“He’s working so much, trying to make partner,” Amanda says. “He’s on the home stretch. They’re supposed to decide after the second quarter of this year.”

  “I’m so happy for you,” Corie tells her.

  “Do you know the gender yet?” Bellamy asks.

  “Not yet,” Amanda tells her. “We’re basically on standby until the baby is born. Any day now, in fact.”

  “We have to throw you a shower after he or she gets here.”

  Amanda smiles. “That would be nice, but you don’t have to. The mom is a young teenage mother, and she doesn’t want to know the gender. I think she’s trying to do everything she can not to get attached.”

  “I understand that,” Bellamy says. “She’s brave for making the choice that she has. I couldn’t imagine having to make that decision.”

  “My heart hurts for her,” Sloane says.

  “A hard choice for sure,” Rowan agrees.

  “I just want to hug her,” Corie says, wiping at her eyes, then laughing at herself. “Hormones,” she says, waving her hands in front of her face.

  “It’s a tough situation, but I’ll be forever grateful that she’s giving us this gift,” Amanda says softly.

  “Well, when our little one gets here, they can be best friends,” Landry says, before looking down at the sleeping baby in his arms. “They all will be.”

  “Uh, babe, we’re not pregnant,” Rowan reminds him.

  “We will be after tonight,” Landry says confidently.

  “I hate to break it to you, man, but it’s not always that easy.”

  “Sure, it is; just ask Baker.”

  Baker groans. “Not cool, Reynolds,” he says, as his eyes flash toward his son. That’s a story for another day, but he and Camden have Sloane in their lives now, and they’re both all smiles because of it.

  “Landry,” Rowan warns, her eyes flashing to Amanda.

  “Amanda, I’m sorry.” Landry frowns as he stands and goes to hug her, but she just smiles and waves him off.

  “It’s okay, really. I’m happy for you guys, and I want that for all of you,” she adds.

  Landry winks at her before turning back to us. “I’m just saying my swimmers are competitive.”

  “Cam and you go swimming?” Camden stands and rushes over to Landry. “Una Wandry swim?”

  Landry’s face falls. He hates to say no to Camden. I imagine when he and Rowan have children of their own, it’s going to be even worse.

  “Sorry, little man, it’s too cold to swim.”

  Cam sighs. “Cam hold baby,” he says, climbing up onto Landry’s thighs. Landry situates him before he places Alexander on his lap, holding both of them, but Cam thinks he’s doing all the work from the smile on his face. “Cam wuv you,” he says, kissing Alexander’s forehead, and the ladies all aww and coo, and I’m not going to lie, that shit hits me in the feels, as well. Kid’s cute as hell. They all are.

  Coral reaches out for Landry, and Knox raises his brow in silent question. “Bring her over.” Knox settles Coral on his lap and then helps move Alexander so that both big kids are holding Alexander while sitting on Landry’s lap.

  “Yeah, definitely going to need one of these,” Landry muses, smiling down at the kids.

  “Now who’s the baby hog?” I tease him.

  “Favorite uncle right here,” he boasts, and we all laugh at his antics.

  The guys and I start talking about the season. We’re all still riding the high of winning another championship. We’re on fire and hoping for another repeat next year. I don’t want to jinx us, but damn, wouldn’t that be nice?

  After eating way too much food, and we’ve all had a chance to snuggle all three kids, we say our goodbyes so that Knox and Corie can rest while the baby does. The ladies promise to come by during the week to drop off dinners, before we all file back out to our cars.

  The drive home is short, but when I pull into the driveway of my condo, there’s a car I don’t recognize, and the lights are on. Then I remember it’s Wednesday and the cleaning lady, Tiffany, is here today. Not that I’m a messy guy, but having someone dust, sweep, and mop and all that other shit is nice. I’m fortunate and spoiled, and I need the support more during the season, but I keep her on year-round. Tiffany is a lovely lady, married, with four kids, and the company I use sang her praises. She’s been cleaning for me for five years now, and I trust her in my space, something I was hesitant about at first.

