Fumbled by Lisa Suzanne EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Lisa Suzanne
- Language: English
- Genre: Sports Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
I push open the double doors and enter Gridiron BBQ. A neon sign with
the logo of the pro football team that practices across the street blinds me in
the otherwise dimly lit restaurant as I walk toward the bar.
I don’t love coming in here since it’s always filled with Vegas Aces fans
and I’m a diehard baseball girl, but when I expressed that to my boyfriend, he
brushed it off. “They have the best wing sauce in the world,” he told me.
I wouldn’t know. Chicken with bones in it isn’t really my thing.
“Takeout for Victoria,” I say to the bartender once he looks up at me with
a question in his eyes, and he nods and turns toward the pile of receipts that
presumably carry the other takeout orders.
“Thirty-nine eighty-one,” the bartender says, and I reach into my purse to
grab my credit card when I hear a voice beside me.
“Did I hear eighty-one? That’s my number.”
My brows pinch together as I look over at the guy. A man with bright blue
eyes, dark brown hair, and a jawline that looks like it needed to meet a razor
three weeks ago stands beside me with that cocky grin planted on those firm
lips. I immediately recognize him.
Travis Woods, wide receiver for the Vegas Aces.
“Put it on my tab,” he says. He smirks and raises his shoulder as if to say
you’re welcome, but I never said thank you.
He’s hot, sure. But he knows it, and even if I wasn’t in a relationship, that
would turn me right off.
He’s Owen’s second favorite wide receiver on the team right after Josh
Nolan. I could probably recite some of his stats since it’s all Owen talks
about, but I’d rather not.
You know why I recognize him? From that cocky smirk. It’s the same
look on his face in the photograph of the Vegas Aces team that hangs in
Owen’s home office, as if it’s one of his only facial expressions. Maybe he
practices it in the mirror every night before bed. Or maybe he uses it on the
scores of women he’s rumored to bed.
Unfortunately for him, and despite his efforts here, I won’t be one of them.
“That’s not necessary,” I say, handing the bartender my credit card.
“Sorry, Woods,” the bartender says. “Looks like your line isn’t working
on this one.”
“You’re Travis Woods.” I squint at him a little and ignore the little flip my
stomach does as his eyes meet mine.
No flips.
Nope. None.
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