Blindsided (2 page)

Ryann smirks and throws my words back at me. “Your mom will kill you if you have a hangover tomorrow.” Ryann smirks and throws my words back at me.

“Fuck off.” I click my tongue. “It’s my birthday, which, by the way, I’ve spent working and watching my half-assed football team almost throw a game. If I say another tequila, I want another tequila.”

“Okay.” Ryann shrugs, waving the bartender over again. “Three more, and three margaritas.”

He nods and fixes the drinks. A few minutes later, they appear in front of us, and I grab my purse.

“This is my round.”

“Hell no!” Macey cries. “It’s illegal to buy your own drinks on your birthday.”

“But—”

“She’s right,” a smooth voice with a hint of a Texas accent says from behind me. “At least it is in Texas.”

I spin on my seat and look into the devastatingly blue-green eyes of Corey Jackson. The very same man my seventy-five-year-old great-aunt was ogling on the TV earlier. And, okay. I get it. I
totally
get it. His dark hair curls over his ears, and his bright eyes are sparkling with the same smile that’s twitching at his lips. And he has that jaw—you know, the kind of jaw that makes you want to rub your fingers over it repeatedly? Yeah, that jaw.

He’s hot. The, er, tequila said so.

Smart, that tequila.

“Is that right?” I reply.

“Sure is.” The twitch of his lips morphs into a slow, sexy smile.

“I hate to remind you, but this is California.”

“Oh, I know exactly where we are. Where else am I going to be lucky enough to buy a drink for a girl like you?”

“Are you hitting on me?”

He rests his elbow on the bar in front of me and hands the bartender forty dollars between his fingers. “Does it sound like I am?”

“Is it supposed to? Because I’m sure Corey Jackson, L.A. Vipers golden boy, can find a thousand girls like me just by turning around.” I nod my head over his shoulder. “Oh, look. I just found you a bunch of them.”

Seriously, half the girls in this bar are in fan-girl mode. Or panty-dropping mode. I think they’re synonymous where he’s concerned.

He takes his change from the bartender, his smirk turning cocky. “Finally, a girl who recognizes me for more than what is under my shirt. Is this my lucky night?”

“If this is a lucky night, clearly California isn’t doing much for you.” I throw the tequila shot back.

“You could always tell me your name.” He puts a hand on the back of my chair, leaning toward me.

“God, I just I
love
it when guys act like they have no idea who I am. It’s so cute.”

“All right.” He holds his hands up briefly. “You got me, Leah Veronica. I’d recognize you a mile away.”

“I’m flattered.”

His eyes don’t move from mine. “It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

“Really? You’re trying that one?” I raise my eyebrows. “It hasn’t worked on me since I was fifteen. Nice try though, cowboy.”

He laughs a deep, chesty rumble that makes my skin tingle. “You’re hard work, you know that, Leah?”

I seal my lips around my straw and have a sip. “Have you ever met my mom? I’m afraid it’s a Veronica thing.”

His eyes rove over my face, taking in every detail from my blond hair to my glossy, pink lips. “I have, yes, and I fully believe you. Do you always make it this hard for guys to pick you up?”

“No.” I meet his eyes once again and twist my lips in amusement. “I’m only this much of a pain when the guy is overly certain he can.”

“Touché.” He moves in a little closer. “How about we make a deal?”

“If you leave me alone, I promise not to yell at you next time you throw an interception?”

“There’s definitely something to be said about you shouting my name,” he murmurs in a husky voice, “but no. That’s not it.”

“Hit me. Hopefully you have better aim now than you did earlier tonight.”

He smirks. “If you give me your number, I’ll leave you alone. For now.”

“Here’s a better idea.” I curl my fingers around his collar and stand, bringing my face closer to his. “You realize I’m not interested and let me enjoy the rest of my birthday in peace.”

“Are you askin’ or tellin’ me?”

That drawl tingles across my skin, but I hold my ground. “I’m telling you.”

He covers my hand with his and pulls my fingers from his shirt. “You can enjoy your birthday all you like, Leah, but I don’t believe you when you say you’re not interested.”

I snatch my hand from his grip. “What do girls see in you?”

“The money, the name, the body…”

“Figures. It sure isn’t your charming personality.”

He winks.
He fucking winks.
“Happy birthday, Leah,” he says smoothly as he walks backward.

I shake my head and turn away. How does that guy get laid? Oh, yeah—that’ll be the sexy smile and smooth lines that work only on desperate fan-girls.

“Was that…Corey Jackson?
The
Corey Jackson?” Macey puts her hand on her chest.

“The Corey Jackson?” I snort. “What is he, a football legend?”

“He plays football?” She blinks at me.

“How the hell are we even friends?”

Ryann laughs. “Damn. He’s hot.” She licks her lips.

“He’s also the biggest serial dater in the league. In fact, I’m sure his dates are more like casual fucks. So yes, he’s hot—”

“Very hot.”

“Very hot,” I correct myself, my eyes flicking to the back of his head across the bar. “But he’s a total jackass.”

Apparently my eyes linger on Corey too long, because he turns, his own blazing bright. I blink slowly. I’ve never felt anyone’s gaze so intensely. His eyes are clouded with determination, a lusty heat flaring in their depths. His gaze tingles through my body the way his accent just did. I feel it right down to the tips of my toes.

How on Earth is he making me feel like I’m half naked in this bar full of people?

