This is tempting fate. This is playing with fire. I’m getting too close to her, letting too many of my guards down. And I’ve been excusing myself for it entirely too much. I have rules, and I live by those rules.
And here I am, for all intents and purposes having a date with Serena Roth.
“So, Sam Horn is not your uncle?”
I shake my head as I swallow the whiskey. “No, not technically. It’s just easier to say that instead of ‘mentor figure’.”
“Especially since we’re not living in a F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.”
I grin. “Exactly. Sam took me in when I was a young hothead. I was cocky, I was arrogant.”
She’s nodding with the world’s most sarcastic smile on her face.
“What.”
“Oh, nothing, I just like your use of the word ‘was’.”
“Cute”
“Oh, why thank you. It’s a new top.”
A smirk draws across my face. “You done?”
She grins. “Continue, please.”
I shrug and take another sip of whiskey. “That’s basically it. No team wanted me out of college, but Sam took a long shot.”
“No team wanted you? You had an insane college career.”
I raise a brow. “Someone’s done their homework.”
She says nothing, just a coy smile as she sips her wine.
“I had some…” I shrug. “I was a little wild when I was younger.”
“You? Wild?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
She snorts. “You’re right, I wouldn’t. What’d you do, cross against the light? Wear blue socks with black dress pants?”
I grin, letting her have that one. “I was a different guy back then, and Sam sort of became my benefactor. He gave me a team to play on, told me shape the hell up, and got me to get my act together. He basically gave me everything I have today.”
“Jay Gatsby to your Nick Caraway.”
I raise my glass. “Exactly.”
“I know you still don’t believe me, but I honestly don’t know how he knows me.”
I hold the sip of whiskey in my mouth for a moment, savoring it before the swallow. “No, I believe you, I’m just still mystified by it. You’re sure? No one your dad knew through the league?”
She raises a brow. “You know who my dad was?”
“I also did my homework. Billy Roth, huh?”
She smiles. “The one and only.”
“Hell of defensive strategist.”
“Hell of a dad.” She toasts again. “Raised me by himself.”
I freeze for a second. This is a storyline I’m more than familiar with.
“Where was your mom?”
“Drunk driver.”
I tense up inside.
“I’m sorry, Serena.”
She shrugs. “I was pretty young, I don’t really remember her.”
I frown. “You also must have been pretty young when your dad passed.”
She nods. “Junior in high school. My aunt came and took care of me, but I basically moved in with the Jacobs.”
“London?”
“The London you tried to steal last month in Houston?” Her face instantly goes red at the mention of that night.
I know why.
She takes a big sip of wine and clears her throat. “He was a great guy though, my dad.”
“Sounds like it. Raising you all by himself after that?”
She nods, but her look definitely says, “what do you know”. That glance, those eyes lingering over my dress shirt and my watch, the hint of tattoo peeking out from my rolled up sleeve.
She sees me as exactly who she thinks I am. The jock turned stuffy suit guy. The tough boardroom negotiator. The player.
Single widower dad raising a kid alone? Yeah, she doesn’t see me for that, which is fine by me. But it also means I can relate to her story more than she even knows.
“Well, cheers to your dad.”
She clinks my glass with hers. “Thanks.”
“Another drink?”
She hesitates.
“No, forget it. That’s probably a bad-”
“Sure,” she says it quickly, and for a moment, I’m not sure if she’s trying to convince me or herself more.
A second turns into a third, and with each drink comes a certain closeness. We’re opening up more, talking about family, and cracking jokes.
Moving closer.
And this is quickly moving further than it should. Way further. This is rapidly smashing past after work drinks and heading right for that same place we found together in Houston.
The problem is, it comes easy with her. That comforting closeness, that ability to just sort of open up and just talk to her. The problem is, there’s no bullshit with this girl. That’s something I’m not used to. The women I usually date are full of bullshit, and drama, and hidden meanings, which is usually just fine with me, since I don’t need or want to know them.