The QB Bad Boy: Playing for Keeps

(1) "Sounds perfect!"

NEW YEARS JUST BEEN.

D A L L A S • P O V

"Hot blonde by the bar!" I turn around to the sound of a catcall. "Can I buy you a drink?"

Through the throng of people, I stare at the man who has just walked into the pub in a thick black suede coat, snow flecks in his light brown locks.

"Sorry." I smile with a small shrug. "I'm waiting for someone."

He grins and starts to move through the pub, keeping his sights set on me as he weaves through the sea of people. It's an elegant joint with low lighting and intricate fixtures on the deep rich wooden window panes and a strong pine scent dulls the stench of cigarettes and expensive beer. Even the thrum of the occupants inside can't drown out the noise that's coming from the streets of New York City. The ball is about half an hour from dropping and the excitement is palpable.

The undeniably gorgeous man falls into the space beside me, leaning on the bar with one hand and a small wad of cash in the other. He winks and it serves to make his smile even more of a panty dropper than it'd been before.

"One corona, aaaaand an apple martini for the lady please?" he tells the bartender before his deep green gaze falls back on me.

"An apple martini?" I give him a pointed look, digging into the small clutch that had been tucked under my arm.

His large hand darts out and covers mine so that I can't pull the twenty out and slap it on the bar. When I glance up and meet his warm stare, his lips begin to lift. "It's on me beautiful."

I bite down on the growing grin. "I told you that I'm waiting for someone."

"Well," his words slip past a devil may care grin as he leans in close and snakes a hand around my waist. "He's a lucky man."

I'm unable to respond because I'm swept into his arms and his lips find mine in a kiss that's so familiar but will never get old. Ever. I wind my arms around his neck and revel in his wandering hands which manage to electrify me, even in the large warm coat that I'm wearing.

"Where have you been?" I huff with a pout when we break apart.

Drayton doesn't let his hold falter, keeping me in his embrace. "Sorry, Cheer. That phone call took a while." He exhales and thanks the bartender when our drinks are pushed across the rich mahogany bar top.

"Well, we finally made it to New York for New Years." He hands me the drink.

"We did." I smile at him, his arm remains wrapped around my waist, our fronts pressed together while he lifts the cold beer to his lips and takes a quick sip. "Aaaand it's almost our four year anniversary."

"Four years already?" He recoils. "Shit. It still feels like the first month with you beautiful."

How he still manages to cause a flutter in my stomach is beyond me. But our love is as strong as it has been since the night he'd confessed those feelings to me.

A lot has changed over the years, and a lot hasn't. Drayton and I only spent about two years living in campus housing until we moved into an apartment together that was situated halfway between CalArts and UCLA.