His Off Limits Best Friend - Vivian Wood Page 0,35

underground fight. She filled his hands perfectly, and her eyes popped open in surprise.

“That should give the investors a show,” he told her with a wink.

“This smells amazing,” she said as they carried the signature dogs back to the owner’s box. They’d stopped and picked up the red velvet chicken ‘n’ waffles for a touch of sweetness en route. “It almost makes up for my having to wear arguably the most racist shirt imaginable.”

“Don’t say that in the suite,” he teased her. “You’re making nice with some very rich people with some very strong opinions on why ‘redskins’ is still a perfectly acceptable slur.”

The investors descended on the stadium food with gusto. The waitstaff scurried to refill pints while the wives and girlfriends picked gingerly at the food.

“You two look good together,” the older wife told both of them. “We saw you on the big screen.”

He watched Sam blush and put his hand on her leg. “I’ve been told I make some pretty solid decisions,” he told the woman.

“Yes, well, my husband is quite taken,” she said. “It’s refreshing to see some youth and vigor revitalize the company. I imagine that will be reflected in a gesture of his soon.”

Sam smiled at him as the woman moved on to compliment one of the young girls on her dress that looked painfully tight. Although it was just the two of them for a moment, he didn’t move his hand from her thigh. She didn’t seem to mind. He could feel the heat of her body, even through the denim, and wondered what she would do if he started to inch his hand up higher. Nothing? Uncross her legs? Give him permission with her eyes?

“Connor,” one of the investors said. It snapped him instantly out of his daydream. “What do you think of their first-down running average? Obviously it’s improved since the 2015 season, but I think…”

He squeezed Sam’s leg, got up and moved to the investor to talk ball. But he felt her eyes follow him.

When the game was over and all the hugs and kisses were exchanged around the suite, Connor left last. He held the door open for Sam and indulged in a show of her hips swinging in those tight jeans. The ball cap that topped her ponytail and flawless old-school Adidas in custom burgundy and gold stripes were an impressive touch by James.

“Can I give you a ride home?” he asked.

She turned and looked up from her phone. “I was just ordering an Uber—”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about that, it’ll take forever with the crowd. And premium parking is right here, so we can be out and I can have you home a lot faster than any Uber.”

She bit her lip and looked at her phone again. “Well, if it’s not too much trouble…”

“Not at all, come on,” he said.

The attendant rushed to open their doors, and Connor got a kick out of watching what must have been a twenty-year-old kid ogle Sam as she slid into the car. “I didn’t know you high rollers even had your own parking garage,” she said. “And air conditioned, too.”

“Only the best for people who spend thousands of dollars every year to sit in their tower above the field and barely watch the game,” he said with a laugh.

“Not a huge fan, then?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It’s alright. These things are just work for me, so it’s not like I can enjoy them even if I really wanted to.”

“Work, huh?” she asked with a smile.

He grinned at her and started toward the exit. “Yes, work. But who says you can’t have some fun while you’re at it?”

She lowered her cap as he paused at the gate to open the convertible top.

“Do you want to see my place?” he shouted to her over the wind. “We’ll be driving near it.”

“Sure!” she said.

He exited off I-395 and made his way to Lowell Street. Connor slowed in the familiar neighborhood. The last thing he needed was another complaint to the homeowner’s association about how he “didn’t drive like his kids lived here.” One of the neighbors, a crotchety older woman who constantly tended her roses, gave the requisite wave.

“Is this your neighborhood?” Sam asked, almost in a whisper.

“This is it,” he said. “And there’s my place,” he said as he pointed to the historic home which he’d had dramatically updated with touches of modern and mid-century modern flair.

“Are you serious?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“What, you don’t like it?” he asked.

“It’s just not