Bad Boy's Cinderella: A Sports Romance Read Free Page B

there was a tiny spark there as we exchanged glances, and it was that flicker of connection that had me saying, “Hold on.” Because no one gets away from me twice. The chances of me running into her in another store, on another random Wednesday morning, were too slim for me to take the risk. I had to have her.
    She paused and looked over at me, brows raised in expectation, and I twitched my fingers around the dress in my hand.
    “What if you could have this dress?”
    She stared at me, clear suspicion on her face, even as a glimmer of hope lit her up as she glanced down at the dress. “What do you mean?”
    “There’d be a catch.” I gave her one of my most charming smiles. “A date,” I added. “I’ll buy you this dress if you go on a date with me.”

Chapter Three
Kylie
    D id I hear that right ? There was a rush of white noise in my ears, making me think I’d imagined the words I’d just heard spill from his lips.
    He couldn’t…? Surely not.
    I swallowed past the sudden flutter of my heart and clarified, “If I go on a date with you, you’d buy me that dress?” He nodded, and I caught sight of Barbara squinting suspiciously at his back. I kind of got Barbara’s point, even as my stomach gave a slow, swooping lurch. “Sounds a little…”
    Mild horror passed over his face as realization caught up with him, and he raised a hand. “All above board. I promise.”
    I wanted to believe him, since I was pretty sure this wasn’t some kind of weird escorting situation, a payment-for-services-due sort of thing. Still, though—who bought expensive dresses for women on the off-chance they’d get a date out of it?
    Football players , my subconscious whispered to me. Whose fathers owned a multi-million dollar football teams and stadiums . They could do anything, pay anything, own anything. I was standing in front of one of the richest men in San Francisco, and he wanted to buy me a dress.
    Not just that—he wanted to go on a date with me.
    My knees weakened.
    Of course I knew about Reade Lennox. Everyone did. He was the most eligible bachelor in the city and I couldn’t crack open a newspaper or load a media website without seeing his face. It was alway a photo of him with some model, or an article about some bar brawl he was in. And I was pretty sure his team was having some troubles right now, although he wasn’t showing it right now—his eyes were bright, his smile flirty and charming, and he was looking at me as if I was the important thing here, not the dress. He definitely knew how to play the game, and he was famous for it. Everyone knew that.
    He’d tried this before. Not the dress part, but asking me out. We met at April’s wedding, and he must’ve gotten my number from Breck. He left a voicemail suggesting a dinner. And I’d ignored it. I didn’t even really know why, because I certainly found him attractive, with his broad shoulders and model-perfect face angles, the brush of stubble on his jaw and the brown eyes so dark they were almost black. Right now as I tried not to stare at him, his t-shirt was just tight enough, straining over a muscular chest, and the v-neck showed a hint of bronzed skin that left my mouth a little dry.
    I was insanely attracted to him, and he’d been nothing less than pleasant when we’d met, but still I’d ignored his follow-up call. Something about how much my life sucked right now, the roommate situation, my dad, my work—all of it leaving me feeling as if going on a date with someone from such a vastly different world would be too much for me to deal with. Plus, he was a literal man-whore. I was pretty sure I’ve seen him photographed with every Victoria Secret model there was. And everyone knew he had anger management issues. I did not need that in my life.
    Aside from that, I couldn’t help but let my nerves run rampant at the idea of dating someone so high-profile. He wasn’t just some guy. He was the guy—the one every single woman for miles around