Bloomsbury Sparks Winter Sampler by Bloomsbury Publishing

Stepbrother: The Game me He Plays Lucy Ivey by Luc

Winter Chapter Sampler

Rush by Sara Bennett Wealer Three girls. One week. One chance to start over.

Fall into the twisted web of two sexy stepbrothers in this steamy New Adult thriller.

Out of Bounds by Lauren Blakely

The first rule of football: don't screw with a streak.

Alterations By Stephanie Scott

Catching Luke by Debra Elise

A YA retelling of Sabrina set in the glam fashion world.

Can the star catcher and his sports therapist win the game of love?

Prologue Karley’s Thoughts No! No! No! This cannot be happening to me! Please no! He didn’t hear my pleas. They were all in my head as he held his hands tightly around my neck. Squeezing. Silencing me. No! How could it be him? Hot tears raced down the corners of my panicked eyes staring wildly up at him. How could I have not known it was him? The signs were always there. I just didn’t pay attention to them. For too long thoughts of his brother preoccupied me—distracted me away from him. He wanted it that way. It was part of his game. It didn’t matter who he hurt. The thrill of the game—the rush it gave him—was all that mattered. I wasn’t his only victim. There were many before me. There would be many after me. He enjoyed it too much to stop. He was too good at it to be caught. And everything about him made it so easy for him to keep going. His words. His smile. His eyes. Those eyes. Blue. Piercing. Magnetic. They made it effortless to love him. To trust him. To let him get close. I’d been under their hold many times—standing face-to-face with him, staring at him from across a room, lying under him as he made love to me. But tonight, as he lay on top of me, we weren’t making love. He was simply fulfilling his promise and ending his game with me.

Chapter 1 Broken Promises Miss Karley Woods. My eyes rolled after reading the sign. She couldn’t even find the time to come to the airport herself to pick me up. It fucking figured. Since she married him, she was different. I hated her. Knowing she had chosen him over me once again made me hate her even more. The driver took my bag and led me out to a long, shiny car in the airport parking lot. Again, it fucking figured. He would only have his new wife’s daughter ride in the best car. I hated him more than I hated her. I sat in the back of the limousine and scrolled through the pictures on my phone. I don’t know why I kept their wedding picture—or why I looked at it every day. Maybe because she looked beautiful. Angelic. Happy. No, that wasn’t the reason. It was him. I closed my eyes and tried to shake his image out of my head. Pointless. He was always with me. I refused to go to the ceremony. Her leaving my father for him was unforgiveable. The last thing I said to her before she married him was I hated them both. Immediately, I regretted it. Three years have passed and I still haven’t apologized. I shoved my phone into my pocket and opened up one of the bottles of water lined on the shelf of the car’s bar. I swallowed the liquid in a just a few gulps before picking up another bottle. Next to the bar was today’s paper. I unfolded it to the front page headline: THIRD VICTIM FOUND DEAD. I quickly skimmed the article. Kailani Rivas. Investigation. Osborne Resort. Osborne Resort. His resort. Maybe that’s why my mother wasn’t at the airport waiting for me. Maybe she was at the resort with him. Guilt for the hateful thoughts I had toward him twisted my stomach. I glanced at the article again. Young. Vibrant. Mountain. Strangled. The words began to blur. Who killed this girl? Did she know her murderer? Did she trust him? Would they catch him? Thankfully, my morbid thoughts were interrupted by the vibrating phone in my pocket. Marissa. She was my best friend and roommate back in Santa Barbara. I was supposed to call her as soon as I landed. I checked the time before I answered. I’d wasted twenty-nine minutes since I stepped off the plane. “Why didn’t you call me?” “We just landed.” “No, you landed almost a half hour ago! You know how freaked out I get about airplanes!” I smiled thinking about our relationship. She was more of a mother to me than a friend. If I told her about the article she would go into complete panic—telling me to be careful and be mindful of my surroundings. I wouldn’t worry her by telling her. Instead, over the next few minutes I listened to her telling me everything was going to be fine and to try and make the best of the

situation. She knew I didn’t have a choice to be here. My father’s job was taking him away for the holiday and after my mother asked if I could visit, his decision for me had been made. “Who knows,” she said, “Maybe you’ll get along with your stepbrothers…” My stepbrothers. Bill’s sons. Joe and Justin. Joe was the older of the two. He was twenty-two and Justin was twenty. I had no idea what either boy looked like now. I only saw a picture of them three years ago from my mom and Bill’s wedding, the wedding I refused to go to. When my mother tried showing me the pictures on her first visit after the wedding, I blankly stared at their faces. “I doubt it.” “Try to be positive about this, Karley. Besides, I’m sure your mom is nervous, too. You know, she’s probably waiting by the luggage claim holding her breath until she sees you and knows you made it home safely.” My mother had promised me she would be at the airport. But she’d also promised to always love my father. She was a liar. “No, she wasn’t and this isn’t my home.” My response was sharp. Marissa was quick to correct herself. “You know that’s not what I meant.” There was no need for her to apologize. Like always, she was trying help. I was the one that needed to apologize to her. “I’m sorry… Hey, I gotta go.” “All right, but call me whenever you can. I’ll miss you!” “I’ll miss you, too.” I stared down at the article again. And said her name out loud. Kailani Rivas. She must have known her killer. Her death was too personal for her not to have trusted him. I tossed the paper in the recycle bin thinking how some girls are so naïve and how something like that would never happen to me.

Chapter 2 The Beginning Only fifty-four minutes had passed since we pulled out of the parking garage. Through the darkness of the night, I focused on the wooden mailbox at the end of a nearly hidden driveway ahead. Osborne was burned into the wooden sign above it. Osborne. My mother’s new last name. His last name. Bill Osborne. Her husband. My stepfather. My eyes rolled with the turn of the car. I closed them again as the driver began driving up the winding road. When my stomach started to feel queasy, I opened them back up. The road was long and lined with evergreen trees on both sides. “I thought we turned in the driveway.” “This is the driveway, ma’am.” “Of course it is,” I whispered rolling my eyes again. He pretended not to notice the sarcasm lacing my tone. “We’re almost to the house.” My stare was a mixture of disbelief and disgust. After a few seconds, he spoke again. “There.” I followed in the direction of his stare. Ahead was something that resembled the shape of a house but it was much too large. As we made one final turn around the tree line, the giant structure came into full view. It looked like a hotel nestled in between mature evergreen trees. The entire front side of the house was nothing but windows and wood. You could see inside the entire house, all three floors, by standing still from where we parked the car. The smell of pine filled the air as I got out of the car. It was monstrous and completely breathtaking. “Well, this is it,” he said putting the town car into park. “Beautiful isn’t it?” I was still peering out the window taking in its size. Once I heard his question, the beauty of the house blossomed before me. But it was more than beautiful. It was amazing. The biggest, most beautiful house I had ever seen . . . and I immediately hated it. I sat frozen in the backseat when I saw her. I immediately recognized the smile I’d missed so much hiding behind her clasping hands. I wanted to smile back at her. I reminded myself that I hated her. With clenched fingers, I opened the door slowly and stepped out. Being here felt just as I thought it would . . . wrong. “Oh, honey!” she called walking up to me with opened arms. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Immediately, she took me in her trembling embrace and hugged me.

“Oh, I have missed you so much.” Her confession was almost muted as I buried my face into her soft, thick auburn hair. The familiar smell of her shampoo rushed into my nose filling it with the crisp scent of blooming lavender flowers. I wanted to cry. I had missed this smell. She pulled me from her. Still smiling. Still trembling. “Thanks for picking me up.” The harsh whisper burned my throat as badly as it burned her ears. I was fighting back angry tears. At the same time, I’d had to remind myself not to hug her back. “I’m sorry, honey. There was a lot going on at the resort. I couldn’t get away.” “Yeah, a girl was found dead,” I mumbled stepping farther away from her. “Yes, it’s terrible.” She sighed. “Bill was at the resort all day trying to help the police.” She rubbed her palm against her forehead. “Just promise me, Karley, you’ll be careful. You need to make sure you’re always aware of—” “I know how to take care of myself,” I interrupted sharply. The last thing I needed was her giving me motherly advice. She lost that right years ago. Her guilt-ridden eyes confessed she understood my resentment. Looking at her was almost like looking into a mirror. She had my caramel-colored eyes and button nose. My lips were a little fuller and I was a few inches taller than her but we still shared the same crooked smile. Her age didn’t show any more on her face the way it had those stressful months before she left my father. She looked radiant. Youthful. Happy. I had to remind myself I didn’t love her anymore. “You look so beautiful.” She sighed leaning up and kissing my cheek before taking me into her arms again. “Thanks.” “I am so happy you’re here,” she said again, almost under her breath. It was hard not to smile. I wanted to. I wanted to tell her how much I missed her. How much I loved her. But when she raised her hand to wipe her eyes, I saw the bright, sparkling reminder on her finger of why I wouldn’t. The air was trapped inside my lungs. I had to release it. It clawed and crawled its way up my throat, as I avoided her eyes. Finally, it escaped but I swallowed new air with similar difficulty. I couldn’t spend the next week this way. I had to find a way to breathe again effortlessly. Getting as far away as possible from Bill would be the only way. “Let’s go inside,” she said putting her arm around my shoulder. “I’ll send Bill back out for your stuff.” “No,” I said abruptly, “I’ll get it.” “Karley, don’t be silly. Bill won’t mind.” “I don’t want Bill to get my things,” I said a little louder than she expected. “I can get my own things.” “Okay,” she said quietly, surrendering to my rudeness once again. “But let me help you.”

“Ma’am, I’ll carry them up to the house,” the driver announced. Her soft eyes shot over to mine and then back at him. She forced a weak smile and shook her head slowly. “Thank you, Gene, but I think we’ll be okay.” He looked nervous. Uncertain of his next move, he looked up toward the house at the tall, dark figure standing in the doorway. Then with a quick, dismissive gesture from the shadowed figure, the driver nodded and handed the handle of the suitcase to my mother. He got into the car and drove away without looking back again. When I looked at the lit doorway entry, Bill was gone. Stepping inside the house, I was taken aback by the beauty and enormity in front of me. I felt as if I had walked into a snow lodge instead of a house. It was an extreme contrast to the small, confined living space I shared with Marissa. There was so much. Everywhere. It was hard to take it all in at once. Everything was light wood or dark leather. Whole trees had been cut down to construct the walls, except the front wall which was made entirely from windows. The cathedral ceiling must have been at least forty feet high at its center peak. Every inch of flooring was hardwood and thick massive rugs lay under the heavy, leather couches. The coffee and end tables also had an unusual, expensive thickness to them. Candles helped light the room, giving off a golden color throughout the house. But the most amazing feature was the huge fireplace directly in front of me. I had never seen anything so massive, so well detailed in its construction, and it gave off an inviting, comforting warmth. I set my bags down and continued to stare in awe at my surroundings. To my left, I could see the kitchen. The appliances were all stainless steel, and a large rock-tiled island sat in the center with an enormous fresh floral arrangement on top of it. This place was unlike anything I had ever seen, let alone lived in before. “Hello, Karley.” I turned to see him walking toward us from the kitchen. He looked as if he had just gotten home from work, dressed in a thousand-dollar suit no less. “Hello,” I whispered, almost embarrassed to be standing in front of him with my nondesigner, clearance-rack attire and decade-long broken down luggage. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said reaching out to hug me. I stood motionless in his arms as I always had each time he hugged me in the past. He never seemed to mind. He loved my mother enough to pretend he didn’t think her daughter was the disrespectful brat who didn’t deserve the kindness he always showed me. His smell was inviting. I breathed him in willingly. “Thank you,” I whispered as he stepped back from me. His blazing sapphire eyes met mine for only a moment before he spoke. “Well, the boys are still out, but they’ll be home later and you can meet them,” he said in a reassuring voice, as if I would be friends with either of them. I wanted to tell him I hated them, too. I didn’t.

He turned toward my mother and gave her an encouraging smile as he put his arm around her shoulder. I quickly shoved my hands in my pockets and looked away. She could sense the anger rebuilding inside me. She slid from beneath his arm awkwardly. Again, he didn’t seem to mind. “Do you wanna see your room?” There was a pathetic sense of hope in her voice. “I guess.” I bent forward to pick my bags back up when his hand touched mine. “Here, let me get that for you.” “No, I’m fine.” To my surprise, I didn’t pull my hand out from under his gentle hold. My eyes locked on his stare. Cool, blue. He slowly released his grip. “I got it.” He raised back up and let out a small sigh. Although I noticed annoyance in his exhale, it was also accompanied with a hint of amusement. It angered me. My stare dared him to say something to me. He didn’t. Instead, he offered to make us some coffee. “That would be great,” my mother said, nervously smiling back and forth at the two of us. “Do you still take hazelnut in yours, honey?” I was happy she remembered but didn’t let her know in my quick, rude response. “Yep.” She pretended not to notice. He did, too. “And what about whipped cream?” “Yep,” I repeated with the same snippy tone. Her wide eyes darted over to him and he understood the hunger in her stare. Without looking at me again, he walked back into the kitchen. Walking up the huge flight of stairs was exhausting. There had to have been at least thirty steps between the first and second floors. I sat my suitcase down when we reached the top and looked back at the downstairs. It was picture perfect, something the CEO of a snow resort should own. Bill was the owner of Osborne Ski Resort and Spa, which is how my mother met him. He came to California on a business trip four years ago trying to expand his clientele. She was working the front desk of the hotel he was staying in. And now, three years after they were married, she was the manager of the spa and salon. She loved it. She loved him. “Since tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, maybe Friday we could stop by the salon and get our hair done?” she suggested. I knew her cheeks had to be hurting by now from all of the smiling. I also knew her hair was recently dyed so her invite was actually her encouraging me to do something with mine. “Why? Don’t you like my hair?” I snapped. “No, no . . . I like it,” she said trying to backtrack quickly. “I thought you’d like to hang out and maybe have a girls’ day. We could get our hair done, get a manicure and pedicure . . . go shopping!” “Sure, whatever,” I said bending forward to pick my bag back up.

She remembered me with long, shiny blond hair. I always had highlights and the newest style but since my father lost his job and money became tight, I let my natural dark brown hair grow out. And right now, as it was mangled in a ponytail, I really shouldn’t be upset with her for mentioning fixing it. It needed it. Her weekly letters to me were always filled with money and suggestions to buy myself something nice. I never did. I had a growing savings account from it though. One day, I would give it all back to her in a letter telling her to never contact me again. One day. After she showed me to my room, I drank a cup of coffee with her and Bill. He wanted me to wait up and meet his sons but I asked to be excused for the night to take a shower and unpack. Reluctantly, he agreed. Before I walked out of the kitchen, I stopped and turned around. “Thank you for doing this.” “Doing what?” my mother asked in confusion. “Letting me stay here with you.” “Karley,” Bill said holding my mother’s hand, “this is your home as much as it is mine or your mom’s or our boys’ home. We’re a family.” I didn’t know how to react to his words. Your home . . . our boys . . . we’re a family. I didn’t respond. The few brief moments seemed to last an eternity before I could walk away from him. “Good night, sweetie,” my mother whispered, but I was already out the door. I thought twice about unpacking at all. I would only be here for a few days. But a part of me was looking forward to having my own space again even it was only temporary. When I opened the closet, it was filled from top to bottom and side to side with clothes and shoes they had bought me. There were several jackets and coats and a variety of shoes from black boots to heels. She even bought me gym shoes. Stacks of sweaters were folded neatly on the shelves alongside sweatshirts. More shirts and at least a dozen pairs of jeans hung neatly on hangers. It was a lot more than I would need for the next week or the four weeks I was supposed to come back for during Christmas break due to my father being out of town again. I refused to let his money and charm buy me the way it had her. With a mighty force, I pushed all of the new clothes to the back of the closet and began hanging what I packed in their place in the front. When I realized I’d forgotten my purse downstairs, I opened my bedroom door and heard voices other than Mom or Bill’s in the kitchen. They must have belonged to Bill’s sons, Joe and Justin. My mom had explained that, like me, Bill’s sons were in town from college—Yale—for the Thanksgiving holiday and would be leaving in four days to return to college until coming back for Christmas break, too.

The laughter coming from the kitchen echoed throughout the house. I thought about still going downstairs to get my purse but that would mean meeting Bill’s sons. After one quick look in the mirror I decided there was no way that was going to happen. I would wait until tomorrow. Lying on my new bed in the darkness of my new room, I began to cry as thoughts of everything that had happened to my family flooded my mind. The pain was unbearable. I wanted to call my father. I needed to hear his voice. But he would hear my pain and he didn’t deserve that—not after all he’d been through because of her. Instead of the call, I sent him a quick text to tell him good night. It would be best for both of us. After I sent my text, I heard someone coming up the stairs. Whoever it was walked past my room and into the next room over, shutting the door. It was one of the boys. He must have known I was here now. He must have just had no interest in meeting me. I understood. I had no interest in meeting him. Either of them. The knock on my door startled me. I pretended to be asleep as the door began to open. Mom pretended not to notice as she pulled the covers up to my chin and kissed my forehead gently. As she closed the door I heard her tell someone, “She’s already asleep.” The unfamiliar deep voice replied, “That’s all right. I can wait a little longer.”

Chapter 3 Two of a Kind I woke up to the smell of frying bacon and the sounds of male voices laughing the next morning. Both were coming from downstairs. With one eye open, I stared at the bright red numbers on my clock. 10:14. I stayed in bed for the next few minutes inhaling the delicious smell and listening to the echoing laughter filling the house. I didn’t want to see Bill or meet his sons, but I couldn’t stay hidden from them all day . . . or for the next several days. My thoughts of wondering when I should go downstairs were suddenly interrupted by the realization that I was probably the last one awake. They would all be there. Waiting for me. My stomach dropped. I pulled my knees up to my chest and waited. It didn’t last as long as I hoped. Within minutes, I took in a deep breath and slowly rolled myself out of bed. The birds were chirping. The sun was shining. Everything about this morning was perfect . . . except everything about this morning. It hadn’t been a bad dream. I was here. Vail. The lump in my throat began to swell. I swallowed it quickly and surveyed the beauty surrounding me. The shades of the lamps and the pillow cases had hand-sewn designs of flowers and butterflies on them. Burned into the wood beside the patio doors was a collection of butterflies, all different sizes and wing designs, and all of them floating toward the doors and up toward the sun. From my mother’s telling me in the past about Bill’s love for woodworking, I knew it must have been his creation for me. An offering of peace between us. Something to bring me closer to him. I touched a few of them and surprisingly, thoughts of him brought a smile to my face. Maybe he wasn’t a bad guy? My mother told me he was a good man. A man who would do anything for his sons and especially, anything to protect them. Sitting in the corner of the room, on a small wooden stool, was the doll my mother had given to me when I was a child. I walked over to her and picked her up in my arms. One of her eyes was missing, her hair was tattered and torn out in places, and her dress had old grape juice stains on it but she was still beautiful. I thought I had lost her years ago when my mother left. Another smile came to my face knowing she had been here the entire time. Safe. Waiting for me. I placed her back on the stool, took a deep breath, looked at myself in the mirror, and let it out it a huff. I looked horrible. Matted hair, glasses, and an oversize sweatshirt was not the look I wanted. Not even to meet them. The Osborne brothers. I decided if I had to do this—which I did— I wasn’t going to do it looking like a hot mess.

