But then, so has this man. His vulnerability. His sweetness. His big, open heart. This time yesterday, I didn’t trust my judgment with any man. Now, twenty-four hours later, I want to trust my heart with Nate Chandler.

  That scares the hell out of me, and also, it doesn’t.

  Especially when we go to the indoor golf range and he moves behind me, adjusts my stance, shows me how to swing.

  He’s patient and funny.

  Dirty and playful.

  And he makes me want all the things I thought I needed to stay far, far away from.

  Now, I’m not sure I want to be without those things. Without him.

  When we’re done, the day has slipped into evening, so we return to the suite, shower, and change. As I get dressed, my phone bleats with a text.

  * * *

  Reese: How’s the weekend going? Fantastique? Le Meilleur?

  * * *

  I smile as I reply.

  Hunter: All of the above.

  * * *

  Reese: So, maybe you didn’t want just a hookup.

  * * *

  I answer her honestly.

  Hunter: Perhaps I did not.

  * * *

  Then I’m dressed in black jeans and a white shirt, and I’m ready for the Stone Zenith concert. The rock star has been headlining a series of intimate shows here, and I can’t wait to hear him since his tunes always stir up my thoughts and emotions.

  I take Nate’s hand in the lift, and I don’t let go as we walk through the hotel to the venue. As we go, I run through scenarios. Possibilities. What to say to Nate tonight, after the show.

  I want to let him know I want more than lessons.

  But how do I say that? Maybe the music will unlock the words.

  When we enter the theater and head to our seats, joining TJ and Jude, as well as Jason who just arrived, I make a promise to myself.

  My lesson for the concert will be to listen for just the right words to say to this man I won’t let get away.

  No matter what bad boyfriends I had in the past, Nate is a good one. I want to find a way to keep him. We settle into our seats, but as the lights dim, I spot a familiar silhouette a few chairs over in the row ahead of us.

  Brandon. My ex-boyfriend.

  And he’s here with his husband.

  15

  NATE

  The second Hunter spots a guy in the next row, a prickle crawls up the back of my neck.

  Hunter’s hand in mine loosens. His eyes laser in on the dark-haired guy sitting next to a dude with a shaved head.

  A heavy breath seems to fall from Hunter’s lips, audible in the quiet before the show starts. Then a mutter, like a strangled oh fuck.

  My radar beeps.

  Hunter’s knee taps up and down. Maybe I should ignore this. Maybe that’s the boyfriend lesson here. Pretend he’s not annoyed, or worried, or freaking out. But the thing is, I don’t know what’s wrong. I can’t tell what’s bugging him.

  And I don’t want to shut down. He opened me up on the plane yesterday. The least I can do is try to understand him since he seems stressed.

  I lean close to him, my face near his ear. “You okay, babe?”

  My weekend companion takes a deep breath. “That’s Brandon. Over there, with the dark hair.”

  Oh. Shit. “Your ex? The bartender?”

  “Yes,” he says heavily.

  Maybe Brandon didn’t see us. Maybe Hunter doesn’t care. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Except the expression on Hunter’s face is freaking me out, making me think all these things I’m feeling for him are foolish. That he’s a man who’s still not over his ex. That it was ridiculous for me to let my dumb heart get involved.

  But I swallow those feelings down and focus on Hunter. That’s the boyfriend lesson right now. Him before me. “Do you want to go?” I whisper.

  His brow knits, and he tilts his head like a curious dog. “No. Why?”

  “In case it’s weird,” I say quietly.

  Before Hunter can answer, the bald guy groans in an annoyed voice. “You were supposed to get better seats. Front row, you said.”

  “These seats are fine,” Brandon says.

  “Fine. Yes. Fine. Everything is fine,” the man replies, a little snotty.

  Or maybe a lot snotty.

  “Jesus, does everything have to be the best thing ever all the time? It’s a fucking concert. Just enjoy yourself for once,” Brandon says in a harsh whisper.

  Hunter whips his gaze to me, his eyes widening. He looks almost . . . entertained.

  Whoa.

  Now I really can’t read the guy I’ve been spending every second with.

  Hunter dips his face to my neck. “Can’t believe it. Three months in, and they’re fighting like cats and dogs,” he whispers, a little bit of Schadenfreude in his tone.

  Is he enjoying his ex’s marital woes? Taking glee in them? Well, the fucker cheated on Hunter, so I have no issue with that. But maybe the lesson I ought to learn is perhaps Hunter’s emotions aren’t in the same spot as mine. Maybe he’s still hung up on the past.

  “Yeah, seems to be,” I say evenly since I shouldn’t have a horse in this race. I shouldn’t care about Hunter’s ex.

  Except, tell that to my heart. I care deeply about Hunter’s feelings. His reactions. And if they mean what I want them to mean or something else entirely.

  When Brandon turns our way, Hunter grabs my face and drags me in for a kiss.

  It’s probably a good kiss.

  Maybe even a great one.

