She smiles. “Only if you have a soundtrack for me.”

  That evening, I’m in my favorite place. On Brooke’s bed, my hands sliding along her soft thighs as I devour her, making her lose her mind to pleasure.

  She arches and writhes against me, swearing like a dirty woman who loves sex.

  I am having the time of my life.

  I grip her ass as I go down on her, determined to take her over the edge.

  Seconds later, she’s gripping my skull and coming undone with a loud cry.

  I slow my pace, kiss her once more, than wipe a hand across my mouth. When she blinks open her eyes, she looks dazed and blissed out. She takes out her ear buds. Smiles. Sighs. Flops her head back on the pillow. “Wow.”

  “Wow to you,” I say, then press a kiss to her belly.

  She laughs again, then pushes up on her elbows, wicked deeds in her eyes.

  “My turn,” she says, so eager and hungry.

  She is my woman. My perfect match.

  “I like the sound of that.” But first I bring her close, kiss her cheek, then say, “You’re the streak I don’t want to break.”

  EPILOGUE

  ANY TIPS FOR ME?

  Drew

  Brooke comes to my game that weekend.

  That’s not surprising. She’s been to all my home games. But this time, she sits on the fifty-yard line with Patrick and Cara. When I run out to the field, I wave to her.

  She waves back then points to her jersey. Number Eight.

  I love it, I mouth, then add, I love you.

  Then, I play ball. In between possessions, Gabe and I kick the hacky sack, keeping up his ritual.

  And by the end of the game, we’ve returned to our ritual—winning.

  As victory flashes on the scoreboard, I high-five the guys. Last weekend is behind me. I don’t have to be perfect all the time. I just have to try my best.

  These guys know I do that. I play hard for them, for the fans, and for the whole city.

  But also for the woman I love.

  After I chat with a sideline reporter, I run over to Brooke, kiss her, then pull her into my arms on the field.

  “I told you so,” I say with a smile.

  Rolling her eyes, she laughs. “Yes, Drew. You sure did.”

  I pepper her with more kisses, so damn glad she’s here and that I can kiss her freely at last in front of anyone and everyone.

  But there’s someone I want her to meet.

  My family heads into the café first, and I let the door close behind them. I reach for Brooke’s hand, squeeze it. “I’m pretty excited for you to meet my mom,” I say.

  “News flash—me too.”

  We walk in together. When I find my mom at a table, I smile and Mom waves back, then stands up.

  “Mom, I want to introduce you to my girlfriend,” I say.

  “The one you were wrong about when you didn’t think you could have love and football?” she asks innocently.

  That sounds awfully familiar.

  “Mom! Are you reading the gossip about us?” I ask. That’s exactly what I said to Brooke before the stadium tour.

  She rolls her eyes. “Sweetheart, everyone knows.” She extends a hand to Brooke. “Thank you for putting up with him.”

  My girlfriend laughs. “It’s truly my pleasure.”

  When Mom looks away to check on my sisters, Brooke winks at me and whispers, “It is my pleasure.”

  Then, before we sit, I tug her back and whisper, “I’m spanking you later for that.”

  “I should hope so,” she says.

  Over dinner, I ask my mom if she has any game tips for me.

  “Yes.” Mom looks to Brooke, smiles sagely. “Don’t let her go.”

  I don’t plan to.

  ANOTHER EPILOGUE

  ALL OF THE ABOVE

  Brooke

  Springtime

  The sun warms my shoulders as I turn the pages in my new book.

  It’s a perfect day to bask on the beach and enjoy the ocean breeze. When I finish a chapter in the new Rhys Locke spy novel, I set down the book and gaze out at the water as boarders ride the waves.

  “Your paddle boarding days are well and truly over,” I say to Drew, a little sad for him.

  But it’s hard to stay sad when life is so good.

  Including days like this. He’s by my side, reading too, and he sets down his book. “Oh, well. At least I was able to hit the waves when it mattered.”

  I rub the back of his head with affection, picturing that fateful and wonderful day before the season started. “Back when I could save you.”

  He leans in closer, nuzzling my neck. “A dude in distress needs his damsel. Or really, his lifeguard surf angel nurse rock star goddess,” he says.

  There will be no more saving because paddle boarding is off-limits for Drew for a long time now.

  As in, the next five years. After he finished the season with a 13–5 record and took the team to the championship series, the Mercenaries signed him to a five-year contract with a no-trade clause. His agent is quite a dealmaker, and Drew took Maddox and me out for a fantastic dinner in Venice Beach a few months ago to celebrate. Then, Maddox told us that he’s leaving to join a new agency and he wants to take Drew with him.

  Drew’s answer was pure Drew—you’re not getting rid of me, buddy.

  “Good. I don’t want to get rid of you,” he’d said.

  I’m not surprised. Maddox takes good care of my guy, and I appreciate all he does. He’s become a friend too, and we often share reading recs and hit the bookstore in Venice together, since he lives here too. I can’t wait to hear what happens when he starts his new gig, and if it opens new doors for him.

  Maybe even to love.

  Or perhaps I just have romance on my mind.

  And happy endings, since the Mercenaries love Drew, just like the fans do.