After a quick shower, I brushed my teeth while I searched through my closet. As much as I wanted to put on a new outfit, I didn’t. I wouldn’t give her, or him, the satisfaction. Instead, I put on a pair of jeans and a hooded UCSB sweatshirt. Decided against makeup (and my glasses) and threw my hair up in a quick pony tail. Looking in the mirror, I was satisfied. This was who I was and like it or not, to the Osborne family, it needed to be good enough. I cracked the door open and the sounds of laughter coming from the kitchen were still echoing through the house. Fuck, what is so funny? Were they that perfect of a family? I rolled my eyes back and without thinking I made a raspberry sound by sticking out my tongue and decided at that minute, I couldn’t get out of this place and away from the Osbornes fast enough. My heart was beating at a pace I was sure would lead to immediate explosion. I had no idea how I would react to his sons . . . or how they would react to me. I only knew I wanted to see them before they saw me. My steps were slow and silent. I didn’t want anyone to hear me. The closer I got to the kitchen I realized I didn’t hear my mother’s voice. I wondered if she was even awake yet. I didn’t want to be down here if she wasn’t awake, or worse, wasn’t here. I decided to see if her car was still parked outside but when I turned around, I ran right into the hard, bare chest of a man. He must have been standing behind me, watching me. Waiting for me to know he was there the whole time. Startled, I let out a loud gasping scream and quickly covered my hand to my mouth to muzzle myself. He stared down at me without saying a word, unmoved by the fear he’d caused me. He continued to stare silently. I started to take notice of his features. He was a lot taller than me. Muscular but lean. Well defined. His chest was broad and his arms were long and thick hanging closely to his sides with fisted hands. His hair looked disheveled but revealed his entire flawless face. His eyes were a familiar piercing electric blue. I struggled to look away from them until I noticed his jaw locking harder into place. Within a second, his full lips were pressed tightly together, silently announcing his complete animosity toward me. “Karley, are you okay?” I quickly turned around at the sound of Bill’s concerned voice. Worry filled his blue eyes. I was still trying to catch my breath. When I turned back to face the man, he remained motionless in front of me. Now, his jaw unlocked and the small flicker of a smile formed proving he was proud he’d frightened me—that I hadn’t known he was there. “I’m fine,” I said quickly. I tried forcing a laugh but its escape revealed my fear. “I scared myself.” “It looks like Joe might have scared you,” Bill said with a laugh. Joe. I continued to stare up at the shirtless figure still staring down at me. “Yeah, I didn’t know he was standing behind me.”

Bill’s oldest son was unaffected by his father’s playful efforts of introduction. I continued to follow his uncompromising face as he walked by me. “Joe,” Bill said when Joe passed by him, too. “I’d like for you to meet Karley.” “I just did,” he snapped coldly and didn’t stop as he continued past his father into the kitchen. “Joe—” Bill started but stopped. “Come on in here, Karley,” he said reaching his hand out for me. “Your mom will be back in a minute.” So, she wasn’t here. Great. “I want you to meet my other son.” Double great. When we walked into the kitchen, Joe’s toned shirtless back faced us as he poured coffee into his cup. Standing nearby, on the other side of the island was another tall man. His face looked younger, more innocent than his older brother’s, but it may have been the huge smile stretching across deceiving me as his stare melted into mine. His eyes were as blue as Joe’s and his hair as dark but it fell against his head instead of away like his older brother’s. He wasn’t shirtless but I could tell his body was defined like his brother’s and I couldn’t help but stare at him as he made his way over to me. “Karley, this is my other son, Justin.” Bill introduced him while smiling and flipping the pieces of bacon in the sizzling skillet with a fork. “Hi,” he said reaching his hand out to me. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” His hand was soft. His bright eyes danced as he smiled at me. And like his older brother, he was uncommonly beautiful. “Hi,” I whispered unable to control my own mouth from forming a smile back at him. I had to force myself to look away from his beauty back toward his father’s handsome face. “Where’s my mom?” “We finished the hazelnut creamer last night and when she woke up this morning, she almost had a heart attack because it was gone,” Bill said washing his hands. “She’s at the store?” I asked quietly looking out the window at the lightly falling snow. “I tried to tell her you’d survive without it.” He laughed and turned off the water. “But she said she had to go.” “Just for creamer?” But I already knew the answer. I had let my behavior get so out of control to the point that my mother was taking off in the snow in the early morning hours on Thanksgiving Day to get my spoiled, unforgiving ass coffee creamer. “She didn’t have to.” “Really? You try telling her that,” he interrupted. Although his interruption was still playful, its truth hurt. “I would offer you some coffee but I think we should wait until your mother gets back, don’t you?” He laughed again and tossed the towel he’d been using to dry his hands at his youngest son. For a moment, I felt like I would be okay here.

But Joe reminded me of the truth. “It’s not very good anyway,” he said pouring his full steaming cup out into the sink before walking out of the kitchen. I stepped back as he walked past me, leaving a cold, crippling chill in his wake. I wouldn’t be okay here. Not if he had anything to do about it. “Oh, come on. I tried, man,” Justin called out after him before using the hand towel to wipe off the counter in front of him. He looked back at me and smiled, “I don’t think it’s that bad.” I smiled at him nervously as I looked back in Joe’s direction, totally confused at his behavior. “Don’t pay any attention to him,” Justin said as I turned back to look at him. “He doesn’t mean anything by it.” Bill was obviously upset at the way Joe had behaved. But just as he was with me, he didn’t seem to know what to do about him. “He’s been through a lot, Karley,” he said, “kinda like you.” I was angry Bill had compared me to him. The two of us were nothing alike. “But it’s still no excuse,” he continued. “Do you know what I mean?” My eyes shot to his. I wanted to still be pissed at him. He was telling me not only did I act the same way but that it wasn’t appreciated. I should have apologized. He was right. I didn’t. I turned away and noticed my mother’s car coming up the driveway. I wanted to run out to her and tell her I wanted to leave. I wanted away from him. I didn’t. Instead, I waited silently as Bill walked past me and out to greet my mom. “It’ll all be okay,” Justin said quietly walking up beside me. “Promise?” It was a halfhearted statement, but he took it seriously. “I promise,” he said smiling down at me. We stared at each other for a split second before I shyly turned my eyes from his. “The coffee will, too.” “Promise?” I repeated giggling. “Maybe.” My eyes met his bright blue irises again and held. There was something about him more beautiful than his brother. More honest and sincere. More accepting of me being here. Whatever it was caused all my anxiety to disappear. “Sorry, honey,” my mom said walking through the door out of breath, “we finished the creamer last night.” “Mom, it’s okay,” I said taking the bag from her arms. “You didn’t have to go get more.” “Well, I had to get a few other things anyway for dinner today,” she said. She was lying. The one thing my mother never failed to do was be prepared for a dinner party. “What time is everyone coming over this afternoon, Sandy?” Justin asked. “Around one.” She sighed putting her purse on the kitchen table. She looked beautiful. Exhausted from making an early morning trip to the store, but beautiful. “Honey, didn’t the outfits I bought you fit?”

I glanced down at myself, then quickly over to Justin. Like my mother, he was dressed more appropriately for company. Warmth rushed to my face. I was embarrassed wondering what he was thinking about me now but more angry at her for bringing it to his attention. “I don’t know,” I mumbled. From the corner of my eye, I could see his stare still on me. My swelling lungs were burning from embarrassment. “I haven’t tried them on yet.” She could see what she had done to me. “Sweetie, I didn’t mean—” “I’ll try them on later.” I needed this conversation to be over. “Do you need any help?” She nodded quickly and released the nervous breath inside her chest. “Do you think all you kids could make sure the table is set for me?” “Sure,” Justin said measuring out more coffee. I watched him dump the scoop into the filter, shut the lid, then turn back to me. “Trust me?” I nodded playfully, and he crossed his fingers before pressing the button and turning the coffeemaker on. Something told me trusting him would be effortless. I called Marissa before going back downstairs to help set the table. I was trying to put on my makeup as I talked so I set my phone beside me on the bed and turned on the speaker. “So, you think you’ll be okay?” “I’ll be fine,” I said tracing my finger around the hand-sewn lace butterfly design on my bedspread. “And what about Bill’s sons. Are they nice? And more importantly, are they hot?” She giggled. I put my mascara down and quickly glanced at the door. I turned the phone off speaker and dedicated my full attention to our conversation. “Well, one of them is.” “Is what? Nice or hot?” They were both hot, but I couldn’t tell her that. I didn’t want to think of them in that way. I didn’t want to think of them at all. Either of them. “No, nice.” “Well, what’s wrong with the other one?” “I don’t know. I guess he doesn’t like me.” “What do you mean?” My voice was low. Hushed. “I don’t know. He’s messed up, I guess.” “Messed up?” “You know, from his parents’ divorce, I guess, and having a new parent and sibling and all that crap.” “Sounds like the two of you might have a lot in common.” Nope. Never.

Someone was standing outside my room. The door was almost closed but I could see a concentrated eye staring out of the darkness. “Hey, hold on a sec.” Nervously, I walked over to the door and opened it. It was Joe. I wondered how long he had been there without me realizing. Waiting for me to notice him again like he had earlier. Had he heard what I said to her about him? If he did, he didn’t look like he cared. “Your mom wanted me to come and get you.” Indifference filled his voice. He didn’t care about coming to get me or if I thought he was listening to my conversation or not. Without saying another word, he walked away. “So, I gotta go.” “Who was that?” “The messed-up one.” “Is he the hot one? Or are they both hot? You never did answer me!” “And I’m not going to either.” I giggled. “So that’s a big yes!” She laughed. My laughter told her she was right. “I gotta go!” “Fine! Text me later!” “Okay, bye.” “Bye.” After we hung up, I thought about her question. Hot? Yes. Fucked up? Definitely. Two of a kind? Probably. On that thought, I walked slowly down the stairs and into the kitchen. My mom was stirring something that was boiling in a pot on the stove. Bill was making coffee, no doubt fixing whatever Justin had made earlier. “Hi, sweetie.” She tried to disguise her disappointment that I hadn’t changed my outfit. “Hey.” I looked around at all the food she had prepared. I second-guessed my outfit again. Whoever was coming over, she wanted to impress them. “Everything looks great.” “You think so?” she asked smiling at me nervously. “Really?” “That’s what I keep telling her,” Bill said pouring water into the pot. His smile toward her was genuine. He was handsome. Extremely handsome. Especially when he was looking at her. I turned from his staring at her and sat on one of the stools at the island. “What do you need me to do?”

“Let’s see. Joe is getting the firewood, and Justin is taking out the trash. What else is there to do? Oh, can you fold the napkins in half for me?” She looked around frantically and then pointed to a stack of cloth napkins. “Okay,” I said taking the stack and putting them in front of me. “I think that’s it,” she said putting her hands on her hips. “You kids can set the table while I go get ready, and then everyone should be arriving in a few minutes.” She was nervous. I wasn’t sure who the guests were that were joining us for dinner but my mother wanted everything to be perfect for them. She walked over to me and put her hands on my face. “I forgot to tell you Happy Thanksgiving,” she said kissing my forehead. “I’m sorry, honey.” “It’s okay,” I said lightly squeezing her arm with my hand. “Happy Thanksgiving.” She looked down at me and smiled. “I want everything to be perfect for you today,” she said with watery eyes. “I haven’t spent a holiday with you in so long.” At that moment, I realized she wasn’t doing this for her soon-to-be arriving guests. She was doing all of it for me. My heart sank in my chest. “Everything’s great, Mom.” Her eyes met Bill’s and he smiled. “I am so happy,” she whispered. “Everyone I love is here with me today. Finally.” She gave me another kiss on the forehead and walked over to Bill. My eyes followed. And for the first time, I didn’t turn away when they kissed.

As expected, Joe didn’t talk while the three of us set the table, but Justin kept our conversation alive until my mother’s guests started to arrive. He asked me questions about friends and classes I was taking at college. It was easy to talk to him. “Are you dating anyone?” His question caught me by surprise. I tucked my chin toward my neck and smiled as my cheeks warmed under his stare. “Nobody serious.” Nobody serious? The truth was there was no one. Nobody. There had never been anyone. Well, anyone serious. I lifted my chin and met his eyes. He seemed to be reading through my answer and into my mind. He was intrigued and smiled slightly before setting down another plate. My eyes quickly darted toward Joe. Staring at me, total boredom covered his face. He couldn’t care less about my friends or hobbies or if I had a boyfriend or not. His agenda was clear. He wanted me to go away. For it to be only the two of them again.

“Do you ever bring anyone home when you come in for breaks?” I addressed the question to both brothers, but my eyes were still on Joe. He didn’t answer. He rolled his eyes and ignored my question as he walked over by his brother and picked up more glasses to set. I’m not sure if Justin noticed, or maybe he did and he just played off his brother’s rudeness from habit. “No. I don’t have a lot of friends at school, and if you can believe it, neither does Joe.” He lightly punched his brother’s arm. Like my question, Joe ignored it. Oh, I can believe it. “Oh, really?” I exaggerated my surprise and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Joe’s cold stare soften. He enjoyed my sarcasm. So this is how we would play it? Okay, asshole. I can play this game with you. With that thought, I almost allowed myself to smile at him. Almost. “So, what do you do for fun around here?” “Snowboarding.” A huge smile formed across Justin’s face. “Have you ever tried it?” “No.” “You don’t know what you’re missing out on, Karley.” He laughed. “Joe and I both work as instructors over at the lodge. Maybe we could teach you?” Joe was totally uninterested in Justin’s offer to me. Justin noticed his brother’s disinterest and laughed again. “Well, maybe I could teach you,” he said rolling his eyes. “Joe teaches the more advanced snowboarders anyway. I have actually learned everything I know from him, haven’t I, bro?” Joe shot an icy glance at his younger brother before slamming the silverware down and walking out of the room. “Not everything,” he mumbled. My mother and Bill’s friends were nice, and like Justin, seemed genuinely excited to meet me. Throughout dinner, my mother told stories about my childhood—fun, loving stories I had blocked from my memory. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the conversation. Except Joe. He seemed indifferent, even bored at times. I hated how he made me feel. I hated how he looked at me. But I hated how he hated me the most. The only thing he seemed to be enjoying was the alcohol. For every one we all had, he had two. His father noticed but said nothing. No one did. Except Justin. Like me, he wasn’t old enough. Unlike me, he was the only one not drinking. And like their father, he kept a watchful eye on his brother. Every now and then when Joe would go out to the kitchen for another bottle, Justin would follow. Returning just before Joe with a look of defeat on his face. It was obvious Justin had no influence over his brother.

Although no one saved room for dessert, we all agreed to have some. We went outside on the lanai to eat, and as with dinner, my mother had outdone herself. She’d made an amazing pumpkin pie and three delicious fruit cobblers no one could resist tasting. We all drank coffee and talked about the upcoming football season. “I’d like to take the boys to see the Broncos play again this year,” Bill said. “Karley, maybe you could go with us?” I loved football and had never been to a professional game so I was unable to hide my excitement. Joe didn’t share in my excitement at his father’s invitation to me. He loathed it. He loathed me. I didn’t care. “Yeah, sure. Sounds fun.” His hateful eyes continue to stare at me while my mother spoke. “She loves football,” my mother announced cheerfully. “She and her father used to watch it every Sunday and Monday night during the season.” He was uninterested by her announcement and everything she continued to say about me in between her small sips of wine. “And she plays rugby at college.” I caught the last sentence and looked around at everyone staring, smiling at me. Everyone but him. “Really?” my mother’s friend Suzanne asked. “Isn’t that a rough sport?” It took me a few seconds to realize she was speaking to me. “Um, it can be,” I admitted slowly tearing my thoughts away from Joe again. “I would hate the getting-dirty part and the getting-hurt part, too!” she confessed in laughter. “Well, my Karley is a pretty tough girl,” my mother gloated proudly. I was the only one to notice the sneer on Joe’s face at her comment. I could almost read his thoughts, wanting to see how tough I really was. “Good! Girls need to be tough,” Suzanne said taking another drink of wine. “I mean look what just happened to that poor girl they found—” “Suzanne, not today,” her husband Wayne interrupted shaking his head to silence her. My mother quickly looked in Bill’s direction. He was talking and hadn’t heard what Suzanne said. The three of them looked relieved. I gave my mom a stare hoping she would explain to me why none of them wanted Bill to hear. She didn’t notice. None of them did. Joe noticed. “Well, then she can join us in our football game,” Wayne said, “as long as she agrees to take it easy on us.” Everyone laughed . . . except Joe. His glowing blue eyes stayed locked on mine. “How about it, Karley?” Wayne asked. I tore my eyes away from Joe to look in Wayne’s direction, remembering Bill had told me that every year at Thanksgiving the men always played a friendly game of touch football before sitting down to watch the real game on television. This year, the Snyder family didn’t come due to other commitments so they were one man down.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I whispered. I still felt the weight of Joe’s stare but I refused to look in his direction again. “Oh, it’ll be fun, sweetie,” Audrey said as she giggled. “And don’t go easy on them.” Audrey, Suzanne, and my mother raised their wine glasses in the air and toasted the idea that I would show these men how a woman could play as hard and as good as any of them. I knew they were wrong, especially against Justin and Joe. “So, who’s on teams?” Suzanne asked hiccupping the last word out of her mouth. “Old versus young?” Audrey suggested laughing. “Come on, give us some kinda chance!” Bill laughed. “Okay, okay,” my mother chimed in laughing through a hiccup. “Bill, Joe, and Karley can be on one team and—” “No,” Joe interrupted speaking for the first time. “Justin can be on her team with dad. I’ll be on Chuck and Wayne’s team.” Oh, fuck you, Joe. I was over him already. He didn’t want me here. I got it. But his continuous reminders of it were getting old. Fast. I started getting angry thinking about how I did nothing to provoke him. He made the decision to treat me this way. I didn’t have a choice in it. “Good,” Justin said standing up. “You’re going down.” He pointed at his father’s two friends and his brother. Both men laughed but Joe stood up, expressionless. He welcomed his brother’s challenge calmly. “We’ll see.” Surprisingly, the game was a lot of fun. We would score. They would score. The ladies would cheer as they sat on the sidelines of the snowy yard holding their wine glasses tightly in their freezing hands. The back and forth scoring and waving of the wine glasses went on for over an hour. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. I even caught Joe smile once at his brother after he tackled him. Justin got up and jumped on his back, and Joe took him down again jokingly. Seeing Joe smile made me smile. He was as good looking, if not better looking than Justin, especially when he smiled. But when our eyes met, he quickly erased the smile from his face and turned away from me. I stopped smiling too, but continued to stare at him. Why didn’t he want anything to do with me? Why did I care? “Okay, we have one more play before we need to go inside,” Bill said to me and Justin in our three-man huddle. “Karley, I’m gonna pass you the ball and Justin will save you by blocking Joe when he comes after you.” “Okay,” I said breathing heavily.

