2132121212jjs66556

Table of Contents 1: Skye 2: Blake 3: Skye 4: Blake 5: Skye 6: Blake 7: Skye 8: Blake 9: Skye 10: Blake 11: Skye Epilogue Epilogue #2 Epilogue #3 About HERO (Travis Brothers, Book #2) Hot Summer Lust excerpt Connect with Juliette Jones

Skye Monroe has just moved to Austin to start college. Shy, studious and artistic, she’d rather keep to herself. But when she gets talked into attending a school football game by a new friend, the drop-dead gorgeous quarterback can’t take his eyes off her. Will Blake Travis be the one to bring Skye out of her shell?

Blake Travis is saving himself. The hottest, most eligible star at UT just isn’t interested in playing any other field except the one with a football on it. A romantic at heart, he’s holding out for the real thing. As soon as he lays eyes on the shy stranger with the smoky green eyes and flaxen hair, he knows he’s found her.

SCORE is a sweet, safe, scorching-hot love story with a happy ending. No love triangles, cliffhangers or cheating.

Book #1 in the Travis Brothers series

Join my mailing list to be the first to find out about new releases, special prices and free books!

When you sign up you’ll get a FREE E-BOOK!

Click the banner below or copy/paste this link to join and start reading:

http://eepurl.com/bhOho1 All my books can be found on Amazon and are FREE with a Kindle Unlimited subscription!

SCORE Copyright © 2017 by Juliette Jones All rights reserved by the author SCORE is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed or scanned in any electronic or printed form without permission from Juliette Jones.

Cover art photo used under license from Shutterstock.com Cover design © Juliette Jones First Edition: July 2017 Published by Juliette Jones: juliettejones.billionaire@gmail.com

1: Skye 2: Blake 3: Skye 4: Blake 5: Skye 6: Blake 7: Skye 8: Blake 9: Skye 10: Blake 11: Skye Epilogue Epilogue #2 Epilogue #3 About HERO (Travis Brothers, Book #2) Hot Summer Lust excerpt Connect with Juliette Jones

For the twelfth time in just over four years, it’s my first day at a new school. This time, though, everything’s different. I finally made it out of the wasteland of high school hell and am starting my first day at the University of Texas at Austin. I’m so used to that sick, scared feeling of walking into a crowded space and being stared at by a bunch of curious strangers who eyeball me from the safety of their cliques and their friendships, it takes me a second to realize it: everyone’s new. No one here knows each other.

Maybe for the first time ever, I don’t have to feel like I’m crashing someone else’s party.

I stand in line at the registration desk, which is outside on the crowded green. I’m wearing baggier clothes than I need to, but people still stare at me. I’m used to it. I know what I look like. Maybe I should have dyed my hair like I thought about doing.

People are already starting to cluster into groups and talk to each other, but I keep to myself. As usual. It’s not the first time I’ve wished I wasn’t such a complete introvert. I wish I was capable, like the girl in the next line, of starting up a bubbly conversation with some random stranger and not feeling all self-conscious about it or turning red or stammering over my words like the biggest loser in the world. Shyness is a curse.

It probably didn’t help that I moved schools so much when I was younger. Or that my parents basically abandoned me by dying and left me in foster care which turned out to be as close to hell as a person can get. But all that’s behind me now. I’m eighteen. I’m a college student. From now on I can live my own life and not have to rely on anyone else. It’s just about the best feeling in the world.

So I try to smile when the guy next to me looks in my direction, eyeing me from head to toe. I pretend I feel confident and ready to take my new world by storm. At least if I look like I know what I’m doing, people might actually think I do.

There’s a band playing in the middle of the green and a group of loud, muscular jocks are throwing a football around. Even a misfit like me might actually enjoy college. And with my small scholarship and my art commission, I can actually almost afford college.

It’s nice out. The sky is blue and the scene is busy and inviting. The college green is full of the usual mix of preppies, nerds, hipsters and so on, but everyone looks cool and somehow collegiate. Nearby, a cluster of pretty girls are eyeing up the football jocks. These are the kind of girls who used to make my life hell in high school: the beautiful, try-hard cheerleader-types who make an art of flicking their hair and hiking up their already-miniscule skirts. They hate people like me: loners, who – God knows why, since I avidly try to avoid it – get people’s attention. And it’s always the kind of attention I wish I wasn’t getting.

I do my best to avoid the cheerleaders. Maybe things will be different in college.

I’m next in line. The guy handing out the paperwork introduces himself as Joe. He’s a senior, he says. He gives me my list of classes and does his intro about the orientation schedule. Then he winks and writes his phone number down on my course book. “Call me later,” he says. “Tonight, if you want. I’ll show you around.”

Sure.

Like I’d have the nerve to do something like that. Besides, there’s no way I’ll have time for a social life. The university’s commission for my sculpture will take at least twenty hours of work a week. Then there’ll be my full course load and all the studying that goes along with it. I’ll be lucky if I meet a single person.

I smile and tell him I will, even though I know I won’t. “What’s your name?” he calls after me, but the crowd is already closing in, so I escape without telling him. I take out my map and start following it to find my dorm.

I’m mortified when one of the jocks starts walking over to me. Calm down, I tell myself. Act normal. He leans his shoulder up against a tree, blocking my way. He’s huge, like he might be a linebacker or a heavyweight wrestler or something. He could break me in half if he decided to. I’m so intimidated I can hardly breathe.

“Hey,” he says. “You must be a freshman.”

I wish I could beam myself to an alternate universe, I really do. I’m so not good at this kind of thing. Stop being such a timid freak. You’re a college student now. You can handle this. I attempt a smile. “Yeah.”

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he says.

I don’t know how to reply to that so I try to just keep walking but he walks along with me.

“Where’re you from?” he says.

I don’t want to chit-chat with this oversized stranger. I want to be left alone. But being rude will only make things harder in the long run, that’s one thing I learned in high school number seven. “Galveston,” I say.

And before that: Plano, Abilene, Fort Worth, Waco, San Antonio and a whole bunch of other places. But there’s no point telling this colossal jock my pathetic life story.

“Well, Galveston, you and me should get to know each other.”

One of the cheerleaders catches up to Linebacker. She slides her fingers over his hulkish bicep. As she does this, she shoots a few daggers out of her eyes at me before turning back to him, softening. “Jared, can you walk me to my dorm? I don’t know where it is.”

I take that as my cue. I turn left and keep walking, hoping they won’t notice me leaving.

“Lookin’ forward to seeing you again soon, Galveston,” the jock calls out to me as I walk away. I blush and give him an awkward little wave as I retreat.

I finally find Houston Hall. As I search for room 217, I do my best not to feel the heat of all the endless sets of laser-beam stares of the people around me.

It doesn’t take me long to find my room.

A pretty girl with long red hair is sitting in the large open window that looks over the green, checking her phone. Her bag sits on one of the beds. She smiles widely at me as I walk into the room, like she’s actually happy I’m here. My roommate. “Hi. I’m Piper.”

I smile back at her. It’s impossible not to. She’s genuinely nice, you just get that feeling. “Skye.”

“I hope you don’t me claiming the bed next to the window. And the bigger closet. Your desk is bigger, though. And you have an extra bookshelf.”

“No, that’s fine.”

“I saw you talking to that football player and his groupie,” she says.

“Oh. Yeah. I think I’ve already made at least one enemy.”

“Those girls are fine as long as you stay away from the football team.”

“You know them?”

“I know their type. My brother was the quarterback at my high school in Phoenix,” she says. “My other brother was a wide receiver. And my other brother was a halfback. We had girls like that camping out on our doorstep all the time.”

“Wow. Well, I’ll definitely be staying away from the football team,” I assure her, remembering Linebacker. “As far away as possible.”

“There’s no way we’re not going to the game tonight, though,” Piper beams. “That’s half the reason I came to this school. To watch the Longhorns.”

I laugh a little as I put my bag on my bed and start unpacking it. “I’ll probably skip the game.”

“No way, roomie, you can’t bail on me! I don’t know anyone else here yet. You have to come with me.”

“I’ve never really been that into football,” I tell her. I watch it sometimes, but only because those are the memories I have of my dad so long ago: watching football. Telling me all about the players and the plays and I would nod and climb onto his lap and pretend I was as into it as he was, even though I was too young to understand. But that was a long time ago.

“What are you into?” Piper has copper-red hair and a smattering of golden freckles across her nose. Her face is open and sunny, like she’s actually interested and not just asking to make small talk. So I find myself telling her.

“I’m a sculptor. I make stuff out of clay, metal and basically anything else I can get my hands on.”

“That’s so cool! Are you majoring in art?”

“Yeah, it’s how I got in. The university commissioned some of my work and I get a partial scholarship once it’s completed. So I’ll be spending most of my time at the art building for at least the next few months.” I’m excited about the sculpture I’m planning. It’s going to be an abstract impression of a longhorn bull (the admissions committee’s idea, but I’m running with it).

“That’s so awesome. God, I wish I was artistic. I’m about the least artistic person I know. I’m studying psychology.”

I smile, putting some of my stuff into drawers. “That sounds interesting.”

“Yeah, just be careful: I might start psycho-analyzing you any minute.”

I smile. “I’ll watch out for that.”

“Any time you need some therapy just let me know. You can be my first patient.” Her phone pings and she’s busy for a few seconds. Then she says, “So, what do you say? Kick-off’s at seven.”

“I’ve never actually been to a football game before,” I admit. “I don’t even know the rules.”

“I’ll teach you,” she says. “Who knows, you might actually enjoy it.”

My alarm rings and I roll out of bed. My house, as usual, is quiet.

Unbearably quiet. It’s been a long summer, of empty days and sleepless nights. Along with brutal football practice for the last month, five hours a day, every day, in the blistering Texas heat, listening to Coach scream and cut the newbies left and right.

I stare for a few seconds at the photograph on my dresser. Of my family, years ago. I wish I could bear to put the damn thing away. It only makes the loneliness even more profound.

I’m glad classes are starting up again and the football season officially starts tonight. Once I can immerse myself in games, practices and my business studies, time won’t seem so slow and so heavy, I can only hope. Ethan’s tour of duty ends next month, finally. My brother has seen some pretty serious combat in Afghanistan and I have a feeling he’ll be a changed man when he gets back. I email him every couple of days to try to boost his morale, which hasn’t been great lately. It’ll be good to have him home again. This house is too damn big for one person.

I drive to the campus stadium, park my car and make my way toward the changing rooms.

“Hi, Blake.”

I glance in the direction the voice is coming from as I walk across the parking lot. I’m thinking about the plays we’ve been practicing, so I’m distracted. It’s two girls, standing close to each other, leaning against the brick wall of the gym like they’re waiting for me. They look vaguely familiar. Maybe they were in one of my classes last year, who knows. Who cares.

“Hey,” I barely say as I walk past them. I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone, especially a couple of girls I have no interest in.

“Blake,” one of them says, and I turn to look as I open the door, waiting for them to say whatever it is they want to say. “We know about your rule, but we were just wondering if …” “… if you might change your mind,” says the other one. “With us.”

I can’t believe this. “No,” I say gruffly, walking into the sports complex, letting the door slam behind me.

Fuck.

My ‘rule’. It’s become common knowledge around here which irritates the hell out of me. It’s no one’s business but my own. And now I’ve got girls coming up to me every day of the week wanting to help me fucking break it.

That’s not going to happen.

It’s bad enough I have to listen to the other guys about their ‘scores’ and how many chicks they fuck on a weekly basis. That’s just not me. I’m holding out for the real thing.

“You’re late, Travis,” Coach says as I walk into the locker room and toss my bag onto a bench.

“By three minutes,” I say, glancing up at the clock.

“That’s classified as late.”

I change into my gear and do some warming up.

“It’s time,” Coach says, “Let’s do this.”

I can hear the crowd chanting my name. Jared rolls his eyes.

“Always the quarterback. Never the linebacker.”

We run out onto the field. The crowd roars and it’s a good feeling. I basically live and breathe football and have since I was about five years old.

We’re playing one of our biggest rivals tonight and they’ll give us a run for our money, but I’m more than fucking up to it. I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins like a drug. First play, I hand the ball off to Jackson who runs it for twenty yards before he gets tackled. It’s a good start. The fans go nuts. It’s our first game of the season and they’re feeling it. I look up at a waving flag and something catches my eye. A glow.

A girl.

She’s sitting in the second row of the bleachers with a friend. She has long, white-blond hair. Our gazes lock and her cheeks flush before she drops her eyes.

But I can’t look away. Everything about me is drawn to her, like she’s a magnet I can’t resist the pull of. The desire to see her and feel her and get closer to her is entirely beyond my control. It’s like one of those shots in a movie where everything fades out except the object that takes all your focus. One golden girl whose shy eyes somehow reflect my future and the entire direction of my life. I want to touch her so badly my muscles are

clenched and my fingertips zing. My mouth feels parched. And my heart aches as though I’ve been missing something monumental and here it suddenly fucking is.

“Travis!” yells Coach. “Get your head in the goddamn game.”

I do, but not before glancing back at the girl. She’s so beautiful. Her face is angelic. Her hair is the color of butter. She looks soft and enchanting and somehow shimmery, like a mermaid that just wandered onto dry land.

I’m staring. She glances up again and blushes a little more and – Jesus – I’m getting hard just looking at her. In the middle of a goddamn football game. Not good. Who is she?

I don’t even realize I’ve said it aloud, but Jared is within earshot. “I saw her on the green today. Fuckin’ goddess.”

