“Oh, that’s terrible. Who would want to be the pot calling the kettle black? That’s like the worst thing anybody could ever say to you.”

  I sigh. “It’s not that, Katie. It’s just . . . I don’t know how to bring this out in the open and have it go well. All my work with him is predicated on this stuff not happening. Flings not happening. Risqué trysts not occurring. And he doesn’t exactly have a track record with relationships. Even if he said, ‘Hey, she’s my woman now,’ who’s going to believe him?”

  Katie shrugs and says softly, “I don’t know the answer to that.”

  “That’s the issue. The answer is that it likely wouldn’t fly. We’re trying to craft a more wholesome image, an image that helps him keep deals, not lose them.”

  Katie lifts her glass and nods thoughtfully. “Right, but you’re only focused on work, Jillian. Not on the fact that you might have actual feelings for someone.”

  I give her a sharp stare. “But isn’t that how forbidden relationships are always justified once you try to bring them out in the open? But I care about him. Like that exonerates people from responsibility. We couldn't hide it anymore.” I take another drink, trying to settle this tempest of emotions inside me.

  “No, but maybe there are rules worth bending.”

  I shake my head. If I bend, I’ll lose. If I bend even more, he could break my heart. I take a fortifying breath. I need to stay strong. “Even if we have actual feelings, it’s too risky for both our careers to be involved. Too often we think emotions give us carte blanche to excuse ourselves from right or wrong. Have an affair? It’s totally fine if you love the person you cheated with.”

  She arches a well-groomed eyebrow, her blue eyes zeroing in on me. “So you love him?”

  I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  But later, after she leaves, I have to ask myself what do I mean.

  Do my feelings for him run that deep? When we started working on the calendar, he was a pretty face, a delicious body, a flirt.

  That was all.

  He’s so much more now.

  So much deeper.

  Maybe it’s the two glasses of wine, or maybe it’s the J he made on the field.

  I take out my phone and send him a text.

  Jillian: Hey.

  Jones: Hey.

  Jillian: I feel bad about something.

  Jones: Don’t feel bad about trying to distract me with your hotness after the game, wearing that blouse I wanted to rip off with my teeth.

  A stupidly big grin forms, but I stick to my plan.

  Jillian: I would like to know how strong your teeth are. But in all seriousness, I feel bad because I know we said we were going to keep everything that happened in Miami a secret, but I told my best friend, Katie.

  Jillian: I’m so sorry, Jones. I feel terrible.

  Jones: So terrible you’d let me spank the terrible right out of you?

  I cross my ankles, laughing at his response. He’s always made me laugh. His sense of humor is one of the things I adore about him.

  Jillian: I guess I’m in very big trouble, then.

  Jones: So big that if you were here, I would bend you over my lap and swat that gorgeous heart-shaped ass of yours.

  I turn to my side, clutching the phone as if it’s the source of all the happiness in the world—or maybe just in my world.

  Jillian: I deserve it.

  Jones: I would smack you on one cheek, then the other, and you’d probably tremble all over because I’m pretty sure you like to be spanked.

  Jillian: Pretty sure? Don’t you know? You already spanked me. Also, you’re not annoyed?

  Jones: Woman, if you didn’t tell your best friend about me, I’d have been devastated. The fact that you told her makes me weirdly, stupidly happy.

  Jillian: Why?

  Jones: Because it means you like me enough to tell a girlfriend. Now, please don’t interrupt my spanking fantasy again. Because I’d like to put you on all fours, bite your ass, and nibble my way down your legs. I’d nip your right ankle, then your left, then I’d lick my way up your other leg to that absolutely delicious spot between your thighs where I know you’re already wet and aching for me.

  More like on fire. I wriggle around on the bed, murmuring his name.

  Jillian: How did you know the top two adjectives to describe how I feel right now? Wet and aching are shockingly accurate.

  Jones: Because I’ve touched you enough to know what turns you on.

  Jillian: What turns me on?