I wanted to believe him but the determination in Joe’s eyes across the yard gave me doubt Justin would be able to stop him. “Okay, on three,” Bill said putting his hand in the center of our huddle. We all counted, then went to our positions hoping to score the final goal that would break the tie and give us the win. After the hike, Bill passed me the ball and I took off toward the goal. My mother and her friends cheered loudly from the sidelines and as expected, Joe ran toward me. Justin was running beside me. His quick smile gave me confidence he would block his brother from tackling me. I had no more fear. We were all running as fast as we could when Justin tripped and stumbled. Joe’s body crashed into mine and I hit the ground with a loud thud. I was sure every bone in my body was broken. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Justin screamed at Joe as he pushed him away from me. “Karley, are you okay?” I felt dizzy as my head spun around in circles. It could have been the three glasses of wine I drank with dinner, but I knew it was from the hard hit Joe had just given me. “I’m fine,” I lied quietly. “Sweetie, are you okay?” my mother asked rushing to me. “I’m fine,” I whispered standing up with Justin and Bill’s help. Other than the throbbing in my head, Joe was all I could focus on as he gave me a cold, unapologetic stare. His unremorseful glare angered me. I was the only one who saw his lip curl up in satisfaction before turning away and walking toward the house. “Bill?” my mother said clearly upset. “I’ll go talk to him,” he said putting his hand up to calm my mother down. “Mom, I’m fine,” I snapped knowing my eyes were filled with tears but refusing to allow myself to cry. “Are you sure?” Justin asked lifting my chin with his hand to see my face. “Yes,” I said. After looking into his eyes, I felt a little more dazed. “Okay, no more football!” my mother said waving her hands in front of her. The women nodded in agreement. “Looks like we won!” Chuck said picking up the football beside my feet. Everyone looked at him in disbelief until I started laughing. “You think?” his wife asked. He smiled and handed me the football. “Wait until next year,” I warned laughing. “Well, maybe next year we’ll try a different sport,” he suggested lightly patting my back. “Hunting, maybe?” I shook my head. “Count me out,” I said trying to conceal my pain. “I don’t think I could kill anything.” “It’s not as bad as you think,” Justin said matter-of-factly. His eyes met mine and a deep chill traveled slowly down my spine.

“It’s true,” Wayne agreed. But my thoughts were stuck on Justin’s tone, not his words. The emptiness in them left me wondering if he was still talking about hunting. “Let me help you inside,” he said taking my body weight away from me and putting it all on him. “I’m fine, really. I can walk by myself.” “Are you sure?” Justin was concerned about me. His brother hit me hard. And it was obvious he was furious at Joe for it. “I’m fine,” I lied trying to hold on to the football with both hands and balance my steps at the same time. By the time I made it inside the house, Bill was already in the kitchen yelling at Joe. “I didn’t mean to hit her that hard,” Joe said in a voice as loud as his father’s. “Well, you need to apologize to her!” “Why? It was a game and she’s fine,” Joe said. “She’s a tough girl, remember.” The silence coming from the kitchen after his remark was deafening. And now, I didn’t want Joe to apologize to me. I didn’t want to talk to him or see his face ever again. I truly hated him now. He meant to hurt me. He wanted to hurt me. I pulled off my muddy shirt and stood in front of my mirror. The color of my chest was settling into a deep raspberry pink where the blood was collecting under the skin. It would definitely be purple by tomorrow. Fucking asshole. The soft knock at the door startled me. I assumed it would be Joe following his father’s orders to apologize. I didn’t answer it. Seeing his face, no matter how beautiful, was the last thing I wanted. After a few seconds of silence there was another, softer knock, but this time the door began to open. “Karley?” It was Justin. I must have looked like a startled deer staring back at him. I didn’t expect him to just open my door. But he didn’t apologize and he didn’t back himself out when he noticed I had my shirt off. Instead, he opened the door wider and let himself inside. He shut the door behind him and continued to stare at my shirtless body. I couldn’t breathe. A part of me was astounded, maybe even appalled, that he just walked into my room. Another part of me, a bigger part, was attracted to his quiet confidence of going after what he wanted without waiting for permission. I still wanted to tell him to turn around. I didn’t. I let him look at me. And when his approving eyes fell to my chest, he smiled. Only for a moment. Only until he noticed the mark across my chest. Then, the softness immediately hardened. In a rush, he walked over to me and wrapped his hands around my arms. “Fuck! Did Joe do that?”

“I’m fine.” The whisper was all I could manage having him so close to me. He released his hold and softly touched my chest. Having his hand so close to my breasts sent a warming sensation throughout my body that left me unable to move, staring into his flaming blue eyes. “It’s okay.” “No, it’s not.” His voice was stern but his touch was soft. As he gently caressed my skin with the tips of his fingers, the beating of my heart sped up. Watching the soft brushing of his fingers across my chest was a slow burning torture. Watching the intent build in his eyes when he moved his fingers closer to the lace of my bra delivered an anticipation I’d never experienced. I wanted him to continue touching me. I wanted him to continue looking at me the way he was, so passionate and protective. But when our stares met, I took a step back. “Justin, really, I’m okay.” I quickly found a shirt to put on from my closet. I hesitated to turn around to face him. I couldn’t meet his stare again. “I just needed to make sure you were okay.” When I finally turned around, he was leaning his head against the frame of the closed door. “I should have done a better job of protecting you. I know how he is. How strong he is and what he is capable of doing.” His eyes drifted away from mine. Some other thought had entered his mind. When he realized, he looked back at me. His smile was kind, but fake. “I’m sure he thought I would be the one he was running into, which is why he came at you so hard.” He was trying to protect his brother and take the blame for his cruel, intentional actions. “I won’t let him hurt you again.” The one thing very clear to me now was that the two of them were nothing alike. I walked back over toward him. “It’s not a big deal, really.” He reached his hand over to my face and gently moved a piece of hair from my lips and placed it behind my ear. “Karley, he won’t hurt you again.” There was a seriousness in his voice. Dedication maybe. A promise perhaps. The truth hopefully. I wanted him to stay, but whatever I was feeling needed to stop. Whatever it was, he felt it, too. “I’ll see you downstairs,” I whispered. He let his hand fall slowly and closed the door behind him leaving me breathless again. I leaned against the closed door. My head no longer throbbed but every other inch of me did, bringing a smile to my face. A few seconds later, a light knock at my door interrupted my thoughts. I opened it quickly thinking it was him again. I wanted it to be him. It wasn’t.

It was Joe. The smile on my face quickly disappeared. I was startled by his lean, muscular body standing shirtless in front of me. He said nothing as he stared. His jaw was hard and his lips were narrow. “If I hurt you, it’s not what I wanted,” he said in a low, unconvincing voice. I didn’t even think he believed what he was saying and I definitely didn’t. His apology was insincere. His father was making him apologize. “Really? Because you looked like you enjoyed hurting me!” I snapped. My challenge amused him. True to his character, his blazing blue eyes locked as his jaw tightened slowly into place. I expected him to say something inconsiderate that would penetrate me below the skin. He didn’t. He remained silent. I would need to make the next move. “Look, I know your dad told you to come up here and I wish he hadn’t, but you can go tell him I said not to worry about it.” We stood face-to-face in silence. “Fine,” he agreed backing himself away from my door. “But so you know, I came up here on my own. I wanted you to know hurting you wasn’t the plan.” His emphasis on the word filled me with just as much fury as it did confusion. There were so many things I wanted to say to him. Asking him what his plan really was with me was the only answer I wanted to hear. Unfortunately, the musical voice of my mother calling us from the kitchen interrupted our conversation, and I walked by him without saying another word. By the time everyone left for the evening, I was exhausted. My mother had plans to wake me up at four-thirty in the morning so we could truly experience Black Friday but I really didn’t want to go. I was exhausted and my head was throbbing from hitting the cold, hard ground. “I think I’m gonna go to bed,” I said after I helped my mother clean up the kitchen. “Okay, honey. I’ll wake you up around four-thirty, okay?” This was something she really wanted and maybe, in some way, I wanted it, too. “Okay.” Before I reached the top of the stairs, I heard Justin and Joe arguing in the nearest room. I couldn’t make out everything they were saying, but one of them told the other one to stay away from me, that I wasn’t supposed to be part of their game in the first place. I could only assume it was Justin trying to protect me again by telling his brother to leave me alone. “Too late,” the other replied. Is Joe seriously that fucking pissed because I played football with them? This guy was unbelievable. Fucking asshole. The door flung open and my wide eyes met Joe’s stare. He paused for a split second before closing the bedroom door behind him. He walked slowly to the top of the stairs and stood above me.

Everything about him was uncomfortably beautiful . . . especially the way he was looking at me now. It took my breath away. I walked past him feeling the intense stare of his blue eyes following me again. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Good night, Karley.â&#x20AC;? The haunting words of his sweet voice echoed inside my head. When I closed my bedroom door, I was finally able to breathe again.

ONE Sorority rush is no place for a lovesick heart. Cass Ryland knew this, yet she couldn’t resist checking her phone while her sorority sisters got into formation for the first party of the first day of recruitment week. The blank screen taunted her from the pocket of her dress: Nothing from Leo. On the other side of Sigma Theta Kappa’s red front door, rushees were gathering, preparing to make the best possible impression in hopes of being chosen. In the sorority house foyer, the sisters were also assembled, preparing to sort out a new freshman pledge class. Meanwhile, Cass was preparing herself for Leo to come home. Her best friend— he of the many piercings and brilliant stage designs—had spent the summer hundreds of miles away at Interlochen, helping equally brilliant younger kids hone their dramatic arts skills. And he was returning today—the same day as the start of rush. Cass had been dreading both. Because all summer long, looking at photos of Leo having fun with his camp kids and fellow counselors, especially the pretty female counselors with tanned skin and carefree smiles, Cass had tried to convince herself that the gnawing at her heart was just the fact that she and Leo had never been apart for that long before. But as the days wore on, she finally had to admit what she’d known deep down for years: She loved that quirky, hot-tempered too-charming-for-his-own-good guy. She madly, stupidly, cravenly adored him. Admitting this had felt good at first, and it lit a fire that got more intense once it could burn freely. But Cass knew the flames would eventually scorch her, because Leo

almost certainly didn’t feel the same way. As their reunion got closer, his texts stayed as witty and casual as they’d ever been—when they came at all. She hadn’t heard from him all day, not even to let her know when he might get back into town. “Cassandra, no phones!” snapped Delia Danforth, president of Sigma Theta Kappa. Cass shoved her phone back into her pocket, avoiding Delia’s gray-eyed glare. Here she was, getting ready to meet countless dozens of girls who yearned to be part of something for which Cass had almost completely lost her passion. Once she’d been in love with Sigma, too. But that was before. “Does anyone know where my name tag is?” Isla Drew turned in a circle, patting herself. “I took it off for two seconds and put it right here next to the mail tray.” The sisters around Isla looked beneath their feet and behind the vase, made Isla shake out her skirts, even asked if she was sure she’d actually put it on in the first place. Eventually they shrugged, giving the name tag up for gone, as Isla went to fetch a new one. Things had a way of disappearing around the Sigma house. Conversations died to a quiet buzz. In the lull, Cass thought she heard footfalls in the hallway above, though no one was supposed to be up there. Another thump, then a faint sound that could have been a chair scraping against floorboards. Cass looked up at the ceiling where it extended from the second landing of the grand staircase to a room nobody used anymore. A few girls in the foyer flashed each other knowing glances. The Sigma sisters had grown used to things going bump around the house. Some of them were freaked out about it, but it gave Cass got an odd sort of comfort. Apparently, Marianne had returned for rush, too.

TWO “This is the best sorority on campus,” Maddy Christopher told her new roommate, Imogen. The girls stood in front of the white house, with its pillared porch and red front door, waiting along with fifty other freshmen to start their first recruitment party. “Sigma Theta Kappa. Everybody wants to be a Sigma.” Imogen lifted her sunglasses and peered underneath them. With her other hand, she pulled a mass of wavy hair away from her face. “Looks stuffy,” she said. Maddy smiled. She knew for a fact that Imogen hadn’t combed her hair or put on more than a smear of lip gloss after getting out of the shower just ten minutes before the shuttle buses arrived. She, on the other hand, had been up since 4:00, doing her makeup, hair, and nails, making sure every lock and lash looked perfect. She smoothed her skirt, checked the Alice band that held her own straight bob in place, and then slipped her hand into her purse to finger the schedule folded inside. It listed the twelve parties her recruitment group would attend that day—one for every sorority at Baldwin University. The schedules were put together by the Greek Council to make sure each girl got an equal chance to be seen by every house. And what was first on Maddy’s list? Sigma Theta Kappa. It was a sign. Maddy knew from the recruitment handbook and the videos she’d found filled with rush hacks that the first day would be exhausting. But with Sigma first, she’d be fresh. Sparkling. Ready. Because behind that red door lay everything Maddy had wanted for the last four years of her life. Sigma Theta Kappa, as anybody who knew anything about the Greek system could tell you, was all about excellence. Campus to campus, all over the country, Sigmas

were the girls on the dean’s list. They were the Rhodes scholars and the cum laude grads; after graduation they went on to be thought leaders, accomplished businesswomen, and high-ranking government officials. Maddy knew all this because she’d spent a ton of time reading about Sigma online, dreaming of the day when she could go someplace where people valued things like hard work, high standards, and friendships built on more than partying and designer clothes. All anybody seemed to value in her hometown was the ability to hit as many keg parties as possible on Friday and Saturday, then coast through the rest of their days gossiping about whatever drama had been stirred up over the weekend. Scrambling and scraping along the social fringes at Chesterfield High, Maddy had told herself college friendships were the ones that mattered. And when you were chosen for a sorority, you got sisters for life, which Maddy liked the sound of because her real sister, Miranda, left a lot to be desired in the sisterhood department. What kind of sister would hook up with her twin’s boyfriend—especially on the night before said twin was supposed to leave for school two hours away? Maddy shifted her purse to her other shoulder. She wished she’d brought a pair of sunglasses, like Imogen, so she could check out the other rushees without looking too obvious. In front of her stood a girl in a poufy pink dress. Way too formal. A couple of girls lazed against the trunk of a tree wearing miniskirts and flip-flops. Hopelessly sloppy. Maddy, by contrast, had spent six months’ worth of allowance on her recruitment wardrobe, plus most of her summer wages from her job at Is This Really Yogurt? Her sundress and ballet flats said “Totally Sigma,” and Maddy noted with satisfaction that she looked just as good as—if not better—than the other girls who appeared to be “Totally Sigma,” too. Maddy stood a little straighter. Like it or not, those girls were the

competition. Because not only was Sigma Theta Kappa the best house on campus, it also was the hardest to get into. “It’s hot already,” Imogen complained, fidgeting in her peasant skirt. “How much longer are they going to make us wait out here?” “They can’t start until seven a.m. exactly,” Maddy answered. “All of the houses have to start right at the same time or it won’t be fair.” Imogen looked impressed. She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head. “You know all the rules, don’t you?” Maddy blushed, because Maddy did. That was the great thing about recruitment; it was all about rules. During rush you got a fresh start. A fair chance. An opportunity to stand on your own merits instead of being judged by people who’d decided back in preschool that you weren’t good enough for their inner circle. She could already imagine what those people would say: “Did you hear about Maddy Christopher? She’s a Sigma at Baldwin.” “No way. Maddy Christopher?” “Yeah. Who knew?” “Wake up, everybody!” Alex, their super-peppy recruitment counselor, bounded to the front of the crowd. Clapping her hands, she launched into “The Greek Alphabet Song.” “‘Alpha, beta, gamma, delta, epsilon, zeta, eta, theta . . .’ Come on, you guys!” All around, girls started singing, looking grateful for something to focus on. “. . . iota, kappa, lambda, mu, nu, xi, omicron, pi . . .” Maddy mouthed the words as she gazed at the three Greek letters above the red front door of the sorority house: A sharp-angled sigma next to a perfectly round theta and

a smart-looking letter “K.” She had learned to look for those letters on the lavaliere necklaces worn by Baldwin girls whenever she made the drive from Chesterfield to shop at the mall. After her initiation ceremony, when Maddy got her own lavaliere, she would wear it out for coffee when she went home on Christmas break. She would let it dangle from the neckline of her sweater at church. And when her boyfriend Logan saw it (or was he her ex-boyfriend now? Maddy wasn’t exactly sure . . .), he would realize how much better for him she was than Miranda, who’d stayed behind to go to State with all the other Chesterfield people. But before she was sworn in and could wear the Greek letters, Maddy would wear the Sigma symbol—a silver star given to each new girl on the day she accepted a bid. Maddy practically had that passage memorized from the recruitment handbook: The star of Sigma Theta Kappa stands for the highest standards of service and sisterhood. Like constellations in the night sky, the sisters of Sigma Theta Kappa strive to serve as beacons of excellence and inspiration. Maddy ached to be a beacon. She knew she had excellence in her. All she needed was the chance to show it. “All right, it’s almost time!” yelled Alex the counselor, bouncing up and down. “Remember, be yourselves. Let the real you shine!” Imogen rolled her eyes. She gathered her hair and knotted it sloppily on top of her head. Poor Im. Maddy had liked her immediately the day before, when she’d shown up in their dorm room dragging a huge duffel bag and announced, “There’s no way I can go through with this Greek thing. I forgot my toga!” Maddy had resolved to help Imogen because Imogen was fun and nice and—Maddy had to be honest—because Imogen

wasn’t competition. Nobody that clueless about rush could possibly be a threat, which meant they could be friends without the tension of both girls wanting the same thing. Even though she’d known her roommate less than twenty-four hours, Maddy knew she’d miss her when Maddy got her pledge bid and moved into the white-pillared Sigma house. Which would be soon; she could feel it. In a matter of minutes, the red door would open and the sisters of Sigma Theta Kappa would welcome her in. They would want her and include her the way the others never had. Maddy Christopher would finally belong.

