looked at you, and he looked happy to see you.”
Danielle pushed her glasses farther up her nose and shook her head. “No, he looked into the crowd. He wasn’t looking at me.”
“I saw the look.”
“Forget the look. The look means nothing.” She was going to make it mean nothing anyway. “Let’s go to the concession stand. I want some popcorn.”
The lines were so long that the trek for popcorn and sodas took most of halftime. By the time they made their way back to the seats, the teams were running onto the court to warm up. Danielle staunchly avoided watching Jacobe. She may have enjoyed that second of eye contact, but that didn’t mean she had to visually stalk him for the rest of the night.
Debra chocked on her popcorn and grabbed Danielle’s arm. “He’s coming over.”
No need to pretend she didn’t know who she was talking about. “His chair is right in front of us.”
“No, he’s looking at you and coming this way.”
“Will you stop it, Jacobe Jenkins isn’t—”
“Danielle?” A male voice that didn’t sound quite sure if he was getting her name right interrupted.
Danielle’s hands became slick. Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings against her ribs. Oh, wow. It was him.
She slowly pivoted in her chair to look into a pair of sexy brown eyes. He smiled at her with a hint of unsureness in his gaze.
“Oh...hi, Jacobe.”
“Danielle Stewart...right?”
She nodded. “That’s me.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Enjoying the game.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. What have you been up to?”
Danielle glanced around. Some of the courtside reporters were looking their way. A few even snapped some pictures. Danielle squirmed self-consciously in her seat. “I work for the St. Johns River Watchers.”
“You live around here?” Sweat ran down his face, to his neck and into the jersey covering his wide, muscled torso.
Why in the world was a sweaty man so damn sexy? “Yep.”
He ran the towel over his face, thankfully removing the distracting sweat. Unfortunately, the movement brought attention to his fantastically sculpted arms. “This your first game?”
“No. My first courtside seat, though.”
He nodded. “Cool. What are you doing after the game?”
She blinked, thrown off by the question. “Going home.”
He shook his head, dismissing her statement. “The guys from the team usually meet up at a pool bar downtown called The Hall. Meet me there after the game.”
Debra’s leg bounced like a supercharged Chihuahua in Danielle’s periphery. “The Hall?” Had her voice really just squeaked? She cleared her throat.
“Yeah. You know where it is? They’re usually selective about letting people in after a home game because the team hangs out there afterward, but I’ll call ahead and tell them you’re cool. Come by. Let’s catch up.”
One of his teammates called. Jacobe looked over his shoulder to acknowledge him, then looked back at her. “I’ll see you there later.” Not a question.
She was too stunned to get angry at his direction or think of an excuse to say no. “Um...yeah. Sure, we’ll stop by.”
He grinned. “Cool.” He spun and rejoined the team.
Debra leaned in. Danielle lifted her hand to stop her from saying anything. “Stop. The reporters are still watching. Save the gushing for after the game.”
“Fine, but there will be tons of gushing in the car.”
Danielle nodded and took a sip from her soda. She had to keep her composure for the reporters still looking her way. She knew they had to be wondering who she was.
For the entire third quarter, she replayed the conversation and wondered what it meant. He’d seemed almost happy to see her. Happy? Had he thought of her over the years? Maybe she’d jumped the gun in assuming he could so easily forget her and move on. Maybe Jacobe wasn’t as self-centered as she remembered. Maybe the whole bad-boy persona that the media portrayed was just that—a persona.
All those maybes floated away when, halfway through the fourth quarter, Jacobe pushed a referee aside so he could deliver a right hook to an opposing player and left the guy knocked out cold on the floor. He smirked, then stepped over the downed opponent. Danielle sighed and shook her head. Apparently, Jacobe was still the arrogant, cocky jock she’d taken him for.
Typically, when Jacobe entered The Hall after a game and heard the drum of old-school hip-hop and smelled the Buffalo wings the place was known for, he was instantly ready to party. Tonight, the tension that had taken over his neck and shoulders since he’d knocked out Rob Jackson wouldn’t go away. He shouldn’t have done that. The league would probably suspend him for that. Not what he needed right before the play-offs. Taking the Gators to the play-offs would secure his place as one of the best players in the league, which was something he knew, but the trouble in his past kept others from admitting it. It would also make the final argument for him to be signed by Phoenix next year. They were building a superteam, and Jacobe was aiming to be on that team.
He could see the years of winning the finals in his future if that happened. The chance was now a big if. His agent had already called and told him not to talk to any reporters while he tried to smooth things out with managers of both teams.
He shouldn’t have hit Rob, but he damn sure didn’t regret it. How’s your son? Oh, wait, you don’t have a son.
Rob had tossed out the low blow right before Jacobe knocked him out. Jacobe kept his private life private, but Rob had been his teammate four years ago when Jacobe had learned that the woman he’d dated since high school had played him for a fool.
Tossing aside thoughts of Rob, suspension and the worst mistake of his life—Christy—Jacobe scanned the crowded room. After home games The Hall was typically brimming with people. The team came there to play pool and celebrate after a win and the locals had figured that out. The high-top tables were filled with people, along with the chrome stools around the bar. There were people at the pool tables that lined the room, as well, except for the empty table at the end. That’s where the Gators played.
His search wasn’t just to check out the crowd. He looked for one person in particular. It wasn’t long before his gaze landed on Danielle Stewart and the friend she’d been with at the game, sitting at the end of the bar sipping on fruity-looking drinks. His tension eased.
Danielle Stewart.