I feel like lunging at him. Tackling him to the ground and making sure he understands that she’s mine. If he goes anywhere near her, I’ll go fucking ballistic.

Coach is storming over to me. He’s called a time out. His face is as red as a newly boiled lobster. “What the fuck is going on, Travis?”

“He’s checking out some girl in the stands,” says Jackson, laughing.

“But what does this mean?” Jared ribs me. “Could it be that, finally, the lone wolf quarterback has met his match?” My team gives me shit all the time about my ‘rule.’ I’m used to it. Occasionally it pisses me off, but not tonight. Because it’s true. I’ve met my match. Just like that, I’ve found her.

Coach is about a foot shorter than me but he does his best to put his face in my face. “If you have any intention of continuing as the starting quarterback for this team, you’ll get your goddamn head back in this game.

You can play the other field in your own time.”

So, after another long glance at the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life, I drag my concentration back to the play.

It takes every shred of willpower I possess to keep my focus. I take the snap and look for my man. Tyrell’s a wild card with occasional flashes of genius. And he’s right where I want him. My pass glides straight into his outstretched arms and he juggles it before securing the ball. You beauty, Tyrell.

Touchdown! yells the announcer and the crowd goes ballistic.

I take my opportunity. I search for her again in the stands.

She’s watching me. Her friend is leaning close to her, pointing in my direction. Like they’re talking about me.

I can’t stop fucking staring at her and she blushes again and smiles shyly, twirling a finger through a long strand of that surreal-looking flaxen hair.

I want to talk to her. I want to find out who she is and where she came from.

I have to stop myself from running over to her and climbing up into those bleachers.

Instead, I walk over to the players’ bench and take a seat. Take off my helmet. Someone hands me some water. I barely hear Coach as he starts talking me through the next set of plays. I’m too enthralled by the shy, golden girl in the bleachers and the realization that’s hitting me like a tenton wall of bricks.

I don’t want to break my rule, I want to fucking prove my rule.

With her.

“He’s totally staring at you!” Piper whispers ecstatically.

“Who is he?” I hear myself asking. She’s such a football fan she actually reads about these players in her spare time and follows the scores and the schedules.

“His name is Blake Travis. He’s a junior and already the starting quarterback. Not your typical quarterback, as it turns out. There’s this rumor going around – well, it’s actually more of a headline news item than a rumor. It’s all over Snapchat. He’s nineteen and still a virgin. He’s saving himself for his one true love. Can you believe that?”

“Wow.” “Of course every girl in the school swoons over him not only because he’s a romantic but also because he’s hotter than hell. I mean, look at that guy, would you? He’s perfect.” Piper has already made friends with the girls sitting next to us. She’s so outgoing and friendly, she can just strike up a conversation with anyone who happens to be around. I feel a pang of jealousy, but it passes. I’ll never be like that, but at least I’ve made one friend so far. That’s probably all I’ll have time for anyway.

As she talks football with our neighbors, I can’t help it: I am looking at him. And yes, he is about as perfect as a person could possibly be. He’s sitting on the players’ bench in the middle of what’s turned into a huddle as their coach talks and makes a lot of hand gestures like he’s worked up. This Blake Travis is sort of half listening and half trying to look over in our direction. He has dark hair that’s messed up from his sweat and his helmet.

Even from this distance he looks big and so muscular that I know for a fact I want nothing to do with him. He may be a perfect star quarterback who’s saving himself, but that’s hardly my concern. I have bigger things to worry about than Blake Travis’s sex life or lack thereof. I have a sculpture to make in three months or less. The conditions of my scholarship: that I finish it on

time, that it’s amazing, and that I maintain at least a 3.5 grade point average. In fact I should be working right now.

The crowd groans as the visiting team scores a touchdown.

The huddle around Blake clears and I watch him stand up. His eyes scan the crowd until he finds me. I look around me, trying to be subtle about it. Maybe he’s looking at someone else. But no, I can feel the heat of his attention from all the way over here. His lazy fascination. Usually I hate when people stare at me. But this feels different. His gaze feels warm. It’s a strange feeling. Hypnotic and intense. Like he’s already touching me. I don’t feel as shy as usual. It also feels like the temperature in this stadium has just gone up by about ten degrees. I’m practically feverish.

He puts his helmet back on and runs back out onto the field.

His body is long and lean and powerful as he moves. As he makes his plays, he’s cool about it. He’s not hot-headed. He’s thinking carefully about what he’s doing, measuring up his decisions as he watches his teammates. He passes the ball with graceful, measured precision each time.

There’s something mesmerizing about him. The entire stadium is spellbound. You can see why he’s the star quarterback. Every single pass he throws is on target. The ball doesn’t even wobble, it just curves and spins in a smooth arc.

I’m as riveted by Blake Travis’s style as I am by his looks. I could watch him all night and I’m surprised to find myself just as engrossed in this game as Piper is. Silently, I’m cheering for him. I want him to get the glory. One of the plays brings him closer to our side, to where we’re sitting in the stands, and this time when he looks at me I can see his eyes are a clear, jewel-like shade of blue, rimmed by dark-black lashes. As our eyes meet from this closer distance, that blue gaze does strange things to me.

Connective things. Almost like I can read his mind.

I know what he’s thinking as he runs past me with his glorious body and those steady, vivid blue eyes.

I know why he’s watching me, even as all the other girls call out to him. I can feel not only his fascination but his resolve. His decision. You’re the one I want, that gaze says. You. No. The realization thrills me beyond belief but at the same time terrifies me, like I’ve just taken a seat behind the wheel of a race car and someone’s revving the engine to full tilt. My stomach does a crazy little flip and I can practically feel the gravity-defying g-forces of a ride that

promises to be way more than I could ever handle. I can feel my pulse in hot, needy places.

Suddenly, I need to get out of here.

Blake Travis is a complication I definitely don’t want right now. If I’m too shy to talk to random strangers, I have no business exchanging meaningful glances with the likes of Blake Travis.

I turn to Piper, who’s laughing at something one of the girls has said. “I’m going,” I tell her. “I’ll see you back at the room.”

“What? Why? Are you sure you don’t want to stay for the end of the game?” she says. “They’re only leading by fourteen points and there’s still twenty minutes to go.”

“No, I’ve really got to get ready to start work early in the morning.

But you guys have fun. Cheer on our team for me. I’ll see you later.”

Before she can protest more, I bolt. I try to keep calm and take deep breaths as make my way through the stands to the side exit. I walk away from the bright lights and feel a little better as I get swallowed up by the calm, quiet distance. I’m good at being alone. I’m fine. I’m good at keeping my distance and doing the things I need to do.

Without complications.

It’s better this way, I assure myself. I can’t get hurt if I follow my rule, which is all about keeping myself safe from the kind of emotional engagement that’ll only end up breaking my heart.

I’m listening to goddamn Coach shouting his orders again and I’ve had just about enough of his attitude. We’re winning. We haven’t fucked up a play yet. Our defence has some issues but offensively we’re airtight.

When I finally escape his power trip and jog back onto the field for the last ten minutes of the game, I look for her.

Her seat is empty.

I get closer and I’m scanning the stands for her. For that gleam of her hair. Maybe she put a hat on. Maybe they moved. But her friends are still sitting there.

She’s gone.

I feel fucking panicked. Where is she?

I have to find her.

What if I can’t find her?

“Travis. Jesus. Travis.” Someone’s talking to me. We’re getting into formation. The rest of the team is ready to go and I’m still standing there, staring up into the crowd. But there’s no sign of her. Maybe she went to get a drink.

I force myself out of my stupor and I take my place. Once the ball lands in my hands I’m ready to pass. I know where it’s going. Tyrell wants it but he’s not deep enough. Parker’s almost there. Two more yards. What if I never see her again? What if I’ve lost my one chance to talk to her? Two monster-truck-sized defensive ends knock me to the ground. Fuck. I’m sacked. I lost my concentration and I’m fucking sacked.

Shit, that hurt. One of the guys jammed his elbow into my stomach as he flattened me. I’m winded. I lie there for a second, picturing her face.

Like an angel’s.

Coach is freaking out from the side lines, yelling and red-faced.

Fuck him.

I get back up and take my position.

I need to speak to the friend. I need to find out who she is and where I can find her. I’ll die a slow, agonizing death if I have to wander this

campus, this city, this country, this goddamn world for the rest of my life searching for her. I want to see her now.

To keep Coach quiet I focus, make the play. I throw the ball to Reeves this time. He’s a nimble little twerp and he’s in the right place at the right time. That beauty slides right into his hands and the game – thank Christ – is over.

The noise is deafening.

I run straight over to the stands. Coach is yelling and people are staring but I make my way through the crowds. People are screaming my name and reaching for me but I slide past them. It’s chaos but I’m on a goddamn mission. I finally reach the friends, who are staring up at me with round eyes. I’m panting and sweaty and I don’t care. I stare at the redhaired friend. “I need to know who that girl was, the one who was sitting here. I need to know where I can find her.”

Two of the girls are squealing and giggling but I ignore them. The red-haired friend is level-headed, thank fuck. I get the feeling she’s spent a lot of time around football players. “Why do you want to know?” she asks.

Seriously?

I don’t have time to fuck around. So I tell it like it is. “I need to know because I want to ask her if she might go out with me.”

This makes the friend smile. “But you never go out with girls,” she says. She’s playing with me. Protecting her friend, maybe. So I do my best to reassure her.

“I just want to talk to her. I need to talk to her. Please.”

“Her name is Skye,” she finally says.

“Does she go here?”

“Yes, she’s a freshman. An art student.”

“Skye,” I repeat. It’s the most beautiful name I’ve ever heard. I fucking love the sound of it.

“You’ll probably find her at the art building,” she says. “But be careful with her. She’s shy.”

“I will. I will.” I’m going crazy. “Thank you.”

I turn to leave and girls are calling my name and snapping photos of me on their phones but I get the fuck out of there, running back onto the field. I don’t care that the internet will probably blow up over my idiocy.

That they’ll all be talking about the quarterback who crawled his way up into the stands to ask about a freshman art student named Skye.

I have what I need. And I know exactly where I’ll be first thing tomorrow morning.

“He did what?”

Piper is practically bursting with the news. I’m already in bed, lying in the dark, listening to music, thinking about the work I’ll begin tomorrow.

How the pieces will fit together. The materials I’m going to use. “Oh my God, you should have seen it! He came barrelling up into the stands – I mean, people were making way for him but they all wanted a piece of him and he just strode right on through all that like he had only one thing on his mind – and then he stops right in front of me and demands to know who you were and what your name was.”

“Did you tell him?”

“I didn’t tell him much. I told him your first name.”

“He probably won’t get far with that.” I’m relieved.

“Every female in Texas would kill to get their hands on Blake Travis, Skye. But no, he’s saving himself for his one and only true love. He seems to think you might be it.”

I shake my head. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.

How can he think I’m his true love when he’s never even talked to me? He sounds like a lunatic. Thank you for not telling him my last name, at least.

There are probably lots of people named Skye at this university.

Thousands.” Something occurs to me. “Please say you didn’t tell him where we live.”

“No. I didn’t.” She’s smiling but there’s a half-guilty glint in her gray eyes. “But I did tell him you’re an art student.”

“Piper.”

“Please don’t be mad at me. He was just so sincere. And so hot.

Jesus, Skye. How can you not be excited about this? I don’t get it. He’s grade-A Texas meat. Take a bite, girl. What’s the problem?”

How do I explain? I hate being the center of attention. In fact, I hate any attention whatsoever. Especially attention from grade-A Texas meat.

How do I explain to my new friend – who no doubt has a happy family and two parents that love her and a bunch of strapping older brothers to protect her – that my upbringing was a whole lot different than that? How do I begin to describe that my father died when I was four and my mother died when I was seven, leaving me alone in the world, doomed to a life of foster care. I hated being placed with all those random families, who were never mine. Most of the time I ended up running away within the first few weeks, only to be put with a new family. And so on. That the only way I could deal with the loneliness was to keep almost entirely to myself. I didn’t know how to relate to other people, mostly because I never did. Things just hadn’t worked out that way. I’ve felt alone and vulnerable for a long time. So I hide. It’s what I do. I don’t look at them. I don’t talk to them. I keep to myself. It’s the only way I know how to protect myself. It gives me a forcefield that keeps me safe.

And now this.

Now some bigshot quarterback thinks he can claim me just because he has some self-imposed ‘rule’ that everyone thinks is cute and sexy and something special.

Well, I don’t think it’s special. I don’t know how to let my guard down, because I’ve never done it. And I’m not about to start now, especially not with someone like Blake Travis, who’s successful and gorgeous and dripping with luck. I’ve been forced by self-preservation to become a freakish, socially-stunted hermit. The only thing I know how to do is to keep to myself.

It’s a hard thing to try to describe to my new roommate.

“There’s no problem,” I say. “Except that I have an early start and I’m not really interested in hooking up with the star quarterback right now.

Thank you for not telling him where I live. At least I can hide out here in our room if I need to.”

Maybe Piper notices the change in my tone. I’ve become more sullen, with all my twisted baggage rearing its ugly head. “Hey, I’m sorry, Skye. If I’d known you had something going on I would never have told him your name.”

I try to sound more cheerful. “It’s okay. It’s fine. There’s nothing going on. I just need to morph into Michelangelo over the next few months to be able to afford my tuition fees. I need to focus.”

“That’s cool,” she says. “I get that. I’m going to be doing the same thing with my psychology classes. I guess I’ll have to morph into Freud.”

We laugh at the thought and it feels good. I can’t remember the last time I laughed.