THREE What am I doing here? Imogen asked herself. At five to seven on a Monday morning, camped out with a bunch of other girls like groupies before a concert? It was insane. Not that Imogen minded waiting for something good. But this wasn’t some amazing new band. This was freaking sorority rush. Ah, well. When in Rome. Or Greece . . . Actually, Baldwin University was nothing like Greece, where Imogen had spent her summers for as long as she could remember. And these houses, with their fake pillars and circle drives, were nothing like the villas on Syros. Still, everybody she’d talked to at Baldwin so far raved about “Going Greek.” She’d watched the recruitment counselors get all teary when they talked about sisterhood and friendships for life. She’d listened to Maddy, her roommate at McNally Hall, tell her how the connections they were making now would affect everything they did for the next four years and beyond, and sorry, but the whole thing just sounded crazy. Crazy to think you could pick your new best friends in just five days. Crazy to make a bunch of freshmen show up a week before classes started and go through the stress of rush before they’d figured out if they could handle the stress of college. But most of all, crazy to make them slog through twelve parties in one day. The parties started at 7:00 in the morning and went until 7:00 at night. It was a marathon of parties, and not the kind where you got buzzed while rocking out to great music. Imogen already knew what kind of parties these were going to be because she’d sat through tons of them during the year of service leading up to her debutante ball: girls

in dresses with their legs crossed, drinking iced tea and talking about volunteer work as if they were all perfect angels. Yeah, right. Imogen pushed a sweaty strand of hair from her eyes. Next to her, Maddy looked like she was about to pee herself with excitement. Imogen liked her new roommate but one thing was for sure: Maddy Christopher took this whole sorority recruitment thing way too seriously. With twelve houses on campus, you were sure to find someplace that would take you—unless you were a complete and utter dork. So what was the big deal? “The big deal, Imogen, is that we have been Sigmas for generations.” There it was again: the memory of her mother, all haughty-breezy and of-courseyou’ll-do-sorority-rush, darling. Imogen could still see Didi Bansford-Ash sipping mimosa in their breakfast room overlooking Central Park. “Your great-great grandmother was a founding member,” she’d said while Imogen poked at her eggs. “Your greatgrandmother and Nana were Sigmas, and so was I.” Poke, poke, poke. There really was nothing left to pulverize, so Imogen had started making tracks through the egg goo with her fork. Her father cleared his throat, and she’d looked up to see him wink at her across the table. She gave him a tiny, grateful smile in return. “Sigma Theta Kappa helped mold the women of this family into who they are today,” her mother continued. “Nothing would please your Nana more than to see you carry on the family tradition.” Tradition. Ugh. Imogen had had tradition drilled into her since she was old enough to sit up in the family pew at church. Tradition had molded her Nana into a relic

as stiff as her drinks, and Didi didn’t have far to go before she ended up the same way. Tradition had stuck Imogen with the same deadly dull people from pre-K through prep school, and it had driven her best friend, Tippy Sinclair, off the deep end. “I can’t breathe around these people,” Tippy had told her one night after downing four vodka-cranberries and snorting more coke than Imogen had ever seen her do before. She’d stretched across a chaise lounge on the balcony of the new club-of-the-moment and put her head in Imogen’s lap. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but sometimes I think I’d rather get it over with right now instead of letting them kill me slowly.” Tippy had disappeared not long after that—walked right out of their straitlaced world and into one from which photos would sometimes emerge of her stoned to oblivion in dark, dirty rooms. Every now and then a snap would arrive on Imogen’s phone, showing her friend dancing wildly somewhere, her face a pharmaceutically induced blank. Unlike Tippy, Imogen figured there had to be a way to give tradition the slip without frying her brain. It was a big reason why she’d chosen a state school instead of an Ivy. Baldwin University had the best journalism program in the country, plus an alumni network to rival Harvard’s or Brown’s or any of the arguably more prestigious schools Imogen could have gone to. Baldwin was where her mentor and idol, the Pulitzer Prize– winning journalist Dorothy Graham, had recommended she go. “The Baldwin Beacon does hard-core investigative work,” Dot had said while taking refuge from one of Didi’s cocktail parties in Imogen’s room. “If you can survive there, you can survive any war zone, and I’m only half joking when I say that.” Since Dot

had just gotten back from dodging genocidal warlords in a remote African province, Imogen figured she knew what she was talking about. Plus, Imogen liked the whole midwestern thing: Cornfields and casseroles, big stretches of open sky, people who said hi to you as they passed by. As soon as her mom found out Baldwin had a Sigma chapter, though, Imogen was toast. “Give it the old college try,” her dad had said from across the breakfast table. “Pledge Sigma, and if you don’t like it after a semester, then you don’t have to go active. Just try it out and make your mother happy.” He’d grinned his I’m on your side grin, and Imogen had given in. She would have done anything for him. But God. This was ridiculous. “Okay, so educate me,” she said to Maddy. She pulled out her schedule and squinted at it. “This sort of looks like a sports bracket. Is every day an elimination round or something?” “Pretty much,” Maddy answered. “Today we go to all of the houses, then they decide who they want to invite back for tomorrow. It goes like that for the next three days. The houses can cut you and you can cut them if there are any you don’t like. It all gets narrowed down until Pref Day, when you go to your three favorite houses—the ones you’re the most serious about pledging. Recruitment ends on Bid Day. That’s when the houses that want you send a formal invitation. If you’re lucky, you get to choose which one to pledge.” “What if none of them invite you?” Maddy blinked. “I don’t know, and I’m not planning on finding out.”

Sighing, Imogen put her schedule away. Rush hadn’t even officially started, and already she could tell it was going to be dull, dull, dull. “So I heard this house is haunted,” a girl behind her said. Imogen’s ears perked up. Now this wasn’t dull. She glanced over at Maddy, who raised an eyebrow. “I heard it, too,” said somebody else in their group. “Some girl fell out a window.” “Are you talking about Bloody Mary?” This came from yet another girl. “She didn’t fall; she jumped. My brother’s an Alpha Rho Tau, and he was a freshman when it happened. He said the room where she jumped is sealed off. But supposedly you can still see her in the window.” “Hey!” Alex, their recruitment counselor, appeared, almost like a ghost herself. “I don’t mean to be a Debbie Downer, but that’s probably not a topic you want to bring up. Keep the conversation on positive topics. Chat about your summer jobs or your charity work!” Imogen peered over Alex’s head at a window on the third floor of the sorority. She let her gaze travel down the front of the house to the steps and the sidewalk beneath their feet. She had a vision of a girl lying there, the blood from her body matching the red of the door. Imogen looked up again, just in time to catch what looked like a flash in the window. It was probably just the sun glinting on the glass, but she could have sworn, if only for a second, that she saw a girl in white gazing down on them as they got ready to start the first party of rush.

FOUR “Eleven minutes until we open, ladies! Eleven minutes!” Cass shifted from one foot to the other as Delia Danforth paced back and forth across the sorority house foyer, barking last-minute orders. Outside on the lawn the crowd had grown bigger, each girl hoping by week’s end to wear the Sigma star around her neck. Cass could practically feel their nervous energy through the red front door. And behind her, she could feel the heat of her sorority sisters, all sixty of them, crammed between the parlor archway and the grand staircase. “Nine minutes!” Delia shouted. “Make sure you’re in your correct places. And if you’ve been assigned a rushee, please be sure you’re ready to greet her when I call out her name!” Delia turned, fixing Cass with eyes the color of a computer or a bullet or some other scarily focused, super-mechanical instrument as she checked to make sure Cass had ditched her phone. “Cassandra. Are you ready?” “Ready,” Cass mumbled. It was time to put her lovesick heart on ice; Leo either wasn’t back in town yet, or he’d decided to wait and call later. “What was that?” said Delia. “I’m ready,” Cass answered, more clearly this time. “Good.” Delia moved on, stooping to pick up a speck of paper from the Oriental rug. Cass shifted again. Her espadrilles were too small. She’d waited until the very last minute to buy her costumes—a different theme for each day of the week, and by the time she got around to getting shoes for today’s Southwestern party, all of the shops were selling boots, sneakers, and closed-toe pumps for winter. She’d found what had to be the

last pair of espadrilles available online, and now her big toes screamed as they threatened to pop through the canvas. The sleeves of her Mexican-style dress were tight, too, while the rest of the fabric billowed out, making her look like a walking tent. Whoever made the damned thing obviously intended it for skinny girls only. Or maybe Cass just wanted to blame her agony on something other than the fact that she really, really did not want to be there right now. She glanced over her shoulder at her Sigma sisters, who stood in formation like the honeycomb of a beehive. Normally as a second year, Cass would be standing with them, just a worker bee helping gather up the honey. But through a sick twist of fate involving a Malaysian scuba trip, the bends, and a doctor’s order that Leith McClendon, a third year, would not be able to fulfill her duties as Sigma’s official music leader, Cass stood at the front, a gatekeeper bee. When the red door opened, the sisters would swarm onto the porch, singing and clapping. They would arrange themselves behind Cass once again, and then the rushees would come forward. Cass’s job, in addition to keeping her sisters on key and on tempo, was to make sure the right rushees got paired with the right sisters using an elaborate system that helped ensure Sigma would snag the most attractive, the most accomplished—the most Sigma—of all the Sigma hopefuls for this year’s pledge class. From deep inside the formation, Cass’s roommate, Ruby, caught her eye and waved, one of just a few brown faces in the group. This was all Ruby’s fault. She had nominated Cass for music leader back in the spring, because Cass was a voice major and actually knew a thing or two about music. But Leith got the spot instead and Cass had

made deputy, which mostly meant directing the Sigma anthem at chapter meetings on nights when Leith couldn’t make it. Then Leith went deep-sea diving and came back at the end of the summer a staggering, mumbling mess. Sigma couldn’t have a Music Leader with decompression sickness, and Cass had attended the meetings where they’d demonstrated the allimportant hostess system, so when everybody returned to campus for recruitment week, Delia had moved her up to the head of the hive. “You’ll do a great job,” Ruby had said after Delia delivered the news. “You’re a good person, Cass. This place needs you.” Back in the foyer, Ruby winked through the turquoise and fuchsia hair bows that stood up from the other sisters’ heads like antennae. Ruby—so idealistic, and so completely blind to what really mattered at Sigma Theta Kappa, which most definitely was not being a good person. As if to prove it, Courtney Mann, Sigma’s vice president, scooted over just enough to block Ruby off. She puffed out her cheeks and pushed up the end of her nose, making a piggish face until she was certain Cass had noticed. Then she nudged her favorite sidekick, Aimee Wu, and the two of them snickered. Cass clenched her fists and looked away. All she wanted was to get through the week, do her job, and then get on with her life. Responding to Courtney would only invite trouble. “Okay, ladies!” Delia shouted, pulling everyone’s focus back to the head of the room. “Let’s take these last few minutes to review the rules. Number one.” She held up a finger. “No smoking on the front or side porches or anyplace else where a rushee might see. That’s not the image we want to present.”

A couple of girls groaned behind Cass, who could sympathize even though she wouldn’t have been caught dead smoking. The next few days were going to be stressful and everybody deserved a little relief, even if their particular relaxation method did pose a massive cancer risk. “Number two: no conversations with rushees about drinking or fraternity parties. Remember, a Sigma is always discreet.” Delia brought her free hand to her throat, fingering the lavaliere there, and Cass couldn’t help noticing the chapter pin just a few inches away on her chest. It gleamed next to a bigger pin, which everybody knew belonged to Delia’s boyfriend, the president next door at Omega Tau Epsilon. They were the campus power couple—what Cass imagined Barbie and Ken would be like with perfect GPAs and a future in world domination. “Number three,” Delia went on, “Every rushee should feel welcome here, even if you know they’re ultimately not Sigma material. And number four—this is the most important of all—no contact of any kind with rushees outside of official recruitment parties.” Heads were nodding. If any rule had been drilled into them it was that one. The Greek Council called fraternization outside of rush parties “dirty rushing” because it created an unfair advantage to both the rushee and the sorority. Just the year before, a Sigma sister had been caught doing it. The incident still hung over the house in the form of added scrutiny from the council. It also lingered in ways Cass didn’t like to think about because they made her feel like a stranger in what was supposed to be her home away from home. She glanced around at the other girls in her pledge class—the ones who’d

joined Sigma at the same time. They were all victims of what had happened during recruitment last year, even though they rarely talked about it; it was simply too painful to discuss. “Finally . . .” Delia checked her watch before maneuvering to the phone desk and pulling a folder out of a top drawer. She held up a thin stack of eight-by-ten color printouts. “Let’s review our top prospects. Who do we want?” She held up the first photo—a brunette with a mouth that would make a dental hygienist proud. “Tasha Coates!” the sisters shouted in unison. “And this one?” A girl with white-blond hair and an upturned nose. “Rachel Morgan!” Cass felt bad for the rushees outside on the lawn. Before she knew how rush really worked at Sigma, she’d believed like they probably did now that everybody was on the same relatively anonymous level until the parties started. In truth, there were some rushees the sisters had known about for months. The must-haves. Must-haves had something special—prestigious families, ridiculous amounts of academic honors, or just a certain undefinable “it” that made the actives in every major house drool. Must-haves were the prizes by which Sigma and its competitors gauged their success each year, and they were the girls who were always given first priority. “Last but not least . . .” said Delia, holding up a photo of a girl with wavy brown hair and a wry smile. “Who is this?” “Imogen Ash!” the sisters shouted, and burst into cheers.

“Imogen Ash,” Cass murmured, a half beat too late. Not only was Imogen Ash a quadruple Sigma legacy with more money than God, she was also supposed to be some kind of genius. Apparently she spoke five different languages, narrowly missed qualifying for the Olympics in equestrianism, and her high school science team, of which Imogen was captain, had invented a new molecule that had been patented by NASA. The buzz about Imogen Ash had been going on since last spring break, when Nan Zimmerman, president of Sigma’s biggest rival, Beta Phi, heard a rumor in St. Barths that the heiress to the Ash family fortune had scandalized her family by enrolling at Baldwin instead of Brown. Since then, every sorority on campus had had her at the top of their recruitment lists. Imogen Ash was the must-have to end all must-haves. “That’s right,” Delia shouted. “We want Imogen Ash! And she’s coming to the first party, so that means we have to be at our best from the start.” Delia checked her watch again. “Are you sure you’re ready?” she asked Cass. Cass felt the skin on her neck prickle. Delia’s dad had died just a few days before rush. According to the rumor mill, she’d left the funeral and gone straight to the airport for her flight back to Baldwin. Cass could see how all that could affect a person’s mental state, but why did Delia have to fixate on her so much? “Ready!” Cass answered, smiling her biggest Sigma smile. Delia nodded, then turned her bullet eyes on the rest of the sisters. “Four minutes to go now, ladies. Let’s quiet down and get prepared.” Cass looked over her shoulder one last time, caught Ruby’s eye, and put both hands to her cheeks in her best Scream imitation.

This was going to be painful.

Chapter One Dani

I’ll admit it. I’ve been ogling today in the ocean. I’ve been checking someone out in the water. But, in my defense, anyone would. His body is to die for. From my vantage point several waves away, it’s a mighty nice view. Especially when the big, broad guy with the killer smile pops up on his board, bends his knees, and glides along a rolling crest in the Pacific Ocean. Like he belongs there. Well, this time. Admittedly, he’s toppled into the waves a lot this afternoon, but we all land on our butts in the water now and then. Staying vertical on a longboard isn’t the easiest task in the universe. Besides, who’s counting? Or gawking? Oh wait. That’d be me, draped over my board, lolling in the water and enjoying the eye candy in between my own sessions on the waves. When Eye Candy Surfer Guy gets up there, he looks damn good. Calm. In control. Muscles rippling and glistening with ocean water. Happy sigh. I tilt my head, when I spot trouble in the form of another guy. A lanky dude on a battered orange board drops into Eye Candy’s wave, inserting himself exactly where he shouldn’t be. There’s a rule in the ocean—you don’t stick yourself into someone else’s wave. That’s when it happens.

The board shoots out from beneath the skinny dude, and in a blur of lanky limbs, he tumbles backward into the water, his body smacking the sea in a loud slap. His orange board skims the water on a fast track for Eye Candy. The former lifeguard in me springs to life, and as I paddle closer, I cup a hand over my mouth and shout, “Heads up!” My warning is futile. The board is hell-bent on a mission—Eye Candy’s head—and as it connects with the back of his noggin, the man’s handsome face contorts. A thunk rings out above the crashing of the waves. I wince as the guy with the killer grin goes kersplat. I’ve been there, done that, and it stings like hell. Poor guy. He’s knocked into the sea, the leash on his leg keeping his own board afloat. We’re close to the shore and the waves aren’t huge, so I’m not worried he’s about to be swept out to the murky depths in a watery death. But I’m not about to hang here and ride the next swell while some hottie is drowning. I paddle over, but not because I’ve been admiring his strong legs. Or his big, muscular arms. Or even his flat, sculpted, completely lickable abs, for that matter. I paddle over because I’m not an asshole. As I reach the scene of the head-whacking, the perpetrator of surfing rudeness pokes his head out and scans for his board. It’s bobbing a few feet away, and he swims off for it. Two seconds later, the whacked one pops up, brushing a big hand along his face, then his wet hair. “You okay?” I ask over the sound of the ocean. Venice Beach is home for beginner and intermediate surfers thanks to its mostly mellow waves. From the looks of it, Eye Candy hasn’t

spent a ton of time hanging ten. I’m not a competitive surfer, either. I just do this for fun, and I head to the other beaches when I want bigger waves. Blinking, the guy rubs the back of his head. His surfboard bobs near him, so I kick closer, reach out an arm, and push it to him. He grabs hold of it, his strong arms resting on it now. Those arms. They’re not my Kryptonite. They’re not my Kryptonite. They’re not my Kryptonite. Fine, fine. They’re any woman’s Kryptonite. “I think I’ll live,” he says, and I can tell he’s being sarcastic, but even so he looks like he should get out of the water. Even though I’m a world-class ogler, I’ve got a caretaker in me too. So in my best gentle but firm voice, I say, “That’s excellent news. But maybe consider life on the shore for a few minutes.” I tip my head in the direction of the sand. “I hear the sand has fewer flying objects,” he says, his lips twitching in a tiny grin. Bingo. We have a sarcastic one on our hands. My favorite kind of man. “That’s one of its many selling points.” He shoots me a small smile, then follows my advice, paddling to the shore. He lugs his board out of the water and sinks next to it in the sand. I make my way out of the ocean too and plop down by his side. I’ve seen enough surfing mishaps over the years, and even though I don’t know this guy from Adam, I want to make sure he’s okay. “That surfboard absolutely had it in for you. Vicious thing,” I say, leaning back to see if there’s blood pouring out of his head. Good news—his skull’s not leaking its contents. “I think you might have pissed it off.”

