the women he’d been seen with in the past.
Pretty blondes.
Pretty redheads.
Pretty brunettes.
Yeah, he didn’t have a type as long as they were pretty. I was still in my work clothes with makeup that had gotten rubbed off from how irritated Gunner made me, and I’d gotten about four hours of sleep last night.
I wasn’t exactly his type.
This tiny ache pulled through my heart, but I ignored it.
Short girls with black hair were some guys’ types though. I’d had five guys ask me to marry them over the years. Four of them I’d never met, and one of them I had actually considered marrying.
And it was right then that the tall Texan came out of the office, leaned to the side like he’d spotted me across the building, and called out, “Peewee!”
Yeah, Peewee. That was me. The girl of men’s dreams.
I frowned as I headed over to him, the two nosey employees following behind, whispering to each other.
“That was fast.”
His smile was knowing. “They made it really easy.”
I raised my eyebrows at him and got two light brown eyebrows raised back at me. “I bet they did, Mr. Special. Excuse me,” I joked, feeling pretty halfhearted about it.
“You’re excused.”
We smiled at each other, and it was nice. Familiar. Okay.
More than okay.
“Hi, Mr. Travis?” the woman I’d been speaking to earlier chirped up.
Zac turned to her, offering her a polite smile, the same one he’d given me before he’d figured out who I was weeks ago. “Yes, ma’am?”
The woman flushed red at the “m” word. “Would you mind taking a picture with us, please?”
“Sure will,” my friend replied. “Both y’all or just one?”
“By ourselves,” the man said as the woman replied with “Both.” They both made a face at each other before the man said, “Both.”
“I can take it,” I offered.
By the time I handed the two people their phones back, there were more employees around who wanted one too, so I took more for them. It was a nonstop photoshoot there for a second. I might have peeked at Zac’s butt a time or two while I was at it, wondering….
The instant he got done though, after saying bye to just about everyone he’d met with waves, handshakes, and a few winks thrown in, he walked over, smiling steadily.
I smiled back at him. “I like how nice you still are to people.”
He stopped right in front of me. “Why wouldn’t I be, darlin’? They’re all good folks. Least I can do is take a few pictures. It don’t cost me nothin’.”
“Well, I’m sure there are people out there who wouldn’t be so nice about it.” I tilted my head back to take in that extremely handsome face giving me a little lopsided smile as his eyes moved over mine for the second time that day—like he was trying to remember it or something. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“Sure can.”
“It’s pretty personal,” I warned him.
Zac tilted his head to the side. “I doubt you’d ask anything I haven’t already been asked a million times, kiddo.”
Okay then. “Did they have to tape your nuts up when you did the Anatomy issue?”
Zac’s mouth dropped open, and I’d swear even his cheeks went instantly pink, and for a moment or two, he literally said and did nothing other than stare at me.
And then he hooted out a laugh that made me laugh too. “Bianca Brannen, my God—”
I was laughing so hard I wasn’t sure if he understood me. “I asked! I warned you!”
Zac sputtered the entire walk back out of the dealership, torn between laughing and looking at me in disbelief before laughing some more.
He never did answer my question.
Chapter Eight
“Folks, it’s official! Bryce Castro is OUT! The Houston White Oaks released a statement late last night. Castro reportedly suffered an elbow injury in an accident inside of his home. He’s expected to be out at least six months. This is devastating news for such a young team—”
“Fucking hell, we’re cursed,” the man leaning against the counter a little to my left muttered to his friend as we all read the closed captioning on the television screen closest to us. My guess was that the juice bar employee had changed the channel while I’d been in the bathroom.
“How does somebody hurt their elbow inside their house?” the member’s friend replied with a shake of his head.
I watched them carefully while I reached for the remote, which had been put back in its place, ready to change the channel if commentators started talking about Zac.