It takes me a long time to fall asleep. Even when I finally do, my dreams are swirled with memories, of my father, who died in a motorcycle accident. Of my pretty mother, who was killed by a drunk driver. Of a star quarterback who throws the winning pass. In my dream, for some strange reason, I catch it.

I get to the art building at eight o’clock sharp. It’s not even unlocked yet. So I sit down on the concrete and lean against the building to wait. I put my sunglasses on and listen to one of my playlists.

A shiny black Mustang drives up. Shit. Let me guess.

And what do you know. Mr. Star Quarterback gets out of his car. As soon as he sees me sitting there, his face breaks out into a huge smile, which, weirdly, almost makes me return the smile. It’s just so genuine.

There’s something relieved about it.

He starts walking towards me.

I’ve never seen him this close up and I’ll admit, I’m captivated. He’s stunning. He’s wearing worn jeans that fit him like a dream and a white polo shirt that highlights the dark tan of his skin. His body is something to be marvelled at, no doubt about it.

Someone else can do the marvelling.

His black hair has been smoothed into place, which makes him seem younger and somehow less threatening. But not less threatening enough.

This close up, as he walks closer, he looks huge. Those shoulders are broad even without all the football padding. He might be as tall as 6’3’’. He’s got one of those bodies that’s long and lean but at the same time muscled and toned, like a sculpture come to life. And those sparkling blue eyes are staring straight at me.

He sits down next to me on the concrete, leaning up against the building just like I am. He doesn’t seem to care that I don’t want him to sit next to me. Or that I can’t think of a single thing to say to him.

I know what you’re thinking: he’s gorgeous, he’s the starting quarterback, he drives a black Mustang, and he’s filling out those jeans like nobody’s business. And those blue eyes framed by dark-rimmed lashes really are to die for. And that smile.

But the thing is, I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to handle this guy. I almost stand up and walk away. I can hardly bear the heat of his gaze. He’s staring at me like he’s happy to see me. Very happy. And I have no idea why he would be. I’m just … me. The same old me I’ve always been.

Well, almost the same old me. A few things have changed in the past few days.

First, I turned eighteen the day before yesterday. I’m no longer a ward of the state but a fully-fledged human being now, who doesn’t have to answer to anyone. I walked straight out of the dingy house I’d been living in outside of Galveston, jumped on the first bus to Austin just in time to check in to my dorm. So yesterday was actually the first day of my life I started feeling free. I don’t have to worry about whether or not I’ll have to pick up and move again at the whim of someone else. I don’t have to worry about the social service drones or that feeling of loneliness that has haunted me for the past ten years.

I’m still adjusting. I need some time to calibrate all this new independence.

Blake Travis is not helping my situation by being so damn built and gorgeous and quietly fascinated as he watches me watch him. It’s probably half a minute before he even says anything. He folds his buff arms across his sculpted chest and sort of silently contemplates me. Then he smiles again and those blue eyes spangle at me. “Hi,” he finally says.

“Hi.” “I’m Blake Travis.” His voice is deep and has a husky layer to it that makes me wonder if he’s got a good singing voice. I bet he does.

“I know.”

“You’re Skye.” I’ll admit I like the way he says my name. There’s something soft and endearing about the way he handles the word, like it’s special to him.

“I am.”

“You’re a freshman.”

“Yes.” “You’re an art student.”

“It sounds like you pretty much know everything there is to know about me,” I say. “So I guess we’re done here.”

He does that thing again where he just watches me with this rapt, nearly-amused look on his face. “Actually,” he says, “I think we’re just getting started.”

I fold my arms across my chest and glare at him a little. I wish he would leave. Because I can tell: the more time I spend with this guy, the harder he’s going to be to resist. I don’t know how to resist. Or anything else. I’m too inexperienced with relationships with human beings in general to even know where to begin.

“Tell me about yourself,” he says.

I’m still glaring at him, wondering why he would want to know this.

“Don’t you have legions of girls lining up to talk to you? Maybe you should go and talk to one of them.”

He seems almost hurt by my comment. His smile falters a little. “I don’t want to talk to them. I want to talk to you.”

“Why?” He blinks at me. “Why?” He laughs. I have no idea what could be funny about this.

“Let me see,” he says, as though talking to someone else, or to himself. “Skye wants to know why I’d want to talk to her. Hmm, let me think about that for a second.” He rubs his hand across his jaw, like he is thinking about it. Then he stares straight into my eyes. “Maybe it’s because when I saw you, sitting up there in those stands, I’d never felt so drawn to anyone in my life.”

I twirl a strand of my long hair around a finger. Something I do when I felt uneasy, like now.

He continues. “Because all the light in that stadium seemed to land on you. And all I wanted to do was stare at you and talk to you and follow you wherever you go.”

He’s crazy.

“Or maybe it’s because when I looked up and you were gone, I couldn’t handle it. So I ran up into those stands and I asked your friend

about you and when she told me, I’ve been counting down the seconds until I could see you again. Because I knew where I might find you. Right here.

So I came. To talk to you. No one else. Just you.”

I think that might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.

And I have no idea how to respond to it.

“I wasn’t sure I’d find you here today,” he says. “You know, classes don’t start until Monday.”

“I know.” I sound almost rude and I don’t mean it to. I’m honestly just not that used to talking to people. So I make a point of trying to tone down my anxiety. “I just thought the building might be open. I wanted to get some work done.”

“I’m pretty sure they won’t open it until the start of the semester.

Which is Monday.”

There goes the weekend I was going to spend working on my art project.

“Can I take you out to breakfast?” he says. “I haven’t eaten yet. I’m starving.”

Just then my stomach growls, like my body is a traitor that wants to spend more time with Blake Travis, even when my sane mind is telling me to run a mile from this grade-A specimen of too much masculinity for a hermit like me to even think about handling.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Sure it is,” he says. “You can’t work because the building is locked.

It’s a beautiful day and we should make the most of it.”

When it puts it like that, it almost does sound like a good idea.

But I can’t. I’m so far out of my comfort zone I feel panicky. Like I might do something reckless and unpredictable.

“Sorry,” I say. “Maybe another time.” I remember what Piper said about him. About his rule. About how half the girls at this college are trying to convince him to break it.

The way he’s looking at me is so sad, so disappointed, I almost change my mind.

I don’t want to be impolite to him. Partly because he actually seems like a genuinely nice person and partly because of the way he’s looking at me. But I need to be clear about this. “I’m not interested in … dating people.”

His voice is low and his blue eyes take on a quiet, savage intensity as he says, “I’m not interested in dating people either. Just one person.”

“I heard about that. You’re saving yourself for true love.” Maybe the tiniest bit of skepticism creeps into my statement, only because it sounds so optimistic. So unrealistic.

A shadow of vulnerability crosses his face and I wish I could take that back. I get the feeling something made that decision for him, some painful memory from his past.

Maybe it’s that vulnerability or maybe it’s something else, but what I realize is that, with Blake Travis, I don’t feel as shy as I usually do. The sheer size of him and the brimming power contained in all those big muscles should be intimidating the hell out of me. But instead of feeling threatened, I’m almost comforted by how solid and strong he looks. And how close he’s sitting to me. Which is strange. This has never happened to me before.

I start to apologize, in case I’ve hurt his feelings or said something out of line. But then he says, “I don’t know how breakfast turned into true love but if you want to know about my rule I’ll tell you. It’ll have to be over pancakes, though, because it’s a long story.” He stands up and holds out a hand to help me. “You coming?”

She’s mind-blowingly pretty.

And she’s as skittish as a deer caught in the headlights. She’s put up some sort of protective emotional wall to shield herself from something, you can tell. And she’s smart. Determined. She’s not going to make this fucking easy for me, but that’s cool. I have all the time in the world. I’ve waited this long and I can wait a little longer. Even though I don’t want to wait any longer. I want to kiss her and hold her in my arms.

I won’t, but I want to.

There’s a reason she’s shy and closed down. And I plan on finding out what it is. Then, no matter how long it takes, I’m going to prove to her that she can trust me. I’m going to break down that protective wall and rebuild it. With safety. I’m going to enjoy figuring out how to get her to fall in love with me, even if it takes the rest of my life to do it.

Because every instinct that drew me to her the very first time I saw her has only intensified by about a million percent the minute I saw her up close. And talked to her. And heard her starry voice. Something about her, is it. I feel like I’ve just been plugged in to a lightning bolt. She’s exactly what I’ve been looking for. She’s pure beauty, alight from the inside all the way to the surface. And her surface, I have to admit, is blowing my fucking head off.

She’s slender. I find myself feeling protective, like I want to make sure she’s getting enough to eat. It’s a strange thing to think about. Her hair is the color of pale straw, of bleached wheat in the summer sun. Shades of glimmering white and gold weave in long, thick ropes, almost to her waist.

Her eyes are a smoky shade of green. If she’s wearing make-up, I can’t tell.

Her skin is lightly tanned. Her face is enchanting, pixie-cute and unfairly gorgeous.

And pissed off.

She doesn’t take my hand. She’s still sitting there with her arms folded across her chest. She exhales a tiny huff of laughter. “I’m not going to breakfast with you.”

“Why not? You’re hungry. I’m hungry. Let’s eat something.”

She stands up. She’s so small and so slight compared to me. I have this caveman-like urge to sling her over my shoulder and carry her away with me. I could, so damn easily.

But this is a game I’m going to need to learn to play. Because I plan on playing it for a long time to come. So I smile at her with every ounce of boyish charm I possess. “Please?”

“Look,” she says. “Blake. You seem like a nice person. But I’ve got a lot to do and I still haven’t finished unpacking. I have a meal plan at the cafeteria. So I’m just going to grab a bagel and go back to my room to do some sketching.”

“Sketching?” I’ll admit it: that stings. I’ve been snubbing girls since as long as I can remember, waiting for the one girl who can make my heart beat faster and my life seem less bleak than it actually fucking is, and here she finally is. And she’d rather sketch than eat breakfast with me? I don’t get this.

She starts walking and I walk alongside her. I almost feel panicked.

She’s leaving? I’m not ready to be finished with this. I’m not ready to stop looking at her yet.

“You don’t need to walk with me,” she says. “I know how to get back to my dorm. Besides, don’t you have someplace you need to be? Like football practice or something? Anyway, it was nice to meet you.” She starts putting her headphones back in. Like she’s done here. Like she’s dismissing me.

Before I can stop myself, I step in front of her, blocking her path. If this is the only way to get her attention, then so fucking be it. I hate to be a brute about this, but I’m not taking no for an answer. I can’t.

She stops walking, staring up at me with this annoyed look on her face. I notice it then: she has a sprinkling of tiny golden freckles across her nose. Her lips are pink. The urge to kiss her is so fierce I feel dizzy.

“You’re right,” I say. “It’s probably best if we don’t go out to breakfast. I get hounded when I go out to eat. We’d end up on fucking Instagram.”

She stares up at me and her pink mouth is twisted into this cute-ashell little pout. Finally, she says, “No, we wouldn’t want that.”

Sarcastically, if I’m not mistaken.

“Today’s the first day off I’ve had in a long time,” I tell her. “No games, no practice. I’ve got a car full of gas, an empty house with a hot tub, a bottle of champagne in my fridge, a view of the lake, a wad of cash in my wallet and I’m staring at the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. You can’t tell me no. That just wouldn’t be right.”

She glares at me. The smoky green burn of her eyes slays me a little more.

I blink at her, innocently. “Pretty please?”

At this, finally, she smiles. A real smile. My heart shatters into a million little love-crazed pieces. “That’s funny.”

“Funny?”

“As if I’d go to your house with you, Blake Travis. I don’t even know you. And, as I’ve said, I’m busy. Now, if you wouldn’t mind stepping out of the way, I’m going now.”

I don’t even care: I sink to one knee and grab her hand in mine. The cool, soft glide of her skin jolts white-hot feeling into my heart and my cock, like all the blood in my body is rushing to one or the other.

“Blake?” A note of irritation touches her soft question. “What are you doing?”

“My rule.” I don’t even know how to describe all this. I stall for a few seconds, trying to get my head around what the fuck is happening here.

“Your rule,” she repeats.

“It’s not a joke. And no one was ever even supposed to know about it. I never told anyone, is what I mean. But word got out that I don’t hook up with random girls. Or any girls. Ever. People started talking about it in the locker room and on social media and pretty much everywhere else.

Until it became public knowledge, even though it was personal.”

I can see she’s a little confused by my gush, but I don’t care. I’m still holding her hand and kneeling in front of her like an idiot.

“Okay,” she says gently. Almost like, now that I’ve started, she wants to hear where I’m going with this.

“There’s a reason I took that vow. My parents died young. And they were really in love with each other. Crazy in love. I’ve never seen two people more in love than that. So when they died I decided I wanted that for myself. I guess I made the rule to honor their memory, even though that probably sounds cheesy to you. So I waited, hoping I might find something more meaningful than a one-night stand with a cheerleader, not that I have

anything against cheerleaders, but none of them really appealed to me. So I waited.” I stop there for a second because this confession is affecting me in ways I wasn’t expecting. Almost like some of that old grief is bubbling back up to the surface. I guess it doesn’t take a shrink to figure out why it would. I haven’t talked about any of this to anyone in a long time.

“It doesn’t sound cheesy,” she says. “Of course it doesn’t. It sounds romantic.”

