Big Dick Energy - Cindi Madsen Page 0,38
everything I’d seen was on par, if not superior to the other architects I’d worked with. I wondered if I could access the past projects she’d worked on and find out if she’d needed a lot of help during the process.
Not that the woman would deign to ask for help, which could explain why Doug felt the need to pull rank and call me in. It’d be easier to sell myself on the theory if his assessment of her skills didn’t miss the mark.
The sound of her laughter cut through my racing thoughts. This morning, the noise had filled me with happiness. Even now, I wanted to chase the high. At the sight of her talking to Chase Blakely, my internal organs turned to stone.
“There you are,” Scott said, as though he hadn’t demanded Penelope and I wait in the hall. “Let’s head onto the field.”
We pushed outside, the scent of sunshine and fresh grass at odds with my stormy mood.
Under no circumstances was I going to let my tiff with Penelope ruin getting to meet one of my all-time favorite players. My breath quickened as quickly as my gut tightened, and I told myself to remain cool. No going starry-eyed over the striker like some twelve-year-old kid whose voice cracked when he spoke.
The guy placed his hand on the small of Penelope’s back, as though he couldn’t possibly guide her down the straight walkway to the field without touching her, and hot needles of jealousy pricked at my skin. Never had I imagined I’d finally meet Chase Blakely, only to experience the urge to punch him in the face.
It’d help if Penelope would stop flirting with him, nodding along as he rattled off his stats and took control of the tour. Oh sure. Lecture me about being unfair when all you have to do is smile and flip your hair to win over the team’s golden boy.
Dylan Kaminski ran up to the group, soccer ball tucked under his arm, and Izzie would die twice. When I’d found out the other night that she’d never seen a Pythons game and didn’t know any of the players, I’d pulled up the website. She’d pointed and called him “so hot.” Within minutes she’d followed him on Instagram, shown me pictures of how cute he and his boyfriend were, and discovered more information on him than the FBI could in years.
Penelope pulled away from Chase, taking long strides to get to Dylan and make a first impression before I could. “Dylan, hello. I’m Penelope Jones. Huge fan.” Her gaze darted in my direction, and I expected her to glare or seethe like I was inwardly doing. Instead, she inclined her head my way. “This is my partner, Archer York.”
Partner? Was she passing me off to Dylan so she could continue to shamelessly flirt with Chase? Not that I’d complain. Hell, he was also an amazing player, and I stuck out my hand, hoping cool words would magically leap to my tongue. “Hi. My sister loves you.”
Well, that was a remarkably uncool greeting, and it was official. I didn’t deserve to meet professional athletes.
“Well, I’m happy to be loved by sisters everywhere,” Dylan said, and Penelope grinned, that damn pink lipstick snagging my attention again. Chase obviously had his eye on her and her mouth, too.
“If you don’t mind giving me another chance to redo my lame greeting, what I meant to say is that I’ve enjoyed watching you play and admire your career, all the charity work you do, and how brave you were to come out in front of an entire stadium on pride night two years ago. Also, if you’d be willing to sign anything, I’d be my sister’s hero. Second to you.”
Penelope’s expression softened before she remembered she loathed me. Then she jerked her chin toward Chase. “And this is—”
“Chase Blakely. I know.” I stretched out a hand to shake his. “I’m a big fan. My dad and I have been following your career since you played at Stanford.”
Chase gave me half a glance before returning his attention to Penelope. He snagged the ball from Dylan, bounced it on his knee and caught it, and then slung his free arm over her shoulder. “What about you, love? When did I convert you to my team?”
“Ah, Chase. You act like I don’t know you score as often with women as you do on the field. While I admire you putting points on the board for the home team, I’m an Elliston