  Pulling my car into the garage, I close the door before climbing out and heading inside. I take off my shoes in the mudroom and place them in one of the cubbies, just in case Tiffany has already mopped. I don’t want to add to her workload.

  Stepping into the kitchen, I freeze when I see an ass up in the air. An ass that I know is not Tiffany’s—no offense to her, but this ass looks tight and round and has my cock taking notice. I stand with my arms crossed over my chest while I wait for her to stand back to her full height. When she finally stands, she turns and sees me. She yelps, tossing the rag in her hands. I raise an eyebrow and manage to hide my smile.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, bending to pick up the rag, which gives me a clear view down the V-neck of her shirt. Her tits look to be a perfect handful. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?” I have a pretty good idea, but still, I need to ask the question. Besides, I like the flush that coats her cheeks at my question.

  She straightens her spine, her shoulders pulling tight as those big blue eyes lock with mine. “I’m Eden. I work for Dust ‘N Shine, and I’m taking over your account from Tiffany. Her husband’s job was transferred, and she had to quit unexpectedly.”

  “Why was I not notified?”

  “I’m not sure, sir,” she says, making my cock twitch in my jeans. “But I’m here. I’ll be here every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, just as Tiffany was. Also, just as with Tiffany, you are my only account, so if you need additional services, I’m available.”

  Fuck me. Why does my mind instantly rush to the gutter with the “extra services” she can offer me? I’m not that guy, and I certainly don’t hook up with employees. Even if technically, she’s not my employee, that’s still wrong. Don’t shit where you eat and all that.

  “I don’t typically need extra services.” I’m a quiet guy, living a quiet life. In fact, the guys are very rarely here. This place is just for me 99 percent of the time. A couple of times a year, I fly Nathan and Hope out for a visit and a game, but that’s it. The guys are my family, aside from Nathan and Hope. There’s no one to have over to make a mess, and despite my faults, I’m a pretty neat guy. You learn to be clean and tidy when you grow up in foster care. You don’t want to give the family whose house you’re living in any excuse to get rid of you, even if they find one anyway.

  “That’s what Tiffany said. She gave me her routine and told me to call her if I have any issues. You won’t even know I’m here, Mr. Vaughn.”

  I study her to see if she recognizes my name. She’s been in my home most of the day, if she’s truly keeping Tiffany’s hours, so I’m sure she knows I’m a professional athlete.

  “I like my privacy, Miss…” My voice trails off.

  “Miller. Eden Miller.”

  “Right. Miss Miller, I like my privacy. I’ll be following up with the agency to ensure all background checks and confidentiality paperwork have been executed.”

  “Oh, it has been.” She smirks as she turns to the kitchen counter and picks up a manila envelope. “Tiffany said you would want to see for yourself, so I made sure to bring a copy of everything with me.” She hands me the envelope, and I take it from her.

  I stare at those big blue eyes, and I know it’s time to flee. Why the fuck does my new housekeeper have to be sexy as fuck? “I’ll be in my office.” Turning on my heel, I stalk off to my office, where I plan to stay until the sexy Eden leaves.

  Plopping down in my chair, I take a deep breath and slowly exhale before pulling the contents of the envelope out and rifling through the papers. She passed her BCI and FBI background checks. Yes, they do both. She’s signed all the confidentiality agreements. It’s all here in black and white. And from what I could tell, walking through the living room, she’s doing a fine job—just as good, if not better than Tiffany, if the scent of the house has anything to say about it. It smelled clean and fresh. Maybe she uses different products. Whatever it is, there’s no reason to call the agency and have her removed.

  What would I even say? She can’t work here because my cock twitches in my jeans when I look at her? That I’m a thirty-two-year-old man who’s struggling with inappropriate thoughts? Yeah, can’t do that. It has to be a fluke. It has to be from spending the day with my friends and their wives, watching as their families grow. Something about that has me craving companionship.

  That’s all this is.