  But right now, with his lips on mine, I feel a little bit used.

  And that might be the lesson I needed.

  A second later, the lights dim, the rock star comes on stage, and the show begins. I do love Stone Zenith, but I barely enjoy a second of the concert.

  My brain is running plays the entire time, trying to figure out if I should stay in this game with Hunter or cut my losses and run far away from the field.

  16

  HUNTER

  As the megastar croons, I try to find answers. I search for them in the lines of his love songs. In the strum of the guitar. In the feel of Nate’s hand in mine. And in the presence of my ex a few feet away.

  The whole time, I hunt for clarity in the music, in the big, rich sound of the rocker’s voice, in anthemic chords echoing from the guitar.

  I want to know what to do next.

  Right around the time when the star nears the end of his set, I may have found the message I need.

  An idea about next steps.

  The ones I’ve been thinking of and the ones I shouldn’t have been thinking of.

  This is one of those moments—when you have to make a choice. Seeing my ex has me questioning everything. But first, there’s a practical issue to address. When the lights go up, I have to decide if I’m going to acknowledge Brandon or not.

  I hardly want to, and yet maybe there’s a lesson I need to learn. Maybe it’s better to face your past than just pretend it doesn’t exist like I’d been doing with my whole playboy-may-care act.

  My ex stands, runs his hands on his jeans, and gives me an awkward look.

  I won’t let him beat me to the punch. “Hello, Brandon. Hope you enjoyed the show,” I say, then I reach for Nate’s hand, tightening my grip on him. That’s odd, he doesn’t squeeze back.

  “Yeah, it was cool. Everything good with you?” he asks, his gray eyes drifting to Nate.

  I half want to tug Nate next to me, to wrap my arms around him, and make a public declaration like This guy is so very much better than you. Wait, make that infinitely. He’s treated me better in one day than you ever would.

  But that’s not for Brandon to know.

  And now isn’t the time or the way to say that to the guy by my side.

  “Everything is great,” I say, then I turn the other way, and we shuffle out behind TJ, Jude and Jason.

  When we’re down the aisle, making our way out, TJ calls over his shoulder, “Are you guys still going to the after-party Stone is throwing?”

  I look to Nate. “We are, right?”

  “Sure,” he says, but he sounds off.

  “Okay, we’ll meet you there. We’re gonna grab a drink with Jaybird. I need to catch him up on some things,” TJ says to the quarterback, then peels off with both Jude and Jason once we’re out of the theater.

  In the lobby, I’m standing next to the blue-eyed man who’s played a top-notch boyfriend this weekend. But for the first time in more than a day, I feel unmoored by his expression—Nate’s eyes are cool, and his mouth is drawn in a tight line.

  Since the plane, he’s been easy to read. He’s been open and trusting. Fun and bold, and all day I’ve been feeling so much more than I expected.

  So much that I have to sort out what to do next.

  But does he feel those things too? Can I trust what I’ve seen in him, or is this distance I’m now reading a red flag?

  Maybe we can grab a few minutes before the party. “You want to head to Speakeasy? Have a drink? Just you and me?”

  Nate swallows roughly, drags a hand through his thick hair. His eyes sail away to the casino. “Listen,” he begins.

  And a chill sets in.

  My body goes cold.

  Listen is not a good word. It’s the start of the end.

  “Yes?”

  “Seeing that guy,” he says, pointing in the general direction of the theater. “It kind of has me all . . . frazzled.”

  “Okay,” I reply carefully, so I don’t say the wrong thing.

  “And I kind of need some time alone. Just an hour, maybe. I have to clear my head. You go to the party. I’ll meet you there.”

  My heart feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. But he asked for space, and I have to give it to him. “I’ll be there,” I say, giving him the space he needs.

  Nate’s lips twitch, but the smile erases itself so quickly that maybe I dreamed it.

  He walks away.

  17

  NATE

  I can’t get out of the hotel fast enough. The noise and the crowd and the people—it’s all too much. My feet are itching to run. My body is begging for exercise.

  Hell, I didn’t work out today or jog, and maybe I should have.

  Maybe I got so distracted by sex and accents that I lost sight of what’s important.

  My job, my focus.

  Not a crazy, wild weekend that’s making me feel too many things. I reach the main exit, pushing quickly through the revolving doors. The bright lights of The Extravagant’s sign flash in my eyes, blinding me.

  The whole damn Strip feels too big.

  But it also feels anonymous.

  And after a day or so with someone figuring me out so damn well, seeing into my fucking soul, I want to be unknown.

  I turn away from the hotel, picking up the pace as I walk around the portico, weaving through a pack of women in tight dresses. Then through some guys in suits with loosened ties. When I reach the Strip, I turn and walk past the Wynn, then, swinging my gaze left and right, checking out The Invitation, then the Bellagio up ahead.

  I love this city, always have, and maybe I just need to get lost in the crowd to reset me.

  Yeah, that has to be it.