“I’m sorry to be so intense, but I would just really like to ask you to spend a little more time with me. I’ll be a perfect gentleman. I promise. We can take this as slow as you need it to be. I …” I falter a little. I can’t exactly say what I mean, now, can I? Because when I saw you I was glad I waited. Because I’ve been looking for so long for the perfect girl and you’re it. Because my heart is already broken. Because I’m already dedicated to convincing you to be mine and only mine. See what I mean? It’s a little fucking heavy for a first date. Especially a first date that isn’t even a date yet. So I keep it brief, realizing I’ve already said enough to certifiably classify me as a raging lunatic. “… I just want to get to know you. I want to spend an hour or two with you, that’s all. Then you can decide. Just breakfast. I promise. I’ll cook for you, we can look out at the view and talk for a while, we can celebrate my birthday with a glass of champagne, then I’ll drive you straight back to your dorm and you can spend the rest of the day sketching your heart out.”

“Today’s your birthday?” Her green eyes have little flecks of gold in them, like starbursts. They match her freckles and the glinting shine of her hair. She’s fucking dazzling.

“Yes.” “Mine was two days ago.”

“Well, then we definitely need to celebrate. I don’t have anyone else to celebrate with. I want to celebrate my twentieth birthday with you. What do you say?”

She’s still glaring at me, but the look is just a little bit softer now.

I’ve started to break through, I can only hope. Her stomach growls again and her cheeks go slightly pink with embarrassment. I’m about to die with infatuation.

“I’ll have breakfast with you on one condition,” she says.

“Name it.” If she told me to jump off the nearest bridge I really don’t think I’d hesitate, that’s how fucked-up this is.

“I’m not your dream girl, Blake. Or your … ‘true love’.” She even makes little air quotes with her fingers. “So you can put all that stuff out of your head. I have exactly one friend in this town and I’ll admit it might be nice to have another one. But that’s as far as this goes. I think it’s sweet that you would make a vow to honor your parents. But you don’t know the first thing about me. So please don’t make this more than it is. It’s breakfast.

That’s it. Then you’ll take me home. Okay?”

I put my hand on my heart. “Okay. Okay. Absolutely one hundred percent okay. Your every wish is my command.” What the fuck? Why would I say something so fucking stupid? My endorphin overload is messing with my head. But who cares? She said yes! This exquisite little golden goddess is coming to my house to drink champagne and have breakfast with me. “Actually, I have one condition of my own. I’d like to know your last name.”

She blinks at me, like she’s deciding. “Monroe.”

I hold out my hand for her to shake. “Nice to meet you, Skye Monroe.”

She smiles a little and shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you, too, Blake Travis.”

I’ve already decided: it’s my new mission in life, to woo her and to win her. To spend every day with her from now on. Forever.

And every night.

My heart’s beating fast, pumping wild energy through my veins.

Here I was, minding my own business, my thoughts lost in the sculpture I’m getting ready to create, and all of a sudden I find myself cocooned in a luxury sports car next to the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. How did this happen?

It’s just breakfast, I remind myself. We’ll have pancakes, enjoy the view for an hour, then I’ll get Blake to take me back to my dorm and I’ll get on with my life. I’ll immerse myself in work and Blake Travis will fade out into a sweet, one-off memory of that time I went for a ride in a Mustang with a quarterback.

I try not to stare at the way his tanned, strong, hair-dusted arm flexes when he changes the gears of his car. Or the way his jeans hug the thick muscles of his athletic thighs. Or even how his shirt pulls tight over the hard planes of his broad chest and his burly shoulders.

He catches me looking at him and I blush again.

“All right?” he says.

“Yeah.” The crazy thing is: I am all right. My body is humming along with the low roar of his car’s engine. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel scared. I feel alive, like Blake’s presence has turned me electric and hyper-aware. It’s fun, driving in his car with him. I can’t remember the last time I had fun.

We’re driving along a road with big houses and views through the trees of a blue lake. He turns into a driveway. The house is huge, made of stone and wood. “This is it,” he says.

“This is your house?”

“My family’s. But Gabriel is the C.E.O. of his own business in Dallas and Ethan’s second tour in Afghanistan ends in about a month.”

“Wow. He’s in the army?”

“Marines.”

“Sounds like you have a high-achieving family.”

He doesn’t answer this, but the garage door is opening and he drives the car in. There’s a jet ski, three fancy-looking motorcycles and a new pickup truck parked in the three-car garage.

The garage door is closing behind us. My heart skips a beat. I’m alone with him. He’s a complete stranger, he probably weighs twice what I do and could crush me like a bug if he ever felt like it, and he’s actually kind of bossy. I shouldn’t feel comfortable with him. Or safe. But from some reason, I do.

His smile is genuine and there isn’t a shred of anything devious about the way he acts. He seems honest. And the truth is, I feel more comfortable with this hunky quarterback than I have with anyone for a long time. It doesn’t make sense, but it’s true.

Blake turns off the ignition and we just sit there for a second, as the silence settles. He turns and looks straight into my eyes. Even in the dim interior of his car, his irises gleam blue. He really is stunning.

“Thank you for coming to have breakfast with me. I’m really glad you’re here. I just wanted to tell you that. I want us to be friends.”

This almost makes me smile. “That sounds good. Friends.” I can’t think past anything but that, for now. It’s a start. The word makes me think about what it’ll be like to be friends with Blake Travis. Will it be enough? I already have this feeling it won’t be enough, for either of us. But I can’t even go there. Not yet.

My stomach growls again.

Blake laughs. “Come on. Let me cook you some breakfast.”

We climb out of his Mustang and I follow him into his kitchen, which is unbelievable. The countertops are marble and everything is modern and top-of-the-line. The views of the river and the trees look like something out of a home design magazine spread. One that’s been littered with football gear and trophies. It’s a beautiful house but very obviously a bachelor pad.

Blake opens French doors that lead out onto an expansive deck.

Lounge chairs circle a gas fire. There’s an enormous hot tub on a raised platform. The view of the lake is stunning. I’ve never in my life been inside such a beautiful house.

Blake disappears and for a few seconds I just let myself take it all in.

I’m not sure how my life took such a gargantuan U-turn over the past few

days but I’m not going to bother analyzing it. Today I’m just going to go with it. It feels too good not to.

When Blake reappears he’s carrying two glasses of champagne. “I know it’s still early but I think we should celebrate. To the best year yet.

Happy birthday, Skye.”

“Happy birthday, Blake.”

We clink our glasses and I take a sip.

“To waiting,” he says.

I gaze up at him. His blue eyes sparkle and his dark hair is as shiny as mink fur. This is the first time I’ve ever been so in the moment that I don’t want to think about yesterday or tomorrow. All I want is right now.

With him. He’s watching me and I blush. I can’t help it: I wonder if his thick hair is as soft as it looks. I wonder how his lips would feel against mine. I wonder what it would feel like to kiss him. I’ve never been kissed. I find myself hoping Blake might be my first.

He takes my hand and gently pulls me back inside. He pats a raised stool and I sit. “Since we’re going to be friends, while I cook you breakfast I want you to tell me about yourself. I want to know what makes you happy.”

I put some bacon on and crack a couple of eggs to start the pancake mixture as she watches me, doing that thing again where she twirls a strand of her long hair around her finger absent-mindedly. I can’t wait to weave my fingers through that hair. To hold her close as I kiss every inch of her perfect skin. I’m in a state of raw, blinding lust but it’s more than that.

Being close to her is enchanting me. I feel hypnotized and fully addicted to the shape of her mouth, the curl of her eyelashes, the gem-like color of her eyes.

I knew I would find her and I finally fucking have. And she’s more perfect than anything my lame imagination could have dreamed up. She’s exquisite. And kind. And somewhere, under all that beauty, she’s sad. I’m going to change all that. I’m going to find out what she likes and lavish her with the things that make her happy.

“What do you want to know?” she says, taking a small sip of her champagne.

Everything. “Where were you born?”

“Dallas.”

“And you lived there your whole life?”

“No. We lived there until I was six.”

She’s hesitant so I treat her with care. I ask her gently. “Tell me more, if you want to. I’d like to hear it.”

She’s quiet for a few seconds and I don’t push her. “My parents were really young when I was born. My father was studying to be an architect and my mother’s dream was to become an actress. She used to go to auditions and dream of moving to New York but then, one night, my father was riding his motorcycle home from a class. It had been raining. He took a corner too fast. The motorcycle lost traction and slid under a truck.

He was killed instantly.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Things got very hard for my mother. She didn’t have any money.

We stayed for a while with a friend of hers but she couldn’t work because she had to take care of me. She had an audition for a t.v. commercial that would have paid good money. But then, as she was driving back to me, her

car was slammed by a drunk driver. Or at least that’s the story they told me.

I later learned she didn’t get that part.” She pauses. “So I was put into foster care when I was seven. After that … I was on my own.”

A shiny tear paints a line down her cheek. I drop the spatula I’m holding and I take her in my arms. She lets me. She leans her head against my chest and her pain spears into me like a sharp, twisting blade. I can’t take it. I want to rip her pain away. To take it into me so I can bear it instead of her. I just hold her in my arms and smooth her hair, hoping I can absorb some of her sorrow.

After a while, she looks up at me as though just realizing I’m still here. Her eyes are red and her hair’s messed up and she’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. “I’m sorry,” she says, sniffling. “About the pity party.

It’s been a long time since I talked about any of that stuff.”

I hold her face in my hands. Her green eyes are bright. “You don’t have to be sorry with me. I’m sorry, for dredging up these painful memories. But I’m glad you told me. Because I’m going to make you feel better. I’m going to do everything I can think of to make you smile.”

A hint of a smile plays at the corner of her perfect mouth. She shakes her head as she wipes her eyes with her fingers. “You’re crazy. Why would you even want to do that? I’m a shy hermit who’s spent half my life as a transient. You’d be better off having breakfast with a happy-go-lucky cheerleader from your own neighborhood.”

I start serving up our plates. “I’m not interested in the cheerleaders.”

We sit at the breakfast bar with its views of the lake and eat our food. She eats like she hasn’t eaten in a long time. It makes me happy, knowing she’s getting some good nutrition. She looks thin.

Now that she’s cried and shared a small piece of her story, she seems better. “I guess all the cheerleaders want to win the star quarterback, right?”

I don’t answer at first, but I want to be honest with her, like she has been with me. “They seem to. But I aspired to something more than a quickie with a girl who was only interested in me because I can throw a football.”

“Throwing a football’s not that easy to do.”

“Have you tried it?”

“No. But it looks hard. You make it look easy, but it’s pretty obvious you have a gift for that kind of thing.”

“I don’t know if it’s a gift or just ten thousand hours of throwing the damn thing.”

She bites her lip and looks up at me. My heart hurts because she’s just so incredibly pretty, even though now that I look more closely, there’s a little scar through one of her eyebrows, like she cut herself once. And her sprinkling of freckles is uneven. There are more on her right cheek than her left. These little imperfections – if they could even be called such a thing – make me fall even harder. “I think it’s cool that you waited. To honor your parents. I think they’d be proud of you.”

Fuck. And now she’s gone and done it again. Speared me with deep, heart-wrenching emotion. I feel so choked up I’m lost for words. Right now, I wish my parents were still alive so I could show her to them. Look what I found. I found what you had. That’s how crazily head-over-heels I am for her, already. I know it. I can feel it.

We finish eating and I carefully take her hand and start leading her out to the deck.

“Where are we going?”

“Let’s sit in the hot tub.”

“Blake,” she says, as though I’ve lost my mind. I’d never noticed it before but her eyelashes are long, dark at the roots and almost blond at the curled ends. “I don’t have a bathing suit.”

“It’d be a shame to let that stop you. On a perfect day like this. With views of the lake and riveting company like myself.”

“For someone who’s supposedly new to this whole seduction thing, you’re pretty good at it.”

I laugh a little, powerless. “I guess with you, I’m a natural. I won’t look, I promise. And once you’re in, the bubbles are very concealing.”

She stares down at the water as though gauging its transparency.

I turn around and put my hand over my eyes. “See? I’m not looking.”

“Oh, what the hell,” she says and I hear the rustle of her t-shirt and shorts as she drops them, then the splash of water as she climbs into the hot tub.

“Is it safe now?” I say.

She laughs.

I turn around, slowly losing my mind. My girl, the one I’ve been waiting for, is in my hot tub, wearing only a lacy little bra and her panties.

So far this is turning out to be the best goddamn birthday of my life. I fill her champagne glass and hand it to her.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” She’s smiling. Something in her has shifted. Like the tears she cried earlier have freed her in a way she wasn’t expecting. Maybe no one has listened to her like that before.

“I’m just the bearer of gifts,” I say. “Only take what you want.

Nothing you don’t.”

“You’re not having any more?”

“Better not. I’m driving you back to your dorm when you ask me to.”

She smiles.

“Now, I don’t mind either way but unless you want to witness first hand exactly how happy I am that you’re here with me, you might want to avert your eyes. Or not. Up to you.”

Her eyes go wide. Then she claps her hands over them. “Oh, my gosh. Are you getting in?”

“Of course I’m getting in. You look lonely in there.” I strip off my jeans and pull my shirt over my head. I leave my boxers on. Her hands are still over her eyes, which is probably a good thing. My cock is harder than a goddamn rock. Ten inches of pure agony. Now that I’ve finally found her, all those years of going without are literally about to drive me mad. I climb into the hot tub still holding the bottle of champagne and I slide in next to her. She doesn’t move away. I try to relax against the jets of the hot tub.

She’s watching me. Her blue-green gaze wanders across my face and my chest. I close my eyes, giving her time. She can check me out as much as she wants. She can take as much time as she needs. Even if it kills me, I’m going to wait for her. To let her come to me.