  But not as much as I do.

  He might belong to the team, and he might belong to the city, but in the morning, and then later at the end of the night, Drew belongs to me. You might even say we have two-a-days. He moved in with me a few months ago, and when he comes home from practice, we cook together. Or we talk. Or we fuck.

  Sometimes, we do all of the above.

  Who am I kidding? Most nights, we do all of the above.

  Tonight, though, we’re going to the pier to play some games. It’s kind of our thing—Skee-Ball and Whac-A-Mole and movies. And talking endlessly about all of them.

  We pack up as the sun fades, then after I shower and change, we head to Santa Monica.

  Out on the pier, as the moon rises in the spring sky, I take him on in a game of Whac-A-Mole. “I will reign victorious,” I shout.

  I raise the mallet to pound one of the critters, but I don’t see Drew.

  Where did he go?

  When I spin around, mallet in hand, I gasp.

  He’s on one knee, a velvet box in his hand, his hazel eyes flickering with vulnerability and hope.

  Is this real?

  My heart thunders. My bones sing.

  Yes, this is so damn real I’m trembling with happiness already.

  “Brooke Holland, I love playing games with you every day and every night,” he says, his tone solemn and full of tenderness too. I’ll remember the way he sounds right now always. “You challenge me, you make me a better man, and you make me so damn happy.”

  “You make me so happy too,” I say, my voice breaking with joy.

  “Will you be my wife?”

  My heart climbs up my throat as I nod over and over, and I just can’t stop. “Yes, yes, yes. I would love to marry you.”

  When he flicks open the box, a brilliant diamond shines brightly at me as the moon glows on the stone. “It’s perfect for you,” he says reverently.

  I sink to the ground as he slides it on my finger. “You’re perfect for me,” I say, emotions overflowing.

  He cups my cheeks, kisses my lips, then smiles—that blinding smile that caught my eye the day I met him. That holds my attention every morning and every night.

  Then he says, “I guess some guys do have all the luck.”

  Gabe’s epilogue

  I still can’t believe the shit that just went down with my ex. Hours later, out with my buddies playing poker, and I’m reeling a little bit in shock. But I’m damn grateful too that it’s all over, even in spite of that awful ending.

  I shudder involuntarily at the memory of the way my ex stormed out of my home a few weeks ago, the horrible things she said. No — shouted. For my whole building to hear.

  Then, as Drew asks if I’m all in on this hand, I shake off the memory. Screw exes. “I’m definitely in,” I say, then slide another chip into the pile on the table at The Happiest Hours, a bar in Venice — home of my so-called Free At Last party the guys are throwing me.

  While we toast to moving on, I vow to focus on my one true love — football. This is my last year in the NFL and I don’t need anything keeping me company but the game.

  I clink glasses with the guys, and as Drew shuffles the deck to deal the next round, my gaze strays to the window where a sexy-as-sin brunette chats on the phone as she walks a little dog down the street.

  The woman’s got a swing in her hips and a pouty fullness to her lips. She looks like a piece of candy, all effortlessly delicious in tight jean shorts, cut off and raggedy sexy, and a purple halter top that shows off her pierced belly. I’d like to peel that top off her, lick a path between her tits and down her stomach, then tug on her belly ring with my teeth.

  Even though I totally shouldn’t be thinking about that.

  As I stare unabashedly a little longer, she starts to look damn familiar.

  She reminds me vaguely of picnics, barbecues, Thanksgivings. Then, a Christmas party. A moment under the mistletoe, maybe.

  Wait.

  Hold the hell on.

  Is that…?

  No fucking way.

  Another memory flashes before me of Ellie Snow. One of the times I babysat her.

  THE END

  Find out what Gabe and Ellie are up to now when they meet again in the dirty, sexy, age-gap (she’s 26, he’s 36!), fake-dating romance The Good Guy Challenge! But consider yourself warned! This book might be one of my hottest ever! GRAB THE GOOD GUY CHALLENGE! Maddox’s story is coming in TURN ME ON, a red-hot wildly forbidden romance!

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  Harlow…

  I move closer, jutting out a hip against the side of his desk.

  Like he’s fighting not to but can’t resist, his eyes travel up and down my legs. Good thing I like wearing skirts as much as he likes looking at my legs. “Did Carlos get you that intro? To Fontaine?” I ask, prompting him.

  “He’s still working on it.”

  I smile, but it’s a small one so I don’t let on how thrilled I am that Carlos hasn’t quite come through. “Then, what are you doing tomorrow night?” I ask.

  For a second, he startles. I’ve surprised him. Good. He’s the most pliable when he’s off-kilter. “I’m working,” he answers.

  I shake my head, then pop up on his desk, perching my butt on the edge. “No, we’re going to the Petra gallery. There’s an exhibit. Allison Fontaine is a silent partner in the gallery.”

  It’s like watching a sunrise, the way his smile spreads, slow and unstoppable. “You’re too indispensable,” he says, like he’s amazed with me.

  Good. I want to amaze him.

  “I got us on the VIP list,” I add.

  “You did?”

  “I did.”

  “You’re incredible.”

