I’m not sure how sex that’s been this good can become even better, but as he runs a hand up my back and into my hair, I’m given the answer.

  It comes as he brings my face near to his. “Need you closer to me.”

  This man has the biggest appetite. He wants more of me, as much as he can have. And I love giving myself to him. He makes me feel beautiful, sexy, and alluring.

  As he draws me closer, telling me to ride him harder, faster, rougher because it’s so fucking good, it’s all so fucking good with me, I know he’s all I’ll ever need.

  A little later, as we lie in bed, sated and sweaty, he positions us so I’m in the crook of his arm. “You know you can sleep on me anytime, right?”

  “I do know that, since I sleep on you every night.”

  “Sleep on me, sleep with me. I love it all,” he says, then he shifts to his side and drops a kiss on my nose. “I love you. Have I told you that today?”

  “Maybe ten times?”

  “Let’s make it eleven.” He kisses a trail up my neck to my ear, and I tremble again, then I shudder as he says, “I’m so in love with you.”

  Cletus jumps on the bed, wagging his tail and plopping down between us.

  “He’s also in love with you,” Jones says as I rub the dog’s little head.

  “I love him, too. And the other guy as well,” I say when a soft paw swipes my shoulder. I crane my neck to see Smoky sitting on my pillow, purring.

  Cletus and Smoky are good buddies now, ever since we adopted the orange kitten as soon as he was ready for his fur-ever home.

  The four of us fall asleep.

  When we wake up together the next morning, Jones whispers in my ear, “Told you I like waking up next to you.”

  Then he shows me why it’s my favorite way to wake up, too.

  EPILOGUE

  JONES

  A week later, we’re at another restaurant, and Jillian’s boss holds up the charity calendar before the crowd.

  “And look at February,” Lily says, showing off the cat and me at the winery.

  The crowd cheers, and I wave from my spot next to her.

  “And how about March?” That’s the shot from Stinson Beach.

  More hoots and hollers abound.

  When we make it to the Miami shots, my heart beats a little faster, and I look to Jillian, standing at the bar. Love those, I mouth to her.

  Me, too, she replies.

  They remind me of the best play I ever made. The one for her heart.

  ANOTHER EPILOGUE

  JILLIAN

  Several months later

  Jones’s mom doesn’t need any help in the kitchen, but I offer anyway. I always do, since I’m so often here in the off-season.

  “Yes, if you could grab the salad from the fridge, that would be great,” she says.

  “I can do that,” I say, snagging the bowl and setting it on the dinner table.

  It’s Sunday supper, and Jones, his siblings, his dad, and his mom are here. Oh, someone else is here, too. My dad. He doesn’t live far away, and he’s not terribly busy, so I picked him up on the way, and I love that he’s become part of these get-togethers.

  He and Jones’s parents get along well. They talk about politics, sports, and the state of the world. Sometimes they do that thing the older generation does—they chat about how much harder it was when they were growing up. Those of us in the younger generation laugh and roll our eyes.

  As I sit at the table with some of my favorite people, I mostly listen. I listen to my dad ask thoughtful questions about local town issues, I listen to Trevor share details of his beer show, and I listen to Jones’s dad as he compliments his wife on the dinner, and on how pretty she looks.

  In moments like these, I see where the gentleman in Jones came from—from his family. From these people he loves to the ends of the earth and back. As I raise a glass of iced tea and take a sip, I remember the night in wine country when I wished that someday I would be able to come here and bring wine and flowers. Now I have, and now I do, and it fills my heart with so much joy that I know my mom would say all the choices I made that brought me here were the right ones.

  They were. They absolutely were.

  As the meal ends, Jones clears his throat. “There’s something I wanted to bring up.”

  “Yes, my dear?” his mother asks.

  “And since everyone is here, this seems as good a time as any.”

  My dad looks deliberately away from me, as if he’s avoiding eye contact. I’m not sure why, but he doesn’t look at Jones, either. Not as Jones rises, not as he walks to me, and not as he takes my hand.