Come to me, baby. Please. Come to me …

Blake Travis is not what I was expecting. He’s kind. Patient. And possibly more perceptive than anyone I’ve ever met. No one has asked me the kind of questions he did, spearing right to the heart of everything painful. It feels good to have told someone all that. I feel lighter than I have in years.

Talking to Blake isn’t scary; it’s comforting, and cathartic, like he’s taking what you tell him on board, owning some of it and making it easier to bear.

I’m watching him laze against the side of the tub. His eyes are closed. His lips are wet with champagne. His skin is tanned and his chest is muscled and strong-looking.

I want him to open his eyes. I miss the color of them. The intensity of his fascination.

I take another sip of my champagne. “Tell me more about your brothers.”

He smiles and opens his eyes, like he’s glad I asked. “Gabe is twenty-six. He started his own investment company a few years ago and lives in Dallas. He’s made a lot of money which hasn’t helped shrink his oversized ego. But he’s a good guy. He’s got a good heart.”

“And your brother in the Marines?”

“Ethan. He’s been away for more than a year. This is his second tour. I think it’s been hard on him. He hasn’t sounded too good lately when we’ve been in touch. I think it’ll be good for him to get home and start to get his life back. I worry about him.”

“You must get lonely,” I say. It’s a big house. It must feel empty sometimes, with the memories of his parents and the absence of his brothers. “Living by yourself.”

“I do. It’s why I spend so much time at the gym, and at practice.

When I’m playing football I don’t think about anything else. I can forget

about the loneliness for a while.” For a second, he looks so sad it makes me feel sad right along with him. Like he took some of my baggage on board, I can do this for him to. Share his pain and make it easier to bear. But then he smiles at me. A shy smile, like he’s not used to showing this part of himself.

I wonder what it would feel like to kiss him. To touch him. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the affectionate touch of another human being, I suddenly feel starved for it. I want to hold him, and treat him carefully.

So I do something I would never have dared, even hours ago. I reach up and smooth back a strand of his dark hair.

“I’m so glad you’re here with me.” His voice is rasped, like he’s choked up a little.

“Me, too.” I let my fingers curl around the wet silk of his hair. I’ve never touched a man like this. I’ve never been close enough to a man to touch them. Especially not a man like Blake Travis. His blue eyes are dazzling me. “This is a lot more fun than waiting outside the art building.”

“You were going to be waiting quite a while.”

Very gently, I tug lightly on Blake’s hair. He follows my lead, until his face is close to mine. He’s looking at me in the gentlest, most tender way. His outrageous beauty makes me feel even bolder. Beauty this luminous should be appreciated. It should be savored.

“Blake?” I whisper.

“Skye,” he whispers back.

“Can I – ” I don’t know how to say this. I don’t even know what to do. Or how.

“Yes,” he says. “You can.”

Then I do something I would never have dreamed of doing, before Blake.

I lean closer.

He blinks at me and his lips part, like he’s having trouble breathing in enough air.

Very, very softly, I touch my lips to his lips.

He lets out a low sound, something between a gasp and a groan. I pull back. The blue of his eyes is hypnotic and, somewhere under the surface, blistering with heat. He stays still, waiting. Challenging me with his eyes.

I kiss him again. When his tongue touches mine, something happens to me. A wild, uncontrollable craving takes hold. Our tongues tangle and

slide. My mouth feels hungry to taste him. My whole body is soft and slippery. Every time Blake sucks gently on my tongue, a wave of pleasure ripples through my body. I feel crazy. I want to taste more of him. My hands weave into the wet strands of his thick hair.

He’s murmuring my name, dipping his tongue into my mouth like I’m the sweetest fruit he’s ever tasted. He tastes so good. We can’t get enough. Blake’s fingers slowly brush along the skin of my stomach and I don’t stop him. Then his hands are on my hips, gripping me. He’s being gentle but there’s a brimming power to him that’s unmistakable. The realization of how strong he is, instead of scaring me, has the opposite effect. The grip of his fingers feeds a current of lust straight to the low pit of my stomach. And lower. A warm pulse takes hold inside me. Each sweet throb makes me crazier. Because it’s not enough, not nearly enough.

I’ve crossed over some threshold. I don’t want to be afraid, or hide, or be alone. I want to get closer to him. I want to feel him because he feels so damn good.

Blake’s hands slide up my body. He plays with the clasp of my bra.

“Skye?” he whispers. He wants my permission.

“Do it,” I whisper in his ear.

He unhooks my top and it falls away. I wrap my arms around his neck as he kisses me. My nipples brush against the hair-roughened surface of his chest. He holds my face in his hands. “I’ve been waiting all this time for someone, baby – for you – to walk into my life and to just know. That you’re the one I want. Suddenly there you were. I wasn’t expecting it to be so sudden and so … real. So I just wanted to say that I’ll never hurt you or scare you, Skye. I want to deserve you.”

I kiss his face softly. I let my fingers weave into his hair.

Our kisses get bolder, deeper.

You’re so fucking beautiful, Skye. I can’t believe how beautiful you are. I’ve waited so long for you. I want you so much. I need you so much.

Do you want me?

Yes, Blake. Yes. He’s as delirious as I am. We’re too far gone to hold back.

Blake lifts me up. I keep kissing him as he carries me to the double lounge chairs next to the hot tub. They have thick cushions and are easily big enough to hold us both. Like a bed. He lays me onto it and we’re lying side by side, still kissing. Our slippery bodies slide against each other. Our

suddenly-ravenous need has sunk its teeth into both of us. My whole body is melting. I’m warm and wet. I suck on Blake’s tongue and he groans. I lick my tongue into his mouth and he takes my offering like he’s starved for me. His fingers find my breasts and he rolls my nipples tenderly, until I moan with pleasure. Blake starts kissing a line down my neck, tasting me, sucking my nipple into his mouth. He feeds on me in lusty, rhythmic pulls.

It’s the most intimate thing that’s ever happened to me. Each tug of his mouth sends a dart of sensation straight to my pussy, which feels soft and tingly. I’ve never felt anything like this. Not even close. I feel like I might die if he stops or pulls away. All I can comprehend through my lustdrowsed pleasure is how much I want him. How much I need to get closer.

He’s kissing a line down my stomach … to my thighs. He’s licking and kissing my skin. Getting closer …

“Blake,” I begin to protest, but he’s kissing me there, through the wet, thin lace of my panties and it feels so good I just let him. I can’t resist the pleasure he’s giving me. He moves the lace to the side, peeling my panties off. He licks the soft lips of my pussy, dipping his tongue between the folds to find the delicate nub. I gasp his name.

“You taste so good, baby,” he’s murmuring. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He sucks on my clit and his fingers touch me, skating and rubbing, until the pleasure is simply too much. It’s crazy. Nearly unendurable. The silky spasms of my body clench gently around his tongue as he licks into me.

He licks me until the ripples begin to calm. Then Blake climbs up next to me. He smooths my hair back from my face and stares into my eyes.

“Skye.” He kisses me and I can taste myself on his lips. It’s astoundingly intimate, like he’s claimed me already. He’s murmuring sweet words as he kisses me. “I love being with you, baby. I love the way you taste. I want you so much. So much. But I can wait for you. As long as you want.”

I don’t want to wait. I want this. I want him. Blake, I want you. I want you.

He rolls onto his back and pulls me along with him so I’m lying on top of him. I can feel his huge cock rubbing against my stomach. It’s so hot.

So incredibly hard. Feeling it there, so close to … oh, God, I want him so much.

We’re writhing, kissing … until I feel the hard ridge of his cock slide against my slick pussy. He’s pushed his boxers lower and the head of his enormous cock is shiny with moisture. I’m scared but at the same time I feel wildly greedy for him. I don’t want any barriers between us.

Our bodies are so wet, so eager. His cock slides against my silky folds. My body is cradling his thick length. Blake presses more firmly against me, parting me, rubbing his cock against the tiny hyper-sensitive nub.

That’s when it starts to happen again. The ripples of pleasure start building deep inside me. His fingers grip and explore. I writhe against him and his cock presses more strongly against my clit. I moan, awed by this overload of sensation. I pull him closer. His cock is so hot and so freaking big. The broad, wet head of his cock slides into the slippery entrance of my body. A tidal wave of pleasure is building, ready to burst. I need it to burst.

I need you so much, Blake. I’m gripping him, but my body resists. I’m so wet but I’m too tight. I squirm against him as he grips my hips and bucks into me, driving deeper. The warm, silky friction of his thick cock forcing its way inside me ignites a pleasure so intense I cry out. He thrusts again.

And again. Lifting me, gripping me, invading me with slow, measured aggression. His big cock rubs against a sweet, aching trigger and the bliss erupts. The melting wave overflows. My pussy starts to clench lusciously around him, pulling him deeper, milking every inch of his thick length until he’s as deep as I can take him.

Blake is groaning. He’s thrusting into me, over and over. He drives deep and his big cock starts to jerk violently inside me. The pulsing bulk of his cock and the hot jets of his cum trigger more – and more – of those spiralling waves of pleasure. I’m riding him, grinding and squirming to feel every inch of his spilling beauty.

Our climax is so intense it takes a while for us to come down from it. We’re wrapped around each other. We’re breathing hard and our hearts beat in sync. I kiss his lips and he’s gazing up at me. His hands weave gently into my hair. His slick, slow-pulsing cock is still semi-hard inside me.

He kisses me again.

“Skye,” he murmurs. “I found you. I finally found you.”

We lay like that for a long time, entranced, wrapped around each other, staring into each other’s eyes. We’re in a daze, lulled by the lingering effects of our rush, entwined like we can’t bear to be separated. I have never felt so whole and so complete, with Blake deep inside me. His cock is hard again, filling me up like he’s taken possession not just of my body but of my soul.

He carefully turns us so he’s on top. He’s so strong it barely jostles us and he holds his weight so he’s not crushing me. I love how big he is, and how strong. And how careful. He touches his fingers to my cheek, like he’s making sure I’m real. He kisses my lips.

I want to stay right here inside you forever, he whispers. My girl. My Skye.

I gasp as he thrusts his hard bulk deeper. This time we go slow. My arms and legs are wrapped around him. His cock is so big and so thick, thrusting in a lazy but demanding rhythm as his tongue dips into my mouth.

I start to come again. My pussy clamps snugly around him as I suck on his tongue. The wet, tight constriction of my body milking his big cock makes him come again too, and he groans like his heart’s breaking. I can feel the throbbing pulses as his cum gushes deep inside me.

I’m dazed with pleasure and sweet, sated lust. I want to hold him and taste him and keep him inside me. So I do. I play with his hair and kiss his lips and whisper in his ear to tell him how good he feels.

Much later, still half-dazed with pleasure, I vaguely notice it’s dark outside. I can hear the lap of water against the shore down below the deck.

A blanket has been wrapped around us and I’m curled on my side, comforted by warmth and sleep, entirely enveloped in Blake’s protective embrace. He’s kissing my neck, licking me in lusty, gentle nips. His arms are wrapped around me. His hand fondles my breast. He teases my soft nipple between two fingers, rolling gently until it hardens into a tight little bud. Then he moves to the other breast, doing the same, touching them with the span of his fingers, playing tenderly. Blake isn’t just spooning me; his

hot, heavy cock is wedged deep inside me. He pulls back a little before sliding deeper. His fingers skate across the saturated lips of my pussy, fingering my clit, caressing me with languid tenderness. The pleasure is astounding. I arch back against him, squeezing, teasing. I want to make him come again.

He growls when I retreat the tiniest bit and grips me hard, driving as deep as he can go. Mine. You’re mine, sweet girl, and I’m yours. I’m never letting you go.

His words, delivered as they are along with the thick, impaling pleasure of his cock forcing its way inside, shatter me. The pulsing glow blooms, and my inner muscles clench strongly around him until the jetting warmth of his cum floods me and spills, wetting my thighs.

Nothing will ever feel as good as this. Nothing could ever feel as good as he does.

I open my eyes.

There are leafy trees above me and I’m wrapped in a blanket. It’s dawn and the sky at the horizon is barely pink with the first light of day.

It takes me a few seconds to realize where I am. I turn my head to see … oh my God. Blake Travis. My Blake. My beautiful Blake.

The quarterback.

Oh my God. I had sex with the star quarterback. Three times.

And it was the best thing that ever happened to me.

With no hesitations, no inhibitions, no nothing.

I let myself stare at him for a few seconds. He’s asleep, half-covered in the blanket, his tanned, brawny chest gently rising and falling with his breathing. His black hair is a glorious mess. His face, in sleep, is peaceful.

And so handsome it makes me want to cry.

What have I done?

I can’t handle getting close to someone as perfect as Blake. He’ll leave me. I feel like I’m about to have a panic attack. I have to get out of

here. I have to get away from him before he hurts me or leaves me.

Carefully, I ease out of our makeshift bed, so I don’t wake him. I take a towel from a stack and clean myself … of our cum. Of my own virgin blood.

I find my top and my jeans and pull them on. Then, before he wakes up, I let myself out.

I don’t bother wiping the hot tears away as I walk down a side street, making my way in the general direction of the town, the university, the dorm I’ll eventually find. I don’t want him to find me.

Everyone I ever loved has left me.

Blake Travis will be no different. It was a mistake. A one-off. We got carried away, that’s all. I don’t care about his rule or how drop-dead gorgeous he is. How amazingly good he felt inside me. Coming in hot, surging gushes.