“Hmmm. Come to think of it, I did trash talk it when I was riding a wave before,” he deadpans, as he rubs the back of his head while staring off at the sea. His face is in profile, and something about his eyes feels familiar. Tickles a spot in my memory. But I can’t place him, so he must just look like someone I know. Or someone I want to know. I give myself a mental drum roll for that one. With the guy sitting next to me in the warm sand, his hands on his knees, I’m keenly aware of how big he is. He’s taller than normal. Broader than normal. Bigger than the average Joe. He’s not built like the rest of us regular people. As I roam my eyes over his arms, I nearly do a double take. Because holy patron saint of forearms. His are an homage to arm-porn memes everywhere. My mouth waters. “Next time, be sure to whisper sweet nothings to all the other boards, and they’ll stay away from your head,” I tell him in a conspiratorial tone. “But the good news is I don’t think it drew blood. Does it hurt?” He waves a hand in the air. “Nah, I get hit all the time.” I frown in confusion. “By angry surfboards?” He laughs, and holds up a big hand. “That’d be a funny name for a band.” “It would be,” I say, smiling too as I shield my eyes from the sun that shines brightly as it emerges from behind a cloud. “And I’m guessing you don’t have a surfboard concussion now.” He laughs. “Let’s hope not, especially since one of my biggest life goals is to spend every day avoiding concussions.” “Is that a risk in your line of work?” “It can be. But hey, that’s what helmets are for.”

I’m about to ask if he’s a construction worker when he turns to me and flashes a smile. A blindingly gorgeous one that shows off straight white teeth, and the rest of his handsome face. Damn, it’s like staring at the sun. He’s so good-looking it nearly hurts. But I’ll take the pain, oh yes, I will take the pain of gazing at his hazel eyes, his square jaw, his strong cheekbones, that little notch in his chin that’s so damn alluring. Like the rest of him. That’s when it hits me. Holy shit. I know this guy. Okay, maybe I don’t know him personally. He’s not a former coworker, an ex-classmate, or a friend of a friend. And he’s not in construction. He’s in the same business as me, only I’m behind the scenes managing contracts for the Los Angeles Knights, one of the two Los Angeles pro football teams, and he’s on the field, guiding his team toward the end zone. Part of me is shocked to see him here, but I don’t let on. As a lawyer, I’ve developed a helluva poker face, and my job is to roll with the punches. I just wasn’t expecting today’s eye-candy surfer boy to be . . . the quarterback. That’s why he said he gets hit all the time. Because he gets slammed when his linemen fail to protect him—and for the last few years, they’ve been doing exactly that. He’s Drew Erickson, a rising star in the league, and he plays for the other local pro team, the Anaheim Devil Sharks. What were the chances that he’d be at this beach? As quickly as the question lands in my head, I answer it for myself. The chances aren’t that slim. He lives in the Los Angeles area, he’s athletic, and the beach is the most wonderful thing ever created.

“By the way,” he says, gesturing to the vast expanse of water, the waves choppier as the afternoon tide tugs at the shore. “I appreciate you making sure I was okay. That was cool of you.” He offers a hand. “I’m Andrew.” I blink, but say nothing at first. That’s quite an interesting introduction. No one calls him Andrew. He’s only ever been referred to as Drew. Call me Einstein, but I’m going out on a limb and guessing that the Surfing Quarterback doesn’t want to be recognized. Fine, I can play that game. “I’m Dani,” I say taking his hand. His larger paw engulfs mine, and of course he has big hands. Of course he has beautiful arms. His right arm delivered some impressive work in recent months. His quarterback rating put him in the top ten in the league last year, and that was coming off the bench to replace his team’s starter midway. He had one of those “where the hell did you come from” seasons that surprised a lot of folks. Especially since he was a fifth-round draft pick, and he rode the bench his first few seasons, but last year he had a chance to show his mettle for his team. And let me tell you, this man possesses some serious mettle to the tune of having thrown only one interception last season. Look, I happen to be in a long-term love affair with stats. I’ve gone to bed most nights with numbers on my brain. And I’m ridiculously good with details. But I’m not very good at letting go of his hand. I’m still holding it. Not because I’m star struck, but because this man won’t drop my hand either. “Thank you, surf angel Dani.” He shoots me that smile again, and it’s like a secret weapon he can use on women. A ray of heat bursts inside me. My chest flutters. And I’m officially weak in the knees. That smile.

His weapon is working. Oh, it’s mostly definitely working, and it’s a good thing I’m already sitting. Because that smile would knock me on my rear, it’s so goddamn swoonworthy. He lets go of my hand, and I nearly whimper at the end of the best handshake ever. “I hardly did anything,” I say, making light of my impromptu lifeguard moment. He shakes his head adamantly. “You shouted heads up.” “Well, that was my idiot alert, of course,” I say dryly. “The guy dropping into your wave was an idiot to do that.” But Andrew will have none of my self-deprecation. He’s intent on complimenting me, it seems. “Then you swam over to me, and you escorted me to shore. After that, you conducted a full and thorough visual inspection of my head. Now you’re looking out for me to make sure I’m not either, one, slurring, or two, foaming at the mouth.” He lets his jaw hang open and adopts a crazed, rabid look in his eyes, and I laugh. “It’s like I’m on an episode of Baywatch,” he says, with a little twinkle in his eye. I jut up a shoulder. “Ha. Yes, just think of me as the Venice Beach lifeguard.” Then he’s not so thankful. Nor so goofy. He’s something else entirely as he roams his eyes up and down my body, and that little flutter in my chest turns into a full-blown swoop. He checks me out, and he’s not shy about it—his eyes linger on my chest, then my belly, and now my legs. And I don’t mind being the object of his ocular attention, even in my royal-blue bikini with the seashell pattern. “Maybe I’ll go back in the water and pray to get hit again,” he says, his tone flirty. Holy smokes. Drew Erickson is flirting with me. And I don’t think he has a clue that I know who he is. If I were a betting woman, I’d say he’s enjoying not being known right now. He’s digging being just a dude on a beach.

Let’s give the man what he wants then, because this has all the makings to be fun. “Now, Andrew,” I say, chiding. “We don’t want to tempt fate, and have you get hit again by wild surfboards. They’re mating this time of year, so you can never be too careful.” He arches an eyebrow as he rubs his hand against the back of his head again. “Mating? These boards are just flinging themselves at each other?” I nod, a serious expression on my face. “They do it with abandon, gleefully humping other boards as frequently as they can. Best to be safe.” “Screwing surfboards,” he says, cracking up. Then he winces. I let go of the joking. “Does your head still hurt?” I ask softly, the caretaker popping back up. “Nah,” he says, but it’s the tough-guy answer. “Let me take another look, okay?” “Sure.” I kneel and move closer to him, raising my hand. Then I touch his head. It’s kind of awesome, and weird at the same time. I’m touching a stranger’s skull, but he’s not entirely a stranger. “How’s my head?” “It’s rather bumpy.” He snaps his gaze at me. “It is?” “Have you ever felt your own skull?” I ask, peering at him with narrowed eyes. “Sure. I’m well aware of the shape.” I rub my hand along the spot where he was hit. “I hate to be the one to break this to you, but your head has got a funky shape.”

“Gee, thanks,” he says, laughing as the sun ducks behind a stray cloud. “Really appreciate the compliments.” “Look, I’m sorry.” I run my palm up and down the back of his head. He leans into my palm, rubbing like a cat. “You’re probably used to women complimenting the shape of your skull. Draping extravagant praise on it, and then you meet me, and I inform you it’s odd. I get it. You want to toss me into the ocean.” Glancing up at me, he smiles. “I do not want to toss you into the ocean.” He takes a beat. Raises a finger. “However, I’d consider dunking you if you were already in it.” “Ha. Fair enough,” I say, as the sun reemerges, casting its warm, bright glow across the vast expanse of sea. Near the shore, a menagerie of women in skimpy bikinis hop onto boards. Drew doesn’t seem to notice. I like his lack of interest. A lot. I sit down again in the sand. “Anyway, you have very nice hair. I mean, it’s wet. But it’s still quite nice.” Shaking his head, he laughs. “You’re a real ballbuster.” I shrug as if it’s no big deal to give a man a hard time. “I’ve been called that before.” “Really?” “Yeah, but I’m an attorney, so it comes with the territory.” “Personal injury? If so, I’d like to sue that board.” “No, I practice law for—” I’m about to tell him I do contracts and deals for the Knights and its vendors, reading and writing the fine print on nearly everything except player contracts. Instead, I sidestep. If he’s avoided the details, I can too. “I practice corporate law. But in my free time, I conduct assessments on skull shape, and I’m here to make a pronouncement.”

He sweeps an arm out grandly. “By all means. Pronounce.” I drop my hand and meet his gaze. “You have a big goose egg, Andrew. We need to get some ice on it.” “That’s your opinion as a lawyer, or a surf angel?” “Both,” I say, then I rise. “Let’s go freeze your brain.” He stands up too, and my breath catches. He’s so good-looking, and he towers over me. I’m not short. I’m average height. But he’s athlete height, and it’s intoxicating. There’s just something about a tall, well-built man that makes you want to step out of your panties right then and there, toss them over your shoulder, and say . . . Whoa. Settle down, wild imagination. I meant, there’s something about a tall, well-built man that makes your heart beat faster. That’s all I meant. He strokes his chin as if in deep thought. “I do like ice. I’ve often felt it’s one of those great inventions of the world. It reduces swelling and when you’re done, you put it in a drink.” He waves a hand in the air, like the idea just occurred to him. “Like, say, a margarita.” He raises an eyebrow, and the look in his eyes is so damn inviting. If I were insecure, I’d ask myself if this man is actually asking me out for a drink. But I’m not that kind of a girl. I’m the confident kind, and I like confidence in return. “Why yes, Andrew,” I say, batting my eyes. “You can buy me a margarita while I ice your skull.”

“In some universe, somewhere, that’s code for something very dirty,” he says, shaking his head as he laughs. “In this universe, I’ll take it at face value. And I’ll take you out for a drink.” When I carried my surfboard from my nearby home to the beach this Sunday afternoon, I never expected a date with a surfing quarterback. But it sounds damn good to me. Even if he’s pretending he’s not a ballplayer right now. He’s playing at being a regular Joe. I drop my surfboard at the Hang Ten shop since I know the owner, Daisy, a fortysomething gal with a fishtail braid and a sunshine personality that suits her name. I tell her I’ll snag it later. She pats my board affectionately, anthropomorphizing it as she often does. “We’ll keep your girl safe and sound.” Then I head to a bar on the beach to play pretend. Only there’s no faking the attraction that already feels real.

Chapter Two Drew

The hot-as-sin blond beauty points across the table to the big red parachute in the sky. A woman hangs below it in a harness, pulled along by a boat in front of her. “I can’t believe you’ve never gone parasailing,” Dani says, as she returns her focus to me, her big brown eyes wide and sparkling. “Venice Beach has awesome parasailing. You have to try it. Besides, there are no surfboards in the air. ” “That is a great selling point for parasailing. And I had no idea there was parasailing here. I always thought of Venice Beach as more of a surf town, or just a hangout town,” I say, picking up my beer bottle and tipping some back. She’s seated next to me at the table and we’re watching the beach. A guy rides a unicycle, a parrot perched on his shoulder. Behind him, a pack of skateboarders in low-slung shorts tear up the concrete. Someone else plays the drums farther down the path, beating out a hippy tune. “It’s an everything town. I’ve lived here for a couple years,” she says, and I can see her fitting into this sunshine life. Blond hair, brown eyes, tanned skin. Ridiculously hot body, even though she’s covered it up now with a tank dress she had in her mesh bag. At first I pegged her for an actress or model, and if that makes me shallow, so be it. She’s just fucking hot. But lawyer seems to suit her, since she’s sarcastic and likes to give me a hard time. Both work for me. I’m especially enjoying the fact that she has no clue who I am. Fine, I’m not Tom Brady and I don’t expect people to recognize me all the time, but it happens enough, so it’s nice to just move in and out of crowds without anyone realizing they might see me on TV on any given Sunday.

Which is why I grabbed my ball cap and shades when I dropped my board in the back of my buddy’s truck that I borrowed today, before grabbing this table with Dani. “I’m a California girl,” she adds. “You’re Dani California.” She smiles. “Like the song.” “Except, Dani died in the song,” I say, referring to the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ tune. I shake my head. “Let’s pretend I didn’t say that.” She laughs. “Yeah, bit of a bummer. I’ll erase that from my memory banks, even though I love the Red Hot Chili Peppers.” “As much as you like surfing?” She leans into my shoulder and whispers. “Almost as much as I love margaritas,” she says, lifting her glass. As she takes a sip I can’t seem to look away, because this woman has spectacular lips. I mean, c’mon. It’s not like I didn’t notice when we first started talking. Even if my head hurt. Even if my vision was a little fuzzy. Now, I’ve got my hand on the back of my head, icing the bump with an ice pack the waiter brought over, and I’m dying to know how her lips taste. “Do you surf a lot?” she asks me. “Just started recently. Loving it so far.” Surfing is one of the few athletic activities that’s not forbidden by my contract, which is why I’ve been trying to get on the waves as often as I can these days. “What about you?” “I’ve been doing it for a while. I try to go whenever I have a day off and it’s beautiful out like this. Let me know if you ever want a lesson,” she says, her tone flirty.

“I will take you up on that, no doubt,” I say, adjusting the ice pack. “You ever been hit by a board?” “A few times. But not on the back of my head. Did you hear about the guy who runs Wild Sand Surf Shop down the road?” “No. But wait. Let me guess.” I hold up a hand and scrunch my forehead, like I’m thinking hard. Then, as if I’m on a game show, I call out the answer. “I’ve got it. He was hit by a board?” “Yes,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Mr. Sarcasm. But wait till you hear where he was hit.” “Oh man, this is gonna be good.” “It is. Because his nickname is . . . wait for it . . . One-Eyed Jack.” Reflexively, I cup a hand over my eye. “No. Say it isn’t so.” She nods. “It is so. Tip of the board hit him here,” she says, tapping the corner of her eye. “He has a glass eye.” I cringe. It takes a lot to make me cringe. But I really enjoy the use of my eyes. A lot. So, the prospect of not seeing is pure wince-worthy. “That’s really making me want to surf again.” I take a beat, then loudly add, “Not.” “And every year on Halloween he goes all out. He slathers makeup all over his eye to look freaky. Like, fake blood and everything coming out of it.” “That actually sounds mildly horrifying.” She smiles wickedly. “It is absolutely mildly horrifying. But it’s a great costume for scaring people.” I raise my chin. “What about you? What’s your scariest costume?”

She shrugs, saucily. “I just go as myself.” “How’s that scary?” I say, moving closer to her. This woman is a firecracker, and I’m digging talking to her, and looking at her, and let’s just call a spade a spade. The only thing better would be talking, looking, and touching. Fucking would probably be quite nice too. Just saying. “You’re not scary. You’re sweet.” She narrows her eyes. “No one ever calls attorneys sweet.” “Ah, so you’re a shark.” She hums the theme song for one of film’s most famous villains. “Call me Jaws.” I love that she’s sarcastic and funny. Even better is the fact that she’s not a groupie. Sometime it’s nice to parlay the gig into a little bit of attention, or maybe a fun night out, since there are plenty of women who want a night with the quarterback. This chick? She doesn’t seem to have a clue I play ball, and it’s fun. I’m not complaining or saying no one likes me for me. Hardly. I’m simply enjoying that we’re a guy and a girl on the beach. I haven’t told her what I do though, and it seems strange to leave that out, so I decide to offer a sliver of it. “Just teasing about the shark part. I’m in the sports business, so some might call me that too.” She raises her glass. “Let’s all be good sharks then.” I clink my beer bottle to her glass and we both take drinks. That’s all either one of us says about work. She asks no more about sports, and I don’t offer, and that’s fine by me. She sets down her glass, raises her hand, and reaches for the back of my head. Gently, she pushes the ice pack aside, brushing her palm over my head again. She’s got a reassuring touch. A caring one too. “Maybe you should go as a sexy nurse on Halloween,” I say softly. “Both seem to fit.”

A sweet smile spreads on her pretty face. After a few seconds, she adds, “But that’s not a scary costume.” I shake my head. “It’s not at all. But you’d rock it.” Her well of sarcasm seems to slip away from her as she as she whispers thank you. After a few seconds, she adds, “I think your goose egg is history, Andrew.” I set the pack on the table, but she keeps her hand on me, rubbing the back of my head absently. Fuck, this is nice. More than nice. It’s arousing. Her touch stirs up other parts. One other part to be precise, and I silently curse the fact that I’m wearing board shorts. They don’t hide tents at all. But then again, who cares? If she wants to check out the package, I’ll salute her. I like her hands on me. I like her touching me. Hell, I like what I know of her so far. She drops her hand and folds both in her lap. Then it hits me, what she just said—the goose egg is gone. The bump on my head has vanished. She might only have come along for a drink to make sure I wasn’t wounded. But I don’t want this time with her to end. I sit up straighter. “Does that mean you need to cash out, or can you have another?” She smiles and tips her forehead in the direction of the street. “Since I live just a few blocks away I can absolutely have another drink. But what about you? Do you need to drive somewhere? I can’t let you get into a car if you’re tipsy,” she says in a tone that tells me she’s looking out for me. I’d be willing to bet Dani is a big sister. She’s got “worried older sibling” written all over her. But I can handle a drink just fine, thanks to my size. I laugh as I point at my chest. “I’m two hundred and fifty pounds. I can have two beers and drive safely.” I take a beat, then inch

closer. “But I do like your concern,” I say, as I lift my hand and a tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just don’t want anything to happen to you,” she says, her eyes never straying from mine, as I run my fingers down the strand. “I’m not going anywhere right now, Dani.” She licks her lips, and a bolt of lust crashes down my spine. Just from the flirting. Damn, if touching her hair feels this good, I can only imagine what it would be like to do a whole lot more. Kiss her. Push her up against the wall. Mold her body against mine. “Let’s get those drinks,” I say before my mind and body stray too far in the dirty direction. We chat through another round, shooting the breeze about surfing and sunsets, the merits of cereal versus eggs for breakfast, and the pros and cons of driving with or without a traffic app in Los Angeles. Wonderfully, nothing about football or my career has come up. The conversation is casual and comfortable. Considering the last year has been bumpy and tense, I’ll take this kind of night, especially with the way the preseason has been a big old mess of uncertainty. When it’s time to go, I offer to walk her home. She gazes at me, like she’s sizing up my offer. “Yes, but just home. To the porch.” She holds up her hands, almost in apology. “I’m simply being a gentleman, Dani,” I say, with a smile, and then we walk along the boardwalk and cut into the neighborhood. “Will you come back tomorrow to get your board?” “Daisy at the surf shop will take good care of Betty.” I laugh. “You really named your surfboard?”

