“Night, Brooke,” I say.

  But when I end the call, I’m not tired. I’m amped up with thoughts of her, and us, and our deal.

  The deal I need to make good on. I pace in front of the window, staring at the dark sky, thinking.

  What makes Brooke tick in bed? Dirty words. They’re guaranteed to get her out of her head.

  That gives me an idea.

  What I need is a sex hack.

  17

  THE PROOF IS IN THE WHAC-A-MOLE

  Drew

  Silas taunts me ferociously on Tuesday at the High Score Arcade in Santa Monica. “Prepare to lose once again, Drew!”

  The seventh grade baseball player I’ve been battling in Whac-A-Mole is a tough competitor.

  “Don’t count me out yet.” I lift the mallet and send a wooden mole into oblivion.

  “Nope. You can’t catch up,” Silas says fiercely as I chase the vicious little moles in the game.

  The tenacious kid has soundly whipped my ass in every game of Whac-A-Mole tonight. His baseball team was a rag tag bunch of middle schoolers with old equipment playing on overgrown fields until the Mercenaries helped out through Every Kid, an organization that helps fund sports for underprivileged youth.

  As my round ends in another loss, I lift my hand. “Silas, you are the king of Whac-A-Mole,” I say, knocking fists with the young warrior. “Feel free to brag to all your teammates that you kicked my butt at Whac-A-Mole. Can you do that, my man?”

  He beams. “I can do that. Can you win again this weekend against the San Francisco Hawks?”

  I laugh, then clap him on the shoulder. “I’ll do my best.”

  He heads off to join his buddies, and I return to the arcade game for a quick solo round.

  As I clobber a mole, someone says in a pretty and familiar voice, “Careful. I hear we might ban Whac-A-Mole next.”

  Slamming the padded hammer down on the wooden weasel, I answer with a grin. “The GM runs a tight ship,” I say as the next mole submits to my speed with the hammer.

  “But Skee-Ball is still safe,” Brooke says.

  “Whew. I was worried,” I say, then sneak a glance at her.

  Damn. Brooke is so pretty. Her tight red dress hits above her knees, and she looks good enough to eat.

  All I want to do is kiss her. Go home with her. Take her out to breakfast and make her mine.

  And just like that, I know tonight’s the night to tell her.

  A dopey grin spreads on my face. The moles pop up and I don’t bother to hit them.

  “I thought you were a Whac-A-Mole pro,” she teases as she eyes the game board.

  “I was.” I dart my gaze around the arcade and drop my voice. “Then you walked over, looking like all my dirty dreams.” But she’s so much more than my bedroom fantasies. Gazing into her pretty brown eyes, I add, “And my daydreams.”

  Her breath catches. “Same for you,” she whispers.

  My body says kiss her. My heart says to do that too.

  The way I feel for her can’t be wrong. It blots out everything—the game, the rules, the team’s image. It erases all the reasons I need to be cautious.

  I inch toward her, and her eyes widen to saucer size. I freeze as she raises her chin, and mouths, “Smile for the camera.”

  In a split second, I turn and flash a grin at the photographer. Brooke smiles too, and the guy gives us a thumbs-up before he heads off to another group.

  “Whew,” she says. “That was close. I’m pretty sure you were trying to kiss me.”

  She doesn’t sound mad.

  She sounds…enchanted.

  “I shouldn’t have. But honey,” I say, meeting her soft gaze, “I’ve got it bad for you.”

  Her smile is radiant, full of passion and possibility. “Drew,” she says softly.

  “And I really want to find a way for us.”

  “A way to what?” she asks, that cautious side of her in full swing.

  “You and me,” I mouth.

  “You do want that?” she asks, hopeful.

  “I do.” I’m about to dive in, right there, and discuss what it’ll take—when Stephen swoops in and shakes my hand. “Great night. Great event. Couldn’t be more pleased. You?”

  I nod. “Everything is fantastic.”

  The older man glances from Brooke to me and back. Something inquisitive passes through his eyes, and I feel a flurry of nerves, like when I can’t find a receiver and I’m about to get sacked.

