“Oh,” Sam says, his deep brown eyes going soft and sincere. “Maeve, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “It was seven years ago. But my mum and I used to always go to this together. And then, Dean used to go with me, but now . . .”

  “Now I’m here,” he says. “And I’ve already made a joke of it.”

  “No,” I say. “I’m glad you’re here. Honestly, I don’t know that I’ve ever told someone about my dad without crying. And now, look. Mascara still firmly in place.”

  I laugh, and Sam laughs with me. I feel lighter about this than I ever expected.

  “Well, then, let’s go raise as much money as we can in your dad’s honor,” he says as we pull into the event, then step out of the car. “Can I bid on a boat? I’ve always wanted to bid on a boat.”

  Laughing, I shake my head. “Did that tasting event really change things that much for your bar?” I tease.

  He grips my hand, stops me. We’re on a crowded sidewalk, but all the people blur into nothing and it’s only me and him, him and me. “It did, Maeve,” he says in that deep voice I’m coming to know, to love. “It changed everything.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. He can’t be talking about just the bar. Can he?

  I don’t get a chance to press, to ask more, as soon, Sam’s taking my hand and walking me into Novotel London West. We make our way to the event space, passing people who look like they’re made of money.

  We check out the auction items, browsing through signed movie posters and football jerseys and, finally, a signed Ed Sheeran guitar. It’s white and glittery with a gold signature on the front.

  “I have to bid on this for my mum,” I say.

  Sam looks down at the bidding card. “One thousand pounds.”

  Woah. “I’ll tell her it was too high.”

  “Come on,” Sam says. “I’ll split it with you. We have to go in on this.”

  I shoot him a skeptical glance. “Sam, do you even like Ed Sheeran?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he says, dead certain. “We’re doing this.”

  “And if we win, how are we going to split a guitar in half?” I fold my arms across my chest, but I can’t hide my grin.

  “We’ll have joint custody. Half the time at my place, half the time at yours.”

  “Ridiculous,” I say, but I’m laughing, and that feels good too.

  “It’ll give you a reason to visit,” he says in a flirty tone, and I like the way that sounds. I like it a lot.

  We’re outbid for the guitar before we’ve gotten more than ten paces away, but I send Mum a photo showing the bid, and she texts back with a crying-with-laughter emoji and says she appreciates that I tried.

  The night I’d been dreading passes like that—the dazzling auction offerings making me ooh and aah, Sam making me laugh. The dinner and drinks are delectable. The event is fun, and it’s so nice to be able to support a cause I’m passionate about. I appreciated these things when I attended with Dean, but I’m not sure I enjoyed myself.

  As the night winds down, Sam and I call another car. We tumble in, laughing about everything and nothing at all. We pull up to my flat, and there’s no question—I’ve never left that event feeling this light or this good.

  Sam did that. Sam, who kept my spirits up during the event. Sam, who remembered the sunflowers. Sam, who’s kind and funny and thoughtful.

  He walks me up my steps and takes my hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and it is. Being with him is easy.

  “We’ll have to do this again sometime,” he says, his lips curving into a knowing grin. “You know, I’ve got this wedding to go to. Not sure if you’d be interested. It’s transatlantic.”

  “You don’t say?”

  He laughs, and I decide it’s time for fun. For chances.

  For choices.

  I nibble on my lip, meet his gaze, and go for it. “Are you asking me on a third date?”

  “I am,” he says, and his eyes darken. “Will you attend Dean’s wedding with me? And not because I don’t want to answer questions about my ex. But because I like spending time with you. You’re incredible, Maeve.”

  “You’re incredible too,” I say, and his eyes flicker to my lips as he cups my cheeks, brushes a rough thumb over my jaw. He hovers there, an eternity but a whisper away, and desire, emotion, and need hurtle through my body until I just can’t take it anymore.

  “Kiss me,” I demand.

  He doesn’t need a second invitation.

  His lips crash against mine in an explosion of lust. The tingles from earlier become a hurricane of want, of lust, and soon we’re kissing like we don’t want to come up for air. Like all we need is each other.

  We stumble back up to my flat, kicking off heels and shoes and losing ourselves together. I catch a glimpse of the table where the sunflowers have lasted remarkably long in their vase, and I smile, as sure as I ever have been about a decision in my life.

  Especially when our clothes vanish in seconds and we fall onto my bed. He fits me so well, our bodies magnets for the other. I pull him close, seeking him, needing him.

  And soon, we’re tangled together, skin hot, breath coming fast. I’m under him, and we move like water, gasping and moaning together.

  His hands caress me tenderly, his lips slide across my skin passionately, and he takes me deeply.

  We fall over the edge together.

  5

  Maeve

  A week later, I sip tea on my balcony, breathing in the steam from my mug. Cars stream by and the Thames stretches past in the distance. Behind me, my suitcase leans packed and ready against the door.

  In a few days, my best friend will be married.

  I’d planned to go solo. Catch the flight to New York and do a fair amount of crying.

  But now, I’ll be watching all of Dean’s dreams come true, and at the end of the night, I won’t be dancing alone. I’ll be dancing with Sam.