I couldn’t keep my parents from leaving me and there’s no way I’ll be able to hold onto someone like a Mustang-driving quarterback. It’s best if I steer clear of what can only cause me pain. I can’t handle any more pain.

I can handle avoiding pain. And that’s exactly what I intend to do.

Blake will be better off with his own type of girl, he’ll learn that.

Not some loner misfit like me. Now that his rule has been broken he can move on, and find someone who’ll make him happy. I can’t make him happy. If I can’t even make myself happy, how in the world could I do it for him?

It’s best this way. I’m sure he can see that.

I take my phone out of my pocket, check how much money I have and decide to call myself a ride. I’m tired. I’m sore. I think my heart might be broken. I google-earth my location and order my driver. Then I sit on the curb and figure I’ve got ten minutes.

At least I lost my virginity to the hottest specimen of manhood in Texas, there’s the upside.

There are too many downsides to think about. The thoughts won’t be ignored, though. They keep on breaking through. I didn’t tell him I was on the pill. That some doctor at a free clinic said the pills would help regulate my periods. The best remedy, she said, was to eat plenty of good, nutritious food. But that had been a luxury beyond my reach. At least the pills would help me avoid my parents’ mistakes, I figured. Of being too

young and too desperate – desperate enough to fuck everything up and leave their lonely child behind.

I sit there on that curb and let myself cry like I haven’t cried in ten whole years.

I wish … but there’s no point in wishing. If wishes came true, my life wouldn’t have turned out like it has. If wishes came true I’d be a better person who deserved a man like Blake.

The car pulls up and I wipe my eyes.

It was fun, Blake Travis. It was the most fun I’ve ever had. And it’s over.

So I pick myself up, dust myself off and do my best to get on with my life.

“Skye?” I pat the space next to me where she was. It’s cold.

It barely registers that it’s daylight. I look around for her and notice her clothes are gone.

I run inside the house, calling out her name. She’s not in the kitchen or the bathrooms or any of the bedrooms.

She’s gone.

She’s fucking gone.

Why would she just leave me? After everything that happened?

After the beautiful, unbelievable, amazing, life-changing night we shared? I need her! I finally found her and I’m fucking keeping her! How could she walk away?

I couldn’t stop my parents from dying and I wouldn’t stop my brothers from living their lives in different places, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let the love of my life walk out on me at least without an explanation or a goodbye. I’m going to demand at least that much from her.

Then I’m going to fucking convince her that she’s wrong. We’re meant to be together and that’s all there is to it.

Fuck.

I pull on my jeans and grab a t-shirt. Then I jump in my car and start driving around the neighborhood. She couldn’t have gotten far. It’s a long walk back to the campus.

I can’t find her. I pound my fist against the steering wheel and swear a lot even though no one can hear me.

Where is she?

I spend a long time driving, searching, until I get to the campus. I park my car and start walking towards some of the dorms where the freshmen live. Fifty thousand students go to UT at Austin. Possibly ten thousand of them are freshmen. How am I ever going to find her? I run around like a fucking idiot, calling her name. When someone comes out of one of the dorms, I squeeze through the door before it closes and walk the hallways, looking for her. Looking for her name on a door. A clue.

Something. Anything. A glimpse of the golden gleam of her hair. Her smile.

Her face.

“Hey, aren’t you Blake Travis?” some kid asks me and I ignore him, walking straight past him. “Good luck tonight!” he calls after me.

Tonight? What’s tonight?

A game.

A game I have no interest in.

I don’t care about anything. Not even football.

Not without her.

I need to find her. That’s the only fucking thing I’m going to do. I need her.

Where is she?

So I go to the one place I know she’ll go, even if it’s not now. Even if it’s not for hours or days or a week, I simply don’t care.

I drive to the art building. And I sit there in the concrete where we sat together and she smiled at me. My heart hurts and the day takes on a shimmery, dream-like edge.

This is where I’ll stay until she comes back to me.

I’ll just wait right here for you until you come back.

When I get to my room Piper’s still asleep. I take a shower and realize I feel … empty. Just completely, utterly empty.

I try to sleep for a while but I can’t stop thinking of him. His face and the way he smiles. How sincere he is. How beautiful. How amazingly good he feels when he’s inside me, groaning my name as he comes in hot, seedy bursts. I think about his rule, now broken. His parents, gone, just like mine. I get up and try to do some sketching but I only end up drawing his face, which I can’t even begin to do justice. So I draw a football helmet.

And the number 11.

Maybe I should have tried to explain to him more clearly how broken I am. Maybe I shouldn’t have just left like that. But I knew what he would say. Stay. Don’t go.

I’m scared. Scared of needing him as much as I already do. Scared that he’ll hurt me and leave me, like everyone always does.

Piper comes back into the room after a shower. She’s a sundress and has a towel wrapped around her wet hair. “Have you seen all this stuff on social media? There’s a football game that starts in less than an hour and Blake Travis is nowhere to be found. Everyone’s looking for him. Some guy saw him running through a dorm this morning but he hasn’t been seen since. He’s not at his house and he’s not answering his phone. Isn’t that crazy? I wonder where he is.”

I stand next to her and look at her phone as she scrolls. It’s all people are talking about. The starting quarterback is missing.

“Did he ever find you, Skye?” Piper starts brushing her long, goldred hair.

“Yeah. He did.”

She stops and stares at me. “He did? What happened?”

“He invited me to have breakfast with him, at his house. So I did.”

“You went to Blake Travis’s house? What happened?”

“We talked. We … hung out. Then I left.”

“Do you know where he could be, Skye? Did he say anything?”

“No. I mean, I left his house and he was still there when I left.”

“What time was that?”

“It was … ” I hesitate, but what the hell. “Around five o’clock this morning.”

“You slept there?”

“We drank some champagne. It was his birthday. We slept on this lounge chair by his pool.”

Piper’s studying my face, but she’s not going to push me. I realize how lucky I am to have her as a friend. She’s more interested in how I feel about what’s just happened to me than the gossip. “Are you okay, Skye?”

I brush a tear away. “I’m fine. I’m just … I wonder where he is. I hope he’s okay. I left kind of abruptly.”

She gives me a hug, and it’s just what I need. “The football team is freaking out,” she says. “There are NFL scouts coming to this game. They need their quarterback.”

And then it occurs to me. When I looked up and you were gone, I couldn’t handle it. So I ran up into those stands and I asked your friend about you and when she told me, I’ve been counting down the seconds until I could see you again. Because I knew where I might find you. Right here.

I grip her hands. “I think I know where he is. We have to go find him.”

We scramble around to finish dressing, then we run all the way to the art building.

Blake is sitting there, leaning against the wall with his knees bent and his head resting on his arms, in the exact spot where we sat together when he first came looking for me.

“Oh my God,” says Piper. “There he is.”

He stands as I run over to him. He’s as gorgeous as always … and angry. But as I step closer to him, his anger fades away, to pure relief.

He runs a hand through his disheveled hair. As he does, his shirt rides up and I can see the rippled muscles of his six pack. The same six pack my fingers were touching just hours ago as I rubbed my naked body against his and we came together.

“My girl has come back to me.”

“Blake, I’m so sorry. For leaving so suddenly.” I can see in his eyes that he’s already forgiven me.

All I really want to do is give him everything he wants. If only it was that easy.

Maybe it is that easy.

“I want to know why,” he says. “Why did you leave so suddenly?

Tell me the reasons so I can fix them.” He takes my hands.

“I just … I got scared. I’m not good at … anything. I’m not good at figuring out how to do things the right way when it comes to other people.”

Damn it, I’m crying again. Now that I’ve started, I just can’t seem to stop.

Blake takes me in his arms and he kisses me. It’s a gentle kiss, worshipful and searingly devoted. “I’m not ‘other people’, Skye. I’m yours.

And you’re mine. I told you.”

“But you can’t know that already, Blake! We’ve only –” “OH YES I CAN! I CAN AND I DO! I DO KNOW THAT!” He’s holding my face and he has tears in his eyes. He stops shouting but his voice is husked with the intensity of his words. “I do know. Okay? I know.

You’re the one. I don’t care that you’re shy and you don’t know what to do or how to do it. Neither do I. But we’re going to start now and we’re going to learn. We’re friends, you said. Friends don’t walk out on each other.

Okay?”

Friends also don’t romp nakedly by the hot tub and make love all night and give each other multiple simultaneous orgasms that are so mindblowingly good and beautiful, it just about changes your outlook on everything, I want to point out. But he already knows that. I can see it right there in his ocean-blue eyes that he knows that. “Okay.”

Blake kisses me again and I kiss him back. I can’t help it. I want to believe everything he says and pretend that everything’s going to be just as he says it is.

I whisper. I don’t want him to worry. “I’m on the pill, by the way.”

He doesn’t bother whispering. “I didn’t care if you were or weren’t.

I’m all in, Skye. All of it. Everything. That’s also part of my rule.” He narrows his eyes at me. “By the way.”

Piper clears her throat. She’s giving us as much privacy as she can but she has other things on her mind. She tries to give Blake a stern reprimand. “Now that we have that all sorted out, Mr. Quarterback, there’s somewhere you need to be, and pronto. A Cowboys scout has his eye on you, apparently, and he is not going to be impressed by a QB1 who shows up late.”

Blake looks at his watch. “Shit.”

“Kick-off’s in fifteen minutes,” Piper says.

Blake holds my hand and won’t let me move. “I’m not playing football unless you’re there to watch me, Skye,” he says. “Will you come?”

“Of course she’ll come,” says Piper. “She’ll be right there next to me in the front row cheering you on.”

Blake’s still looking into my eyes. “And you’ll wait for me after the game? There are some things we need to talk about. A lot of things.”

Sometimes in life – although I’ve never done this until I met Blake Travis – you just have to go with it. You can’t let fear hold you back anymore and you have to be willing to get hurt to get to the good stuff. The real stuff. I decide he’s worth the risk. “Yes.” He takes me in his arms. He’s looking at me like he did that very first time he saw me. With such sureness it hurts my heart. You. Blake kisses my face. My cheeks. My lips. “Please don’t ever do that to me again.” His voice is low and husked with emotion. “Please don’t leave me. I love you, Skye. And I know what you’re thinking: you can’t love me, you don’t even know me. But I do. I know enough. And I’ll learn.

Please let me try. Because the second I saw you, I knew you were for me.

I’ve been looking and hoping for you for such a long time and then there you were. All golden and perfect and dazzling me with all that you are. And then when I heard your voice and you let me walk with you and be near you, I fell even harder if that’s possible. And then when you kissed me, everything made sense. Everything felt right. And real. Because you’re nirvana, baby. And now I’m ruined. Addicted. Obsessed. Call it whatever you want. I’m going to spend the rest of my life loving you and trying my hardest to make you love me back. Because I love you. That’s it: I love you.

Please don’t leave me again, Skye, without at least giving me a chance to change your mind.”

My Blake is such a romantic. “Shh,” I say, kissing him. “I’m not going to leave you. I’m right here. I’m yours. And you’re mine.” How can it be any other way? He is mine. Letting him go just doesn’t make sense.

Being apart from him is far more painful than trusting him. I want to try. I want to try with all my heart.

“Ahem.” Piper breaks our little bubble. We both look over at her.

She’s got her hands on her hips but she’s smiling. Her eyes are shiny, like

she’s crying too. “I hate to break this up, Travis, but you need to get to the stadium now and throw a bunch of touchdown-scoring passes.”

“She’s bossy as hell,” Blake mutters to me.

“She has three older brothers. And they’re all football players.”

“Well, that explains a lot,” Blake says.

“Kick-off’s in less than ten minutes, QB.” Piper’s clearly used to oversized male egos. She has one eyebrow raised. “Time to go.”

Blake drives us to the stadium, holding my hand the whole time. He insists we go with him through the players’ door and he orders some guy to get us two seats right behind the bench.

Blake plays a perfect game and the Longhorns win 21-6.

After the game, once the mobs of people have swarmed around their hero, and the scouts have secured their meetings with him, Blake comes to find me. Piper and I have been talking to some other girls. Piper met one of them at a party last night. Her name is Mia. She seems nice and is also a fine arts student, like me. It even turns out we have some classes together.

We arrange to meet for coffee before our Tuesday class to talk about the projects we’re working on. And just like that, I have three friends.

One of those friends is walking towards me. He changed out of his football gear. He’s dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt that hugs the sculpted muscles of his shoulders, and he’s staring right at me like he’s on some kind of a mission. Of course I’m captivated by his rugged perfection, as always.

But I notice, too, that his eyes are bloodshot. He had a late night, after all, and didn’t get much sleep. We were too busy proving his rule. But more than anything else, as he gets closer to me, he looks happy. He smiles at me and it’s so sweet and heartfelt I almost feel myself starting to cry again.

When he leans in to kiss me, even with all these people watching, I let him.

I kiss him back. “Skye. Will you do something for me?”

“Depends on what it is.”

He smiles. “Come home with me. I didn’t get to tell you the things I wanted to tell you this morning, before you bolted.”

“I already said I was sorry about that.” I blush, embarrassed now by my crazy behavior. Not the other crazy behaviour that involved getting down and dirty with the star quarterback. That, I don’t regret in the slightest and in fact can’t wait to do it again.

As if he’s reading my thoughts, he says, “See, I had some other plans I didn’t quite get to. Quite a few of them, actually.” He leans closer, whispering in my ear. “I’m suffering from withdrawal. I need you.”

I blush even more. “You just played three hours of football, Blake.

Maybe you should rest.”

