic  tits. Sure, you know, it feels good for a fucking night  …  but that's it.

Now, with Fiona I'm even wearing my best suit. My lucky suit, in fact,  the one I was wearing when the Nailers picked me in the draft. I even  bought a rose on the way here, and I never do stuff like that. I don't  think most women deserve to be treated like princesses, to be honest-at  least the ones I know. Most of them are just pampered socialites looking  for a free ride, trying to leech off my success. But this Fiona  …  she's  just a regular girl, and I want to do this right. Okay, fuck, I'll  admit it; she also looks hot as hell, and that helps. But I'm not saying  I'm going to fuck her, okay? I just want to do something nice for a  change.

I look at my watch; it's eight o'clock sharp, and then I turn my gaze  toward the entrance. And there she is-and fuck, she looks completely  stunning. She's wearing a tight dress that makes her look even hotter  than she looked back at the stadium, and her straight blonde hair looks  perfect for grabbing when I bend her over and-fuck, I need to chill out.

She's talking on the phone, peeking at the dining area and, when her  eyes meet mine, her whole face brightens. She places the phone in her  purse and walks inside the restaurant, elegantly swaying her hips in a  way that makes my cock twitch with a kind of raw instinct.

I take a deep breath as I hear her heels clicking across the floor, and I go up to my feet before she reaches our table.