“Hard pass.”
That’s what the last girl I slept with said when she got her first sober glimpse of me. She laughed, walked out of my penthouse – and I never saw her again. It doesn’t matter that I’m a rich, professional athlete; what mattered was my face.
Beauty might only be skin deep for some – but I know better.
“Pay up.”
That’s what the last girl I spoke to said over the phone when I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Desperate to sell a set of rare baseball cards, she’s clever and entertaining. I’m instantly smitten, but nowhere ready to reveal myself. Thank god she has no idea who I am – or what I look like.
I’m a professional athlete – how hard can playing the love game be?
Contains mature themes.
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