Rate a Date by Monica Murphy Page 0,34

It’s nothing too flashy, but it did set me back a cool eighty grand. “I’ll take care of your vehicle, sir.” He reaches into his pocket and tears off a ticket with a long number printed in red on the top. “Don’t lose this.”

“Don’t lose that either.” I point at my truck and smile, and I swear he looks like he’s about to piss his pants.

“Um, do you mind…” Nerves make his voice that slightest bit shaky.

When he says nothing else, I decide to help him along. “You want to take a photo?”

The kid nods. I’d put him in his late teens. Maybe even his very early twenties. He looks very young, like he’s playing dress-up in the white jacket and black bow tie all the valet employees are wearing.

“Sure,” I say easily. Never do I want to be a complete asshole who turns down a fan. No one else is even paying us much attention, so I don’t mind taking a photo with him at all. It’s the least I can do.

The kid digs into the pocket of his black pants, producing his phone. He calls one of the other valets over and hands his phone to him before he comes to stand beside me. “Sorry,” he apologizes as we both turn and face his friend, who doesn’t seem fazed by me in the least. Must not be a football fan.

“Don’t apologize. It’s no problem.” I smile and the other guy takes a bunch of photos in a burst before he hands his photo back to the kid.

“Thank you. I’m glad you guys have moved here. I definitely plan on going to a few of your games this season,” he says, full of wide-eyed wonder.

“Thanks for the support.” I was only going to give the valet twenty bucks, but this kid deserves more. I slap two twenties in his palm. “See ya later.”

Pausing in front of the hotel entrance, I pull my phone out of my jeans and send Eleanor a quick text. Just arrived. Where are you?

I enter through the revolving door and come to a stop, absorbing the glittery opulence of the Wilder Hotel lobby. This place is chic as fuck, and those are words I would’ve never figured I’d think, but it’s true. No stale cigarette smoke or the clanging sound of slot machines coming from the casino in this lobby. Hell no. All I see is low lighting and elegant furniture. Jazz music plays, though it’s not too loud. The air smells like a motherfuckin’ flower garden on a perfect spring day, and the men and women who are standing behind the sleek counter helping guests are all really attractive.

I’m impressed.

My phone buzzes and I check to find a message from Eleanor.

I’m coming to the lobby right now! OMG I can’t believe this is finally happening!

I can’t help but smile at the enthusiasm in her text. I hope she’s pleased when she actually sees me. I’m not drop-dead handsome like Clay, our pretty boy QB, but I’m not a troll. More than anything, I hope she doesn’t recognize me.

Shit. Glancing about the room, I check the crowd around me, but no one’s paying me any attention. The light is so dim in here, they might not recognize me anyway.

Not that I’m an attention whore or anything, but I’ve welcomed fans’ attention in the past. Tonight, I want no one to realize who I am. I want to avoid the celebrity recognition at all costs.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I pace around, scanning the room every other second. I’m agitated. Anxious. Full of adrenaline. All the A words. I run a hand through my hair, hoping it looks good. Discreetly sniff near my armpits, making sure the sudden sweat that’s come upon me isn’t making me stink. I took a long, hot shower before I left the apartment. I might’ve even jerked off—news flash, I did jerk off.

So what the hell is wrong with me? Why am I feeling this way over a woman I barely know?

Swear to God, I feel her before I actually see her. The air in the room shifts, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Slowly I turn, just in time to see a blonde dynamo making her way toward me, a giant smile on her face.

Seeing that smile in person hits me like a ton of bricks. Damn, she’s beautiful. She’s wearing a cream-colored dress with sprigs of pink flowers scattered all over it.