  “What is it?”

  “Jillian, I love you madly, and I have loved nothing more than taking you out on dates, showing you off, making you happy, and making sure the world knows you’re spoken for.”

  “You’ve done a pretty good job of that,” I say, wondering why he needed to get up from his chair to say it. Then, a possibility flashes before my eyes. Fireworks light up inside me, bursting with a daring, crazy hope.

  The hope is answered as he drops down to one knee. I gasp and bring a hand to my mouth as he takes a blue velvet box from his pocket. “The only thing I want more is for you to be spoken for always. For the rest of our lives. Because I want you to be the rest of my life. I love you so much, baby. Will you marry me?”

  The fireworks crackle. They spark. They fill the night sky with a brilliant display of all the colors, all the brightness, and all the wonder as I say yes. “You’re my good luck,” I whisper, and he whispers back, “You’re mine.”

  He slides a huge diamond solitaire onto my ring finger and kisses me in front of his family and in front of mine, and this is more than I could ever have hoped for long ago, and now it’s all I want.

  Him with me, always.

  That night, as we head to a local hotel, I can’t stop staring at my ring. “You are absolutely getting lucky tonight.”

  He pumps a fist. “Then I’d say I’ve scored.”

  THE END

  Curious what happened at the wedding with Harlan and Katie? Sparks sure did fly between those two! You won’t believe what went down that night! Grab A Wild Card Kiss to dive into Harlan and Katie’s absolutely epic love story that will shock you with its twists and turns! Turn the page!

  But wait! There’s more! I wrote a brand new sexy sports romance in the Ballers & Babes world! Be sure to preorder TWO A DAY and indulge in some dirty talking, sex challenges, sex hacks, text mishaps, surprise twists and a forbidden romance between a player and the sexy woman in the executive suite!

  Sign up here to receive a bonus scene of Jones and Jillian sent straight to your inbox! If you’ve already signed up for my list, be sure to sign up again! It’s the only way to receive the MOST LIKELY TO SCORE bonus scene, but rest assured you won’t be double subscribed to the list! You can also sign up directly for my newsletter to receive an alert when these sexy new books are available!

  Author’s Note: The details about Jillian’s adoption from China were taken directly from my own experience adopting a Chinese daughter! The “lucky baby” and “baby is cold” comments were things I heard while in China with my little girl! I hope you enjoyed this aspect of Jillian’s character!

  A WILD CARD NIGHT

  A PREQUEL

  Dear Reader,

  A Wild Card Kiss begins with a prequel — A Wild Card Night. If you already read the prequel when it was released on its own, go ahead and start at A Wild Card Kiss! If not, then start right here and turn the page.

  Xoxo

  Lauren

  NEARLY EIGHT YEARS AGO

  1

  HARLAN

  There are two kinds of men in the world.

  Those who love suits and those who hate them.

  Why love one? A well-made suit fits like a dream.

  As for why you might hate one, don’t ask me.

  I’m a lover, not a hater. No one ever came to this guy for the negative on anything. Hate isn’t my style.

  But suits are, and I have a whole closet full of hand-tailored duds for occasions like the colleague’s wedding where I’m headed tonight.

  I pad across the carpet of my walk-in closet and appraise my options, flicking through the crisply pressed shirts hanging along one wall. I bypass the charcoal, midnight black, and dark blue, the paisley and the striped, until I reach a shirt in the palest of blues.

  I slide it off the hanger, put it on, and smooth the front.

  This color always wins the eyes of the ladies.

  Now, for the suit. I’ve got more than a dozen custom ones to pick from. Comes with the territory—as a pro football player, I’m required to dress to the nines on game day. I consider my faves and zero in on the winner.

  “Ah!” It’s not your father’s navy suit, that’s for sure. No bankers would wear this color either. The deep, rich blue speaks up, gets noticed. It’s a hue that says, Let’s have some fun tonight, sweetheart.

  And I am a fun kind of guy, so that’s the romantic vibe I like putting out in the universe.