  Jones: You like it when I kiss you like it’s something I’ve been wanting to do for years. You like it when I go down on you like you’re the hottest thing I’ve tasted. And you go out of your mind when I fuck you like there’s nothing I want more in the world.

  Like that, I’ve entered a state of reckless arousal. I moan so loudly I’m sure my neighbors can hear, and I don’t care. I ache for him. I long for him.

  Jillian: If you’re looking for me, my phone officially caught fire and melted.

  Jones: Good. So I was right?

  Jillian: You’re more than right, and I don’t think we’re doing a very good job at staying apart.

  Jones: Are you in my house right now?

  Jillian: Sadly, no.

  Jones: Then, as far as I’m concerned, this is staying apart. No one ever said I couldn’t send you a dirty text.

  Jillian: That was a little more than a dirty text. That felt like sexting. Like more than sexting.

  Jones: It’s always felt like more with you. And now I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to be inside you again. So, distract me. Tell me what you told Katie about me.

  I smile now, a giddy grin that seems to light me up from head to toe. I start to type, but he texts again.

  Jones: Besides the obvious traits of awesome I possess. That I made you come so hard you saw stars, planets, and galaxies, and that my cock is illegal. Your words.

  Jillian: And I like when you use that illegal weapon on me. I told her you rocked my world in bed. I told her you made a difference in the lives of families. I told her you helped my dad. I told her you’re very dangerous for me.

  Jones: Dangerous?

  Jillian: I told her you’re the most intoxicating mix of rough and tender.

  Jones: In bed?

  Jillian: In bed and out of bed.

  Jones: And do you like that mix? I think you do . . .

  Jillian: You know I do. You’re sweet and sexy. You’re funny and kind. You’re jealous and caring. You listen. And you also make my toes curl, my knees weak, and my—

  I send before I finish the last word. My fingers went too fast.

  Jones: What was the last my . . .?

  You make my heart flutter. But I can’t say that to him yet. Once those words make landfall, you can’t take them back. I’d be putting that fluttering heart on the line.

  Jillian: My belly flip . . .

  There. That’s safer.

  Jones: I wish you were in my bed right now.

  See? He likes the sex talk, too, and as I contemplate a naughty reply, he’s typing back.

  Jones: That’s because the most dangerous thing to me is how much I like it when you’re curled up in my arms and you fall asleep with me at night. Because that means you’ll be in my arms when I wake up.

  Jillian: That’s my favorite way to wake up.

  As I stare at the phone, the problem is clear. Miami wasn’t a fling. Miami wasn’t a no-strings-attached dalliance for either one of us. That trip across the country was the start of everything, and I want to take him back and make him all mine again, with no consequences, no risk, and no fallout. I want it all, without anyone getting hurt.

  The next morning, I crunch on some toast and sip some hot tea as I work on the lineup for my Fire-Breathing Dragons. After I adjust my starting pitcher rotation, I check my email.

  A message from Kevin greets me. I click it open, and it’s the usual from him—an interview request. Can Cooper come on my Sunday preview show?

  I’m about to reply that I’ll check with the quarterback, when I see his postscript.

  P.S. See you at Sierra’s wedding this Thursday! Be sure to say hello to Shelly and me! We can toast to Sierra together!

  I groan loudly. I forgot he’d be attending the wedding.

  I might be over the guy, but this is precisely why he irritates me.

  Because he thinks I’d want to say hello to him and the woman he cheated on me with.

  “You sure know how to pick ’em, girl,” I mutter.

  My spine straightens. Wait. Just because Kevin is a dickhead doesn’t mean I have bad taste in men.

  Of course not. Jones is nothing like Kevin.

  My taste is not an issue.

  But perhaps my judgment is. I did fall for a man I can’t have.

  Maybe I don’t know how to pick them at all.

  19

  JONES

  Cletus leaps through the air, chasing a Frisbee, landing like the agile dude he is with the disc in his mouth. The camera zooms in on me and I give my 100 percent honest assessment. “That’s why I won’t feed my little guy anything but the best.” Next shot, Cletus retrieves a ball as I finish my ode to the dog food. “When your dog is worth the very best, that’s when you give him Paleo Pet.”

