Page 56 of Bluffed By the Offense

The knock on our door at exactly six thirty makes me jump, even though I’m expecting him.

Winona glances over at me. “You okay over there?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She smiles, obviously holding in the urge to laugh at my expense. She would never, but if I were in her shoes, watching me go on my first real date in who knows how long, dressed like a Disney princess minus the tiara, I’d be suppressing amusement too.

“I can’t believe you’re actually willingly going out with him.”

“Miracles abound,” I say, hating that I can’t tell her that I’m under duress, and my love for football and the Tennessee Thunder has become a problem to the point of probably needing a twelve-step intervention.

I could tell her. She’d get it. But I don’t want to complicate things. And this is one night. Besides, it made her so ridiculously happy when I came home and told her I was going to the gala with Marcus. She’s going with Declan, but Marcus insisted on bringing me separately. Typical self-centered, domineering man, stripping a woman of her support system before he subjects her to him being the center of the universe.

I don’t think Marcus is pathological. Just … dangerous to what matters most to me.

“Are you going to open the door?” Winona asks, her tickled grin breaking free.

“Yes. Yeah. I am.” I turn toward the door and shout, “Coming!”

Then I pick up my beaded bag off the side table and walk toward the door, my heels clicking on the hardwood as I go.

When I open the door, I suck in a breath. Then I send up a silent prayer that Marcus didn’t notice my reaction. Anyone would gasp. Men, women, small dogs. He’s a solid wall of tuxedo, hair combed back in some effortlessly gorgeous style that says I make millions playing pro football. His eyes are like chandeliers glistening in the evening sunset.

That’s what it is. It’s the golden hour. Everything looks better in this light.

I’m so focused on trying to rein in my initial reaction to Marcus that I barely notice the way his eyes are roving down to my shoes and up the side slit on my gown. He traces a path to my hair, which I curled and pulled into an updo with tendrils. His gaze drops to my lips, which are covered in a bold, dark red lipstick. I mean, the color does draw the attention to my lips.

“Ready?” I ask, my voice bright and slightly clipped.

“Yep,” he says. Then he looks over my shoulder at my sister and says, “Hey, Winona. You look beautiful. Declan’s going to fall over himself when he sees you.”

I don’t know why a shot of something uncomfortable runs through me. He shouldn't tell me I’m beautiful. That would be wrong. Right. So, good. And Winona does look beautiful in her emerald-green dress. I went with a deep royal blue. It’s not quite Thunder navy, but it’s close.

Marcus extends his elbow and I stare at it like he held out a cobra head—a live one, with fangs and venom. Then I step out beside him and walk down the steps without touching him for support. It’s a nice gesture, extending his arm, but I’ve learned nice things with Marcus Delaney only go so deep. There’s usually a price or a motive underneath the kindness.

Marcus opens the car door for me.

“It’s not a real date,” I tell him. Or myself. Or both of us.

“It needs to look like a date,” he answers me. “Are you going to make me lift you and place you in my car, Cass?”

The way he says car. Good mercy. Ca-aah. All musical and low. I wish he had a nasally voice, maybe he could spit out his Ps or something. It’s not right that a man so utterly unappealing should have a voice so alluring.

I step up into the Escalade, wobbling just the slightest as I rise in this full-length gown to reach the seat. Marcus’s hand is on my elbow in a flash. I don’t say a thing. He doesn’t release his gentle but firm grip on me until I’m seated.

I avoid his eyes and say, “Thank you,” almost under my breath.

He shuts the door and walks around to the driver’s side. I watch him. If I’m on the date, I may as well glean the perks. And watching him up close in a tux is definitely a perk. His athletic build fills that thing out like it was made for him. I chuckle softly to myself. It probably was made for him.

We ride in silence for a while.

We’re almost there when I ask, “The gala is at the facility?”

“We have a VIP space upstairs. It runs nearly the whole top floor. Usually the owner will bring people there for lunch. If we’re wooing a player or a donor, they come to the VIP lounge. It’s a nice space.”

His eyes are on the road. My eyes are on him, objectively admiring him as a specimen of manhood. Is that wrong? Maybe. I pivot and look out the window as Marcus pulls up to a back entrance behind a row of cars. They have a valet parking podium, and what is that? A red carpet?

I’m walking a red carpet. It would have been nice to have known this detail in advance. I pull my mirror out of my purse and reapply my lipstick. Marcus glances over at me and watches while we inch our way forward in the line of vehicles.