“Are you kidding me? I don’t want to rest. I want to get down on my knees and beg you to be with me. I want to kiss you and taste you and make sweet love to you, every second of every day for the rest of time.” Then he says, “I don’t want to be alone. I want you, Skye. I love you.”

His words sort of funnel themselves into the broken fissures of my heart. You know that saying about how cracks let the light in? Well, those cracks in my soul are flooding with light. His light.

So I say the most honest words I ever have. “I want you too, Blake Travis.”

Blake lifts me up like we’re crossing some kind of threshold and maybe we are.

Then he carefully places me in the passenger seat of his black Mustang and he takes me home.

It’s Friday afternoon. I’ve been working on my sculpture for weeks now, and it’s coming along even better than I expected. It’s been written up in the newspaper and there’s a buzz about it that has exceeded all my wildest expectations. If things continue to go this well, I might even be able to make my dream of becoming a professional artist a reality.

I miss him. It’s been six hours since I last saw Blake, and my heart hurts with longing. We’ve spent every night together since that very first day. It’s good that I can keep busy. It’s the only way I can bear to be apart from him. I’m so in love with Blake Travis it’s hard to think straight if I don’t immerse myself in work. I’m on a ladder, blowtorch in hand. I’ve got my protective goggles on, cut-off jean shorts and a tank top. I’m soldering another piece of steel onto the sculpture, which, even though I’ve been given three months to complete, is almost finished.

I hear the door of the studio open, and there he is. His face lights up as soon as he sees me. Will I ever get used to how stunning he is? How perfect he is, for me and only me? He’s wearing a nice shirt and a blazer and his aviator sunglasses. His black hair is still wet from a shower. He’s carrying a bag, like a small suitcase. In his other hand is a gift-wrapped box.

I turn off my blowtorch and take off my goggles. Before I can climb down off the ladder he’s put down his bags and is lifting me into his arms.

He kisses me and it’s so lusty and full of love I feel dizzy with happiness.

I’m dirty and my hair’s bunched into a messy bun with strands coming loose. “You look so fucking gorgeous I want to eat you alive,” he says. He puts me down so he can hand me the box. He slides his sunglasses up. “I have a present for you.”

“You don’t have to buy me presents, Blake.”

We’ve had this talk before and he cocks his eyebrow. “As I’ve already explained to you, I’ve got more money than I know how to spend.

If I want to buy my girl presents, then that’s what I’m going to do.” Blake has not only landed three major endorsements that are worth more money than I can even think about, he’s also had offers from three NFL teams, for after he graduates. He’s still deciding which one to take. He wants me to come with him. So part of his decision depends on me and what I want to do. It’s a little daunting to think about a future with him, but he always makes it sound so easy, and so certain. “Open it.”

I unwrap the present and inside is a cute white baby doll sundress.

“Blake. It’s so pretty.”

“Put it on. We have a plane to catch.”

I stare at him. “What? What plane?”

“Coach has given us the next two days off. We’ve had back-to-back games and practices for weeks and we’re undefeated so he wants us to rest for the weekend. I’m taking you to New York.”

“What? Blake. I can’t go to New York. I have to work.”

“Skye, you’ve been working non-stop for a month. Your scholarship has already been granted, you’ve got commissions for two more major sculptures and you’re almost done with this one two months ahead of schedule. You need a break. I’m not taking no for an answer, sweetheart.”

He takes my blowtorch and my goggles and sets them aside.

“But … I’ve never even been out of Texas.”

“I know. It’s time you started seeing the world, baby. With me.

We’re staying in a five-star hotel, we’re going to a couple of art exhibitions, fancy restaurants, a Giants game and I’m taking you shopping.”

I just stand there, staring at him. Luckily no one’s around because he starts peeling off my clothes so he can help me into my new dress.

And before I can protest further, he’s carrying me to his car.

We catch our flight to New York and I’m nervous. But Blake holds my hand the entire way. From the first class cabin, we gaze out at the city skyline as our plane descends into New York City at sunset. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

We check in to our hotel room which happens to be a penthouse with views out over Manhattan. Blake has been a little bit quiet ever since we arrived and I go to him. I touch his hair and kiss his lips. “Everything okay?”

“I have another gift for you,” he says, his blue eyes sparkling with love and something else. Almost like he’s nervous. He takes a little box out of his pocket and he gets down on one knee. “Skye. I know it’s only been a month. And I know we’re still young. But I’ve never been more sure about anything. You’re mine and I’m yours and that’s never going to change for me. I love you.” He opens the box and inside is the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen. It’s two tiny gold bands held together by a row of delicate, glinting diamonds. “I want to marry you. It doesn’t have to be now. You can wear the ring on a different finger or save it until you’re ready. I’m ready.

Whenever you want me, I’m ready. Will you marry me, Skye?”

Even though Blake and I have been practically inseparable from the second our eyes met in that stadium, and even though he makes sweet, scorching-hot love to me every chance we get, I still haven’t told him I love him. I’ve been scared. Of losing him. I’ve been scared that he’ll leave me.

It’s that lingering fear which is so much a part of me. It’s hard to say the words, only because I’ve never said them. Maybe a long time ago, when I was too young to remember.

Blake tells me he loves me about a hundred times a day.

But now, with his eyes glimmering and the world at our feet, I don’t feel scared anymore. For the first time in my life, I only feel strong. And so full of love for him I just can’t hold it in anymore. I let him take my hand and I help him slide the ring onto my left ring finger, where it belongs. “I think we should go to Dallas after you graduate. Since the Cowboys’ offer is the best one and since it’s the team you’ve been dying to play for your whole life. I can keep studying and we’ll be together. I’ll marry you as soon as you want, Blake Travis. I’m yours and you’re mine. I love you.”

“You do?” he says quietly.

“Of course I do.” I lean in to touch my lips against his. It feels so good to finally say it. He starts peeling my dress off and he carries me to the bed. Blake lays me down and takes off my panties. His mouth is on my breasts as he sheds his own clothes. God, I love you too much, baby, he murmurs against my skin. You break my heart, I love you so much. Blake’s mouth is voracious. He suckles on my nipples until I’m wet and squirming with need. Then he kisses a line down my stomach and pushes my thighs open. Mine, he growls. He feasts on me with his greedy mouth and pushes his tongue into me, teasing my clit until I come in a warm rush of pleasure.

Then he climbs onto me and gives me another gift. The best one I know. He

pushes my knees up and he slides his huge, hot, silky-wet cock into my tight, slippery pussy, rooting out pleasure with each driving thrust. I wrap my legs around him to try to take him deeper, until his thick length fills me inexorably. Our hands link and he thrusts deeper, possessively, gliding in and out of me with languid skill. His rock-hard cock is relentless, until I’m gasping his name, my hands gripping him with the intensity of my ecstasy.

You’re so beautiful, Skye, so perfect to me. I’ll never have enough of you.

Never. I’ll never stop loving you.

I come hard, my body clenching in juicy bursts, tugging at his thick cock until he spills his hot seed deep inside me. He growls my name against my sweat-misted neck. The ripples continue for a long time and Blake keeps thrusting in a lazy rhythm as he kisses me and murmurs his sweet words, prolonging the bliss, until we come again. And again.

We don’t end up exploring much of the city’s sights. We’re too insatiable, too in love to disengage. We order room service and feast on each other the entire weekend. We finally make it to the top of the Empire State Building just a couple of hours before our plane is due to depart. We make plans to return to New York on our very next free weekend.

When we get back to Austin, I decide to invite Piper over to dinner.

I haven’t spent much time – any, in fact – at the dorm and I miss her. The only time we get to spend together is watching the football games.

She arrives and gives me a huge hug. “I can’t believe you only spent one night in our dorm room before moving in with the star quarterback,” she laughs. “Good thing I haven’t had a chance to get lonely since I’ve been so busy studying.”

She takes one look at my finger and squeals, grabbing my hand.

“You’re engaged?”

I smile. “We haven’t set a date. We’re going to wait a while and just take our time.”

She hugs me again, then Blake. She’s giddy with excitement.

Blake’s cooking dinner for us. He likes to cook and is good at it.

“You girls should go sit in the hot tub if you want. I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready.”

We do, and she fills me in on all the dorm and football groupie gossip.

After a while, we step out of the hot tub and walk over to where the towels are stacked in a covered rack. Blake is walking out of the house.

He’s not alone.

“Guess who’s home,” Blake says, ecstatic. “My brother Ethan. He just got back.”

Ethan looks a lot like Blake but he’s an inch or so taller. He’s just as muscular, but lean. Hard-looking. His dark hair is cut short, military-style.

He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt but his silver dog tags are still hanging around his neck. His skin is deeply tanned and he has a lot of ink. Like his brother, he’s outrageously handsome, but his gray eyes are spooked and haunted-looking. I guess it’s not hard to figure out why. From what Blake described, he’s seen more combat than anyone should.

“Ethan, this is Skye. And her friend Piper.”

Ethan’s eyes lock on Piper and she blushes. The pink of her cheeks somehow enhances the bright golden-copper color of her long, thick hair.

Her bikini, it has to be said, is on the skimpy side. Ethan seems lost for words. Blake slings his arm around Ethan’s shoulders, breaking Ethan’s trance. “We’ll let you girls get dressed and meet you inside. Dinner’s ready.”

That was the night everything changed for Piper.

It turns out that Blake isn’t the only Travis brother with a rule.

But that’s a story for Piper to tell you herself …

Blake ended up taking the Dallas Cowboys’ offer and is now their starting quarterback. The stadium is amazing. Watching him play there is beyond a dream come true. It’s a dream I never even could have imagined. It’s about a million times better than anything I could have imagined. He loves playing for the Cowboys. It’s been his favorite team since he was a little boy. He’s so in his element on that field it’s just a joy to watch him. So far this season they’re undefeated. As far as his pay check goes, it’s more money that I ever expected to see in about twelve lifetimes.

Only two months after we met, we got married in a tiny but wildly romantic ceremony on top of the Empire State Building. I didn’t even know you could, but Blake reserved the observation deck for us and had the whole thing decorated with white roses and fairy lights and we said our vows under a full moon at the top of the world. It was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Well, actually, every second I spend with Blake Travis is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He showers me with gifts and flowers and tells me he loves me every chance he gets. I had to tell him to stop buying me diamonds. I have more than a girl could ever wear. I told him I only need one car but he insisted I have three. The best gift by far is the art studio he had built for me on our ten-acre property. It sits next to a stream and has views out over the rolling hills of our land. It has plenty of space for all my projects.

Every minute I’m not with Blake, I spend working on my art. So far I’ve had ten major commissions and have actually earned quite a lot of money myself selling my work. More than I ever dreamed I would. I’ve even been written up in a couple of the top art magazines. Blake’s had all the articles framed and they hang on the walls of my studio.

He bought us a house in Dallas with five bedrooms. I said we don’t need that many but Blake begs me every day to go off the pill. He wants to fill up the house, he said, with our babies. Even though we’re still young, I’ve decided it’s time.

I’m waiting for him to get back from practice. I’m taking a bubble bath and I’m excited to see him. It’s always hard when we’re apart. It’s like my body and soul crave him when we’re not together.

I hear the roar of his car’s engine as he drives into our six-car garage (why anyone would need so many I have no idea, but Blake’s even thinking about expanding it). He drives the latest Mustang GT350R. I think it’s actually a race car.

Black, of course. His favorite color for cars. Mine’s red.

I hear his footsteps as he runs up the stairs. “Skye?” he calls out. Then he storms in to my palatial bathroom. A huge smile breaks out on his face, as it always does, from that very first time, when he sees me. I smile, too. He’s so handsome. He fills up the room with his male energy and his dazzling presence. “My perfect wife is naked and so damn gorgeous it blows my mind every single time I see her.” He always talks like this. Like he still can’t believe he found me.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” I tell him.

He pulls off his shirt, which messes up his thick hair. His muscles are bigger now than they were when we first met, and they were big even then. He works out all the time and with all the personal trainers the football team has, his body has been honed into a specimen of prime, beefed-up perfection. Then he steps out of his jeans. Wow. He really is happy to see me. His cock is colossal and rock-hard. He steps into the bath and lowers himself onto me. He’s so big he splashes half the water out of the tub and I squeal as he playfully bites my neck.

But then he kisses me and it’s a kiss full of devotion and love. He gazes into my eyes. I love how his eyes almost seem to change color depending on his mood.

Right now they’re as blue as sapphires. “How’s my beautiful girl? Did you have a nice day?”

“Yes. I worked on that piece for the art museum’s courtyard. It’s almost done. Just a few finishing touches to do this weekend.”

“I still think you should have charged them more than half a million.”

“Blake, half a million is a huge amount of money.”

“You could have gotten more.”

I gasp as his massive cock slides against the skin of my thigh. I wrap my arms around his strong neck, letting my fingers glide across the hard, sculpted muscles of his shoulders and arms. I kiss his lips. “There something I wanted to talk to you about. I have to tell you something.”

He cocks his head to one side, and his eyebrows knit together. “Is everything okay?” He’s so fiercely protective of me, any sign that I might be unhappy makes him wildly concerned. “Skye, what is it?”

“I just wanted to tell you than I’ve stopped taking the pill. I want to have your baby, Blake. I love you so much.”

He stares down at me and his expression is layered with raw happiness and deep emotion. And hot, hundred-proof lust. “I’ve been waiting so long to hear you

say that, my sweet angel. God, how I love you. I love you so much it makes me fucking crazy.” He kisses me, parting my lips with his tongue. “I’m going to give you a baby right now, sugar pie. I’m going to give you every inch of my big cock and fill you up with my hot seed. I’m going to flood your sweet pussy with my cum all night long. Are you ready for me?”

