Hold Onto the Stars by Tracy Broemmer

Chapter 4

Violet Craine was perfect.

Just not for him.

Peyton bit back a surge of guilt. How did that work? On a blind date, if you weren’t into your setup, did you just excuse yourself and slip away? Well, no, he wouldn’t do that. He wasn’t attracted to Violet, and he suspected she wasn’t into him either, but he liked her. She reminded him of a girl he had gone to school with years ago with her platinum blond waves and big eyes.

They had launched into a conversation about the new playground equipment behind the school and eased smoothly into school sports, and now, they were sharing a plate of fries and talking about athletic scholarships versus academic scholarships while they waited on their dinners.

Peyton wondered what was wrong with him. Right now, he felt a kinship with Prince Charming. He was on a date with a pretty, intelligent woman who could carry on a conversation, and his mind kept roaming backwards.

To last Friday at Bender’s. And the girl beside him at the bar.

The Tigers fan.

He didn’t have the slightest idea who she was, but damn, did he want to find out. He imagined himself asking around about her—did anyone know a dark-haired woman with a ponytail pulled through the back of a Tigers hat and a smile that lit up a room? If only she had left something of hers at the bar so he could go on a quest to return it to her and sweep her off her feet in the process.

Like the prince and Cinderella.

“I mean, it’s not like I got a full ride,” Violet was saying when Peyton tuned back in. “But the money did help with school. Especially since my sister got married when I was a sophomore. My parents helped her pay for her wedding, and money was tight.”

“A couple of my friends played golf in school.” Peyton heard his voice before he realized he was going to speak. “One of them got a golf scholarship. Full ride. Went to grad school—”

“On scholarship?”

“No.” Peyton looked up as their waiter returned with their orders. Violet eyed her salad for a moment before picking up her silverware. “But he’s a geneticist now. He does something with chromosomes—”

Violet lifted her eyes to his and snorted. “As a geneticist does.”

Peyton grinned. “My point is, the other friend? She didn’t get a scholarship. She was a great golfer. Better than him. Her average score was in the low seventies. She went to the local college for a nursing degree. So, she’s an RN, but she’s got major student debt.”

Violet nodded. “What about you?”

“I suck, but I have clubs.” He peeked at her as he stacked his pickles on his burger. She laughed and rolled her eyes.

“School.”

“Mmm.” He nodded. “Got a little bit of money for my grades.”

Violet made a show of looking him over. She even leaned sideways on her stool to check out his legs under the table. “You can’t tell me you’re not an athlete.”

Peyton picked up his burger, but he held it for a second before taking a bite.

“I played soccer, but I had some major injuries my junior year. Wiped me out of my senior season and any hope of playing in college.” Because he was hungry and had no desire to share more of that story, he took a big bite and put his sandwich back on the plate.

“Tore my ACL when I was fourteen,” Violet announced.

“That sucks,” he agreed.

“So, Leslie says her kids are in love with your dog, and she’s packing them up to move in with you.”

Peyton laughed and shrugged. “That’s cool with me. And Junie would love it.”

“Junie being your dog?” Violet clarified.

“Yep. She’s a golden retriever.”

“My best friend had a retriever when we were growing up.” Violet’s eyes lit up. “His name was Jackson.”

“Have you always lived here?”

There was no shortage of conversation, so Peyton enjoyed the date. But there were no sparks. No free-fall feeling, no diving-into-the-deep-end, can’t-breathe feeling. Maybe if Violet had been the first woman he had met or seen—not counting Leslie, since she was married—he would feel differently.

Locking eyes with that Tigers fan in Bender’s a week ago had thrown sparks so far and wide, it was a wonder the bar hadn’t burned down. Peyton was pretty sure she’d felt it, too.

“So.” Violet cleared her throat. Dinners finished, both nearly at the bottom of their second beer, Peyton figured it was time to commit or cut loose. Fall in or friend zone. Interesting. He had never been in this position before, and he wasn’t the kind of guy to hurt someone. But what was worse? Shutting this down on the spot? Would that make Violet Craine feel bad? Or walking her out to her car, giving her a quick, chaste kiss, and letting a few days go by before she realized there wouldn’t be any phone calls?

“Please don’t ask me to dance.” He shook his head, eyes on the small crowd on the dance floor.

“You don’t dance?”

“Not much,” he admitted. He liked swaying to slow songs with a pretty woman in his arms, but he wasn’t going to say that to Violet.

“I’m not gonna ask you to dance, but how about a game of pool?”

Peyton clicked his eyes with hers. “You shoot pool?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “I’m in.”

Violet slipped off her stool and led him through small crowds to the pool tables. The music switched from Drake to Doja Cat.

“Thought there was a live band here tonight.”

“They don’t start until nine,” she answered. “We don’t have to stay.”

Peyton studied the scene for a moment when Violet stopped at the pool tables, all in use. It might be fun to shoot some pool and hear some live music. Leslie wasn’t wrong; he could use some friends.

“Hey!”

He snapped his attention to Violet when he heard the excitement in her voice. She was talking to someone with a pool cue in her hand—maybe checking to see how long the wait would be to play.

“Violet, do you want another beer?”

Violet spun around to look at him when he touched her arm. She grinned and nodded her head to the woman at her side.

“Yes. Peyton, this is my best friend, CJ.”

The woman standing beside her tipped her chin up, and dammit all, the oxygen in the room went up in flames when their eyes locked. No ball cap. Sexy skinny jeans rather than boxy khaki work pants. A blue tank top and a silver chain with a charm resting just close enough to her breasts that he probably shouldn’t look too closely. And long dark curls twisted into submission on the back of her head.

“CJ.” He nodded.

Her lips parted as if she was suddenly starved for air. Violet seemed blind to the electricity between them as Peyton reached to shake CJ’s hand.

“You’re the White Sox guy.” Her full lips eased into a smile as she curled her hand around his. While her skin was soft and warm, her grip was surprisingly firm.

Who needed a glass slipper or a title like prince? Peyton had agreed to a blind date and accidentally found the woman of his dreams.