Blue-eyed.
And she’s smiling at me.
Oh, and her teet
h are fucking perfect.
“H-hi.” The word stumbles out of me, confirming that yep, I am a total dumbass, just like I thought. I clear my throat once more and try again. “Hello.”
Her smile grows. “Hello.”
Tuttle elbows me in the back, shoving me toward her, and I practically fall over. “I have a question.”
“Yes?” She sounds amused, and her eyes are twinkling. Her dark blonde hair is sleek and falls past her shoulders, and she’s wearing a blue dress that brings out the color of her eyes. Her cheeks are pink and her eyebrows are delicate and her lips are lush.
Fuck. I need to talk to her, not stare at her like an imbecile.
“How much of what I just said did you hear?” I wince, bracing myself for her answer.
She laughs. “Most of it. Fine, all of it.”
Well, shit. “I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings,” I tell her.
She rests a slender hand on her chest, her lips parting dramatically. “Hurt my feelings? Never. Like I already mentioned, I do have a fondness for beastly men.”
“Beastly.” I keep saying the word, and it is the stupidest word alive, trust me.
She nods, her smile growing, her cheeks a faint pink. “You are rather—large. My father noticed you the moment we stepped into the room. Mentioned that he’d love to speak with you, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” I immediately say. Hopefully she’ll stick around and talk to me too. I could stare at her all night.
“Perfect. I’ll go and get him.” She takes off before I can ask her name, ask who her father is, ask her anything, and I can hear Tuttle tsking behind me.
I turn and glare at him. “Thanks for practically pushing me into her.”
“I don’t think she minded,” Tuttle drawls. “She was flirting with you.”
“She was not.” I refuse to get my hopes up. Can’t remember the last time I flirted with a woman. And I’m talking plain, old-fashioned flirting, none of this swipe right or left app talk, or when a groupie throws herself at me and begs me to fuck her.
That’s an entirely different kind of flirtation going on right there. And that’s what I typically deal with.
“She was.” Tuttle takes a sip from his drink, his gaze zeroed in just behind me. “Here they come,” he warns.
I turn to find the pretty woman is headed in my direction, dragging along with her an elderly gentleman who’s clad in a navy-blue suit, including a vest. I see a gold chain hanging from it and I’m assuming he’s carrying a…pocket watch?
I’m also assuming that’s her father.
Nerves suddenly swarm me. I’m not big on meeting parents. Fathers. Mothers. Family members in general. Of course, I don’t even know her, so I’m totally overreacting…
“Father, this is one of the American football players. From San Francisco?” She turns to him with a questioning look, like she’s hoping he’ll remember what they talked about earlier or something, and the recognition on her father’s face is obvious.
“Of course, of course. It’s such a pleasure to meet you.” He grabs my hand and gives it a firm shake, surprising me considering he appears so old. “And your name is…”
“Cannon Whittaker,” I tell him as we continue to shake hands.
“Cannon. What a name. Very—powerful. Mmmhmm.” He finally releases my hand and takes a step back, his gaze sweeping over me from head to toe. “You’re a giant fellow, aren’t you?”
They are both watching me so closely they’re making me bashful. I quickly glance over my shoulder, hoping to see sympathy on Tuttle’s face, but he’s nowhere to be found.