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.

  “So Patrick’s attentive, but not too much?” I ask carefully.

  “Just the right amount. I swear,” she says. “He gives me space when I need it, and he’s around when I want him to be.”

  “Good. I’m glad. I worry about you,” I say as I pull open the door to the front office.

  She snorts. “Understatement of the year.”

  I bristle. “I’m allowed to worry about my baby sister.”

  “And I appreciate it, but I swear everything is good. Now…what about you and Drew? I haven’t said anything to Patrick about you two…” But the way she trails off makes it sound like she wants to.

  “Good,” I say, then take a deep breath. “But maybe soon it won’t have to be secret.”

  Wow, that felt strange to say, and a little uncomfortable, but only because I’m getting used to the idea of not hiding.

  I hope.

  “Really? Are you guys going to do this for real?”

  “We’ve talked about it,” I say softly, floating the idea out loud since I’ll have to float it to Stephen any second now.

  “What are you going to do?”

  I’m flying blind here, but I’ve given it a lot of thought in the last twenty-four hours. “I want to talk to my boss. Try to understand what’s possible. I know how to ask things without implicating myself or Drew.”

  “I’m rooting for you,” she says, her enthusiasm loud and clear.

  I thank her, then say goodbye and head inside. Once I reach my office, I settle in with the employee handbook, digging into any guidelines on employee-player relationships. There’s not much in here—the only guideline is that dating a co-worker should be disclosed to human resources.

  I’ll start with my boss.

  I take a deep, fueling breath, push back in my chair, and stand up so I can find Stephen.

  Only, there’s no need to track him down. The tall, shrewd man is knocking on my open door. My stomach dips. I’m hardly ready. Do I say, Hey, what would you think if I dated the quarterback? Or maybe, Stephen, I have a funny story to tell you involving a paddle board oar, a margarita, and me.

  “Come in,” I say instead.

  He closes the door behind him and chooses the chair across from my desk. “About last night…”

  I sit up straighter, nerves tightening. “The Every Kid event?”

  Did he overhear our sweet nothings at Whac-A-Mole? Cold fear seeps into my bones. Just because I was about to march into his office for a heart-to-heart doesn’t mean he’ll rubber stamp my plan.

  My messy, unformed plan.

  What the hell is my plan, anyway?

  All my clarity slinks out the door. I need this job. I have loans to pay off. Drew needs to have a good season. The team is rehabbing its image.

  What am I doing?

  “You and Adams,” Stephen adds.

  A weight lodges in my chest. Keeping a blank face, I wait for him to say more.

  Stephen clears his throat. “Did I pick up on a vibe?”

  “What vibe do you mean?” I ask evenly.

  He spins his phone around, slides his thumb across the screen.

  My body is a high-tension line as he shows me a photo from last night on a sports gossip site. The shot is of Drew and me talking by the Whac-A-Mole.

  Flirting, really.

  But the caption reads: Mercenaries QB playing a boardwalk game with the team’s attorney.

  Like the site thinks we’re cute?

  Stephen’s gray eyes flicker with Machiavellian delight. “Fun pic, right?” He swipes the screen again and displays another. “Just like this one the reporter found.”

  He shows me a picture I’ve seen before—the one taken at the first event at the hotel, in front of the Young Athletes banner for the charity. Here they are last month at the Young Athletes event. Hmmm ☺

  “And that gave you a vibe?” I ask, stripping emotion from my voice until I’m sure what he’s after.

  “A vibe and an idea,” he says. “Especially when I came across this shot.” He hands me the phone once more. I gulp. The picture of the four of us leaving Fake Play is new to me. Looks like it was taken from a distance. Was a photographer stalking Drew that night?

  The caption reads QB and friends seeing fake romance movie.

  “Where’s that from?” I ask, wildly curious.

  Stephen shrugs. “Just some fan. Someone was eating at Ruby’s Taco Truck, then posted this shot of you guys too,” he says, like those details don’t interest him.

  It seems Stephen’s not interpreting the handbook the same way I am, and his interpretation is the one that matters.

  “We ran into each other. I was with my sister, and he was with his friend, so we all saw the movie together,” I explain, feeling like I’ve been called into the principal’s office.

  And I’m doing a horrible job telling Stephen I want to date Drew. I’m backpedaling. I’m untelling him.

  I am the worst.

  He waves a hand dismissively. “That’s all fine. The fake romance movie and the pics got me thinking. You two seemed like a real couple. And I thought, wouldn’t it be great if they were together? This happy couple on the team. Maybe even going to dinner tonight in Venice Beach.”

  Ohhhhh.

  Is he saying what I think he’s saying?

  “I thought we were having dinner with you tonight?” I want to be crystal clear on his meaning.

  “You can take my reservation. Just the two of you. Let me be blunt, Brooke.” He clasps his hands together. “With all the shit this team went through last year, this potential love affair is looking to be a bright spot—the quarterback playing Skee-Ball with kids, and then with the woman he likes at a charity function. An upstanding, respected attorney. What a delightful story. Co-workers falling for each other. It made me think if I were writing a movie script, I’d craft this kind of romance because the press is eating it up.”

  Oh, my stars. That’s why he sounds so…delightfully calculated. He wants me to date Drew? Or wait. Does he want me to fake date him? “So you want me to pretend date him? Or date him for real?”

  Stephen smiles devilishly. “What a great idea you just had.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “But make it seem real.”

  But it is real.

  I try to make those words pass my lips, but he heads for the door, checking his watch. “I’ve got a call. The reservation is at eight under my name, and I’ll adjust it for two. Look natural if someone takes your pic. There’s little the public loves more than when the squeaky-clean quarterback wins the heart of a good woman, so carry on. There’s even that press tour next week of the new food booths here at the stadium. He’ll be there. You’ll be there. I’ll make sure HR knows, so everything’s on the up and up,” he says as he walks away, dropping the mic and leaving me to fake-date the quarterback with his blessing.

  Or real date?

  I don’t even know which one. Or if it matters. But I know this—I’m expected to be seen with him tonight at eight.

  I sink into the chair, shell-shocked, trying to figure out how in the hell that happened. Then I open my phone to send Drew a text.

  * * *

  Brooke: So, this is an unexpected twist. Stephen got a vibe from us, he said. He wants us to be fake dating. Or maybe he thinks we’re real dating. It doesn’t matter. I was so shocked when he told me he thinks we’re adorable together and that it’d be a great idea if we were together.

  * * *