Macey continues. “You should have given him your number. That would have been cool.”

“This is Los Angeles,” Ryann butts in. “It’s not exactly a huge deal if some hot, rich guy has your number.”

“Precisely,” I mutter.

“But he’s not just some rich guy!” Macey argues. “He’s Corey Jackson.
The
Corey Jackson.”

“You didn’t even know he’s a football player until two minutes ago!” Ryann cries in disbelief.

“Mace, why don’t you go and get his number?” I ask snarkily. “I’m not interested in him. Got it?” I turn to the bar and wave my glass. “I’ll have another.”

I dig out a ten-dollar bill when bar guy brings it back, but he shakes his head.

“Mr. Jackson said all your drinks are on his tab tonight.”

My eyes crawl along the bar to the corner table where he’s sitting with two of his teammates. Corey raises his glass in my direction, and I purse my lips.

“Well, you tell Mr. Jackson thank you very much,” I tell him. Bar guy makes to move, but I lean over the bar, grabbing his arm, my eyes still on Corey. “But I am perfectly capable of purchasing my own drinks, his supposed Texas laws be damned.”

I slap my money in his hand, grab my drink, and turn without another word.

“I am not hungover.”

Aunt Ada turns just as I slide onto the stool and bury my face in my arms. “You’re not a bunger?” She frowns. “Whatever is a bunger?”

I open my eyes long enough to give her my best unimpressed look. “Never mind,” I mumble into my sleeve. “Water?”

“Horter? You’re making no sense, dear.”

“Ughhhh,” I groan. “Water. Wor-ter.”

“You’d like some water?”

“Yes. Please!”

“Well, you should have said that!”

I flick my eyes open once more then give up. Oh, tequila, you bitch. You utter bitch. Why did I let myself have more than five shots? Why did I let myself have anything at all?

“Grace is going to kill you,” Aunt Ada informs me, setting a glass of water and two pills in front of me.

“Sshhh. Don’t say her name. You might summon her.”

“Summon who?”

I sit up straight, wincing at the pounding in my head.
Ah, shit.
“Mary Poppins,” I tell Mom, discreetly slipping the pills into my mouth and swallowing them with a drink.

“Smartass,” she retorts, turning and studying me. “Did you have a good time last night?”

“I did.”

“Did anything…interesting happen?”

“Macey went home alone.”

Aunt Ada sniggers and places some French toast in front of me.

Mom’s lips quirk into a smile despite her fight to remain stony-faced. “I’m certain that’s more surprising than it is interesting. No, Leah. I meant with you.”

I shake my head slowly, chewing. “No. I’m boring.”

Her smile grows a little more, and she hands me the rolled-up magazine from under her arm. I frown and take it from her.

“You have it already?”

“Sasha dropped it by earlier.” She waves her hand dismissively.

Right. I went out last night. Of course her assistant was up at the ass crack of dawn to get the tabloids.

“Oh! Is that Corey Jackson?”

“What?” I shriek in response to Aunt Ada’s question and flip the magazine around.

Sure as hell, there we are—front page. The image shows him leaning down as I’m looking up. We look like we’re about to kiss.
Oh holy mothercrapper.

“Something to tell me, honey? Do you have a date for tonight?”

I look at Mom, my jaw dropping. “No, I don’t! Oh my God. Is this for real?”

“Is he more handsome in real life?” Aunt Ada asks.

I ignore her. “Nothing happened. I swear. He is the last thing I need when I’m about to launch Lea V.!”

Mom’s smile drops, sadness hinting her eyes. “I know, honey, but you’re allowed to have a little fun.”

I blink at her quickly. “Okay, so I’m taking fun as ha-ha-giggle fun and not the oh-oh-sexy fun, because I’m pretty sure you are
not
supposed to tell me to do that.”

“I’d have fun with him if I were twen—forty years younger. Actually, twenty, too.”

“Aunt Ada! God!” I gasp, looking at her. “You can’t say things like that around me. You’re gonna scar me for life.”

“Char you for life? No, Lele. I’m not cooking you.”

“Can you please get her that damn hearing aid? And maybe a gag?” I rip some French toast off with my fingers and shove it in my mouth. How is a girl supposed to keep any sanity around here? “Oh, I have a headache.”

“Hmmm.” Mom sweeps past me, hitting me with a suspicious glance, and stops in front of Aunt Ada. She bends, fits the aid in Ada’s ear, then stands. “Is that better?”

“Lovely.” Aunt Ada turns and hands her a plate of French toast, too. But she gets a kiss.

“Hey, why didn’t I get a kiss on the cheek?”

“You refuse to tell me if Mr. Jackson is hotter in real life than he is on TV.”

I’m a little alarmed at the level of her obsession with him. “Yes, he’s hotter in real life, Aunt Ada. There. Are you happy?”

“Will you bring him for dinner? I’ll make lasagna.”

“We’re, er, not exactly dinner buddies.”

She looks at the front cover of the magazine pointedly. I snatch it from the table and dump it on the floor.

Mom rolls her eyes, grabs the magazine from the floor, and drops it back in front of me. “Leah? You need to go and shower. The stylists are here in an hour.” She tugs on a lock of my hair before grabbing my shoulders and spinning me toward the door. “And Ada? I’ll be sure to extend your dinner invitation to Corey this evening.”

Fantastic. Let’s encourage the crazy old bat. That’s exactly what the world needs.