It Takes a Rebel by Stephanie Bond

adopted an accommodating expression. "This and that, mostly traveling."
    "You back in town for good?"
    "Good question." Jack pushed his empty glass forward, loathe to engage in a drawn-out conversation. Where the devil was
    she?
    "Are you coaching?"
    "Nope."
    "Too bad, man. So what do you do?"
    "My brother and I run an ad agency in town."
    "Oh." The man nodded awkwardly, duly unimpressed. "You waiting for a dame?"
    "How'd you know?"
    "You got that hang-dog look."
    He shot him an irritated frown.
    "If you're interested," the man said, nodding across the room, "there's a sweet little redhead in the corner who's been trying to
    get your attention for a half hour."
    Intrigued, and nursing a fair amount of spite toward the tardy Alexandria, Jack turned to check out the woman in question,
    quickly assessing she had all the bare essentials: height, curves and—most importantly—proximity. He twitched an eyebrow in
    her direction and was rewarded with a toss of hair and a dazzling smile. The redhead picked up her drink and walked toward
    him, a deep inhale away from splitting the seams of her faded jeans.
    "Howdy," she drawled as she stepped up next to him at the bar.
    He nodded a greeting. Knowing he'd never remember her name, he simply didn't ask.
    She turned her back to the bar and leaned on her elbows. "You played football for UK, didn't you?"
    Jack smirked. "You don't look old enough to have followed my career."
    "I'm not. My father has an autographed picture of you in our rec room—it's been there since I was a kid."
    Feeling ancient, Jack picked at peanuts from a dish on the bar.
    "Buy me a drink?" she asked, pursing her bright pink mouth into a pretty pout.
    "Looks like you're still working on that one," he said, nodding toward the frozen pink drink she held that coincidentally
    matched her binding pink T-shirt.
    "I'm always planning ahead," she oozed, and leaned closer as she laughed. At a loss, he manufactured a laugh, too.
    "Did I miss something funny?"
    Jack jerked around to find Alex standing behind them, her dark eyebrows high. He straightened, feeling ridiculously guilty,
    and conjured up an innocent smile. "No, just making conversation." He tossed a few bills on the counter, nodded to the
    redhead, then turned back to Alex. "Ready?"
    She nodded, but from the pinched look around her lovely mouth, she was feeling guilty about meeting him … which meant
    she was capable of bending the rules. He grinned at the prim set of her shoulders as she walked three steps ahead of him all the
    way to the reservations station.
    "What name?" the hostess asked.
    "Reddinger," Alex said.
    "Stillman," he said at the same time, which garnered a sharp look from his companion. At the hostess's perplexed expression,
    he added, "There's been a change from Reddinger to Stillman."
    Alex shot him a suspicious frown and he winked back. "Right this way."
    He fell into step behind Alex as the hostess led the way to their table. She'd bound her hair again into a tight little wad, but
    had changed to loose, black dress jeans that hugged her hips and a turquoise silk blouse that shimmered under the lights as she
    walked. More than one man stole a glance as she walked between tables. Jack picked up his pace, his hand hovering near her
    waist of its own volition.
    The hostess stopped at a secluded table for two near the enormous stone fireplace that held a fire, more for appearances than
    for heat. He beat Alex to her chair by a heartbeat and pulled it out for her.
    "Thank you," she said, sounding wary as she allowed him to scoot the seat beneath her.
    After handing them a wine list, the hostess disappeared, replaced seconds later by a waiter. "Good evening, Ms. Tremont,"
    he said, a genuine smile on his young face as he unfolded her napkin and draped it over her lap. But when he turned to Jack, he
    faltered a bit, obviously expecting someone else. So she and Reddinger were regulars, huh?
    "Rick, this is Mr. Stillman," Alex supplied. "He's a…" she