This charity event tonight, carefully and meticulously planned by his philanthropic sister, would be a nightmare for him. And yet he'd agreed to come because, as asinine as it seemed, just his presence would guarantee money for the kids Heather worked so hard to help. This year, she was raising money for a new rec center, and he wanted to do what he could because he was all for getting those kids into sports and after-school programs, where he'd been volunteering as a coach.
He glanced over at his date as he drove them down the Pacific Coast Highway, the cool air-conditioning blasting out at them. If his presence was going to earn Heather money, then Sam's presence was going to earn him kudos from his sister. Heather would find no obvious flaws in Samantha O'Ryan. She had sparkling green eyes and glossy lips, with honey-blond hair piled prettily on top of her head. The long tendrils hanging down made him want to touch. The look was sophisticated and elegant, yet slightly messy at the same time, almost as if she wanted people to know she could lose the image at the drop of a hat and get down and dirty. Incredibly sexy, if you asked him. The rest of her slender body fit into her little black dress, which clung so perfectly to her curves-and very nice curves they were-that he decided he definitely had come out ahead on this deal tonight.
Thank you, Cole. "I appreciate you doing this," he said.
She shrugged and leaned into the AC vent, letting the air blow over her face, which caused a sigh of pleasure to slip out of her that somehow reverberated through him. "A lovely drive and a free dinner. It's no problem."
"And yet you didn't want to come." He smiled, still a little bowled over by the fact she'd had no idea who he was and still didn't. That might have disturbed another man so used to everyone being aware of him, but not Jack. He found it extremely amusing, and oddly refreshing. "You've already alluded to the fact you were worried I was going to be your worst nightmare."
She shot him a wry look. "And what exactly would that be, in your opinion?"
"I don't know… maybe an old guy, with a potbelly and a bad toupee."
"I don't discriminate against age or shape."
She had her cute nose in the air, and he laughed. "Come on. You were worried about something. Bad breath? Someone too short? Be honest."
"You could still have bad breath, for all I know." He arched a brow and slanted her another glance. "Not going to admit it could have turned out worse?"
"Hey, the evening is young yet."
"What could go wrong now?" Well, besides being grilled by his sister, and possibly being stalked by the paparazzi guaranteed to be waiting at the front door of the club…
"You could chew with your mouth open," she said and lifted a shoulder. "Or have an extra toe."
He shook his head. "An extra toe?"
"No ugly feet allowed."
"You can't date a guy with ugly feet?"
"Not once I find out about them."
Inside his shoes, he wriggled his toes, thankful to have only ten, but not sure whether they were ugly. He'd never thought about it. "Tough cookie, aren't you?"
"Yep."
He nodded. He could appreciate tough. He was rather tough himself.
But not with a woman. He'd never kicked a woman out of his bed for ugly feet, that was for damn sure.
"Why did you need a blind date anyway?" She shot him a curious look. "You're not exactly hard on the eyes, or an obvious raving lunatic."
He laughed at the backhanded compliment. "Let's just say I've been out of the dating pool this year, and if I don't show up with a woman tonight, my sister is going to bring out the cavalry."
"Cavalry?"
"Her friends. And their friends. And their friends, and so on." He shuddered. "Trust me, it's awful."
"Ah."
Her understanding smile stopped him in his tracks, and he nearly gaped because she had great eyes, and when she smiled like that, they could slay a man at ten miles. "So…" He struggled for something to say, something that would please her and keep that beautiful grin in place. "You own Wild Cherries?"
"Yep."
"Must be nice to be cooked for every day."
Now she laughed, the sound light and genuine. "The cook is moi. I serve, too, and we've been exceptionally busy, so I guess I should ask myself for a raise. My best friend, Lorissa, helps out, but still, we're usually crazed."
"I'm impressed," he said, loving the sound of her laugh as much as he'd enjoyed her smile. "I usually dial out for my meals. How do you do it all?"
"The café is small, as you saw, and we're only open for the midday and afternoon crowd, so it's not that hard."
"Which leaves you time to…"
"Oh, that's enough about me, I'm not that exciting." She cocked her head at him. "Let's hear about you."
It was a fact of life that women wanted to hear about him, but the thrill of the adoration had worn off years ago. He was the last thing he wanted to think about, much less discuss. "Trust me, I'm really not that exciting, either."
"Somehow I doubt that." She eyed the interior of his SUV. "You live well, you dress well. I'm guessing you also do something for a living pretty darn well."
"Not lately."
She took her eyes off the road and looked at him. "So you're rich and you do nothing?"
"Yeah."
She lifted a shoulder, unimpressed.
That was what he liked about her. Laid-back. Accepting. And for the first time in years, years, he found himself relaxing, just letting himself be, because with her there seemed to be no preconceived expectations. She wasn't a groupie, she wasn't trying to leech off his stardom, she wasn't anything but a woman just trying to make the best of a blind date.
He loved that. "I'm retired," he admitted. He waited for her to laugh, or drill him for more answers; in truth, she probably deserved them.
But she just nodded. "Must have been a good run before you called it quits."
"Yeah." A hell of a good run. His team had been infamous for being a tight-knit group and, of course, for their fondness of all things wicked. Sex scandals, gambling scandals, police scandals-name it, and his team had been there, done that. As team captain, Jack had taken the brunt of the fallout. The press had loved the Eels' antics, and they'd loved that Jack had hated them. In fact, after several libel lawsuits that his attorneys had filed and won, they'd joyfully labeled Jack Scandal Knight a prima donna.
He could bike twenty miles a day, bench-press another player and held numerous NBA records. Yet what did everyone remember him for? A frigging prima donna.
It had gotten so bad that the owners and coaches had clamped down on the team, punishing the players with curfews and brutal practices for even a hint of trouble.
It had been a year since Jack retired, and three years since there'd been any so-called scandal.
And still, even now, after all the hiding out, the press loved to hang him.
For being a prima donna.
That just killed him, truly killed him.
Retired life was definitely simpler than being in the NBA. He could avoid most things media-related-except when his sister needed his name to raise money. And since he'd gotten over the initial shock and letdown of not playing professionally, he'd been happier. Content.
And maybe just a tiny bit bored, he admitted.
He pulled off the Pacific Coast Highway and onto the plush grounds of the country club where tonight's event was taking place. Palm trees lined the half-mile-long driveway which skated past acres of perfectly groomed rolling grass hills overlooking the ocean. The sun was setting on the horizon like a half ball.
His date took one look at the country club as it came into view-the sprawling southwestern-style building set in an impressively lavish garden-and let out a sound that could have been either annoyance or amusement.
"Problem?" he asked, coasting into a parking space and turning to look at her.