  Maybe I was getting ahead of myself with my feelings’ confession.

  But Stephen’s tone is relaxed as he says, “There’s a soccer player who’s keen for a round of Skee-Ball with the quarterback. She’s eight and very competitive.”

  “It is on,” I say, then head to the Skee-Ball games.

  A serious blonde in a soccer jersey hands me a ball. “You go first,” Phoebe says with a tone loaded with gravitas.

  “Nope. Ladies first,” I say, and with a small smile, Phoebe agrees, taking the ball.

  “I’ve been practicing. I go after soccer games. If I don’t become a pro soccer player, I’m going to play Skee-Ball.”

  “Those are some excellent goals,” I say.

  We play a few rounds, and I do my best to keep it fair. But it’s hard to check my competitive nature at the door.

  Then, I play a round with Brooke, and I clobber her. That’s kind of weirdly satisfying. But afterward, she gestures to the exit. “I have a late call with a supplier I need to take from home. But it was good to see you,” she says, and briefly a look passes between us—one that says it was so good to see you tonight.

  When she leaves, I watch her go longer than I should. As my gaze lingers, Stephen returns to me with the head of Every Kid.

  We chat for a while about some of the work his organization has done to expand sports access, and when we’re done, Stephen pulls me aside.

  “We have a press tour coming up to show some of the bloggers and podcasters around the stadium—those who don’t usually come in person to cover the games. We’re showcasing the new food booths, do a tour, then some photos. Any chance you’d want to join in? It’d be great to see you there,” he says, ending on an upbeat tone.

  My calendar is getting full, but I should be able to fit in a tour and some pics. Besides, it’s the right thing to do, especially with the way the Mercenaries are treating me.

  “Absolutely,” I say.

  I play a few more rounds with the kids, and soon, the stars are winking in the sky.

  When the event winds down, I find my phone blinking with a note.

  Brooke: Want to come over? I made this.

  There’s a mouthwatering photo of chicken and cauliflower drizzled in cheese, with brussels sprouts on the side, and I want to lick the phone.

  Drew: Your food porn worked. The answer is yes. But where’s the pic of your legs?

  Brooke: I knew the food porn would be enough to lure you here.

  Drew: You were wrong. I’m coming for you. But also, the food.

  Brooke: I was right.

  I grab a Lyft and go, ready to try my sex hack and perhaps devise a romance one too.

  18

  HIS SEX HACK

  Brooke

  My call was over in all of five minutes, so I used the unexpected free time to whip up a quick dish, then Rachel stopped by on her way home from work.

  She lives a few blocks away, and I’ve caught her up on all the man things in my life.

  Now, she cinches a necklace at the back of my neck. “There,” she says as I let my hair fall and then spin around to face her in the kitchen. “So cute. Do you like it, Brooke?”

  As the cauliflower dish cools, I peer in the camera on my phone, admiring the sparkly chain with the silver charm—three little books stacked together. She saved it for me when it arrived at her nearby boutique earlier today.

  “It’s fantastic,” I say, but it reminds me of Drew, and my stomach swoops with unexpected nerves.

  Or maybe this feeling is expected, knowing Drew will be here soon.

  I set a hand on my belly.

  She eyes me curiously. “You okay?”

  “Just feeling…I dunno. Vulnerable?”

  “If you decide not to tell him how you feel tonight, that’s fine too.” She squeezes my arm. “Do it in your time, okay?”

  I’m such a worrier. So risk averse. “It’s too soon, right?” I squeak. Am I ready to brave the I’m falling for you conversation?

  “Brooke, who am I to decide how soon it is? Feelings are feelings,” she says. “You figure them out in your own time. Not anyone else’s.”

  “But especially after Sailor.” I fiddle with a dish towel. “Maybe it’s too soon to trust someone else.”

  Even though Sailor and I split nearly a year ago.

  Rachel shakes her head emphatically, her chestnut hair flying. “Just because your ex was a cheater doesn’t mean a damn thing about this guy.”