  I go for the kill. Crossing my legs. Leaning a little closer. “I wanted to do this for you.”

  His breath comes in a staggered breath. “Harlow,” he says, a low warning.

  “We can go together,” I say, pushing more. I’m not letting this chance pass me by.

  “Together?” He asks, like he’s never heard the word, never uttered it.

  I slide my palm further across his desk. I’m at a sharper angle now. The kind that shows off hips, and curves, and breasts. All the places he wants to touch me. “Yes, like a date,” I say, and I should be nervous.

  But I’m not. I’ve been working up to this moment for more than three years. I’m simply ready for my gift.

  “This is a bad idea,” he warns.

  He’s wrong. It’s not a bad idea at all. “Are you sure about that?”

  Another harsh breath. His eyes close. The man is at war. Well, some men need to chase. I sit up, hop off the desk, head to the door.

  The wheels of his chair squeak.

  In no time, he’s up too, grabbing my wrist, yanking me around, and jerking me against him.

  My wrist tingles. My body sings.

  He glares at me, fire in his eyes. “You have done nothing but tempt me for the last two weeks,” he hisses.

  An accusation. And also the truth.

  “Good,” I whisper, in a taunt.

  “Why the fuck are you tempting me?” He bites it out, but it’s not a question for me. It’s for the universe. It’s rhetorical.

  Portrait of a man breaking. It’s happening. Before my very eyes. This is art, and I love it.

  My pulse beats wildly fast.

  But I’ve been patient. I’ve waited for my chance. I stay patient.

  He will bend. He will break. “Am I, Bridger? Am I that tempting?” I ask.

  And I wait for his reply…

  You can order THE RSVP everywhere!

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  WORTH THE RISK

  A PATRICK AND CARA EPILOGUE

  Chapter One

  Patrick

  You think you’ve got it together. That you can give your buddy hell about anything and everything. That you’re too cool to be affected by things like crushes, and then whammo.

  You see a woman who takes your breath away.

  When I walk into the movie theater, I try not to gawk at the gorgeous blonde at the popcorn counter.

  I’m sure I’m failing.

  I have to be failing.

  But fuck it.

  I’ll fail.

  Her jeans celebrate her legs like they were made to praise her figure. Her V-neck blouse dips dangerously low over the curve of her breasts but not low enough all at the same time. Her rosebud lips are divinely kissable, and maybe I’m having a religious experience because I want to worship at the altar of her body all night long and into the next day too.

  Then her eyes meet mine and fuck it. I’m a goner.

  Consider me officially in a state of crush.

  Finally, I turn my attention back to my friend, but it seems he’s also been converted to the Church of Babeism. Drew’s gaze has snagged on the woman in the pink dress—the one who posed by the banner with him at the meet and greet. She smiles at him.

  “Hey, Adams,” Brooke says to my buddy. “Good to see you.”

  “And you too,” he says. But I’m staring stupidly at the other woman. Fortunately, I should be looking at her since Brooke is introducing her. “This is my sister, Cara.”

  And the pretty blonde with the button nose shoots me a you’re busted look. “And you two must be the guys planning clown pranks,” she says.

  I desperately try to think of something witty to say, but I’m pretty sure I was giving Drew hell about a movie. Oh, and plotting clown pranks. Well, he was planning to send one to get me, and now this woman is going to know I am fucking afraid of clowns. Real cool, Patrick.

  But I go with it. I use…yup…clowns as an opening line. I adopt a serious look. “For the record, I am vehemently opposed to clown pranks. And to clowns.”

  She hums in understanding. “I get that. Completely.”

  “Well, clearly this was meant to be,” I say, hoping to make the best of our clown fear. “I believe we just clown bonded.”

  She laughs. “Yes. It’s totally a thing. Tell me more about your least-favorite clowns.”

  “The ones with red hair. Big noses and huge feet,” I say, moving next to her at the counter.

  She clasps her chest. “Those are my least favorite too.”

  Cara laughs, then says to Drew and me, “Are you two clowns heading to see Fake Play?”

  Oh, hell yes. Thank you, fate. “We are.” We’ve already clown bonded. Time to seize this chance. “Would you like to sit together? In case there are clowns or anything in the flick, we can support each other through it.”

  Cara sets a hand on her chest. “I was really worried about clowns in the movie, so that’d be great.”

  She turns to Brooke, asking if she’s okay with it, and when she says yes, I buy two popcorns.

  As Brooke and Drew catch up, I ask Cara if she’s seen Fake Play before.

  “It’s my sister’s favorite, so she’s forced me to watch it a few times.”

  “It’s not your thing?”

  “I like it…” she says, hedging.

  “But?”

  She looks guilty. “I’m a secret documentary geek.”

  Shut the front door. This is too much. Too perfect. “Me too.”

  She scoffs. “No way.”

  “You doubt me now?”

  “I mean, what are the chances we both like documentaries, and dislike clowns?”

  “True, true. Those are just signs of good taste. We won’t know unless we put this documentary like to the test. I might like military documentaries and you might like nature ones, and where would we be then?”

  She gasps. “You’re right. It’s the documentary quandary.” She shoots me a flirty look. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”