Game for Marriage Page 2

  “Maybe we could get together when it’s over,” he suggested. “Have another drink.”

  Her heart leapt, but she kept her gaze trained on the canvas. Meeting up with him afterward wouldn’t be smart. He’d most likely use her for sex and then forget all about her.

  So why didn’t that sound like such a bad idea? The use-her-for-sex part?

  “Are you coming on to me, Jared Quinn?”

  He chuckled. “That you have to ask means I must be doing a terrible job.”

  “I’m not into one-night stands.” She looked at him, gaze narrowed, a little on the defensive. Okay fine, a lot on the defensive. But there was something almost too friendly about him in person. She swore the media portrayed him as constantly up to no good.

  “You don’t hold back, do you?” He didn’t appear fazed whatsoever. Which kicked her suspicious radar straight into high gear.

  So she decided to ask the question that kept rattling through her. “I swear I read somewhere you’ve been involved in…unsavory business. Of the female kind.” God, it must be the booze talking, even though she’d only had one, with a heaping teaspoon of stress on top. Normally she wasn’t so blunt or bold. And “unsavory business?” She sounded all sorts of crazy.

  He shrugged those impossibly wide shoulders, but she saw the mask that settled over his face. Neutral, on guard, and impenetrable. “Don’t believe everything you read.”

  “Hmm.” She frowned. Jared Quinn was definitely famous enough to be constant tabloid fodder. If she went out on a date with him, even for a measly few hours at a local bar, would she become tabloid fodder?

  It was a most sobering thought. “So you really want to buy me a drink?”

  “I really do. There’s a bar next door to the convention center. We could meet there after.” He sounded sincere. And hey, it could be a story to tell her grandchildren when she was an old lady sitting in her creaky rocking chair. Once upon a time, my children, I went on a brief date with a very famous, Super Bowl–winning football player. It was magical. And boy, the man could kiss, though that’s another story for another time…

  Ha. If she personally discovered that particular skill of his, then she’d consider herself lucky. Not that she was looking to kiss famous football players.

  But she certainly wouldn’t protest if it happened.

  …

  She was smokin’ hot, the quirky little artist with the clean paintbrush tucked behind her ear and a streak of white paint smeared across her cheek. She wore a black skirt that showcased a great set of legs and her hair was thick and wavy as it tumbled past her shoulders, a light brown color woven with varying shades of gold. Bubbly, like a glass of champagne, her smile easy and bright. She damn near sparkled.

  And she’d caught Jared’s attention the first moment he spotted her.

  Nick was busy chatting up other women at the event, which was fine by him. Not that he’d come that night to seek out women. But he’d been drawn to the artist from the start.

  He wanted to take her for a drink. And if she was agreeable, maybe take her back to his place.

  Yet again, he cast an appreciative glance over the very shapely and very pretty Sheridan Harper. Yeah, she’d sort of called him on his shit, which he appreciated. People rarely did, with the exception of those in his very small inner circle. Plus his image hadn’t been the best in the media lately, so he’d been avoiding public appearances at all costs. Not that anything they printed was completely accurate.

  Jared frowned. Well, some of it was. But the majority of the time, it was all a bunch of made-up bullshit.

  “She’s perfect, you know.”

  Jared stiffened. Bringing the Hawks’ publicist with him to the Taste of Monterey that night had been a mistake, not that he’d had a choice. Harvey Price was a man on a mission—one that Jared didn’t necessarily agree with. But he’d insisted on accompanying Jared and Nick and they hadn’t the heart to protest.

  Plus, if they did, they’d feel the wrath of their new owner, who treated them like a bunch of juvenile delinquents.

  “Who’s perfect?” Jared feigned ignorance.

  Harvey chuckled. “You know exactly who I’m talking about. The pretty little artist you were talking with. Sheridan Harper.”

  How did Harvey know her name? He’d probably been lurking in the shadows, listening to every word they’d said. “Perfect for what?” Jared sounded ridiculously innocent, even to his own ears.

  “Please.” Harvey snorted. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “Whatever you’re about to suggest, don’t bother. I’m not interested.”