She nods. “Daisy insisted on it. She said all boards should be humanized. So mine’s Betty, and she’s a girl.” “Obviously,” I say. “And mine’s a dude. His name is Randy. He’s one of the wild humping surfboards.” She winks as she laughs. I pat the back of my head. “See? The brain’s working just fine after the whacking.” “Indeed it is.” When we reach her home, a cute little white bungalow, she gestures to the porch. It’s teeming with potted plants and flowers, as well as pizza coupons and takeout menus stuffed behind the mailbox next to the doorway. “Thank you, Andrew. For the drinks and the escort service.” I wiggle my eyebrows because she says escort in kind of a naughty way. “And thank you for the surf angel-slash-nurse work.” “My pleasure. I was happy to save a guy in distress.” I narrow my eyes and protest her description. “Hey now. I’m not a dude in distress.” She whispers “just kidding” as she leans against her porch railing. I don’t think it’s intentional, but that pose shows off all her assets. The swell of her breasts in her tank dress, her curvy hips, her strong legs. This woman just fucking does something to me. Turns me on, that’s what she does. Makes me hard as hell. Though she’s made it clear that the night ends right here, I intend to make the most of this good-bye. I move closer to her and run my hand down her arm. I watch as goose bumps rise in its wake. My voice goes low. “Do you know what I’ve been thinking about?” She tilts her head to the side. “What would that be, Andrew?”

It still sounds funny to hear her call me that. But next time I see her I’ll tell her that everyone calls me Drew. With my other hand, I brush her hair off her shoulder, cataloging her reaction to my touch. The way she shivers. How she sways closer. The rush of breath on her lips. I bring my mouth to her ear, and whisper. “What it would be like to kiss you.” I pull back, wanting to look at her. Her lips are parted, then she licks them and swallows. It’s like she’s taking a step closer, saying go for it. “You should absolutely find out then,” she says, soft and inviting. My fingers travel from her shoulder, up to her hair, and I rope my hand through those blond locks. I pull her close, savoring the warm feel of her sun-kissed skin and the smell of sand, surf, and sunshine in her hair. I dip my mouth to hers, clasping her face in my hands. When I nip her bottom lip, she gasps. It’s such an alluring sound, and it turns me the fuck on even more. My dick would very much like to go inside her house tonight, but kissing is all that’s on the menu, so I kiss her in a way that’ll leave her wanting more. Because I want so much more of her, and I also want her to know that. I’m not sure how I went from leaving the field when practice ended this morning, to spending the afternoon surfing to get my mind off all the changes I’m sure are coming, to kissing this beautiful stranger outside her Venice Beach home. But hell if I want to analyze this moment. I spend my working hours making decisions, analyzing, choosing. Then executing. Right now, I want to get lost in something that no one else controls but this woman and me. Dani presses her sexy body to mine as I claim her lips in a deeper, more consuming kiss. A jolt of pleasure surges down my spine. The kiss picks up speed and intensifies, and soon I’m

devouring her lips, and she likes it. She moans and murmurs, and loops her hands around my neck, tugging me closer. Switching up my location, I leave a path of kisses along her jaw, her cheek, over her neck. Her skin tastes so good, I could spend hours here, nibbling, nipping, biting. And so I do, nipping her earlobe. She murmurs, a long, sexy, lingering noise. “Mmm. That feels so good.” “You feel pretty fucking fantastic, Dani,” I whisper in her ear. “And I love the sounds you make.” Flicking my tongue over the shell of her ear, I hear her pitch rise, that gorgeous gasp a woman makes as she gets turned on. It’s a sound that can drive a man insane with desire. I return to her lips, kissing harder this time, drawing in her bottom lip between my teeth. Grabbing her hips, I tug her closer. “Those little sexy noises make me crazy,” I tell her. “I approve of this reaction,” she says playfully when she feels my hard-on. “Feel free to show approval manually,” I say, joking. But, you know, not joking. If she wanted to get her hands in my pants, I would not protest one bit. She brings her mouth to my ear. “Or orally.” I groan. I would love to feel her lips wrapped nice and tight around me. “Now you’re really driving me nuts. Saying those dirty things when I know you’re going to walk inside and leave me out here. But I’ll be a good shark.” She presses a palm against my hard-on, feeling me through my shorts. “You are a very good shark, Andrew.” “So good you’ll let me take you out another night?” I ask, because I’ve got to see this woman again.

“I wouldn’t complain about that,” she says, as she slinks her hands up my chest, tiptoeing over my abs. I grab her hips and slam her against me. “I wouldn’t either. I want to see you again, and you’ve got to know how much I want to touch you again too.” She nibbles on the corner of her lip. “I want that too. Both.” It’s a promise. Of another time. Another night. I grab my phone from my back pocket and say, “Give me your number.” I open my contacts and hand her the phone. She taps in her digits, and as she finishes, my ring tone sounds. “Shit. Let me grab that.” I swipe the call and say, “Hey man, give me twenty seconds.” Then, I lean in and brush one more kiss to her lips. “I’ll text you my number later. K?” “You better.” Gripping my shirt, she tugs me close. She rocks her hips against me, and I nearly throw the phone to the ground, but I’ve got to take this call. It’s my agent, and shit’s been going down. “I will, Dani Surfer Angel,” I say, then I turn around, head down her steps, and give her a tip of the hat one more time as she unlocks her door and heads inside. As I walk down her street, I bring the phone to my ear. “What’s the story, man?” He tells me, and my jaw fucking drops.

CHAPTER ONE

I’d like to think I wasn’t the crying type, but I’d be lying. I cried. Dampness saturated my pillow, making the pillowcase even grosser than its already-gross coating of end-stage flu germs. My heavy bangs matted against my forehead. Kicking a leg out from beneath the covers, I tore my scarf away (because even in sickness, I accessorized). The scarf hung limp against the side of the bed. Limp and lame like my life. My sixteenth birthday, alone. No bonfire on the beach with my bestie, Maya, and friends from school. No cute boy on my doorstep holding daisies like in the movies. No Ethan Laurenti. For as long as I could remember, I’d dreamed of two things: to become a fashion designer, and to be with Ethan Laurenti. I dreamed, elaborately, of Ethan Laurenti. Of going to prom with him. Of falling in love, slowly and completely. I dreamed of seeing the boy I’d watched grow up realize his true feelings—that his OTP (One True Pairing) had been here all along. (That girl would be me, by the way.) Only the flu struck, just in time for another potentially perfect love declaration moment to pass by. Yesterday’s half-eaten slice of cake stared at me from atop my dresser. Usually, I loved birthday cake, but now the frosted polka dots arranged across the icing turned to mocking eyes. They focused their confectionaryy judgment at me, solidifying my loser status. “You’re the loser!” I shot back. I buried my face in the pillow—I just yelled at cake. My bedroom door opened. “Amelia.” Only my abuelita would barge into my room

before noon on a Saturday. “Time to get up. The day is wasting.” I forced a lid open. My eyes stung like they’d run an underwater marathon. Abuelita yanked the curtains open and I shrunk back with a hiss. “Too early.” “Not too early.” She kept talking, and I reluctantly rolled over to peek out the window. Beyond the palm trees framing our carriage-house apartment, garage doors yawned open at the estate house. The well-worn cobblestones joining our family’s living quarters to the old-Spanish-style mansion were like a direct invitation for snooping. A figure emerged. Lean, dark hair, carrying a box. My heartbeat picked up pace. “You won’t get anywhere staring out that window,” Abuelita said behind me. In the estate’s drive, the figure turned. Not Ethan, but Liam, Ethan’s not-identical twin brother. He shoved the box into the trunk of his SUV, followed by a second, open-top box with electrical cords spilling out. “You didn’t finish your cake,” Abuelita said. “You didn’t like?” I sighed and turned from the window, letting the gauzy curtains fall back into place. “I still wasn’t feeling well.” Abuelita’s cakes were perfection, but that wasn’t the issue. The issue was my scorecard now tallied two birthdays in a row that completely imploded. Which birthday was worse was a toss-up. This year’s plague-ridden, boyfriendless, bailed-on-by-my-best-friend tragedy, or last year’s quinceañera, where Uncle Pablo’s infamous drunken candelabra dance ended headlong into the bar. (Fire plus flammable liquids equaled Epic Disaster.) Abuelita sat beside me. “Pobrecito, mi Amelia.” She bunched up her legs and curled around me. I burrowed into her. She still smelled like cinnamon from baking her Saturday morning

coffee cake for the Laurentis. She stroked hair away from my face and smoothed the strands down my back. My breathing leveled out. A sudden jab needled my side. “Ow!” “Mila.” Abuelita sat upright. “Time to do something. No more lazybones.” She tested my forehead with the back of her hand. “Just because your mamá fears somebody’s mommy will blame you for spreading lazybones to their children doesn’t give you an excuse to do nothing.” Abuelita stood, all five feet and one inch of her. She’d lit a candle for me at church, so in her mind, my sickness was as good as cured. Any further sympathy she reserved for the truly ill, like those with typhoid or the plague or whichever diseases were barely plausible in the modern age. I swallowed my grumbling. There was no arguing with Abuelita, even though my mother tested that rule regularly. Abuelita, who could never leave my room without straightening, poked at papers on my desk. “Wait, don’t—” Her poke flipped over the layout for my planner page dividers, still in their unglued stage. Scraps of spring fashion lines sailed to the floor. I smacked my forehead. “I thought you moved on to digital?” She made little clucks of disapproval at the haute couture confetti now littering my floor. “I use both.” I gathered the bits, like a game of 52-model pickup. “I paper collage my planner pages. Remember the planner? The one you bought me?” Willful forgetfulness, that’s what this was. The planner helped me schedule my Instagram posts. RunwayGirl12 had 10.5k followers, thank you very much. Abuelita took the plate of cake. “I know you’re sad about Maya not spending your

birthday with you.” A sympathetic look crossed her face. “Now, get ready and come talk over breakfast.” She glanced at my vintage alarm clock. “Lunch.” She closed the door behind her. I cast another look out the window, but the SUV was gone. Watching the Laurentis come and go was as regular to me as Abuelita’s wake-up routines. After washing up, I dressed in a short-sleeved yellow tunic and one of my hand-sewn scarves. I added plastic pineapple earrings and layered on beaded necklaces. I debated shorts but I hated wearing shorts. Give me a long, lightweight skirt any day. Hippie, bohemian chic was my current spring style, as reflected in the runway collections I’d just featured on my feed. That was my thing: I curated the best of the fashion world, posted the pics, and people clicked their Likes. My own sewing table sat neglected after a week and a half of killer flu. Dance movie DVDs stacked next to Johnny, rendering him pretty useless. (Abuelita named the ancient machine Johnny Cash, after the legendary countrysinger, since it had good rhythm.) In the kitchen, a gale-force assault of espresso beans hit my senses. Abuelita poured a cup of café Cubano fresh from the stove and set it on the small island. We always ate here if Mami was off at her second job catering. Abuelita scanned my hair, which was currently in last place in the battle of the frizz, and then set a bean-and-cheese omelet in front of me. “This is a special day, Mila.” Her gold tooth in the far back glinted. “The first step of many. One small journey, then the world!” I raised a brow. Those espresso beans were really kicking things up a notch today. Her hands clasped in front of her. She motioned with her head toward something lying next to my plate. A piece of paper. “New York Fashion Institute,” the letterhead declared in a sans-serif, artistic font. I sucked in air. “Dios mio.”

“Do not curse, Mila. Read!” Her excitement was so close to bursting, she barely contained a hopping motion. I took a breath to steady my trembling hands. This couldn’t be . . .

I slid my nail under

the envelope’s seal and unfolded the letter. Dear Ms. Amelia Blanco: The staff at NYFI are thrilled to inform you of your acceptance to the student summer internship program. Our highly-competitive summer program prepares entering junior and senior high school students for the rigors of design school. Upon completion of the program, our students have a ninety-percent acceptance rate enrolling at top design colleges. I stopped reading. “What is this?” My words came out low, hesitant. “See? New York City. The world!” A low-grade panic set my heart to a frantic beat. “But I didn’t apply. I just printed out the application from the website.” Junk mail had slowly piled on top until I’d conveniently forgotten about the papers and the internship. Conveniently because dreaming of spending the summer in New York City and actually going were two totally opposite realities. Abuelita gestured to where we stacked the mail. “I found the papers next to an open water bottle, almost ruined. Good thing the application was to be completed online. I copied the information for you and clicked submit.” She actually mimicked the sound of a mouse click. “I couldn’t let your dream slip away.” I stared at the acceptance letter. Oh my gosh. My abuelita filled out an internship application for me and it actually worked. Sure, fashion design was my dream (I did, after all, have a framed photo of Project Runway’s Tim Gunn displayed on my sewing table), but a dream is just that—a vision, a goal to aspire to. This . . . this was happening!

I set the letter down and let it fold in on itself. “I can’t go to New York. I don’t know anyone. It’s super far away.” New York definitely wasn’t Miami, where my summer plans neatly lined up: beach time with Maya, catering jobs with Mami, and two and a half blissful months to finally make something happen with Ethan before his senior year. After next year’s graduation, he’d take off for college along with any hope of us getting together. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. The internship is expensive. There was a separate scholarship part you would have had to—” “I filled that out, too. And I included the recommendation from your art teacher. I emailed her to send it along to the school.” Suddenly, my body felt like an overheating furnace. I stood and fanned myself. Airplane, New York City, New York freaking Fashion Institute. This was unreal. “You look so worried, Mila. I thought you wanted this?” Abuelita set her coffee down. “In this family, we work hard. Your mamá and I, we work to give you the chance to do something more.” “I know.” Which was why the summer program seemed like a good idea two months ago. One version of me jumped at new opportunities, but another was cool with sticking close to home. Daydream Amelia talked to Ethan Laurenti instead of watching him from a distance. Daydream Amelia didn’t deal with the invisible but very clear line marking them versus us. Daydream Amelia flew on a whim to New York City. Not me. Abuelita drummed her fingers on the counter. “Do not tell me my Johnny Singer machine is gathering dust. You’re good, Mila. So talented. The dress you just made looks like it came from a store.” Abuelita was family and by default her DNA dictated her love of anything I made. Even

the lopsided ceramic giraffe from fifth grade, which looked more like a coyote with an abnormally long neck. I unfolded the letter and reread it, including the mention of the scholarship money. Everything was set for me, but no way was it that easy to up and leave. I’d never left home before. “Mami will need me this summer,” I blurted. “Now that I’m sixteen, I can make my own money. I can serve at catering jobs instead of filling cheese trays.” Even though I was much better at draping a dress form than filling cheese trays (you might not think filling a cheese tray required skill, but you’d be mistaken), Mami would never get close enough to starting her own catering business if I wasn’t around to pitch in. Which reminded me. “What does Mami think?” Just then, the side door opened leading into the kitchen. “What does Mami think about what?” My mother, Queen of the Cheese Tray, walked in wearing a stiff white shirt with long black pants and black rubber-soled shoes. She dumped a bag and purse on the chair by the door. Abuelita clapped her hands together. “She got in!” Mami blinked, looking between us. “New York? She got in?” She rushed over to me. “You got in?” So, I was last to know? I handed over the letter so she could read for herself. “Amelia!” Her tired eyes showed renewed spark. “I’m so proud, mija. This is so big! You get to go to New York!” Within seconds her arms flew around me, smothering me with lingering traces of fried cheese and marinara sauce and whichever body spritzer she tried to mask those smells with after she clocked out. She pulled back and pushed my bangs off my face. I shook them back. The cover gave me room to think. “Were you part of this? Sending in my application without telling me?”

She couldn’t hide the splash of guilt across her face. “We didn’t think you’d go through with it. We knew this opportunity was perfect.” She held on to my arms, keeping me close. Honestly, I was surprised she was about to let me go, since she not-so-secretly enjoyed how my social life involved sticking close to home. “You’re not excited?” “Of course I am.” I pulled away and swept up the letter. It seemed less real the more times I read through. The school’s name so important and otherworldly. New York Fashion Institute. An entire institute dedicated to fashion. The program started in late June. In one month. This was potentially my last summer while Ethan still lived here. The design program would take me away for half the summer. I twisted my scarf. Made by Amelia, the custom tag read. I wouldn’t move past scarves and altered thrift store finds if I never left Casa Amelia. I needed a good, long think session and some time spent rearranging my Pinterest boards. Abuelita and Mami smiled at each other, clearly proud of their sneaky ways. “I already made a list for us to prepare for your trip,” said Abuelita. “You, Miss Amelia, are going to New York.”

CHAPTER TWO

Summer in New York. Me, in New York. I paced my room, trying on the experience in my mind. I pictured myself in one of the Garment District’s legendary fabric storesMood Fabrics, patiently listening to Tim Gunn explain the troublesome aspects my choice of silk charmeuse fabric would hold for day wear. Okay, so the internship was not Project Runway. Still, I was freaked. I scanned my recent Instagram activity. Four new followers and eighty new Likes. Not bad considering my last pic was a lazy repost of Jessica Simpson’s spring shoe line. I tossed my phone on my bed. Ugh. I’d been cooped up in the house for days. The last thing I wanted was to obsess over New York alone in my room. I needed to get out. I watched Abuelita walk the connecting path to the big house, carrying a light cardigan over her arm. Then I sneaked out the other direction to the stables. The familiar scent of hay and horsehair pulled me in like a fishing line cast out. Afternoon sun shone through the open stable doors, illuminating dust like a shaken snow globe. Only two of the six stalls were occupied now that the Laurentis’ horse racing days were long in the past. “Hiya, Magnus,” I said to the mahogany-and-white-spotted Appaloosa. I let him sniff my hand and stroked his soft face. “Were you groomed today? You sure feel like it.” I picked up a brush. “Can I go through your mane again?” Didn’t hurt to ask. When I was younger, I’d watch Liam and Ethan’s riding lessons from the courtyard by our apartment house. Gigi Laurenti let the boys ride an old mare—old and slow so the horse

would never take off. I’d watched them so often, daydreaming of climbing into the saddle any time I wanted. The Laurenti’s trainer let me brush the horses in the stable, and he probably would’ve let me ride if I’d ever asked, but asking was off-limits. My family told me as much—I was not to ever ask favors of the family. Unless it was offered, I had no business with the Laurentis’ horses. Sounds from the driveway leading to the stables sent my hand snapping back from the horse. Peeking out the doors, a car drove into view and stopped by the main house. The estate grounds were large enough for guesthouses and stables, but not huge and sprawling, so the car wasn’t too far off. Flashes of color emerged from the slick sedan. Black, then pink, then green. “Oh. My. God.” The realization hit so fast it knocked me back a step. The colors were dresses. Gowns. Prom wear. Ethan’s prom. I leaned back against the inside stable wall, out of sight from the driveway. Ethan Laurenti’s prom. You’d think I’d have the date memorized, but I tried not to be that obsessive. Never mind the secret Pinterest boards I’d tagged with articles about Ethan’s private school, or his soccer matches—okay, I was a little obsessive. I stole another look. The black color belonged to a suit. A guy, escorting one of the girls up the drive. Another car pulled in behind the sedan. Ethan’s friends were meeting here before the prom. My chest flared with a sensation I hated to name. I grit my teeth. It should be me out there. Which of course was ridiculous. Obviously I couldn’t be Ethan’s prom date. Partly

because I’d been bedridden days earlier, but mostly because Ethan had no idea how I felt about him. Being around Ethan turned my insides to goo and my mouth forgot basic vocabulary. In my daydreams, Ethan and I, we were perfect together. Destined for prom. Destined for each other. The other hitch: my family worked for his. Mami and Abuelita were the ones employed by the Laurentis for cleaning and cooking, but technically, I lumped right in with them. I was “the help,” too. A little fact my daydreams glossed over. A new wave of jealousy left sticky imprints on my skin, and I couldn’t shake them off. If Ethan’s friends were meeting here, they would take group pictures. Honestly, I couldn’t not peek in on Ethan’s date, I was too dang curious. I could check her out, and then die a million deaths comparing myself to her while marathoning the Your Move: Season Four reality dance competition. I headed to the main house, using the back entrance into the staff kitchen. Abuelita paused from stirring a sauce on the stove. “Mila! Stay away from the food.” She fluttered a hand in the air. “Your flu.” Oh, right; now she considered my sickness legit. “Since you’re here, por favor, can you find the navy-blue linens for the table? Not the royal blue, but the navy blue. We moved them to the closet near Mr. Laurenti’s office.” I tended to tread lightly near Mr. Laurenti’s office, where he often yelled about stocks and market rates via speakerphone. He was some sort of investment guru—I never totally understood what he did, but he had a good enough career to have attracted the super-rich Gigi Laurenti, heir to some other fortune I also didn’t fully understand. The family owned not one yacht but two, because, hey? Why not own two yachts? If I had millions of dollars I’d buy as many yachts as possible and throw parties all the time.