  Sam. Rugged, incredible, delicious Sam.

  Memories of the last few nights rush through my mind. And last night too. I shiver as I remember Sam’s hands traveling up my arm, sliding my dress off. The feel of his mouth on mine.

  Since the Night for Lost Stars event, we’ve been making up for wasted time. Now that I’ve had a taste, I can’t get enough of Sam.

  I close my eyes, replaying how he pressed me back against the wall, anchoring me with his arms.

  But I can’t linger on the memories. I have a plane to catch, and messages to answer, including one from my California friend.

  Maeve: You asked if it’s worth it. To date a friend.

  Sierra: And the verdict?

  Maeve: Yes. Yes it is.

  I picture Sam and I smile. This friendship, this passion, this connection.

  Maeve: I’m so glad we took the chance. I can’t wait to hear what you do with yours.

  Sierra: Ha. Me too. I can’t wait either.

  After I close the messages, I check the time. I finish my tea and wash up, not wanting to return to a mess. In a few hours, Sam and I will be on a plane to New York. We’ll have seven hours to spend together. With anyone else, I might be worried about how to spend the time.

  But with Sam, I know I’ll be entertained, one way or another.

  The bell to my flat rings, and within moments, Sam’s at the door, dressed in casual jeans and a tight shirt.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he says, dropping his suitcase to the floor. His hands go straight to my waist, and I smile. “You wore my favorite yoga pants.”

  “I did. I wore them for you.” I press my body against his, and one hand slides up my back, tangles in my hair, tugs a little. “It’s going to be a long plane ride, Sam.”

  “Then we’re going to have to make this damn quick.”

  Our lips collide, and then it’s a race to see who can undress the other faster.

  I win.

  * * *

  We don’t arrive early at the airport. I’m not sure I’ve ever cut anything so close in my life, but Sam’s crooked grin makes me think that some things are worth bending rules of punctuality for.

  He steps close to me and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Ready to go watch Dean get married?”

  I take a deep breath and nod. “Absolutely.”

  We work our way through security and the usual checkpoints and onto the jetway. Sam makes everything feel easy, chatting to the flight attendants, his charm putting everyone at ease, including me.

  We buckle in, and without a word, he takes my hand and laces our fingers together.

  “Now, I do need to come clean about something,” he says.

  I freeze.

  Uh-oh.

  Is this it?

  The point where my perfect fantasy comes crashing down around me?

  He takes a deep breath. “I’m sort of . . . nervous about takeoff.”

  It takes me a minute to understand what he’s saying. “You’re afraid of flying?”

  “No,” he says playfully. “I didn’t say that. You’re putting words in my mouth.”

  “Sorry. You’re nervous about flying,” I tease, but not unkindly. He’s sharing this piece of himself with me—this vulnerability, and I like it. “Thank you for telling me.”

  He shrugs, but behind that cocky exterior, vulnerability flashes in his eyes.

  I run my hand along his cheek, drawing him closer. “It seems to me like this is just a big excuse to hold on to me.”

  He winks. “You’ve figured me out. Also . . . I should add that it’s helpful if I have a distraction.”

  “Oh? What kind of distraction?”

  He shrugs innocently. “Maybe the kind that involves you telling me what you plan to do once we get to our hotel room.”

  “Are you sure you want me to spoil the surprise?”

  He grins in a way that says yes, oh yes, he would like some spoilers please.

  “I was thinking how much I’d enjoy being bent over the sink and watching us in the mirror,” I say.

  “Dear God in heaven, may this flight take two minutes,” Sam growls. Then he whispers in my ear, “Good thing we have this row to ourselves. Keep talking.”

  I laugh as the pilot’s voice comes over the intercom, and the flight attendants begin their tutorial. The plane moves under us, getting ready for takeoff, and his eyes slide closed as I continue to whisper into his ear about my plans for the evening. We stay like that until the plane’s in the air, gliding along.

  “Sam,” I say, once we reach cruising altitude. “Looks like I don’t need to distract you anymore.”

  He glances out the window. “Excellent. Now I can work on distracting you.”

  It’s a good thing no one’s sitting next to us. By the time Sam starts describing how I’ll look in the mirror, I wish this plane would land right now.

  Hours later, when we check into our hotel, we break the speed record undressing, falling into one another, and making each of our spoken fantasies a reality.

  6

  Maeve

  The next day, we linger in bed, spending as much of the morning as we can tangled up together. Later, we meet Dean and the rest of the wedding party over at The Pub for a joint bachelor party. It’s been closed to the public for the event, so we’ll have the whole bar to ourselves.

  As soon as we walk in, Dean crushes me with an embrace that turns into a group hug as Fitz barrels over and Sam jumps in. There are toasts, and then there’s plenty of liquor, but not too much, because tomorrow our guys are getting married.

  At one point, Dean and I peel off from the group, and he gives me another hug.

  “I’m so happy for you,” I say, tears in my eyes.

  “And I’m happy for you,” he says. “Looks like I was right. You did find your match.”