  “Tough shit. You need to be interested. I heard you ask her out for a drink. Let me go with you two.” Harvey crossed his arms in front of him. “I can question her. Figure out if she’s right for you or not.”

  “Hell, no.”

  Harvey’s expression went from easy to stern in two seconds flat.

  Jared hated the new team publicist. Hated even more that he’d started shadowing Jared’s every move. Nick could hardly escape him, either. “I forbid you from trying to get in this girl’s pants. Seriously. You need to change your image, not make it worse. I’m not going to put in all this time trying to straighten you out just for you to ruin everything for a quick fuck with a down-on-her-luck woman.”

  “Jesus, who the hell are you, telling me what to do? You really think the first woman I chat with tonight I’m going to automatically take somewhere and bang her brains out?” Never mind the fact he’d already considered taking Sheridan somewhere and banging her brains out.

  Jared strode away, anger simmering low in his gut. He did not need that shit. Not then, not ever. So Craig Wallace’s wife sat in his lap at a club—so what? That someone had snapped candid shots with their cell camera and sold them to the highest bidder irritated him to no end. That the media tried to portray him as some womanizing pig, hell-bent on destroying a marriage set his blood to boiling.

  It felt like he’d been set up; he’d actually wondered more than once if he had. Craig always had a hate-on for him. When Craig had been traded to another team, Jared certainly hadn’t shed a tear. He’d practically cheered and danced in the locker room, truth be told.

  He still didn’t understand the media massacre, their instant and now incessant fixation on him. Who the hell had he pissed off so thoroughly?

  Everyone.

  “Listen, we need to get this handled and quick. They’re breathing down our necks.” Harvey followed him, persistent as ever, until they both stopped in a mostly abandoned corner of the cavernous room. “I’ll accompany you and the artist and we’ll go to a small, quiet bar. Somewhere discreet. We’ll feel her out, see if she might be interested, and if it’s a go, I’ll set up an appointment with the lawyers.”

  Lawyers. Shady bastards, every one of them. “You are not coming with us tonight. And do you really think she’ll be interested, Harvey? Give me a break. No woman would agree to something like what you’re suggesting.” Jared crossed his arms in front of him. What sane woman would? It was the craziest shit he’d ever heard.

  Harvey waved his phone in Jared’s face. “I did a little Google research while you were chatting her up. She’s broke as a joke and in desperate need for some free advertising for her business before she loses it all.”

  Snagging Harvey’s phone, Jared glanced at the screen and read the article, which was more of a compilation of happenings in and around Carmel from a local blog. It included a mention of Sheridan’s tiny studio in downtown Carmel, and provided rampant speculation that it might be up for sale by the end of the month.

  Jared frowned. Well, that sucked. He wondered if she really was in bad financial shape. He could sympathize—it hadn’t been that long ago when he and his dad lived in a crappy apartment and struggled to pay for necessities, let alone luxuries. Thank God his dad had always viewed football—and all the expenses that came with it—as a necessity.

  “I don’t want to discuss this her
e.” He thrust the phone back into Harvey’s hand. Crowds of people swarmed inside the building and plenty of curious glances were sent in his direction. That Harvey wanted to talk in public was risky as hell.

  If anyone got wind of what the new owner of the Hawks wanted him to do—what Jared’s entire publicity and management team wanted him to do—he’d look like the laughingstock of the entire NFL.

  The look on Harvey’s face said it all. “Quit playing games, Jared. Any woman under the age of thirty would kill for this chance. And I think Sheridan Harper is an excellent candidate to become your new wife.”

  Chapter Two

  Sheridan walked into the bar, her gaze sweeping the rundown interior, on the lookout for Jared. Her cell clutched in her hand, she searched the darkened room, standing a little on tiptoe trying to see everything. Not too smart, considering her hot pink stiletto heels.

  She nearly fell flat on her face, much to the amusement of the bartender, who watched the entire scene go down. Jerk.

  “Looking for someone?” he asked, the unmistakable humor lacing his voice. She shook her head in answer. If she told him the truth, he’d think she was off her rocker.

  Which she probably was, because really, who would believe a famous NFL quarterback would want to meet her for a drink in this dump?