Plus, finding the table linens gave me an excuse to check out the prom pictures. I trekked through the back hall to the closets by the first-floor laundry. I found the table linens and matching cloth napkins. Bundling them up, I turned and froze. Ethan Laurenti himself was walking toward me. “Oh!” I took a step back. Holy Moses. He wore an ink-black tuxedo, no tie yet, and his collar a little askew. I resisted an acute urge to straighten it. “Hey, Amelia.” Ethan was the type of guy who addressed people by name, and always with a smile. Usually a hint of mischief hooked into that smile, as if he’d just gotten away with something. He tugged at his jacket sleeve. “I feel overdressed.” I glanced down at my sunshine-yellow tunic. This was probably the last item in my closet I would have chosen for an up-close with Ethan. It was just so yellow. Whatever. Ethan was right here in front of me in an empty hall. I forced myself to speak. “You look great. I mean, with prom you kind of have to go all out.” He noted the linens in my arms. “Ah, Dad’s business dinner. My mom freaked that he planned it the same night as prom, but,” he shrugged, “these dances are all kind of the same after a while.” I knew for a fact Ethan attended prom as a freshman, having gone with a junior girl who’d asked him. Sophomore year, too. Lucky guy—he’d have four years of proms, including next year. Next year with me? “I’m sure prom will be amazing. Take lots of pictures.” I internally cringed. Why was I giving Ethan advice? “Totally.” Ethan said, as if my suggestion was not only necessary but helpful. Ethan’s

phone chirped. “I’ve gotta take this. See you around, Amelia.” I watched Ethan walk toward the stairs, imagining myself beside him at next year’s prom. I’d wear red, or burgundy. All of my favorite designers’ gowns were red or burgundy. The accessories would depend on the prom’s theme. Since proms tended to repeat common themes (based on my research), I’d already put together several accessory boards on Pinterest for future reference. I returned the linens to the formal dining room, which happened to be the perfect spot to watch over where Ethan’s friends gathered in the foyer. “Oh my God, you look awe-sooome!” a girl’s voice rang out, followed by heels clicking and swishing skirts. The telltale sounds of prom wear. A very tan, very blond girl wearing an emerald-green gown worthy of the Oscars talked animatedly to the other girl I’d seen exit the sedan dressed in floor-length pink. A third girl wore a skintight coral minidress, her skirt length barely reaching what Abuelita would deem respectable. All very different, but very in looks. The girls stood talking to a very bored Liam Laurenti. Seeing Liam was like looking at the inverse of Ethan. While both brothers were of similar height and weight, whereas Ethan had purpose to his laid-back style—casually swept aside hair and shirtsleeves rolled up—Liam’s entire look appeared to be an afterthought. Hair thirsty for products and cut short with no style, as if he walked into the salon and asked for “the Regular.” Baggy, shapeless T-shirts and ratty sports sandals paired with anything and everything. He was wearing them now. Shoes that flopped against the marble floors like dead plastic fish. “Uh, my brother should be down soon,” Liam said to the girls. He shifted his weight, his body dwarfed by a too-big polo shirt that for all I knew could have belonged to his father.

“Leee-um!” Emerald Dress tugged at his arm. “Why aren’t you coming to prom?” “It’s one of those memories you just can’t replace,” Coral Minidress said, to which I agreed, silently in my shadowed doorway. “Actually, I’m hosting a chat tonight on content strategy. The online forum I belong to invited a Web developer—” He stopped, realizing the girls’ attention had been replaced by vacant stares. Whatever Liam said after that became lost by a cacophony of shrieks. More girls rushed through the door, followed by guys in tuxes. One of the girls’ dresses I recognized from Teen Vogue’s prom issue. The dress just listed one of those descriptors with a phone number and “inquire prices here.” I’d called one of those once, just to see what would happen. No one answered, like they already knew I wouldn’t qualify. Emerald Dress gasped. “Ohmigod, my dress!” She clutched her side, as if speared by something. The girls crowded around. I raised up on tiptoes, still partly shielded by the door frame. It was hard to see now that the hired photographer and her assistant joined them in the foyer. “What am I going to do?” the girl squealed. “It’s ripped! My dress is ripped!” Ripped? With moments to spare? I raced into the foyer like an ambulance summoned by 911. “Everybody clear! I can sew.” The girls parted to give me room. Emerald Dress clamped her hand beneath her arm. “I’ve never worn strapless that wasn’t stretchy, you know? So I tugged up the dress and then—” Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “Stay calm. Let me take a look.” The seam gaped where previous (clearly shoddy) tailoring had unraveled. You’d think a dress this pricey would be made well, but no time to dwell. “Give me four minutes and I’ll have this fixed.”

I ushered her to the library off the foyer and retrieved a sewing kit from a nearby closet. After a few quick stitches, I had the seam back in shape. I handed her a couple safety pins. “Just in case.” She stood and flattened the bodice, not bothering to examine my tiny, even stitches. “Thank you! You are a lifesaver.” I smiled, relieved I could help. “No problem.” I followed her out, and my breath caught. Ethan strode down the main staircase, adjusting his cuffs and shrugging against the immaculate fit of his jacket. An easy grin slid across his lips like melting sugar. He tipped his head to brush aside his dark brown hair, which fell longish and flopped across his forehead. His look was cared-for but never overly styled. Just then, Wombat, the Laurenti’s chocolate-colored Labrador, who still thought himself a puppy, trotted in, barking and circling the girls. Liam, in a surprisingly smooth move, used the dog as an excuse to back himself out of the room. I stood aside as the photographer grouped the girls around Ethan and his friends for a photo that would probably be blown up poster size and cemented in their memory forever. Or maybe that was just me. Emerald Dress clung to Ethan’s arm. “Ethan, hiring a seamstress for tonight was such a good idea. She literally saved my night.” Seamstress? Oh, right. Ethan looked over to me. “You mean Amelia?” His lips parted, like he was about to explain who I was, but he smiled instead and gave me a chin nod. A chin nod like we were in on the joke, just he and I. We shared an in-joke. An in-joke!

“Yeah, she’s great,” Ethan added, still grinning. That grin liquefied my joints. I finger combed my hair flat against my neck, hoping to cover the blush creeping up. “Shall we head outside?” the photographer asked in an English accent (of course she had an English accent). The electric connection between Ethan and me severed. The clicking and swishing prom wear clicked and swished through the front doors. Emerald Dress stopped at the door. She turned and held up her clutch purse. “Can you do me a huge favor? Could you fetch me some bobby pins?” She shoved the clutch into my hands. “And maybe some of that double-sided tape celebrities use.” She tilted her head in a half shrug. “Thanksies!” I stood on the doorstep, openmouthed. She wanted me to fetch things for her? Ethan had already walked ahead with the others, so at least he hadn’t seen the Fetch This transaction. The girl fluttered her fingers my way, which I could only interpret as shoo. As in, “away with you!” Like waving off a housefly. I ducked back inside before anyone noticed my five-alarm cheek flame and retreated to the staff kitchen. Who forgot their prom survival kit, anyway? All the teen fashion sites ran top ten checklists of everything you’d need. Bobby pins were easy enough to find, but the fashion tape was a lost cause. “No fetch-y for you,” I grumbled to the empty kitchen. Thankfully, Abuelita was off somewhere else. I didn’t feel like explaining. I paused at the sight of an envelope with my name on it faceup on the counter. Probably a birthday card. Gigi Laurenti was an expert at details. The envelope was skinny and pink. I slid it into the pocket of my skirt.

Having mostly accomplished my mission, I walked out to the front of the house. Rays from the late afternoon sun cast a soft glow over Ethan and his friends. Perfect lighting for the photographer, according to the photo tutorials I’d read. Natural light was so key. “My, my ladies, you are just the prettiest things ah’ve ever seen!” Gigi Laurenti’s thick southern drawl carried over as she watched over the group. (Gigi was Italian by marriage, she’d say, and Georgian by birth.) Ethan hammed it up for the photographer and struck James Bond–like poses. The girls gathered in close, elongating necks and smiling with their eyes. They were good. Everyone looked amazing and gorgeous, but none of those girls was me. I was the girl holding someone’s purse. The photographer’s assistant bumped me and I sidestepped to stay clear. He turned, swinging a bulky shoulder bag in my direction. I edged farther away but still near enough to let Emerald Dress see I’d returned with her clutch. The third time I was bonked with the assistant’s bag, he looked back at me. “You’re going to need to move.” I shifted aside but found myself backed against a prickly bush edging the front walk. Sidestepping again, I tried moving around the assistant. My toe butted against a rock jutting from the landscaping and no, no, no! I nosedived into the bush, throwing up my hands to save my face from prickers. Harsh bark scraped across my arms and arrowed into my torso. I kept my head down and hoped for the best, landing somehow halfway in the bush with the purse held up like a shield. Crackling branches called out, ruining any attempt to fall silently. “What’s going on back there?” the photographer barked. Thankfully, the assistant was a big guy, so maybe no one could see me on the other side

of him facedown in a pricker bush. I pushed up with my legs to right myself, only the prickers latched onto my hair. I couldn’t stand. My hair! I was stuck! “What on earth are you doing, Kitty Cat?” No. Please no. Frisco, the groundskeeper (from San Francisco, hence the name) called over using the Kitty Cat nickname he’d granted me with when I was four. I’d pretended to be a kitten for six months straight, so who could blame him. But now? It was a nickname that survived nine lives too many. “I’m a little stuck,” I whisper-shouted in his general direction. All I could see was my own thick hair wrapped around evil, evil branches. “They’re taking pictures,” Frisco responded, as if this was a revelation. “You need to stay out of the way.” Whatever was happening behind me I had to ignore to focus on not needing a future trip to the wig district. Frisco assisted my detangling with dirt-stained fingers. Finally, after most of my hair was free, I yanked myself up, only losing a few hundred strands. Hey, how about that for thinning out my thick hair in a totally organic way. I stood, slightly dizzy, still firmly clasping the clutch. And there she was, Emerald Dress girl, standing in front of me, waiting for her purse. Her facial expression—pure disgust. She snatched the clutch. “There’s dirt on this. And”—she pulled a stray twig poking from the side—“what even is this? Why are you so dirty?” I glanced down in horror at branch dust striped across my tunic, and worse, blood. My blood. My arms were bloodied in three places. “I’m so sorry.” Beyond her, the group was dispersing. I spied Ethan heading our way. Before he could

make eye contact with any part of me, I turned and dashed back inside.

CHAPTER 1 “Who cares what shade of green we choose? Let’s do this.” Luke Garibaldi was pumped. He and several of his teammates from the Outlaws had been selected to play for the West Coast All-Star team over the Fourth of July break. To celebrate they’d had a team tattoo designed by a local tattoo artist, and today they met up at the state line tattoo parlor, Ink by Einstein. They made a pact that the rest of the team would have to earn the right to wear it after the all-star break. The silhouette of a bandanna-wearing outlaw placed over an outline of the state of Idaho would be placed prominently on each player’s forearm. However, they’d never get started if his buddies wouldn’t stop squabbling like teenagers over the shade of green to use. “It has to match up with the logo on our uniform. We don’t need a social media blowup over ‘is it kelly green or forest green?’ Let’s just go with E’s suggestion and get a move on. My woman is on her way and I’d like to have mine done before she gets here.” Maverick Jansen, Luke’s best friend, rolled up the sleeve of his pitching arm and walked toward the chair of the highly sought-after ink master who simply went by E. “I doubt Kelsey would be happy to hear you call her ‘my woman.’” Luke grabbed Mav’s arm, pulled him back, and beat him to the chair. “Age before beauty, Mav.” He flashed the

Outlaws’ star player a smile and chuckled while the other players began to give him a hard time as well. There were two other tattoo artists working today and the other players had already grabbed their chairs, so Mav would have to wait his turn. About an hour later Kelsey walked in and Mav immediately caught his “woman” up in his arms for a kiss and a quick squeeze before she reminded him they weren’t alone. E didn’t look up from Luke’s tat when he said, “There’s a cot in back if you two need a few minutes alone.” With Kelsey was her best friend, Lara Andretti. Not his type, as she had goals and ambitions beyond being a temporary hookup, but that didn’t keep Luke from regretting he hadn’t made a play for her several months ago when they first met. He watched her cross into the dim main room and take a seat in a low-slung leather couch and respond to the greetings from the rest of the players there. All he could think about was how much he wanted to grab the green-eyed Lara and drag her back to the cot just offered to Mav. But what he had planned would take a hell of a lot longer than a few minutes. Luke watched in fascination as she morphed into the life of the party. She joked and laughed with the others in the room. Everyone except him. Damn, she had to know how affected he was by her. It felt like torture to watch as she gave his buddies a sunny smile and her attention. It had been exactly three months, nine days and almost sixteen hours since Luke last had sex. Not for lack of offers or desire. He spent nearly every morning taming his morning wood. No, his crazy ex-turned-stalker was to blame. The funny thing was, he wasn’t the one she had been stalking.

Luke fumed as JR, their right fielder, was doing his lame-ass Bradley Cooper impression. Her laughter hit him square in the gut and he found himself thinking of puppies and losing last year’s championships to try to tame Luke Jr. Her face was flushed, glowing even. Almost as if she’d lived through the scenario he’d played out in his fantasy world moments ago. “You going to let him get away with that?” E asked him. Luke looked over toward JR and Lara, and sobered. No way in hell. “I’m just picking my moment, man. Besides, she’s nice to everyone.” E changed tips and glanced over to the couch again. “If you say so.” Luke gritted his teeth. There was no way he’d let another Outlaw touch Lara. Hell, she’d been the only one to spark his interest in months since he missed the warning signs of an emotionally unstable Syndi. She’d sent threatening texts with Photoshopped pictures of herself with Mav. It had created a media frenzy just when his buddy was getting his life back together. The best thing that came out of that nightmare for Maverick was meeting Kelsey Sullivan. Now his fiancé and the team’s VP of Communications, she helped him rebuild his reputation and restore his confidence in his pitching ability. And he was the best man to Lara’s maid of honor. They’d be spending more time together and just maybe it was time for his drought to end. The more he pictured her in his arms, a list of possibilities, very naked possibilities, came to mind on how he could use the upcoming events leading to the big day to his advantage. To take his mind off the vision of her naked and screaming his name, he quickly looked down at his arm while E wiped down the now finished tattoo. He thought back to the last time he saw her. It had been opening day of the season when he’d run into her at an after-hours party at

Club Cortana. He’d been alone, but she’d been with some loser wearing a golf shirt and a fake Rolex. He’d met her a time or two before then, but the timing had always been off. He’d been either with Syndi or trying to avoid women after the shit hit the fan with Maverick and pushed thoughts of the lovely Lara out of his mind. But that night, seeing her with someone else had ramped up his inner caveman and it had been all he could do not to approach her and drag her away from the jerk she was with. Lara certainly had the looks and curvy body he’d love to explore, but she also had something else— class. And she was nice to everybody. Even to her date who’d kept sneaking looks at other women. Idiot. Men like that didn’t deserve women like Lara. “You’re all done, Garibaldi. Turned out better than I’d envisioned.” E nodded at Luke and slapped him on the back. “Okay, Mav. You’re up.” Luke had about a dozen tattoos on his body but this one was special. And probably the last one as an active USBL player. He was still in the top tier of catchers, but after this season, if not the next, he would seriously be looking at retirement. He walked over to the counter where the cashier was doing her best not to fall asleep and paid his bill. Worth every penny. “Hey, Lara. Long time no see.” Luke nodded toward Lara as he passed her. She had moved to stand by the counter and was looking at the artwork on the wall. She did a double take. Like she hadn’t noticed him when she’d walked into the place. “Luke, oh. Hi. Nice to see you again.” Formal and polite. That’s all he got from her. He still hadn’t decided if she really didn’t find him attractive or if she treated him this way because of the incident with Syndi or—and he

hoped it was this one—she liked him but didn’t want to like him. So now would be the perfect time to find out. He had to remind himself that Lara was a loyal friend to Kelsey who’d been on the receiving end of the crazy as well as Mav. And Kelsey would be royally pissed at him if he broke her best friend’s heart. He did his best to ignore the innuendos JR was throwing at Lara from across the room. He finished paying for the tattoo, walked up behind her, and placed his hands on her shoulders. He felt her stiffen. She stopped what she was saying to JR and took in a deep breath. From his vantage point, a good eight inches above her, he watched as the movement brought her breasts up higher. He groaned and took a slight step back before he whispered in her ear, “Lara, I’m getting ready to leave. Do you think I could have a moment of your time?” He watched her in fascination. Flustered at first, she recovered from his touch and turned her head toward him. “Can it wait? JR was telling me about—” “Actually, it can’t. I have another appointment and need to leave soon. It’ll just take a few minutes, I promise. It’s about the engagement party.” He leaned down and softly said for her ears only, “I dare you.” He sent JR a “back off” glare and turned and left the building. If anyone was going to end up with Lara, it was going to be him. He didn’t wait to see if she followed him because if there was one thing he did know about the beautiful Lara, she always took a dare.