  Ford points the remote at the TV and hits stop theatrically. “Bam. That is a dog food commercial if I’ve ever seen one. And look at Cletus. He loves watching it.”

  My agent gestures to my pooch, who I brought to Ford’s office the day after the game for the “premiere” of the television spot. Wagging his tiny tail, Cletus stretches out in a downward dog.

  He’s also showing off for Jillian, pawing at her legs, but she seems distracted. She’s still staring at the screen even though the TV is off.

  Cletus whimpers, and that gets her attention. She reaches down, scoops him into her lap, and strokes his soft brown and white fur.

  “What can I say? He’s a ladies’ man?” I wink.

  Trevor eyes me. “Something you’re not anymore.”

  “Oh yeah.” Ford stretches across the desk and high-fives my brother before turning his attention to Jillian. “Liam gave the okay to tease this on social media before it runs on Lifetime in a few days,” he says. “Can you handle?”

  Jillian nods crisply, back to her usual sharp-as-a-tack demeanor. “Absolutely. I have a plan for how to magnify this online.”

  “Excellent. Liam is thrilled with how it’s all coming along,” Trevor chimes in, since he’s been handling a lot of the details with my sponsor.

  “We all are. And don’t you forget, you have a dinner with him later this week,” Ford says, pointing at me.

  “Dude. I know. You put it on my calendar.”

  “My job is to remind you, too. We’ll all be there. And soon, we’ll be having a dinner with the quick-serve restaurant because that deal is coming together with Organic Eats.”

  Trevor pumps a fist. “Great work, man.”

  We make our way out of the office. In the elevator, it’s the four of us as Ford rides down. Jillian is quiet again, a faraway look in her eyes. I wish I could take her hand, haul her next to me, and ask her what’s bothering her.

  I wish I could talk to her the way I want.

  Like she’s mine.

  I wish I could stop being so damn dishonest in front of these guys who I like and respect. In front of my brother, in front of my agent. I want to tell them the truth—that the woman standing across from me makes me want to say goodbye to the former ladies’ man forever.

  More than that, as she heads to her car, before she speeds off to the office, I want to drop a kiss on her cheek and tell her to drive safely. But I can’t.

  I head home with my dog, and after a long run, I crash on the sofa. He jumps on my lap and curls into a ball.

  “What is wrong with me? It was just sex, right?”

  Cletus lifts his snout, as if to say, “Keep going.”

  “You know what I mean. I’ve seen you hump the stuffed monkey from T.J. Maxx. Don’t deny it.”

  Cletus waits for me to say more.

  “You go crazy for that monkey. You guys are definitely having a no-strings-attached deal.”

  He doesn’t say anything, but we both know he’s a horndog. Except, as he rubs his little head against my arm, I don’t think I’ve fooled him. I definitely haven’t fooled myself. I know it wasn’t just sex with Jillian. I miss her, and texting her last night wasn’t enough. Texting her only made me want to see her again.

  I pick up my phone to call my brother, to finally ask him how I can sort this out. But there’s a message from Jillian glaring at me. It’s not a text. It’s from her work email.

  I have a reporter wanting to talk to you about your new deals. It would be a good idea if we could prep. Would you have any time to meet with me today? My office?

  Hell, yeah, I’d like to go to her office.

  We take care of the phone interview quickly, handling it with ease, chatting with a prominent business reporter at a national magazine about my new partnership.

  When we hang up, Jillian flips a pen around from her thumb to her forefinger, over and over. Her usual vibrancy is still missing. Raising my chin, I say what I wanted to say earlier this morning. “You don’t seem like yourself today. You seemed distracted at Ford’s office, and here, too. Is everything okay?”

  Surprise flickers across her eyes. “I didn’t think I was that easy to read.”