  I don’t have words for that. I look over his shoulder at Sam, who raises a glass.

  And I smile at my best friend, happy for both of us.

  * * *

  The next day, after a beautiful ceremony, Sam holds my hand as we watch Dean and Fitz take their first dance in the middle of the Loeb Boathouse’s dance floor. As they finish, Sam presses a kiss against my temple, and warmth thrills through me. How could I have ever thought to say no to this?

  “There’s something we still need to do,” Sam says. “Since we’re here.”

  I raise an eyebrow at him. “What’s that?”

  “New York pizza,” he says. “I’m going to prove to you that the grease is real.”

  I laugh. “It can’t possibly be as horrid as you say.”

  “It can be bad, I assure you.”

  “Maybe I like being bad,” I whisper, and he runs his hand over my knee.

  “I like that about you very much,” he says softly in return, his eyes worshipping me, and I have no doubt that I’m the only woman he sees.

  He’s running his hand along my knee when the DJ changes the song to “Thinking Out Loud.”

  “Oh my God,” I say. “This is the guitar!”

  “What?” Sam says, and then he listens. “Is this Ed . . . what’s-his-name? The guy with the guitar that we bid on?”

  I nod and laugh harder. “The guitar we were robbed of.”

  “It’s a sign,” Sam says. He stands next to me and holds out his hand. “We didn’t get a chance to slow dance before,” he says with a smile. “How about we fix that?”

  My hand slides into his, and we glide over to the dance floor. I catch sight of Dean and Fitz dancing too, and my heart gives a tiny flip.

  Remember when we promised this wouldn’t be us? I think. And, as if he can hear me, Dean glances my way. He smiles and shakes his head before turning back to Fitz, looking like a guy who can’t believe his luck.

  I laugh as Sam twirls me. He catches me, and we’re closer than ever. I look up into his eyes and find his are gazing right into mine.

  “So, what’re we going to do now that we’re out of parties and events to go to?” Sam asks.

  I pretend to think about it. “Hmm, I guess we’ll just have to keep having mind-blowing sex all the time.”

  “Oh man,” he says. “Not sure I’ll be able to make that work.”

  “No?”

  “I’d have to make it official first. Officially date,” he says. “And you’ll have to meet my friends.”

  I laugh, and he catches my mouth in a kiss. It’s a shiver that doesn’t go away, spreading from where his lips touch mine.

  This is more than three dates.

  This, I could do for a long time. Maybe even . . . forever.

  And maybe, just maybe, I will.

  * * *

  We have our fourth date later that week. We go crazy and fly to San Francisco, where I see more of my stateside friends at Sierra’s bar in Hayes Valley. The Spotted Zebra is fabulous, all pink and black-and-white striped and it’s so very her.

  I crush her in a hug when I see her, and then introduce her to Sam.

  “And this is my . . .”

  He extends a hand. “I’m her boyfriend.”

  And the grin that spreads across my face can’t be stopped.

  “You’re next,” I whisper when I hug her back.

  “We’ll see. We will definitely see.”

  Oh yes we will.

  * * *

  Is Sierra next? Want to find out what happens in her love life? Then grab the friends-to-lovers, wedding date, pretend romance THE VIRGIN REPLAY, available everywhere!

  Enjoy the first chapter! And be sure to sign up for my mailing list to be the first to know when swoony, sexy new romances are available or on sale!

  Sierra…

  I’m pretty good at reading people—comes with being a bartender. But there’s one customer I haven’t been able to get a read on in the last year.

  The guy who’s putting the pool cues away in the game room at my bar.

  At least, I can’t get a read as to whether he’ll ever ask me out.

  Or ask me to go home with him.

  With everyone else gone for the night and The Spotted Zebra already closed, I steal a moment to check out Chance Ashford as he lifts his multimillion-dollar right arm to place the sticks in the holder on the wall.

  I’m enjoying the view of him a lot. Every time he comes by, I enjoy the view a little more. And then I wonder . . .

  When he’s done, the tall drink of a man turns around, wipes one palm across the other, and flashes me a winning grin. “That’s done.”

  Best to keep things friendly, as they’ve always been, till I know where we might go from here. “Watch out. I just might enlist you in mopping and cleaning up,” I say breezily.

  His chocolate-brown eyes twinkle. “I just might say yes.”

  I laugh, then hook my thumb in the direction of the door. “Hit the road, Chance. You’ve got playoffs to rest up for.”

  Chance is the closing pitcher for the San Francisco Cougars, my second-favorite baseball team in the city. Since my brother became their starting catcher, the team has grown on me. Some of the guys on the team have become close friends over the last few years, stopping by my bar after games.

  Like this man.

  Chance is obviously far and away my favorite of the guys who stop by. He’s easy to talk to and so damn easy on the eyes.

  “I don’t mind helping. Our first playoff game isn’t for a couple days, so I don’t have an early bedtime tonight. Besides, I’m still amped up from clinching.”

  I reach for a couple shot glasses left on the pool table. “But it’s late, and star closers need their beauty sleep.”