  To prove to myself that’s all this is, I stand and stalk back to the living room, planting my ass on the couch to watch SportsCenter. I ignore the beauty on her hands and knees, wiping down my lower cabinets in the kitchen. She’s just here to do a job. She has no effect on me.

  I’m doing great, focused on what the sports casters are saying, until she steps into the living room.

  “I’m all done with today’s list, Mr. Vaughn. Is there anything else I can do for you? Tiffany said that she sometimes cooks for you. Would you like me to do that before I leave?”

  “No,” my reply comes out harsher than I intended. “No, thank you,” I say, this time softening my words. “That will be all.”

  “Great,” she says brightly. “I’ll see you on Friday.” With that, she moves to the hallway, gathers her things, and disappears out the front door.

  Maybe it’s time to get laid. It’s been far too long. Grabbing my phone to text the guys, I freeze. They’re all married. The last thing they want to do is leave a warm bed with their women to grab a drink with me so I can find someone to lose myself in for a few hours.

  I toss my phone back to the couch. Honestly, I’m not feeling it anyway. What’s the point? It’s all empty. That’s why I stopped. Sure, the rush of an orgasm is great, but sex with a stranger is impersonal because I make it that way. I never kiss them, and on the rare occasion that I do hook up, I always take them from behind.

  It’s easier to detach that way.

  Standing, I move to the kitchen for a beer and strip down to my boxer briefs, letting my clothes fall to the floor. I’ll grab them on my way back inside. Pulling open the sliding glass door, I push back the cover on the hot tub and climb in. I enclosed the tub so that my neighbors can’t see. The guys keep telling me I need to buy a house in their neighborhood, but it’s just me. Why do I need all that space? This condo suits me just fine.

  This is what I needed.

  Just me.

  That’s all I need.

  Chapter Two

  Eden

  * * *

  My fingers grip the steering wheel as I pull my car into the parking lot of the grocery store. I’m supposed to be at work in twenty minutes, and it’s ten minutes from here. I’ve got some time, and I need a minute, because I’m about to be face-to-face with Foster Vaughn for the second time this week.

  Foster Vaughn.

  As in the professional football player. That Foster Vaughn. I didn’t know until I got to his place on Wednesday and saw all the football paraphernalia. I went straight home and looked him up. It didn’t take long for me to make the decision that I need to start watching football. It’s going to happen this year. I had no idea I was missing out on the eye candy. That mistake will be corrected as soon as the season starts.

  He’s my new boss—well, not really, but indirectly. The cleaning service I work for serves many high-end clients. There are lots of background checks and nondisclosure agreements we have to sign when we start. My last assignment was a musician who left Nashville for Los Angeles. I guess she’s switching genres, and Nashville isn't the spot for her anymore. She ended her contract with the company the same day Tiffany gave notice because her husband's job was transferred to Nebraska, so they’re moving.

  I was happy to have the new assignment. I was told I’d be working for a Mr. Vaughn. I’m to be at his place three days a week, and I’m free to do whatever else on my off days. However, if Mr. Vaughn requests extra services, the cleaning kind—get your mind out of the gutter—I have to be available. I make great money, and it’s an easy gig, for the most part. Very rarely do clients require extra services that end up in overtime, but if they do, the agency pays it without complaint. I can only imagine the bill that gets sent to the client. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not swimming in money, but I have a small one-bedroom apartment, a reliable car, and food in the fridge.

  Anyway, back to my new assignment. I didn’t know I’d be working for a Greek Adonis. The man is sexy as sin, and it’s the offseason. That means until football starts up again, I’m going to be spending a lot of time around him, assuming he’s home while I’m there.

  A quick glance at the dashboard tells me I’m about to be late if I don’t push this mental freak-out to the back of my mind and get moving. Shifting in my seat, I sit up a little taller, check my mirrors, back out of my spot, and pull back out onto the road. I’m a professional. I’ve been working this job for seven years, having started right out of high school. I was lucky they took a chance on me, and I’ve been working my ass off for them ever since.