  I put on the pants and a chocolate-brown belt, then head to the tie hanger. I opt for a pink silk one with tiny illustrations of playing cards scattered over it.

  May luck be a very lovely lady tonight.

  I grab the suit jacket, sling it over my shoulder on one finger, and spin around in front of the full-length mirror.

  Yep.

  “Well done, sir,” I tell my reflection.

  I am ready for the celebration. The bride and groom will say I do, and hearts will go a fluttering.

  Ahhhh, yes.

  Weddings—another thing I love.

  Two people vowing to cherish each other for the rest of their lives. It melted my heart every time one of my sisters tied the knot, promising forever and fidelity.

  Whether a couple can keep that promise, stay true to that vow . . . well, that’s another issue.

  I shudder, shucking off those unpleasant thoughts.

  Not today, brain.

  As I head down the stairs, I laser in on the best thing about weddings—for me, that is, as an attendee.

  Weddings are the best place to meet women. Talk to women. Dance with women.

  Three of my favorite things in the world to do.

  Fuck this online shit. Swiping left or right and snapping this or that is not for me. I’m all about face-to-face chemistry and real-life chitchat. Weddings are perfect for a social cat like me as they’re usually brimming with single women in the mood for a man.

  Pretty sure I’ve never met a wedding where I haven’t gotten laid, and I wouldn’t mind keeping up that streak tonight.

  I leave my place and head to the limo waiting at the curb just outside on California Street. I slow to survey the sleek, black set of wheels and whistle in appreciation.

  The driver—a slim, efficient man in a black suit—pops out to open the door for me. “Thank you very much,” I tell him. “And nice to meet you. I’m Harlan.”

  The man gives a surprised smile. “Darien. Pleasure to meet you too,” he says.

  I slide into the back seat to join my teammate Jones Beckett. “Damn, you look almost as good as I do,” I say, checking out my friend in his Tom Ford suit.

  The team’s star receiver rolls his blue eyes. “Thanks. You look almost as rich as me.”

  I laugh as I smooth my hand down my tie. “Thanks for giving me a new goal.”

  Jones settles into the seat as the driver pulls onto Fillmore. “Thanks for being my”—he stops to sketch air quotes—“’date’ tonight.”

  “Of course. Anything for the cause of love, buddy.”

  Jones sighs heavily and drags a hand down his face. “Fuck, man. I’ve got to figure this out and soon.”

  “No argument here.”

  My friend has it bad for the Renegades’ lead publicist. He tried to keep it a secret from me and everyone else, and I understand why, but I put two and two together. Jillian’s perfect for him—whip-smart and loyal. But Jones has been rehabbing his reputation, trying to shake off a checkered past, and he hasn’t figured out how to bring their forbidden romance into the light.

  More power to the two of them for running the relationship obstacle course. But just the thought of all those hurdles is too much for me. I prefer my dalliances simple, mutually enjoyable, and free of angst.

  The strategy has served me well—mostly, I should say—for the last several years. I like to date, I like to have fun, and I like to fuck. But with my career still on the upswing, anything more complicated than that is not part of my playbook.

  “I don’t envy you, pal,” I tell Jones as the driver swings onto Steiner Street.

  “I don’t envy me either. What am I supposed to do?”

  “You could—just a thought—sort this shit out and have a relationship,” I offer with a smile. I’m encouraging like that. But seriously, sometimes you just have to man up and do the hard things in life.

  “I’m working on it, Harlan. And I think I’ve got a plan for telling the team and my new sponsor. But it’ll have to wait until this weekend. Tonight, I just need a wingman so I can spend some time with Jillian.”

  I tap my sternum. “One fantastic, grade-A, top-choice wingman at your service.” It’s not my place to pressure him to come clean. He knows what he needs to do, and he’s got to do it in his own damn time.

  Plus, I know my role at this wedding.

  I’m Jones’s cover, and that’s fine.