  Clutching the wall, she slipped her right shoe on more firmly, ignoring the ache in her toes. She could ride this out. After all, they were the hottest shoes she owned.

  Her phone rang and she answered it quickly, knowing exactly who it was. “I can’t find him.”

  “Huh. Well, isn’t that disappointing.” Willow sighed, sounding irritated. “I was just going to tell you the rumors I heard about him, too.”

  Sheridan settled at the bar, whispering she wanted a glass of water when the jerk bartender approached. “You can’t say that. Now you have to tell me.”

  “Well.” Willow paused for great effect. Considering her father was an entertainment lawyer and handled many a celebrity as a client, she knew all the good rumors. “From what I understand, Jared Quinn is hung like a horse.”

  Sheridan grimaced. “Really?”

  “Like, his dick is the size of a twenty-two-ounce Pepsi bottle.” Willow said it with all the authority of one who saw those sorts of things on a daily basis. She could be a bit loosey-goosey with guys, but it was all in good fun. Plus, Willow was so gorgeous, men flocked to her like bees to honey.

  “Who in the world is giving you this information? Wait a minute, don’t bother telling me.” Sheridan glanced around, lowering her voice so no one would hear her. “Listen, I can appreciate a big dick same as any other girl, but when you compare him to a Pepsi bottle, I gotta call foul.”

  Willow laughed. “I trust my source, so be prepared if you get a chance with him.”

  Wait a minute…,“Don’t tell me you’re your own source.”

  Her friend’s laughter grew louder. “Hell, no! I would tell you if I banged Jared Quinn. I just…know someone who’s seen him naked.” She sounded rather mysterious.

  Relief swept through Sheridan. If her friend had been involved with him, even a one-night stand, she would’ve walked away right then. Trading men among friends was not the way to go. “Something that huge must hurt, you know.”

  “You’re telling me if that hunk of a man Jared Quinn stripped naked and had a twenty-two-ouncer waving in front of you, you’d bail?”

  Bail on Jared Quinn? No way. “Definitely not. I guess I’d take one for the team.” Willow’s voice muffled as if she’d keeled over in hysterics, and Sheridan couldn’t help but join in. “I don’t mean I’d do the whole team, you pervert. Oh, God, you know what I mean.” She shouldn’t have had that other cotton candy cocktail Willow had pushed on her before she walked to the bar. It was right next door to the convention center, and she’d felt relatively safe darting over.

  But what if Jared didn’t show? “You’ll rescue me if he doesn’t come, right?”

  “Of course. I’ll be your knight in shining armor if you need me.” Willow sighed. “Sounds like he doesn’t know what he’s missing, though. What a prick he is, ditching you.”

  “I’m early. You know how I am.” She was punctual to a fault.

  “He should already be there, waiting for you. It’s the proper, gentlemanly thing to do.”

  “From what I understand, he’s not a gentlemanly type of guy. Besides, the bar is dead. I don’t know why he chose it.” Maybe since it was convenient. Not where the trendy set hung out, that was for sure.

  “I bet he planned on attacking you in a darkened booth or something.” Willow sounded wistful. “Maybe he was hoping to get laid.”

  “Maybe you’re the one hoping to get laid. It’s, like, all you can talk about.” Sheridan mouthed a thank-you to the bartender when he set the glass of water in front of her.

  “Sorry. It’s been a while,” Willow explained. “And I was talking to one of those Hawk players myself earlier. He was so hot, but sort of an ass.”

  “Which one?”

  “Nick Hamilton. I know him, of course. Daddy dealt with his team for something or other, I don’t remember.” Willow was completely unfazed by famous, beautiful men. Sheridan wished for once she were just as immune.

  She so wasn’t.

  The door opened, a blast of cool ocean air preceding whoever was about to walk in. Sheridan glanced toward the door, her eyes widening when she saw him. “He’s here,” she murmured into the phone, greedily drinking in Jared from her vantage point. His hair was ruffled by the wind, his expression grim as he scanned the room, those sharp blue eyes seeing everything.

