Bingo! Now all she had to do was figure out a way to get inside.
She strode to the door and pounded on it with both fists. It was rather cathartic to beat the crap out of a metal door, even if the edges of her hands were starting to throb.
A man opened the door just wide enough for her to see his gold tooth. "Members only."
He closed the door in her face, but rage made her strong. She shoved it open an inch. "These guys know me. Let me in."
He opened the door a foot this time and checked her out from head to toe. He grinned lecherously. "I'm sure they do, babe. Go home. Find a nice boy to marry and make babies with."
She peered over his shoulder into the dark room. Jones Wilson was leaning over the pool table. She'd just made him a bucket of money, more than double the original offer he'd been made to hock tennis shoes. He owed her.
"Jones!" she shrieked over the throbbing rap music.
The bouncer recoiled and covered his ears, giving her the chance to push the door open and lunge past him. She was halfway inside by the time he grabbed her.
"Not so fast," he growled, and she had a feeling she was moments away from being literally tossed out on her ass.
Just in time, Wilson laid down his pool stick. "Melissa McKnight? What are you doing here, girl?"
The bouncer said, "Sorry, man. I told her 'no groupies.' I'll get her out of here."
"She's no groupie, man. She's my agent's kid. Let her go."
"What's up?" Wilson asked when the bouncer headed back behind the bar. "Some problem with the new contract?"
She shook her head. "No, your contract is fine. Let me get a drink and then you can introduce me to your friends."
He frowned. "Seriously? You're staying?"
"You bet I am." He looked shell-shocked, so she decided to give him a few minutes to get used to the idea of her being in the top-secret players' haunt. "Go back to your pool game. I'll let you know when I'm ready for your help."
He looked over his shoulder at the rest of the players in the club, then shook his head. "I don't think this is such a great idea, you being here."
She shrugged and looked around the joint. "Not much of a vibe, but I suppose it grows on you."
Waving him back toward the pool table, she headed over to the empty bar. At least a dozen pairs of eyes were on her. Football, hockey, and baseball players relaxed with beers and video games and pool. There were even a few pro golfers in the mix. She knew their names and teams, but apart from Wilson she didn't know any of them personally. Yet.
There wasn't another bar in the city where she would have felt as at home. She'd grown up around professional athletes, traveled with them, watched games with them, hung out with their families. Football meant family to her.
"Gin and tonic, please," she said to the beefy bouncer/bartender. "Make it a double."
Looking none too happy about serving her, he grabbed a tall glass.
She took a sip, which immediately turned into a gulp. "God, this is good," she murmured.
Even better than the drink was the instant buzz that worked its way from her head to her toes. She hadn't eaten since 6 a.m. It wasn't going to take long for the drink to work its magic.
"Honestly," she said to the large bartender, "I understand why you wouldn't let me come inside."
"You do, huh?"
She nodded. "These guys need somewhere to get away from everything. The press, the groupies, the big-money pressure. I think it's great that you turned this joint into a refuge." She crossed her fingers over her heart. "I'll never tell. Cross my heart and hope to die."
They'd gotten off to a rocky start, but another drink later proved that the bartender—his name was Ellis—was a very nice man. He was happy to listen to her plans to become the next great football agent. The next thing she knew, her second drink was empty and he was sliding another one across the bar.
When Ellis flipped the channel to ESPN, they were doing a profile on the greatest wide receivers of all time. Dominic was their top pick, and something warm and heady bloomed in Melissa's chest. She'd chat up the players in the bar later. For the next hour, she was going to nurse her drink along with her pointless crush on the most beautiful man in the world.
Chapter Three
Dominic sprinted the last hundred yards on the track, beating Ty Calhoun by an inch. They fell down on the grass inside the track and sucked in air. "I never thought I'd see the day when an old man like you would beat me," Ty said, panting.
Dominic laughed through the stitch in his side and the throbbing in his knee. "Marriage has made you slow," he ribbed, even though they both knew it was his job as wide receiver to be the fastest guy on the field.
"What can I say? I've got better things on my mind than a leather ball." Ty grinned. "Nothing beats an insatiable new wife waiting at home."
Dominic was happy for his friend, who was one of the best quarterbacks in the country. Things had been iffy there for a while. Fortunately, everything had ended up working out for Ty. Playboy no more, he was a happily married man.
"What about you?" Ty asked as he started a set of sit-ups. "Got marriage and kids in your future anytime soon?"
An image of Melissa popped into Dominic's head, all luscious curves and plump red lips and an almost accidental sensuality. Blood rushed to his groin.
His agent's daughter was as off-limits as they came. Even if she had looked better than ever this morning at the ad shoot, even if her lush curves had been a perfect fit in his hands, even if she had the softest skin he'd ever touched. He wondered for the thousandth time what she'd look like without her clothes on; if the skin on her br**sts, her stomach— between her legs—would be as creamy and tempting as her beautiful face.
Shit. He needed to force the picture of Melissa naked and flushed in his bed from his brain. He rolled over and propped himself on his palms for a punishing set of push-ups. "The last girl I dated kept confusing baseball with football."
"Hey, I think I dated her, too," Ty said, laughing. "At least she was hot, right?"
Dominic held his final push-up an inch from the grass for twenty seconds to push himself to the limit. Letting his weight down slowly, he said, "I guess."
The girl had been too skinny and synthetic-looking, with the same overplumped lips and sili coned br**sts and skinny ass as every other good-looking blonde that guys like him dated.