  When the car stops on her block, Jones bounds up the steps and returns with Jillian a few minutes later. She greets me as they slide into the car, but mostly they make I want to bang you backward, forward, and six ways to Sunday eyes at each other as she snuggles up against him.

  “Would you like me to just get in the front seat with the driver?” I offer, gesturing to the partition. “You can have a wham-bam while I chat with Darien. He seemed chill.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Jillian says, ducking her head as a smile plays across her face. “We’ll behave.”

  I scoff. “No need to behave on my account. I’m happy to shoot the breeze with the guy.” I point to the speakers. “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” pipes through the limo. “He’s got good taste in music.”

  Jones runs a hand along Jillian’s bare arm, and she shivers. “Can’t help myself,” Jones says, “Haven’t seen her in a while.”

  “I can tell. The sexual tension between you two would fill an ice cream tub. I could scoop it up and serve it in a cone. Sexual Tension Swirl, I’d call it.”

  Jones arches a brow. “Seriously?”

  “What? I love sexual tension,” I say with a grin.

  “Everyone does, Harlan,” Jones deadpans.

  “Exactly. Marketing gold. I’ll make millions. This idea is going to fund my retirement someday,” I tease.

  Jillian narrows her eyes and shakes a warning finger. “You better not retire anytime soon. You’re only twenty-nine.”

  “You never know. That’s why I’m always thinking ahead,” I say, tapping my temple. “Plan for the unexpected.”

  Like how, a minute later, the car pulls over a few blocks from Jillian’s place.

  “We’re just picking up my friend Katie,” she explains.

  I turn my head, glancing toward the sidewalk and—whoa.

  Wait a hot, sexy, beautiful second.

  I stare at the vision in pink heading straight for this car—a knockout with a smile that has me waving a white flag. Her dress clings to her curves in all the right places and swishes around her knees. Silver heels complete that take me away to cloud nine look she has going on.

  Her lush blonde hair falls in waves over her bare shoulders, which shimmer enticingly.

  I whip around to glare accusingly at Jones, then Jillian. “Excuse me. Why did no one tell me that Jillian’s friend is an angel dressed in pink, and the answer to my prayers?”

  Jillian laughs. “Presumptuous much, Harlan?”

  “Presumptuous a lot.”

  I hit the intercom. “Darien. I’ll get the door.”

  “As you wish.”

  I push open the door, step onto the street, and sweep out an arm for the bombshell. “Your chariot,” I say, gesturing to the car.

  The stunning blonde, with eyes as blue as the sea, flashes me a grin, with just a hint of naughty on her lips.

  Mmm. Yes.

  “What do you know? I was hoping for a chariot, and here you are.” Her confident voice holds a touch of sarcasm as she slides into the car. I follow, sitting next to our newest passenger.

  Jillian clears her throat and makes the introductions. “Jones, Harlan. This is my friend Katie.”

  Let’s see if I can pave a path to her dance card tonight. “You’re a goddess, Jillian, for inviting your beautiful friend.”

  “You know, she also has a good personality,” Jillian says drily.

  I narrow my eyes at the publicist. “Oh, hush. I already figured that no friend of yours would be a wet blanket.” I turn to the blonde, shooting her a big grin. “I bet you’re a firecracker, Katie.”

  Her blue eyes go all kinds of flirty. “I’m the aerial fireworks, Harlan—the finale at the end of the show.”

  And I do believe I am officially in love.

  “See? I knew that your sparkly personality would be perfect. But let me give you a proper greeting.” I reach for Katie’s hand, clasping it to press a kiss to her knuckles. “How do you do, tonight?” I ask, all refined, a hint of my Atlanta roots coming through.

  “I do very well,” she says. “And aren’t you quite the gentleman?”

  “Once a Southern gentleman, always a Southern gentleman. Especially in the presence of such a lovely, brilliant lady.” Yes, I’m all manners on the outside while on the inside I’m thinking, holy hell, I’ve already met my dream wedding hookup.

  She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling too as she tosses a glance at Jillian. “I can’t believe you didn’t warn me about this one and his oodles of flirt.”