1. Hunt

CHAPTER 1

HUNT

My former teammates are killing me. There are five minutes left in the game, and they can't get their shit together.

"Come the fuck on," I growl, glaring at the big screen hanging in the corner of the Park Avenue Bar as they fumble the ball for the third time this quarter. Maybe I shouldn't have retired. They might actually have a shot at the Super Bowl again if I were still on the field. At this rate, it's not happening. Their new quarterback isn't doing them any favors.

Then again, neither was I. My shoulder is busted. A QB with a busted shoulder is about as good as the jackass currently on the field.

Fuck.

My phone dings as Coach Bixby calls a timeout to ream their asses yet again. I drag it from my pocket, reluctantly pulling my eyes from the television screen.

Unknown

You signed up with us for a reason, Hunt.

Fuck my life. Not this shit again.

Me

Who is this?

I know precisely who it is, but I tap the button to send the message anyway. The lady who runs the dating agency—at least, I assume she's a lady—has been hounding me since I signed up two weeks ago. I'm not even sure why the fuck I did it. Actually, that's not entirely true.

I'm new in town, just got here a month ago. And Silver Spoon Falls is full of motherfuckers happily in love, including my old college teammate, Bronx Kaiser. For about two minutes, I considered what it'd feel like to be in his shoes. I was envious as hell watching him with his girl.

So, when I saw the ad in the paper, I signed up.

The lady in charge hasn't left me alone since. She's been trying to arrange a date for me damn near every day for the last week. I've shot them all down. I'm not the dating type. Hell, I'm not the company type right now.

I just want to be left the hell alone to mourn the end of my career in solitude.

Unknown

The maker of your fate. Stop avoiding it.

I crack a smile despite myself. I have to admit, the lady is tenacious. And moderately amusing when she isn't pissing me off.

Me

I don't believe in fate. Stop bugging me.

Unknown

You're the one who signed up and paid us. I'm not going away until you accept one date with one client.

Me

No.

Unknown

Yes.

Me

Consider yourself fired.

Unknown

Enjoy your night.

I scowl at the phone and then shove it back into my pocket. That was easier than I thought. Maybe I should have fired her a week ago.

I flick my gaze back at the television, only to find it running a commercial. I tip my beer up and finish it.

Before the last drop even passes my lips, the blonde waitress who has been stalking my table all night scurries over, beaming at me.

Jesus H. Christ.

"Can I get you another, Mr. Hunt?" She bats her lashes at me, licking her lips as her eyes rove over me.

I narrowly avoid rolling mine. I'm not a bad-looking guy. At least, that's what women tell me. Usually, right before they call me a dick and then storm off, as if it's my fault they get their feelings hurt when they throw themselves at me, and I don't take the bait.

At six-three and two hundred and fifty pounds, I'm fucking massive. It comes with the territory when you've played professional football your entire adult life. But we both know she isn't interested in me. They never are. She's interested in my name and my bank account. As soon as her coworkers told her who I was, her eyes lit up with dollar signs.

Unfortunately for her, it isn't going to happen. She's beautiful, sure. But she isn't my type. I'm not even sure I have one of those. Football has been my life since I was in college. But when I think about what I want in a woman, it's curves and ass, someone soft and round. That's what gets my fucking cock hard when it's in my hand. This girl is petite and tiny.

"Nope," I say. "I'm good."

Her face falls into a pout.

"You can go now," I mutter, not mincing words. Is it rude? Yes. Is it necessary? Also, yes. The only way to deal with these women is by not entertaining their bullshit.

Her hazel eyes flash with annoyance before she spins on her heel with a huff. She storms away from my table. I watch as she hauls ass back to the bar, undoubtedly to tell her coworkers that I'm a dick—I'm actually not. I just want to be left the fuck alone. It's not really that complicated.

Halfway to the bar, she bumps into a goddess, nearly knocking her on her ass.

"Oh!" The curvy goddess stumbles in her heels, tripping backward. Her arms wind-mill as she tries to keep herself upright. Jesus Christ. She's beautiful. Her blonde hair tumbles down her back in wild curls, framing her heart-shaped face and startling blue eyes.

The waitress doesn't even apologize.

I'm on my feet in an instant, my dick roaring to life. My heart in my throat. My fucking stomach twisting into knots.

I storm across the bar.

By the time I reach her side, she's managed to steady herself. I grab her arm anyway, gently holding onto her.

She flicks wide blue eyes up at me, startled. "Oh," she whispers, her lips parting slightly. "You're huge." Her cheeks immediately turn pink.

"You're not."

Confusion swirls through her eyes. "Um… thanks?"

"I mean, are you okay?"

"Yes. Thank you." She gently pries her arm from my grip, blinking up at me. "I thought for sure I was going to eat the floor. That would have been humiliating."

"She owes you an apology," I growl, glaring toward the waitress who bumped into her.

"Who?"

"The waitress who knocked you over."

"Oh. I tripped." She scowls down at her shoes. "Stupid heels."

"She bumped into you."

"Did not."

"Yes, she did."

"Well, it doesn't matter now. It was an accident. Thank you for checking on me." A smile dances at her lips, softening her expression. Two dimples pop out on her cheeks. Jesus. Fuck me. I want those lips wrapped around my cock while she's coming on my face. Immediately. "I should let you get back to… whatever you're doing."

"You're having dinner with me," I blurt.

Her eyes widen. "Oh, I…" She shakes her head regretfully. "I'm sorry, but I can't. I'm meeting someone."

"Who?" I growl, instantly pissed at the thought of her with someone else. My gaze flits to her finger, but she isn't wearing a ring. Which means she isn't married. Which means there's plenty of time for me to convince her that she's supposed to be with me.

What the fuck?

I try to shake the thought, but it refuses to dislodge.

"I… well, actually," she stutters, blushing again. "I'm not entirely sure. I've never met him." She leans close, her eyes big. "It's a blind date."

Well, fuck me.

If she's here on a blind date… then she doesn't know what her date looks like, right? It could be me.

Jesus Christ. I'm actually about to lie to an angel.

If hell is real, it'll be worth the trip.

"I'm your date."

Her eyes go comically wide. "Really? You're Hunt Sola?" She exhales a giant breath. "Oh, thank God. I was expecting… Honestly, I don't know what I was expecting. But it wasn't you."

Wait a damn minute. She just said my name. Why did she say my name? My only date is the game my former teammates are losing–badly.

Oh, son of a bitch! The lady at the agency set me up. That's what she meant by enjoy your night . She wasn't giving up or graciously accepting that I fired her. She was blatantly ignoring me.

And I can't even be pissed because she set me up with a fucking goddess.

Note to self: send her a bonus. And then fire her. Again.

"What's your name, goddess?" I ask, wrapping my arm around hers to lead her toward my table.

"Molly Exley."

"Well, Molly Exley," I murmur, grinning down at her, the first time I've smiled in days. "It looks like our little matchmaker did us both a favor. Because I wasn't expecting you either."

She beams up at me, those damn dimples melting my fucking stone-cold heart.

Maybe this dating shit isn't awful. If she's involved, it doesn't seem awful at all.