  As I said, the pay and hours are good, and I don’t mind cleaning. Besides, I’ve been lucky. The majority of my assignments to date haven’t been too bad. Some dusting, laundry, cooking, a few errands here and there, sweeping, and mopping, the basics, and the houses are never that bad. I can’t imagine Foster’s will be either, since I’m coming three days a week. It seems excessive, but Tiffany said he was a dream to work for and assured me I would think so, too.

  Ten short minutes later, which feels as if one has barely passed, I’m pulling into the driveway of his condo. I have no way of knowing if he’s home until I go inside, and I can’t sit out here all day like a creeper. I have a job to do.

  Once I’m out of the car, I make my way to the front door. I turn the unlocked handle and step inside. Foster is standing at the kitchen island in nothing but a pair of sweats. His toned, tanned torso is on full display, and I swallow hard. I can’t be lusting after my pseudo-employer.

  Did I mention the gray sweats?

  I open my mouth to speak, but my voice is frozen. Clearing my throat, I try again. “Good morning, Mr. Vaughn,” I call out as I slip off my outdoor shoes, leaving them by the door and moving to the couch to change into my indoor-only shoes. Thankfully, the agency I work for provides everything we need.

  “Morning,” he says gruffly.

  “Would you like me to make you some breakfast?” I ask as he takes a long pull from his bottle of water. I might be watching the way his throat bobs with each drink. Maybe… possibly, but when he starts to speak, I quickly pull my gaze back to his eyes.

  “You don’t have to do that. I can manage.” His voice is gruff, as if he just woke up.

  I look around the house, which appears spotless, just as it was when I left on Wednesday evening. “I don’t mind,” I tell him, my eyes going back to his.

  “Have you eaten breakfast?” he asks.

  “Oh, um, I’m fine. I’m not much of a breakfast eater.” It’s true. Growing up in foster care, I was always on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak, and my belly was always in knots each morning, wondering if that was the day I was getting moved to a new family. I guess the habit of skipping breakfast has just stuck with me.

  He studies me, looking for the truth behind my words. Eventually, he nods. “I’m going to the gym.” He finishes off his bottle of water and tosses it into the recycling bin.

  “Right. Okay. Is there anything you need me to focus on today?” I have my list, but you never know when something else might need some extra attention, so I always like to ask.

  His gaze penetrates, as if he’s peering into my soul. “Just the usual,” he says, walking toward the stairs.

  “What about lunch or dinner? Can I make anything for you?” I ask as I plan my day in my head.

  He shrugs. “Sure, if you have time. Tiffany just did her thing, and if there was time left over, she would cook and sometimes bake.”

  “Do you eat baked goods?” I ask, and I can hear the surprise in my tone. Because from the looks of him, the man eats grilled chicken and green beans, with a side of water. He’s ripped, and I can’t imagine baked goods fit into that regimen.

  He chuckles. “I do, but I don’t live off them like my friend Landry. Reid gives Landry a run for his money, but those two, they’ll eat you out of house and home if you let them.”

  “Are they your teammates?”

  He tilts his head to the side, studying me, as if trying to decide whether I’m joking or testing him. “Do you really not know?”

  I shake my head. “No. I didn’t know who you were until I got here on Wednesday and saw all the football stuff.” I gesture toward the hallway where his office is. Heat creeps up my neck.

  Another long look follows. His brown eyes give nothing away. No surprise, no amusement, not even annoyance. Just a quiet, measuring calm that makes me suddenly aware of how uncomfortable the silence is. The air stretches between us, thick with something unspoken, and for a split second, I wonder if I’ve crossed an invisible line without realizing it.

  “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he finally says, before turning and taking the stairs two at a time.

  Huffing out a breath, I relax my shoulders. I don’t know why I’m so uptight around him. I’ve worked on assignments for famous musicians, athletes, models, songwriters, you name it. Foster Vaughn is the first ever to make me nervous.

  Deciding to start in the kitchen, I head there and wipe down the appliances and the counters. They’re already spotless, but I do it anyway. A few minutes later, Foster comes back downstairs, and we make eye contact. He nods once, then disappears into the garage.