  A shiver moved through her, and it wasn’t from the cold wind blowing in the still-open door.

  “Go get him, tiger,” Willow said, laughter in her throaty voice. “Have fun. And text me if you end up leaving with him. So I know you’re alive and won’t call the police to report you missing.”

  “I will, I promise. ’Bye.” She ended the call and spun on her barstool to find Jared approaching her, his lips curved in the slightest smile. “Hi.”

  “Sorry if I kept you waiting.” His eyes lit upon her, warm and inviting, and she noticed his extraordinarily long eyelashes, thick and dark. The kind that made many a woman jealous, including herself. “Want to go sit in a booth?”

  “Um, sure.” She grabbed her water and slid off the barstool, and couldn’t help but notice the appreciative glance Jared sent her bare legs. Her skin warmed and she stepped closer to him, feeling awfully small even in her heels. He was just so big.

  The image of a twenty-two ounce Pepsi bottle floated through her head and she forced the vision away. God. Thanks a lot, Willow.

  They walked to one of the rounded booths in the back of the bar, Jared’s hand resting at the small of her back the entire way. Her heart pounded in her ears at his slightly possessive touch, and she fought the urge to lean into him. See if he was as hard as he looked.

  He’s a stranger. And what did they always tell you about strangers in elementary school? Stranger danger!

  Yeah. Well, she felt like she knew him, what with him being a celebrity. And he wasn’t a serial killer because, come on, he wouldn’t be able to get away with murder. Everyone would recognize him.

  Besides, what was wrong with a little danger now and then?

  Releasing a shuddering breath, she pushed the silly thoughts from her head. She was being ridiculous. She just needed to relax and go with the flow.

  She slid into the booth, a secret thrill pulsing through her when he slid in after her, sitting extra close. He rested his forearms on the edge of the table, his gaze locked on hers before it dropped to study the glass of water she’d brought with her. “Not going for anything stronger?”

  “I probably shouldn’t.” The more alcohol she consumed, the more of a risk-taker she became. What if she did something crazy, like throw herself at Jared?

  Yeah, so what if you did?

  Working so hard lately meant she’d rarely
taken time for herself. She didn’t know what the word “pampering” meant anymore, let alone remembered the last time she went out on a date. She flat out didn’t have time for any of that stuff.

  The more she thought about it, the more she believed she deserved a little fun. Jared seemed nice enough. He exuded sex appeal, had a great smile, and well, he was hot.

  And he seemed interested in her.

  So she was allowed one night of indulgence, right? Even if this interlude with Jared never amounted to much more than an hour-long conversation in a bar, she could soak that up for all it was worth. And if they took it further…

  She didn’t plan on protesting. In fact, she was going to do this. Drink a little more booze, flirt with a handsome celebrity, and hope like hell she didn’t make a fool of herself. No strong, confident woman would turn down a chance to spend the evening with Jared Quinn, so she wouldn’t, either.

  The waitress wandered over, going bug-eyed when she saw Jared. “Um, what can I get you two?”

  Jared ordered a beer, the waitress’ eyes never leaving his face. Not that Sheridan could blame her. He was just so…magnetic, an aura emanating from him that drew her in. Seeing that face again and again on TV, in magazines, plastered on billboards where he wore nothing else but a pair of undies and a smile…yeah. It didn’t matter if you were a sixty-year-old waitress who’d seen it all; he flat-out dazzled.

  “I’ll have a glass of wine,” Sheridan said when the waitress looked at her, her voice firm. Hell yeah, she was having a glass. “Chardonnay, please.”

  The waitress took off, glancing over her shoulder one last time as if she couldn’t help herself. Jared didn’t seem to notice, his attention focused completely on Sheridan, and she found that the tiniest bit thrilling.

  Okay, a lot thrilling.

  “So tell me, how did you become an artist?” He smiled, the interest in his blue eyes clear.

  “It’s my grandma’s fault. She was the creative one of the family and always pushed me. Said I was a natural. With her constant encouragement, I couldn’t not give it a try. My grandma always said to go after my dream.” She took a sip of her water, the memories of her grandma always making her a little nostalgic. “How did you become a football player?”