He moved away from Willow, taking all that lethal charm with him and throwing it at the boys. “Why, as a matter of fact I am. How are you boys doing tonight?”
“Holy crap!” the one in the jersey crowed, the other one jabbing him in the ribs.
“Your mom is gonna kill you if she hears you cursing,” the second boy said.
Nick laughed and stood, smiling at them. “You guys want an autograph?”
They hopped up and down like overeager bunnies at Nick’s offer. Willow watched with fascination as he said all the right things, chatting it up with the boys, asking their names, what grade they were in, what school they went to. Totally deflecting anything about himself and making the kids feel like they were special.
His actions touched her. Far more than she cared to admit.
When the mom of the boy wearing the Hamilton jersey came over to see what all the fuss was about, she screamed so loudly she drew everyone in the restaurant’s attention, to the point that Nick soon became swarmed, signing autographs, taking pictures. He even kissed a baby like he was some politician and had to politely disentangle himself from the grip of a woman who claimed her biggest dream was to marry him.
Willow didn’t know how he dealt with it all. He was so easygoing, so freaking nice to everyone. She would’ve been growling and snapping like a feral animal by now, what with how insistent they were, how grabby they could be.
“This your girlfriend?” A guy in his early twenties tipped his head toward where Willow sat, a big smile on his relatively handsome face.
“No,” she said the same time Nick answered, “Yes.” She glared at Nick before she turned her attention back to the cute guy. “We’re old friends,” she explained, waving a hand toward Nick.
“Well, if you’re just friends…” The flirtatious look on the guy’s face told her exactly where he was taking this next.
“If you define bed buddies as old friends, then yeah, I guess that’s what we are,” Nick said tightly, sending a death glare toward the poor guy, who threw his hands up in front of him defensively.
Mister Easygoing, friendly with everyone, was long gone. He acted downright jealous that this guy was even talking to her.
“Whoa. Not about to poach off you, dude. Have fun with her. She’s gorgeous.” The guy backed away slowly. “Good luck in the playoffs!”
Everyone else scattered within minutes, leaving the two of them alone once again. Nick slid back into the booth, sitting next to her—definitely not something old friends did—and poured her another beer, staring at her when he set the pitcher down.
“I think we need to define exactly what’s going on between us at this moment,” he said.
She arched a brow. What more could there be to define? “Do tell.”
“When you’re with me, on one of these dates, I’d like it if you at least pretended to have some interest in me.” His eyes narrowed. “No flirting with other guys allowed.”
Parting her lips, ready to protest, she was cut off with a single look from Nick.
“Would you like it if I flirted with other women while we’re out together? I don’t think so.”
He had a point. “You were flirting. That woman said she wanted to marry you, for God’s sakes.”
Rolling his eyes, he chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll accuse me of being an asshole but I hear that sort of thing every single day. I can’t help it if I’m a public figure, darlin’. I can’t help it if women throw themselves at me and say they wanna marry me or whatever other crude offers they make. Because trust me, the crude offers? They come at lightning speed, especially with Jared off the market.”
She gaped at him. Maybe she should be glad they hadn’t made it as a couple. Could she stand having women ogling him and saying such horrific things? Hot, sharp-edged jealousy boiled within her.
Stupid. Useless. Crazy.
“Maybe we’re using these dates as some sort of twisted game to get what we both want. And maybe we’re just blowing smoke up each other’s skirts, but when you’re with me, you’re with no one else. Got that?”
Her cheeks flared with heat. His possessiveness was sort of a turn on. He was trying to be all tough and macho, but she saw the vulnerability in his gaze. She recognized that look, remembered seeing it when they’d been different people. “You don’t wear a skirt, Nick. Unless you’ve picked up some new kink in the last few years I know nothing about.”
He smiled, slow and easy, sexy as hell. Her heart fluttered at the sight of it, and the argumentative mood was broken, just like that. “I’m sure I’ve picked up a few tricks that’ll rock your world if you’d just give me a chance, but no. I’m not into the whole cross-dressing thing.”
She slowly shook her head, amused at the vision of big, bad Nick Hamilton dressed in a gown with full makeup and a wig. “Might be interesting to see.”
He scowled. “Woman, if you’re suggesting I do something like that, I’m afraid I’ll have to offer you a firm hell no.”
Teasing him came so easily when she allowed herself. So did laughing with him when she should still be angry. Yeah, she needed to get over herself and all of this old resentment that hung around her like a black cloud. It didn’t do her any good, holding onto it. “Go ahead, rain on my parade.” She mock pouted. “I was hoping we could go on a date at one of those bars where everyone’s in drag.”