Once Upon A Half-Time: A Sports Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,128

stairwell.

Great. Lindsey ordered a symphony.

Mandy had set up a card table with a tablet at her fingers, score cards and listed criteria spread out before her. She snapped a selfie to post to whatever bullshit Instagram or Facebook album Lindsey demanded to chronicle her wedding planning.

I picked a chair from the stack against the wall and plunked it next to Mandy. She flinched, but her expression knotted both relief and apprehension into a wobbly smile.

“I thought you were Lindsey,” she said.

“I’m much worse, apparently.”

She cleared her throat and crossed her legs. Like I’d prop ‘em open and dig in during the auditions.

“You’ll never be worse than Lindsey,” she said.

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Bryce asked me to help judge the bands.” There was some truth to the statement. “Figured I’d come visit. See if you had it handled.”

Mandy stared straight ahead. “Yep. All good. I’ll be okay on my own.”

“Nah, that’s not fair.” I crossed my arms behind my head, leaning back in my chair. “No sense doing this alone, baby.”

“I’m doing a lot of things alone.”

“No need.” I winked. “I’m at your service tonight.”

“I know what you’re trying to do—”

“I’m trying to take some of the pressure off you. Get these bands all auditioned and cataloged for Queen Lindsey.”

Mandy didn’t believe me, and she had good instincts. It didn’t stop her from gnawing on that perfect, full lip. Her fingers twisted in her skirt.

I loved to watch her squirm.

I was serious the last time I trapped her in my embrace. I wanted her to think of me, dream of me, want me every second of the day. When I first tasted her, I fantasized about being the only man who could pleasure her that well. Fortunately, I had no competition.

But it wasn’t enough. Something about this woman had changed since the last time I slept with her—something that made her absolutely irresistible.

“The first band comes highly recommended,” Mandy said. “Traditional sound. Quartet.”

“So…this is how it’s going to be?”

She knew exactly what I meant. “I have to audition these groups for my sister.”

“We’re not even going to talk about what happened the other day?”

Mandy scribbled on the corner of the paper, accidently poking a hole through the essay section with the pen.

“I thought you said we wouldn’t have to talk about it? My one freebie was supposed to come with no strings.”

“Yeah, but I think you’d feel better if you talked about it.”

Her smile wasn’t kind. “You know, Nate. With your reputation? I expected you to back off once you got what you wanted.”

So did I. “Maybe I want something else.”

“And what’s that?”

“You.”

Mandy hesitated. “Do you know what I need?”

“What?”

“The only thing I’ve ever asked of you.” Her almond eyes met mine briefly, a quick tease of power she didn’t know she possessed. “I want to make it to the wedding without any more complications.”

“How do you know I’d complicate things?”

“You already have.”

She smiled at the musicians timidly waiting at the door. If they thought auditioning for a wedding was strange, they didn’t say anything.

Christ, I hoped there weren’t more brides like Lindsey making demands in the world.

The first two groups performed their sets and sounded decent. Wasn’t my type of music, but it’d work for a wedding. Of course, my opinion wasn’t good enough for the bride.

Lindsey armed Mandy with score cards and instructions. She demanded a shit ton of information about her music—well beyond genres and skills. Mood, tone, warmth qualities, sexiness, ability to cover Adele, and set songs. Nothing about price or availability. Apparently if she liked them, she’d hire them, no questions asked.

Mandy’s foot tapped as she listened. She had no idea what she did to me. How long could a man last watching her wiggle with the beat?

This was no way to listen to music or judge how romantic a song was. The group struck up a slow ballad and strummed on soft strings with a sultry rhythm. I grabbed the score cards from Mandy and ripped the paper in two.

Her eyes widened like I’d burned the US flag or, worse, Lindsey’s wedding program.

“What are you doing?” Mandy screeched. “Lindsey’s gonna kill me!”

“There’s only one way to figure out what music is right for a wedding.” I didn’t ask, just took her hand. “You gotta dance to it, baby.”

“Oh, no.” Mandy shrunk away, awkwardly shaking her head, even as the band encouraged her. “Really, I’m good.”

I tugged her out of the seat. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Dancing with you?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a