* * *
The woman didn’t seem to recognize him. She gave him a smile that said “Thanks, but I’m not interested.”
Hudson wasn’t used to that reaction. Maybe he’d underestimated the power of a pair of sunglasses. Right now his Ray-Bans seemed to be acting a little like Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak.
Or was it possible that she did realize who he was but simply didn’t care for football players?
Either way, now that he’d seen her more clearly, he was interested in engaging her again. She was pretty and had an abundance of creamy skin to go with that rich, dark hair.
As soon as she finished her drink, he sent over another one—which she sent back without a moment’s hesitation. He could hear her explaining to the waitress that, while she was grateful, she’d had enough. Something about not being irresponsible, which confirmed his first impression. She wasn’t the typical clubber.
When she turned and waved—her way of being polite, thanking him in spite of her refusal to accept the drink—he waved back. Surely, once she got a good look, she’d recognize him. Usually buying a drink for a girl meant she’d be on his lap by now.
This one merely returned to watching the dance floor.
Hudson didn’t want to venture out of the booth, but he did want to talk to this woman, and she wasn’t coming to him. Even more intrigued, simply because she didn’t seem excited about meeting him, he hauled himself out of the booth and eyed her as he approached her table.
Since he came mostly from behind, he startled her when he folded himself into the chair closest to hers. Now she’ll figure out who I am, he told himself. But it was apparent that she had no clue when she introduced herself as Ellie and asked for his name.
Did he have to reveal who he was? He liked blending in for a change. Liked being no different than anyone else. He considered making up a fake identity but couldn’t bring himself to go that far. “Hudson.” He felt certain that would rip away his anonymity—his name wasn’t common—but it didn’t seem to change anything.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” she asked.
She wasn’t being coy. She really didn’t care if he joined her or not. He could tell. “Looked like you could use some company. That’s all.”
She thought that over for a moment, then nodded as if she agreed. “I guess I could. Beats sitting here alone, in any case.” She extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same here,” he said as they shook.
“Do you live in Miami?”
He wondered if she was being facetious. Could this be for real? Everyone knew he played for Los Angeles, so chances were slim that he’d live clear across the country. But after studying her expression, he decided his first assessment had been correct. She had no idea who he was. “No. Just visiting,” he said. “You?”
“Born and raised in Doral. Now I rent a house in Cooper City.”
“Which is...”
“A suburb not too far from here.”
He gestured at her empty glass. “You turned away my drink. It’s not too late if you’re regretting that decision.”
“No. Alcohol is so unhealthy. I’ve had enough.”
“Isn’t a little alcohol supposed to be good for you?”
He was teasing, but she took him seriously. “You mean red wine. They say that, but you’re killing brain cells in order to help your heart. Doesn’t make a lot of sense. If you’re exercising and eating right, you’re better off without it.”
He held the hurricane he’d brought over loosely in one hand. Since he was into health and fitness himself—he had to be if he wanted to remain at his physical peak—her words didn’t fall as flat as they might have. He was used to hearing cautions like that from his various trainers. “What are you, some sort of doctor?”
“Scientist, but I specialize in immunology, so I have a solid understanding of how the body works.” She tucked a strand of hair that’d fallen from her messy bun behind one ear. “How long will you be in town?”
“A few days.”
“Are you here for work or play?”
“Um, I came to play,” he said, which was technically true. He just didn’t add that play for him was work.
“Have you ever been here before?”
“Couple of times.” He spoke dismissively, hoping to minimize the fact that he came here every two or three years to play the Dolphins.
“And? How do you like it?”
“It’s nice.” He took in her innocent-looking eyes and wide, expressive mouth. He found her attractive in a girl-next-door way. “To be honest, now that I’ve met you, I’m starting to like it even better,” he said with a grin that came naturally to him for a change. He hadn’t had an encounter like this—one that didn’t begin with some fawning statement about his looks, football ability or fame—in quite some time. The normalcy this woman offered felt like a life preserver, one he could grab to save himself from drowning in a sea of cynicism.
When her gaze cut to the dance floor, as if she might panic and go find her friends, he thought he’d come on too strong. But then the tension in her body eased. “After the week I’ve had, that’s good to hear. Even if you are wearing sunglasses.”
“Excuse me?”
She leaned closer. “Isn’t it a little dark for those?”
He nearly laughed when it registered that she was embarrassed for him. “My eyes are sensitive to the strobe lights.” That was the only outright lie he’d told her so far, and it wasn’t a big one—nothing she could get too angry about if or when she learned who he was.
“Oh. I guess that makes sense, then.”
Afraid her friends would return and recognize him, he checked the dance floor himself.
Luckily, he saw nothing to suggest impending discovery. “What was so terrible about your week?” he asked.
“Nothing I care to discuss,” she replied promptly.
“Is that why you were knocking back those shots? You’re trying to forget?”
Her expression filled with chagrin. “You saw that?”
“I found it a bit curious that you were doing it alone when it’s more fun with the support of a group.”
She shrugged. “Desperate circumstances call for desperate measures.”
He liked the delicate curve of her neck and her small, slender hands, which were devoid of the fake nails so many women wore, suggesting she possessed a certain practicality. “That bad, huh?”
“That bad.”
Stretching out his legs, he crossed them at the ankles. “Won’t you give me a hint about what went wrong? Did you lose your job? Get some bad news?”
The darkness of his sunglasses made it difficult for him to determine the color of her eyes, but he admired the thick fringe of lashes that showcased them. He was almost certain they were blue...
“I wish that’s all it was,” she said.
“What could be worse?” He hoped he wasn’t putting his foot in his mouth, that she hadn’t recently been diagnosed with cancer or some other disease. He’d