  I offer a small shrug. “Maybe you’re not. But maybe I’ve learned how to read you.” Her lips curve in a small smile. “I’ve seen you when you’re much more animated. Kind of funny, because I know how guarded you can be, too. But you didn’t seem guarded this morning. You seemed distracted, like something was bugging you. I hate the thought that something has thrown you.”

  “It’s stupid,” she answers quickly, as if she’s trying to dismiss what’s on her mind.

  “Stupid or not, do you want to talk about it?”

  She drops her pen on her desk. “My ex never noticed if I was distracted. He never asked if I wanted to talk about bad days. Why do you have to be so sweet?”

  “Would you prefer me sour?”

  “I would prefer we weren’t so clearly ice cream and hot pepper that tastes surprisingly good.”

  I laugh. “I’d like to try that combo.”

  “Me, too,” she says with a heavy sigh. Once she blows out all the air in the world, she squares her shoulders and speaks in a rush. “Kevin’s going to Sierra’s wedding this Thursday, and he emailed me asking me to come say hi to him and Shelly, the woman he cheated on me with. I guess his note made me feel foolish. But it also made me think about this other guy, too. This guy I really like . . .”

  My ears prick. “The ice cream and pepper guy?”

  “Yes. But I can’t be with him, so that’s a bit of a bummer. I suppose that’s what bothers me more, to be honest.”

  My heart hurts a little. I want to reach across the desk and squeeze her hand in mine. “Would it make you feel any better if you knew he was bummed, too?”

  She leans back in her chair. “We’ll be bummed together.”

  Together.

  That last word rings in my ears.

  It’s what I want. To find a way to be together with her. I don’t have any grand plans, I haven’t concocted some brilliant scheme for the long run.

  But for the short term? I have one hell of an idea.

  I drum my fingers on the wood of her desk as the wheels turn in my head. Faster, picking up speed, because this wedding is a chance for something else entirely. Something that’s not about her ex and his stupid comments.

  Something about us.

  A plan forms as I imagine Jillian wearing a sexy dress, black heels, her hair all done up. She’d be stunning, like she is every time I see her. “Did I ever tell you about the time I was invited to Sierra’s wedding, too, and forgot to RSVP?”

  She lifts a brow in curiosity. “I don’t believe I’m familiar with that tale. Go on.”

  “If memory serves, an invitation arrived a month or so ago, and I did this thing I often do with mail.”

  “You forgot about it?”

  “Yes, but now I’m not forgetting about it. I’m thinking Sierra likes me. Sierra’s a cool chick. Sierra probably wouldn’t mind if I said I was so very sorry for the late response, but that I’d love to attend her nuptials.”

  “You would?” Her voice is breathy.

  My gaze locks with hers. “I would love to attend. I hear one of the other guests is someone I’ve been trying to steal a moment with here or there.”

  “I’m going with Katie. She’s my plus-one.”

  “Even better.” The train rattles faster down the tracks. “I’ve no doubt I can convince Harlan to go with me.” I smile wickedly, pleased with my plan. “Me with my friend. You with your friend. No one would think I was only going to see how pretty you’d look all dressed up. And maybe to sneak a dance with you.”

  Sparks dance across her eyes as they glitter with the thrill of a secret date in the most unlikely of places—a place where no one would suspect us. We’d be hiding a tree in a forest, and a date like this is much safer than a late night rendezvous at her place or mine, someplace where a photographer, a fan, a paparazzo might see one of us slipping in or out.

  Lowering her voice, she speaks ever-so-softly. “I want a stolen moment with you. I want a dance with you. Do you think it’s a good idea, though?”

  I inch closer, placing my elbows on the edge of her desk. “I think not having a dance with you is a bad idea.”

  I’d like to grab her, kiss her across the desk, haul her next to me. I’d like to slam the door and get my hands all over her.

  But our hazy, flirty moment severs when someone knocks on the door. I straighten in the chair, pushing farther away from her desk.

  Lily strides in, her flaming red hair and big personality lighting up the room. One of her hands is positioned behind her back. “Jones! That was an epic catch yesterday. I saw it all over the highlight reels last night and today, too.”