I hear the announcement before I even walk back into the ballroom. “Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. Dinner will be served shortly.”
My mom and dad are up front at table four, and I swing by to say hi on my way to the bar to grab one more drink before dinner.
I’m not the only one who had that idea, though. The line is ten people deep, and by the time I turn around with my drink in hand, I see the servers clearing plates after the first of the seven-course meal, an amuse-bouche consisting of a cheese puff with truffle butter.
Damn. That sounded good.
I practically run to my table, and I grab the only open seat. I see the cheese puff thing still sitting there, and I slip it into my mouth just as someone comes to clear my plate.
“Perfect timing,” I say triumphantly, holding my fist up in the air.
And then I glance around my table.
It appears I’m sitting with a bunch of football players and their spouses. There are ten chairs, and it’s a big enough table with enough noise surrounding me that there’s no way I can hold a conversation with someone across the table from me. I glance at each couple, and they all smile and wave, and finally I look at the man sitting to my right.
Our eyes connect, and…
Holy shit.
It’s Asher Nash.
I’m a huge football fanatic, and of course I know the Nash family. Who doesn’t? They’re household names.
And whoa.
He’s hot.
Not just, like, hot, but steamy, spicy, sexy, book boyfriend material hot.
He’s got dark hair that’s styled in a trendy sort of lazy way, and his blue eyes seem to hold me hostage. He looks surprised, and my eyes fall to his full lips that are slightly parted and the scruff peppering his strong jawline.
Holy hell. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a man up close like this that’s just so…so…so…gorgeous.
He’s wearing an obnoxious paisley gold jacket, and oddly, it’s the perfect complement to my dress, as if we planned the coloring even though we didn’t. I look around him at the woman on the other side of him, and she’s leaning in and kissing the man she’s with, so I assume she’s not his date. As they part, I see the man she was kissing is Grayson Nash.
I realize my father coaches for an NFL team, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a bit starstruck by these men.
Still, I pull it together. I act like I have no idea who he is.
“Oh, uh,” I stammer. “Is this seat taken?”
He chuckles. “It is now. I’m Asher.”