  I finger the charm. “It’s all a lot easier in books.”

  “Maybe,” she says with a sympathetic smile. “But sometimes you just want to live your own story, you know?”

  What if it’s not about the timing? Maybe I’m the obstacle, my own worries, my mistrust, my fear of getting hurt again holding me back. Yes, Drew and I have our challenges. Is the biggest one…me?

  “Ugh. Stop being wise.” I shoo her out with a potholder and shut the door. Then I rest against it, thinking over the last few weeks of getting to know Drew.

  Something deep and true is happening between us.

  He said as much tonight. I’ve been feeling it too. Which seems wild and risky, but also, it’s so real.

  I return to the kitchen, checking on the chicken dish as it cools. After I set out utensils and napkins, I settle in at the counter and dive back into my new book, a romance novel that Rachel turned me onto—Top-Notch Boyfriend. The opening hooked me, and I’m eager to dive back in.

  But I can’t stay focused on the pages. Even though books have always been my escape, I can’t seem to run from this drumbeat in my heart. It’s loud and insistent, telling me to ask for what I want.

  It’s telling me to take a chance.

  To ride the wave.

  To put myself out there.

  Seconds later, the doorbell rings, and I race to the door, ready to blurt out, I want to try.

  But Drew’s faster. “Bed. Now. I’m making good on our deal right fucking now, then the next night and the next and the next.”

  I blink, then just rasp out a yes.

  My normal sex worries swim up once I’m on my back on the bed, but not like they used to. Not as loud. Not as annoying.

  “I’ve got you tonight,” Drew whispers as he climbs over me, his voice smoky as he smothers my neck in kisses. My neck is his playground, and he covers it in caresses, gentle kisses, then hungrier nips.

  When he presses his lips to the hollow of my throat, my stomach flips. Then he moves down my body, pushes up my skirt, and pulls down my panties.

  He groans in appreciation, then he moves back up me, grabs his phone from the mattress and his earbuds too. “I’ve got a sex hack for you. Put these on. I know you like dirty talk, and my mouth is about to be occupied with your sweet pussy.”

  It takes a beat to register what he’s done, but then I get it. I smile wickedly as I pop in the earbuds.

  A few seconds later, he’s talking to me in my ears as he moves down my body.

  Oh.

  Wow.

  That feels so good.

  Then it’s even better when the recording he made of his own sexy voice plays.

  You’re so slick and wet. You taste so fucking sweet.

  He kisses me.

  Rock those hips against my face.

  I obey, arching into him. He kisses me ravenously, licking sensual lines up and down.

  I fucking love burying my face between your thighs.

  The pleasure sharpens as he spreads my legs wide, kissing me deeply, passionately.

  I want to make your legs shake, your knees weak. Want you to tremble as I kiss you between your legs and fuck you with my tongue.

  I moan from his words, from his touch, from his hands, from his mouth. The erotic overload drowns out my worries, replacing them with pure lust and joy as I arch against him, running my fingers through his hair.

  I’ve gotten off to this so many times. I jack off to you in the shower.

  Sharp, hot pleasure thrums through me.

  Want you to come on my face.

  I want that too. So badly. I’m so close.

  Fuck, honey. You taste so fucking good.

  Pressing his hands on my thighs, he spreads my legs wider, then drapes them over his shoulders.

  Gripping the strands of his hair harder, I tug him closer still. My belly tightens, and I near the edge.

  Then, I’m chanting oh God, oh God, oh God over and over as I rock my hips into his face, curl my hands tight around his head, and shatter beautifully.

  I come undone on his lips in a wild frenzy.

  He figured me out. He cracked the code with his sex hack, and I feel so damn good about the chance I want to take with him.

  19

  THE GLOAT

  Drew

  I’m feeling pretty cocky as I devour the food porn. I laugh, shaking my head with each bite of the cheesy chicken and cauliflower.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  I wiggle a brow. “Just thinking that I made you come hard.”

