Eligible Receiver (Men of Fall #3)- S.R. Grey Page 0,1

a man named Caleb. He’s a football player for the Columbus Comets, so score one for her.

He’s the true love of her life.

Some people have all the luck.

Jodi used to talk about setting me up with one of Caleb’s teammates. She still does sometimes, but I quickly change the subject.

There’s no point.

Remember, I don’t believe in love anymore.

Or rather, I don’t believe in it for me.

And that’s a truly sad state of affairs when I happen to co-own a wedding consultant business with Jodi.

When we first started, I was such a hopeless romantic.

But that was then.

And this is now.

That’s why it’s weird that I’m heading to the last row of the theatre, so that I can sit close to the good-looking guy in the ball cap.

I guess a part of me is finally taking Jodi’s advice and saying what the hell.

Or maybe there’s another part of me—and this is probably closer to the truth—that is freaking tired of being lonely.

It’s Valentine’s Day, people!

I can at least pretend to have a date.

Still, I proceed with caution, as it may appear weird for me to just plop down right next to the guy, especially when we’re dealing with a nearly empty theatre.

I don’t want to come off as a complete creeper.

That’s why I stop about halfway down the row.

The guy looks up.

Ooh, I was right.

He’s beyond gorgeous.

Look at those chiseled features, those delicious full lips.

I shake my head.

Get a grip, Becca.

He nods.

I nod back.

I do so coolly, though, so he doesn’t think I’m back here for him.

Though I totally am—hee hee.

Lingering a few seats away, I say, “You don’t mind if I sit in this last row with you, do you?”

He smirks knowingly—smug ass—and I hastily amend, “I don’t mean with you, with you. It’s just that I, uh, get vertigo if I sit too close to the screen.”

“Well, this is definitely not close,” he says, his voice smooth and cool.

“No, no it’s not,” I babble back, not smooth and cool at all.

Shrugging, he says, “I don’t mind the company.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

I sit down, leaving two barrier seats between us.

See, I’m prudent.

After a beat, I hold out my cardboard tub of popcorn, shaking it lightly. “Hey, I’m open to sharing,” I say.

That makes the man chuckle.

But then the smartass holds up a hand and retorts, “No thanks. I’m good.”

“Whatever.” I pull the popcorn back, huffing. “Suit yourself.”

I’m not sure how to take my, er, uh, neighbor.

He is insanely good-looking, yes, especially up close, but he’s also rather cocky.

Lucky for him, I’m a sucker for arrogant pricks.

What Movie?

Thank Christ this chick has no idea who I am.

I was worried at first that she may have recognized me as a pro football player, and that’s why she was heading back to my row.

Now I think she’s just lonely.

Like me.

Why the hell else would I be at this old retro theatre on fucking Valentine’s Day?

I’m not the least bit interested in the ancient movie that’s playing. I just couldn’t stomach the idea of sitting alone in my big ole empty house.

Not tonight.

You’d think playing football as a very skilled wide receiver for the Columbus Comets, I’d have a lot of women wanting to go out with me.

I do, but they’re not the type I’m interested in.

I have no desire to waste time with annoying sports groupies who are only looking to land a professional sports player—any professional sports player.

They don’t care who it is, or what they play.

As corny as it sounds, I want someone to want me for me.

I guess that’s why this girl who is standing a few feet away from me, not knowing who I am, is so refreshing.

Nervously, she asks, “You don’t mind if I sit in this last row with you, do you?”

Do I mind?

Hell, no.

I smirk at the way she’s worded her query.

Hurriedly, noting my wry smile, she retorts, “I don’t mean with you, with you. It’s just that I, uh, get vertigo if I sit too close to the screen.”

Sure, pretty lady.

You’re not fooling me.

You may not know who I am, but it’s clear you like the way I look. And that is why you came back to this last row. Don’t deny it. I see it in your pretty aqua eyes.

Playing it cool, just to keep her on her toes, I say, “Well, this is definitely not close.”

“No, no it’s not,” she stammers.

More gently, I tell her, “I don’t mind the company.”

I don’t.

Not if it’s her.

She’s attractive in an understated kind of way.

I like the way her faded