Lara never turned down a dare. And just how would he know that? She didn’t have to think too hard or too long. The only person who could have tipped him off was Kelsey. So much for

sisterhood. She sent her traitorous friend a squint-eyed “see you later” smirk and received a fake innocent shrug in return. And like a moth to a flame, she followed. She stepped outside the tattoo parlor, which had become a mecca to ink enthusiasts from around the country, and walked over to the man who’d been starring in her fantasies. But he didn’t need to know that. Her dreams had been filled with him for the past few months. Since the big win on opening day, in fact. Maybe longer if she was honest. She wondered if the sexiest man she’d ever met, now sitting on his shiny steel horse, had ever been told no. Every time she’d been around him he exuded confidence just shy of outright cockiness. A trait usually found in professional athletes, but on him it only added to his allure. Comfortable in his own skin, Luke never seemed to worry about what others thought. It also made her wonder if the Outlaws’ owner or the team manager knew about Luke’s new toy. She knew enough about the baseball world to know that owners frowned on their players partaking in dangerous activities outside the sport, but she didn’t know if it was an official no-no or not. At the moment it didn’t matter. She couldn’t take her eyes off him sitting on the bike, black T-shirt, aviator glasses, and a hard body she wouldn’t mind being pressed up against. Luke Garibaldi looked every inch the outlaw he now wore on his skin. His back muscles bunched as he bent down to check something on the giant-size machine. She nearly swallowed her gum at the sight of his heavily muscled arms as they strained against the material of his T-shirt when he placed both hands on the handlebars. When he lifted up the short sleeve above his new ink for inspection she stumbled over a rock, more intent on ogling the man than her own safety. And of course he had to notice her

walking toward him at that exact moment. He flashed her a slow, sly grin and in an instant she was back in tenth grade. A lovesick teenager faced with her first crush and at a total loss for coherent thought. “E does incredible work. What do you think?” Lara stared at the tat and the reddened skin around it. The only thing that came to mind was that she wouldn’t mind being wrapped up in those arms. She shivered and felt her nipples harden at the thought. Some women preferred lean men, and that was fine. Her ex had some muscle tone, but nothing like Luke, and she was a sucker for wide shoulders and the toned contours of rock-hard arms. She tried to come up with something witty and off the cuff, but she had nothing but some drool on the corner of her mouth. “Lara, if you don’t like it, it’s okay. Just say so. I appreciate honesty.” He held her now shock-filled gaze and sat there waiting for her to respond. Shit. What was wrong with her? She’d spent so long objectifying him that she totally blew off his question, and now he probably thought she was standoffish or worse, a tattoo snob. “Ah, no. I mean . . . well, that is I do like it and . . . tattoos in general . . . I uh, have always thought about getting one of my own, maybe. A dragonfly or one of those fancy oneword scripts like, ‘strength’ or ‘persevere’ or ‘lo-love.’” She closed her eyes and wanted to die. Lord, her palms were sweating. It wasn’t like she’d never been around a hot guy before. But he wasn’t just hot. He was ghost-chili-hot. He was on a whole different level and she suspected he was into her too, which was why her brain had frozen. His eyebrows went up at the end of her babbling. He folded his arms and she watched in awe as his gaze made a slow journey down her body, then back up.

“And just where would you put this tattoo? Maybe only somewhere you or your boyfriend could enjoy it or maybe . . .” His heated glance briefly stopped on her chest before landing on her hip and below. Shaking from the visual caress, she was determined to not stutter. “Um, no, actually I was thinking maybe my shoulder or even on one of my ankles. I’d keep it small. You know, since it would be my first one.” “And if you liked it? Would you get something . . . bigger the next time?” “Maybe. But it hasn’t happened yet, so I’d have to see how the first experience went.” “Smart. You never want to go overboard on something that important. Slow and steady is your best bet.” Were they still talking about tattoos or something else? Something else wasn’t what she was looking for, but maybe just what she needed. But if it was something else, then the timing couldn’t have been worse. So caught up in their verbal foreplay, she’d forgotten she needed to leave soon for her date. A date with a guy she now wished was Luke. “So, Lara. Have you ever been on a motorcycle before?” Luke shifted his frame and started the bike. “No. I’ve never known anyone who rides.” He removed his sunglasses and held her gaze. At first she thought he was going to make a joke about her never having ridden a bike, but she noticed his gray eyes were darker than they’d been earlier. They held her spellbound; she held her breath waiting for what came next. “Well now, the first time can be scary or if handled right, a thrill of a lifetime. What do you say, Lara? Can I interest you in a ride?”

And just like that Lara’s mouth went dry and her panties wet. Now she knew they’d progressed beyond tattoos. Hell, they’d jumped way beyond the getting-to-know-you conversation and were rounding second base on the way to third. Was this the reason he asked her to follow him outside? She was about to say yes, when George’s face popped in her head. A man she no longer had any interest in pursuing. But she wasn’t the type to ditch one guy for another. She’d had that happen to her and it sucked. How to handle the situation? She wanted him to know she was interested, but she didn’t want him to think she was making up a date just to play hard to get. He said he liked honesty, so she went with that. She took a couple of steps closer to him. Close enough now that she could smell his musky scent. She briefly closed her eyes as her senses ramped up and her pulse raced at his nearness. “I’d love it, but—” “But?” “Luke, I already have a date. And the thought came to me to call him and cancel, but it’s pretty late notice and I would hate it if the reverse happened to me, so . . .” “So, it’s a no. Hey, I understand. I’m disappointed but I understand. I’m glad you believe in following through on commitments. It’s a rarity these days.” He reached out and grabbed her hand and rubbed his thumb across her palm. Not once, but several times, back and forth. The contact created a spark that traveled from her hand to her belly where it settled, and a warmth spread down her thighs to the tips of her toes. Damn. “When you’re ready to get that first tattoo or a ride on my . . . bike. Just let me know.”

Again at a loss for words, she nodded and licked her now dry lips. She really wished she wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t meeting George later for what was sure to be another boring discussion on golf. But it would be her last date with Mr. Not-Quite-Right. Luke ran his index finger along the side of Laraâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s cheek and tapped her on the nose before he placed his sunglasses over his gorgeous eyes, flipped up his kickstand, and with a nod took off out of the parking lot. She stood and watched until he disappeared. Life had just gotten interesting.

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CHAPTER 2

The next morning as she dressed to go meet her friends, Lara wore her sun-bleached blond hair pulled up in a side pony, and owl-eyed sunglasses and a bright-pink warm-up suit, hoping the look would boost her mood. It had been less than twelve hours since Luke had stirred her up. She’d followed through on her date with George partly because she promised and partly to see if maybe she’d missed something; to see if he could light her up like Luke did. Like he’d yet to do over the past month of dating. There was no comparison. What she felt, or what her body felt for Luke, was off the charts. Last night was eye opening in more ways than one. It turned out George was a drunk in sheep’s clothing and did little to spark her libido. How had she missed the signs? Her ex had been an alcoholic, a cheating functional drunk, but still a drunk. After last night she was now unsure of her ability to be with anyone. If she couldn’t read the tea leaves with George, how was she to know if Luke had hidden issues she wasn’t ready to deal with? Maybe she was putting too much emphasis on sexual chemistry? She kept telling herself she didn’t need someone tying her up in knots. She was still recovering emotionally from a hellish breakup, and being blindsided by George’s drinking issues just proved she wasn’t ready to date or even consider whatever it was Luke was offering.

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What she wanted, what she needed, was someone steady and reliable. Eventually. But not now. Her interaction with Luke yesterday made her yearn for something more than spending time with her friends and helping to plan Kelsey’s wedding, but she wasn’t sure she could handle the sexy catcher. As she sipped her green tea in Just Desserts, she noticed she had the upscale pastry shop all to herself. She was just biting into her chocolate croissant when Kelsey finally made her appearance. Noel followed her looking harried and tired. “So where was the party last night? Sully’s or Club Cortana?” Kelsey asked. She sat down and grinned at Lara. She was glowing, dammit. That could only mean one thing. Hot sex with her bad boy pitcher. “You think you know me so well, Kelsey Sullivan. I’ll have you know I was home and in bed by ten p.m.,” Lara answered. “Really? I find that odd, and yes, I do know you well. Friends like us can’t hide the truth for long, Miss Sass. Now give.” Kelsey took a sip of Lara’s tea. Lara swatted her friend’s hand. “Get your own.” “Greta’s making it. You never were good at sharing. Now, I’m sure your night had to be more fun than mine. Well, maybe.” Kelsey offered her a loopy grin. Then she placed her chin in her hand and gave Lara a pointed stare. She always won their staring contests, even when they were seven. “Now who’s fibbing, Ms.-almost-a-Mrs. I wasn’t the one having mind-blowing sex all night with America’s hottest baseball player.” Jealous much, Lara? Ugh, she needed to banish all thoughts of Kelsey and Maverick doing the horizontal mambo.

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Something appeared in Kelsey’s eyes, something like pity. Oh no, Lara was not looking for that or for the hard sell on getting horizontal with anyone. Luke’s face and panty-scorching slow grin from yesterday afternoon popped into her brain. She wanted to tell both Kelsey and Noel about her encounter with Luke, but first she needed to let them in on her disastrous date last night. And her new resolve to stay away from men, no matter how hot they were. “Hon . . .” Noel broke her brooding silence and touched Lara gently on the shoulder. “We’re both here for you. Anytime, you know that.” “No, no. It’s all right, Noel. And Kelsey, I’m not trying to be bitchy, but I guess I came across that way and I’m sorry. I’m beyond happy for you and Maverick, honest. It’s just that, well, I spent most of the evening with an overserved, wanna-be golf pro who pawed me every chance he could. Until he passed out in our booth, that is.” “He did not.” Kelsey was instantly sympathetic. “What the hell?” Noel said at the same time. “Damn, you had such high hopes for George too.” “Not really, and as it turned out he’d been doing his best to keep his drinking problem a secret. I think something happened to tip him over the edge. He broke down on me last night and confessed some past sins better left in the vault.” “Well, at least you won’t have to waste any more time with that loser.” Kelsey took a piece off Lara’s croissant and crossed her arms and leaned in. Lara knew that smile. It spelled trouble. And that trouble was sure to be named Luke Garibaldi. No doubt he’d told Mav about their little encounter outside the tattoo parlor. But it wasn’t. Instead, Kelsey went in a whole other direction.

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“Lara, why don’t you tell us what’s really going on? It’s not about a bad date. Is it your job?” Lara’s eyes lost focus for a moment as she stared into the distance over her best friend’s shoulder. She never could keep secrets from Kelsey and Noel. As much as she wanted to save this bad news until after the engagement party, Lara knew it was better to rip off the Band-Aid than deal with an even more pissed-off Kelsey next week. “Look, Lara, I know you and something is definitely bothering you. So you can tell us now or tomorrow or next week, but we will find out. So spill.” Kelsey nudged Noel. “Lara, don’t make me tickle you,” Noel said in a singsong voice. Lara smiled at the reference to their childhood threat. Sighing, she knew she had to tell them what had happened to avoid the dreaded tickle monster. “I’m thinking of quitting my job and applying for an opening at Children’s Hospital in Seattle.” Lara looked everywhere in the room except at Noel and Kelsey. “Um, what? You’re joking, right?” Noel asked. “No joke, Noel. Howard gave the senior PT position to Lawrence, and I just lost it.” “You lost it? And how exactly did you lose it? You get along with everyone. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you raise your voice in anger,” Kelsey said. “Yeah, well, I did this time. Lawrence had pushed my buttons once too often, so when he flaunted the position in my face I stormed into Howard’s office and demanded the truth. He gave it to me with no signs of empathy or remorse, so I gave him a piece of my mind and left.” “Wow. Guess you won’t be seeing a raise anytime soon, huh?” Noel said. Kelsey poked her in the ribs and gave Lara a sympathetic look.

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Noel was never one to sugarcoat anything and when something bad happened to anyone in their tight circle, she deflected with humor and rarely showed her true emotions. Kelsey, on the other hand, was Lara’s biggest cheerleader. “Look, I’ve got pretty healthy savings if he decides to fire me before I can quit. And it’s not like I don’t have options.” Lara sounded braver then she felt. “Okay, so Seattle, huh?” Kelsey asked. “That’s my dream job, you know that. I’ve made a couple of connections with staff at different symposiums and word is there’ll be an opening soon, but the competition will be hard. I’m not sure if my credentials will be enough.” “Since when have you ever had a moment of doubt in your life, Lara Eleanor Andretti? Hell, when we were in third grade you knew exactly what you wanted to do when you grew up.” “Kelsey, it’s not a matter of knowing what I want, it’s a matter of reality. And the reality is that positions at Seattle Children’s are highly coveted and rarely open. There are a couple of other options, but they’re East Coast and I’m not sure I want to make that big of a move.” “Well, if you want to know what I think, this whole thing is meant to be. You’ve been unhappy at the clinic for months. Plus, your heart is in working with kids versus the wanna-be athletes, right? So put it out there in the universe and your dream job will open up.” “Noel, is that The Secret crap again? That’s so last century. Next, you’re going to be telling Lara to make a vision board, and voila, all her problems will be solved,” Kelsey complained. “Kelsey, it’s not crap. And besides, what’s wrong with acknowledging to yourself, and yes, to the universe, what your biggest desires are? I’m telling you, it works. I did a vision board for the project I’m working on now and it came true. So there’s one example right there.”

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“What about T.S.’s condo project. You make a board for him too?” Noel blushed and clamped her mouth tight. “No. His company is not one I want to do business with.” “Since when?” Kelsey laughed. “When you first heard the rumors two years ago that he’d bought up the old mill site you were practically foaming at the mouth. And once it was announced part of the plan was high-end residential, you couldn’t wait for the bidding process to open up.” “Well, things change. He and I had a bit of a disagreement on, well, his vision.” She pointed at her two besties. “Stop laughing. It’s true. He wanted to go in a whole different direction, more of a European feel, and I told him why it wouldn’t fit in here. He wasn’t too happy with me and we both said some things and hey, wait a minute. We’re supposed to be figuring out Lara’s problem, not mine.” “Not a problem. Besides you never told us exactly what went on between the two of you. Maybe now would be a good time to share. I don’t mind. I’m done talking anyway. I just want to stop thinking for once about what my next steps will be.” Lara leaned forward and placed her chin in her hands. “C’mon Noel, give it up. Did he hit on you or what?” “No. Not at all.” Noel’s words rushed out. “Hmmm, what do you think, Lara? Think she’s too quick on the ‘no’?” Kelsey asked. “Definitely,” Lara agreed. “Would you two knock it off. Let’s get back to Lara, please?” “Okay. So, Lara, how about you go to the game with us tomorrow? You haven’t been able to go to one since opening day. I’ve got seats with a prime view of home plate and Luke Garibaldi’s fine ass. What do you say?”

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“Kelsey, you’re not supposed to notice your boyfriend’s best friend’s ass, no matter how fine it is,” Lara admonished. “Really Lara, just because I’m engaged doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate another man’s fine ass. You know it’s gotta be from all that squatting, don’t you think?” Kelsey sent a wink Noel’s way and patted Lara’s hand. “Maverick already knows how I feel about Luke’s ass and he’s okay with it. As long as I bite his, that is.” “Kelsey, you need to stop that right now. You’re making us blush. And that’s just plain mean. You know neither one of us is getting any right now,” Noel complained. “And whose fault is that? Both of you could have a different man every week, but I don’t see you putting yourselves out there.” Lara opened her mouth to argue. “And George doesn’t count, Lara. So it’s all the more reason for both of you to come to the game with me tomorrow. You still have Mondays off, right?” “Yes, but no thanks. I’m not really into baseball, you know. Besides, I’ll be fine and you’re not to worry about me. You have enough going on with the ceremony plans plus keeping up with Maverick’s libido.” Lara ducked the wadded-up napkin Kelsey threw her way. “Hey, it’s true right? Besides you’ve already given me all the juicy details on that, so no going all Miss Priss on me when it comes to your nighttime activities.” “Well, I think it’s about time you took part in some nighttime activities of your own. Why don’t you just let me set you up with Luke? I know he’d jump at the chance. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” “Since when? Did Mav tell you about yesterday?”

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“Yesterday? What happened yesterday? Lara Andretti, you’ve been holding out on me, now spill.” “There’s nothing to spill. It was after the guys got their tattoos and he asked if he could speak with me—outside.” Lara looked away from Kelsey’s intense stare and felt heat climb up her neck. Not now. She couldn’t let Kelsey know her true feelings; otherwise she’d continue her matchmaking for lord knows how long. Plus, if something was going to happen between her and Luke she wanted it to be because he was interested, not because Kelsey pressured him. “Look, I’m not hooking up with a ballplayer, Kelsey. Fine ass or not.” But you want to. “Yeah, me either,” Noel offered “I don’t think I could handle seeing all those ball girls throwing themselves at a guy I’m serious about.” “Well, I seem to be handling it all right,” Kelsey said. “And you’re both protesting a little too hard. What’s wrong with having some fun and having it with a man who plays baseball?” “I didn’t mean to offend you, hon. I’m glad you and Maverick found each other and it’s working for you. I just don’t think I’m built that way,” Noel responded. Lara silently agreed. She definitely couldn’t handle sharing her man with anyone, no matter how innocent it might be. She’d already dealt with one cheater; she was pretty sure she couldn’t handle Luke’s playboy ways even on a short-term basis. “Listen, I’m calling in my favor, Lara. You owe me, remember?” “Dammit, Kels, that’s not fair. You know I don’t go back on my promises.” “Great, that’s what I was counting on. You’re coming. And so is Noel. No excuses. And I’ll call Caris. She spends way too much time listening to other people’s problems in her practice. She needs to let loose too.” Kelsey slammed her hand down on the table in triumph.

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Lara hadn’t seen that one coming. She’d forgotten about “the favor.” Kelsey had helped her with all the financial stuff when her grandparents had died and wouldn’t take any money for it. Instead she said she could “owe her favor.” And now that day had come. She really wasn’t a big baseball fan, but she’d been watching games at home and hadn’t told anyone because she was only watching to see Luke. The man was male perfection, arms she’d love to have wrapped around her and a ripped chest she itched to touch. Her and millions of other women. His last shirtless ad for a sports clothing company had set the Internet on fire and was one of the most pinned photos on Pinterest—ever. So, yeah, she’d pay Kelsey back and attend an Outlaws game where Luke Garibaldi would be suited up like a modern-day gladiator providing her, and all the other women in attendance, inspiration for their dreams.

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