  I have to chill the fuck out as I’ve always known I should do with guys. Like I told Jason I’d do. I grab my phone from my back pocket, toggle over to my messages.

  A text blinks from him. It looks like he sent it a few hours ago, before the concert. I open the thread.

  * * *

  Jason: I have arrived! See you soon. You behaving? Or not behaving?

  * * *

  Then there’s another note sent an hour later.

  * * *

  Jason: But here’s the thing . . . you should do what you want to do. Know what I mean?

  * * *

  I write back right away.

  * * *

  Nate: No. What do you mean?

  * * *

  Jason: You okay, man? You sound a little off. Come to think of it, you seemed off at the concert. What’s going on?

  * * *

  Nate: I don’t want to bug you when you’re hanging with friends.

  * * *

  Jason: Dude. TJ and Jude are way into each other. I’m such a third wheel. Talk to me.

  * * *

  My heart aches stupidly. I’m trying to figure out why I’m annoyed. Or upset. Is it because Hunter has an ex? Is it because I felt used? Or is it because seeing those two dudes fighting makes me think the takeaway is to slow the fuck down?

  Press the damn brakes once and for all.

  That has to be the boyfriend lesson.

  * * *

  Nate: Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do fall too fast.

  * * *

  Jason: Ohhhhh. Did you fall for your Brit already?

  * * *

  I wince at the words. At the utter truth reflected at me. At the fact that I well and truly need to get out of this mess before it breaks my heart.

  * * *

  Nate: Yes.

  * * *

  That’s all I say. Nothing more. No joking. No teasing.

  The phone rings, and as I walk past an Elvis impersonator reeking of tequila, Jason says, “I stepped away from those two. You okay, man?”

  I sigh. “I will be.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” I mutter.

  He laughs. “Um, we’re beyond that.”

  “I don’t know. I tried to be cool, but fuck. I like the guy,” I say, only that hardly covers it.

  “Is he a good dude? I didn’t get to talk to him much at the concert.”

  I flash back on the last day and a half. How Hunter talks to me, takes care of me, reads my moods. Senses my insecurities and then turns them into something else: into a moment of truth.

  A moment where I can start to let go of all those past issues where guys were using me to say they banged a pro baller. Guys getting me into bed because of the number on my back every Sunday, not for who I am off the field.

  Hunter doesn’t seem to care about the Hawks jersey I wear to work. He did make me feel used, though. But still, he seems to care about me. My likes and dislikes, my wants and needs. My hopes and dreams.

  “He’s a great dude,” I say, my heart in my throat.

  “Well, there you go,” Jason says.

  And here I am. Standing on the street corner, a drug store on the other side of the road, a guy in a ratty leather vest handing out tickets for a strip club nearby, and a young blonde weaving through the crowd as she carries a long, plastic cup.

  Why the fuck am I here?

  “I should go,” I say and hang up.

  I turn around and head back to the hotel. I don’t know what to say to Hunter, how to sort out the mess in my head, what to make of Brandon fighting, Hunter kissing me in front of him or my racing pulse.

  All I know is some things happen too quickly.

  And some things are meant to happen.

  When I reach The Extravagant, I’m buoyed by a burst of clarity, and I practically run to Speakeasy, searching for the dark-haired British babe.

  I hunt through the crowd, scanning, looking.

  But he’s nowhere to be found.

  I draw a deep breath. Last time I felt this way at the airport, he was there. I won’t freak out.

  That’s my lesson.

  And I stick to it as I get in the elevator and head to our suite, sliding the key across the door.

  I swing it open. “Babe,” I call out, and that affectionate nickname feels good on my tongue. Feels right to say.

  The trouble is, when I walk through the quiet suite, his suitcase is gone.

  18

  NATE

  He wouldn’t do this to me.

  He would not fucking do this to me. I repeat those words as I leave the suite, phone in hand, tapping out a message to him.

  * * *

  Nate: Hey! Where are you? I want to see you.

  * * *

  There’s no reply, but I sent it two seconds ago. My pulse spikes, and my nerves run roughshod as I head to the elevator. My brain plays out a few scenarios, most of them involving heartbreak.

  But fuck it.

  Fuck heartbreak.

  Fuck exes.

  I’m done with all that.

  I am not going to chill the fuck out. I am not going to pretend. I am going to tell him the entire truth.

  As I get on the elevator, I return to my texts, and I go for it like I’ve caught a beautiful pass, and I’m running it into the end zone, balls to the wall, nothing held back.

  * * *

  Nate: So, I learned a new lesson tonight. Want to know what it is?

  * * *

  I hit send. Still no reply. But that doesn’t matter. I keep going.

  * * *

  Nate: The lesson is this. Sometimes you meet someone, and you try not to fall too hard or too fast. You try to rein in all these feelings. And it doesn’t work. It just doesn’t work at all. Want to know why?

  * * *

  I send that, but I’m still not done when the elevator reaches the lobby, and I’m determined to go to the party and find him. Tell him the rest in person. I write one more note as the doors open.