  “And that makes you gloat?”

  “Fuck yes,” I say, then I dive in for a kiss. “I thought about our deal a lot. I wanted to give you what I’d promised. And it helps that I think about you naked pretty much all the time.”

  “Were you thinking about me naked at the Skee-Ball machine?” she asks as she takes a forkful of the dish.

  I laugh. “Oh yes. I saw you, and I undressed you mentally. Hope you don’t object,” I say.

  She dips her face, shaking her head.

  She clearly enjoys the sexy compliments, but I don’t want to dwell in sexy land. “You know I want more than the sex,” I say, setting down my fork. “I want to give you a kiss when you show up at the Whac-A-Mole game. Put my arm around you in between Skee-Ball rounds. Take your hand in mine as we leave together.” I hold her gaze and tell her, “I don’t want to sneak around, Brooke.”

  Her brown eyes sparkle, emboldening me to go on. To share my heart. God, I hope she returns these feelings. “I was going to ask if we could make a go of things in the off-season, but—fuck it. I want you now. I’ll do whatever it takes for us to make things work. Do you want to?”

  “I do, but I worry too,” she says, fingering her necklace.

  “I know you do.” I’m the gambler between the pair of us. I take chances for a living. I can lend her some of my faith and confidence. “Would it really be such a bad thing if we were together? I thought so at first, wondering how it would look if anyone found out I come over here at night. But we’re not just messing around anymore.”

  “We’re not,” she says, emphatic.

  Yes. Fucking yes.

  “And that’s why I don’t think the player and the executive is such a bad look after all. I’m just a twenty-eight-year-old guy who’s got his shit together and wants to go out with a woman he works with—a woman who has her act together too,” I say, taking her hand.

  “Imagine if the press found out I—gasp—am teaching you to cook?”

  “Or if they heard we saw a cute sports flick together?” I say drily.

  “And how about that time”—she goes full-cringe—“we went for a walk?”

  “The paps would have a field day, especially over the chicken and cauliflower.”

  She threads her fingers through mine, grinning confidently now too. That fuels me, pushes me on to seal my case.

  “The team is strong. We’ve played like rock stars, and this secret thing hasn’t hurt me on the field at all so far this season.” I can’t mask the hope in my voice. “Plus, did you see how Stephen looked at you, then at me tonight? It was almost like he was pleased to see us together.”

  Her mouth curves in a conspiratorial grin. “He seemed intrigued. Curious.” She licks her lips and shrugs happily. “I don’t know what’s next. But I want to try with you.”

  I pop up from the stool, cup her cheek, and kiss her.

  Then, we make a plan. She’ll feel him out at work. We’re supposed to have dinner with him at a new restaurant in Venice tomorrow night. We’ll tell him then, together.

  Then, my gaze drifts down to her necklace again. That’s new. I touch the book charm. “Where’d you get this?”

  “My friend Rachel brought it over for me. She owns a jewelry shop and thought of me when it came into her store. ”

  “Because you love to read,” I say.

  “Yes, but it also reminded me of the day I met you.”

  “When you were doing one of your favorite activities,” I say, smiling.

  “Yup. But let’s do another one of my favorite activities now.”

  I toss her over my shoulder and carry her to the bedroom.

  20

  HOW TO SAY MASTERMIND

  Brooke

  As I park in the stadium lot in the morning, Cara’s name blinks on my phone.

  I answer right away, jumping at the chance to poke fun at my hearts-and-flowers sister. “Are you calling to tell me about your latest amazing date with Patrick?”

  She’s been seeing him since the night at the movies, and everything is the best. “Gah. Yes. He’s so sweet,” she says, then tells me about the game of mini golf they played last night. And mini golf isn’t even a euphemism.

  “I haven’t heard you like this about a guy in, well, ever,” I say.

  “He’s funny and smart, and he’s kind of smitten too.”

  Cara deserves a good guy. Her college boyfriend was a leading candidate for Toxic Love. He smothered her, constantly calling and texting, showing up unannounced—in short, stalking her.