Blake doesn’t wait for me to answer him. I guess he can’t wait to get on with the task at hand.

He lifts me out of the bath and gently places me on the bath mat. As he dries me, he kneels down in front of me and starts licking my pussy. His tongue dips into me, parting my intimate folds. “Mine,” he growls. “Mine.” He circles my clit, sucking on me until I moan. His fingers rove and explore, poking silkily into the tiny cove of my ass as his greedy mouth eats my pussy. It’s like he’s is going a little crazy. With lust. He’s absolutely ravenous. His inner caveman is breaking free..

His mouth and his hands feel so good my knees go weak and I sway a little but he lifts me up and carries me to our plush, enormous bed.

Blake lays me down and kisses me tenderly. Then, impatient with desire, he latches his mouth onto my nipple, playing my breasts with his strong hands. “Soon our baby’s going to be sucking on these sweet cherry nipples. But he’s going to have to share with daddy. Because daddy loves them. I could suck on these sweet nipples for the rest of time and die a fucking happy man.”

He moves lower. His tongue pokes wetly into my navel and I squirm. He pushes my legs up and open. I let him do whatever he wants. I give myself to him completely, like an offering.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, kissing my pussy, parting the saturated folds with his tongue. “Do you know how much I fucking love this juicy pink pussy?

Every inch of you is my favorite thing in the world, but this part, right here, might be my most favorite of all.” He finds the hyper-sensitive nub of my clit and licks it with his clever tongue, until I feel the pleasure rushes start to clench deep inside me.

But he avoids a rhythm. His tongue circles around my clit and it’s torture. He’s teasing me.

“Blake,” I breathe. “More. I need more.”

“You’ll get more, sweet baby. You’ll get everything you can handle.” He continues this delicious torment, bringing me to the brink but not letting me come.

“Are you ready for my big cock, sweetheart? Because I’m not letting you come until I’m deep inside you. Those tight little clenches are going to grip my cock while I shoot my cum deep, deep inside.”

He climbs up my body, pushing my knees wide. Then he takes his engorged cock and slides the head of it against my slippery pussy, pushing his thickness deep, stretching me and filling me entirely. With his hands, he reaches under me and grabs my ass so I can’t retreat even if I wanted to. His weight is bearing down on me but not crushing me. I love how big he is. How strong and heavy. His thick cock is

stretching me and my body is gripping him so incredibly tightly. If I wasn’t so wet it might almost be painful. But it’s not painful. There’s only pleasure. Thick, skewering pleasure. His cock is so deep inside me I can feel the broad head of it pushing against my womb.

He’s whispering to me as he thrusts into me. With each thrust he doesn’t pull back, but lunges deeper. I worship you, angel girl. My sweet goddess. My beautiful wife.

Blake. Blake. I love you.

He thrusts again, forcing the pleasure higher. And higher. I can feel every rock-hard inch of him and it’s the most beautiful thing. The swell of pleasure reaches a high that’s so damn good it’s almost unendurable. I squirm with the overload but I can’t move. He’s gripping me and holding me in place under him, forcing me to take everything he has to give. The wave spreads through me in warm, sweet rushes of pleasure. Silky spasms grip his big cock in lush tugs, milking every inch of him.

Blake’s groaning my name and I feel him: that hot surge of his gushing seed, flooding me and filling me. I have never felt so full and so complete.

That was an amazing night, the night our baby was conceived. Blake literally would not pull out until he’d come inside me a lot (in the end, I lost count). Nine months later to the day, I gave birth to a baby boy. We named him Noah. He’s the most beautiful child, with black hair like his daddy and green eyes the exact color of mine. His favorite toy, not surprisingly, is his child-sized soft football, which he carries around all day and insists on sleeping with every night. We had his room decorated with a mural of a tropical jungle. For his first birthday, Blake bought him a miniature car that actually drives. A black Mustang, go figure.

I still sculpt when I have time but I can’t bear to be apart from Noah for more than an hour or two and he cries every time I leave him. “I know how you feel, buddy,” Blake tells him.

I’ve just come back from a doctor’s appointment and Blake is playing with Noah out in the backyard. Blake had a huge playground built when he first found out I was pregnant. He wants lots of babies and I have some news I know will make him happy.

He’s running after Noah, who’s actually getting to be a pretty fast driver. When Blake sees me, he catches up to Noah, turns off the engine and lifts Noah out of his car. Noah screams for his Mustang but when Blake tells him to run for a pass, he smiles his angelic little smile and starts to run.

When he sees me, he forgets about the pass and runs straight into my arms. I pick him up and hug him and cover his little face with kisses.

“Daddy wants kisses, too.” My gorgeous husband is smiling at me.

He takes Noah and holds him in the crook of his burly arm. Blake puts his warm hand on my swollen belly. “How’d it go at the doctor’s?”

We decided not to wait too long after Noah was born to try for another baby. It turns out Daddy is always up for making babies; it’s his favorite new pastime.

“It’s twins,” I tell him, beaming. “A boy and a girl.”

Blake’s dark eyebrows lift. He has tears in his eyes. He kisses me and I think about that day when he first came to find me. How he told me he saw me and he knew. I knew it, too. Even though it took me a little longer to admit it to myself. I knew it then and I feel it now, as he kisses me.

True love.

We say it at the same time. I love you.

Ethan Travis just returned from a tour of duty in Afghanistan. He’s shellshocked. Loud noises make him jump. He feels like an outcast in civilian society. He’s haunted by the violence that has consumed him for more than a year. When Ethan meets a gorgeous, fun-loving redhead named Piper, he knows he can’t handle a relationship, especially with a golden girl like her.

But that doesn’t stop him from thinking about her day and night.

Piper Jameson is studying psychology at UT. When she meets the handsome combat hero Ethan, she’s riveted not only by his rugged beauty but also by his obvious vulnerabilities. She yearns to get close to him, and to begin to heal him. After a night of passion that’s so hot she realizes she’s not only in lust but in love, Ethan won’t have anything to do with her. He wants her more than he can bear, but he’s afraid of hurting her with his own emotional scars.

Ethan and Piper are meant for each other, but will his damages get in the way of their HEA? Book #2 in the Travis Brothers series

COMING SOON

juliettejones.billionaire@gmail.com

Sadie Faraday is finally free. It’s summer and she just graduated from the strictest private high school in Tennessee. Ditching the confining uniform and the iron-clad rules, she wanders alone to swim in the secluded pond on the far side of her family’s farm. There, she revels – maybe a little too much – in her own freedom and the warmth of the sun on her skin. Until she notices she’s not as alone as she thinks …

Elias Hayes just bought the thousand-acre property next door, as a getaway from the craziness of his high profile life as a country music superstar. Hot, hard-bodied and sun-bronzed, Elias stumbles across a sight which ignites a wild obsession and an all-consuming lust that will make this summer the hottest on record …

It’s a beautiful morning. Hazy and humid. The kind of day where you can see the dust, flickering and sun-touched, like lazy unhurried promises floating in the air. I strip off my clothes, which I’m not wearing much of to begin with, and wade into the sparkling pond. The cool water feels amazing on my hot, dusty skin. I don’t usually do stuff like this: like stand naked in a swimming pond all out in the open. In fact, I never do stuff like this. Today’s different, though. Today is where it all starts. Today’s the day I can start making my own rules and following my own road.

Straight to Nashville.

I stand there thigh-deep, splashing handfuls onto my arms and my bare breasts. Wading further, I let the icy-fresh water rise over my stomach. To my nipples. I watch as they bead into tight buds. I brush my fingers against them, and the light caress sends a small jolt of warmth through my body. God. I never even really realized how good it feels to be this aware of your own body. To not be watched or controlled. To feel this wild and this loose.

I turn, laying on my back, floating under the shimmery sun.

I don’t need to look around to make sure I’m alone. I know I’m alone. I’m all the way on the far side of our property. The big farmhouse next door is empty and hasn’t been lived in for over a year, my mother never ventures far from our house, and my two older sisters who still live at home are still in bed, even though it’s almost noon.

Frannie didn’t finish her shift at the Main Street Bar and Grill until after midnight. And Daisy’s still upset about her boyfriend spending more time with his band than he does with her, even after he knocked her up. So she’ll be sleeping off her sorrow, or at least trying to. Last night I stayed up late with her, to keep her company as she waited for him to answer her calls and texts, but he had a gig so must’ve been busy.

My sisters have a way of inviting a whole lot of drama into their lives. Not me. I’ve got a plan and I’m sticking to it, no matter what. Daddy used to call me determined and I guess that’s one word for it. There’s more to it than that, though. They say I’m a dreamer but the thing is, it feels like a sure thing. It just does. I know where I’m going and what I have to do to get there. Make my way to the city, start auditioning and get myself heard. People tell me it’s too competitive but I know I’m good enough. I can feel the deep pool of my own grit like molten fire, waiting and mixing there, starting to boil over.

I spent all morning driving around. We live just outside a small town called Nowheresville, Tennessee. Population: 6,128. It’s not really called Nowheresville but it might as well be. We’re sixty-nine miles east of Nashville, and the last four are on dirt roads. Daddy’s old pick-up truck is running hot and slow these days and still smells like his cigars. Just the faintest hint of it, like a

memory. We all miss him, Momma most of all. She sort of lost something when he died. Like a piece of her died along with him. I wish it hadn’t, I’ll be honest. I wish my Momma was stronger. She wants to be, deep down. I can tell. But there are more days than not when she just sort of fades out, lost in her own grief. Like it’s quicksand. After Daddy died of a sudden heart attack five years ago, Delilah got angry, Daisy cried a lot and Frannie got on with things, like she always does. As for me, I felt that little seed of determination start to grow. Maybe it’s for him I want to make it happen for myself, as much as anything.My little songbird, he used to call me.

That feels like a long time ago.

I had to pull over twice to let the engine cool, but I managed to get those flyers delivered to every mailbox within a five-mile radius before lunchtime. I’ll clean people’s houses for the summer, and save up enough money to get a room in the city. All I need to do now is wait for someone to call.

While I wait, I might as well enjoy a swim and the heat of the summer sun.

I do a lap all the way across the small pond then swim back to the middle. The cool, rippling current on my skin feels sensual somehow. Weirdly sexy. Like my solitude and my nakedness are triggering new, erotic tendencies. I float there for a while, letting it build. Damn. So this is what freedom feels like.

Today it’s a hundred and two in the shade. School’s finished for good and I still can’t believe it.

Today, I feel more like myself than I ever have. Like I can start discovering the real me right here in this moment. Hot, determined, a little crazy: I guess this is the new me. And reckless. I have this weird craving to do something I shouldn’t be doing.

Maybe I’ll sneak over to that farmhouse next door, and finally see what the inside of that place looks like. I saw it listed in the paper for more than a million dollars. I guess it’s worth it. It’s by far the nicest house around, and has a thousand acres attached to it.

I might even see if I can break in, just to try out my new rebellious streak, which I can feel but am still adjusting to.

St. Mary’s was over-the-top, we all knew that. My mother used up literally the last of the money to send me there. Whatever inheritance Daddy might have left us, it all got siphoned directly into the bank account of the strictest Catholic high school in Tennessee, which happens to be about twenty miles from where we live, in an old convent. It’s either that or I lock the four of you up until you get a proposal, she’d said.

That part of her plan had sort of backfired. My oldest sister Delilah was already married (shotgun) to a motorcycle mechanic in Jackson who owns his own garage. He has big, oily muscles and lots of tattoos and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. They had their baby back in February, a little boy named Billy Joe. Delilah seems happy enough but who can tell, with all that crying going on. My second-oldest sister, Daisy, is head over heels in love with a bass player who’s promised he’ll marry her but he hasn’t had a chance to get her a ring yet. She only found out she was pregnant six weeks ago, so there’s plenty of time for a wedding before she really starts to show, she said. And Frannie’s being chased by a long list of eligible and not-so-eligible bachelors. I know she’s not a virgin because she tells me everything, in … well, in vivid detail.

As I float, I can’t help thinking about something Frannie told me the other day.

And as I do, my new rebellious streak is sort of manifesting itself as a light, sweet throb right between my legs, where the cool water laps. God. I let my legs open a little wider.

I couldn’t believe what Frannie’s boyfriend did to her. It’s absolutely the wildest thing I’ve ever heard. She’s been dating him for a few weeks and he’s really into her, calling her all the time and hanging around. And the other night, she said, he kissed it. And then he licked me, there, until … well, you’ll find out soon enough.

I couldn’t believe that! I couldn’t even imagine it.

Ever since then, I’ve felt sort of strangely edgy. Like I’m still blushing at the scandalous things she described.

We didn’t tell Momma but as soon as we heard that Daisy was pregnant, Frannie and I drove ourselves down to the free clinic and got ourselves a couple of prescriptions for birth control pills. All they have to do is breathe in our direction, Frannie said. If Delilah and Daisy are anything to go by, it’s practically true.

I guess it just shows that all you need to do to bring out the promiscuous tendencies in a girl is to lock her up and tell her to resist every temptation known to womankind. As soon as she breaks free, there’s only one thing she’s going to want to do.

It’s true that we’re sort of famous. Or infamous. The Faraday sisters, they call us, like one collective unit. We all have blond hair and light blue eyes and apparently the sort of voluptuous bodies that get the attention of men. Whenever we walk down the street, people stare. Being barely eighteen and just released from boarding school, a.k.a. prison, I’ve been the least visible, I guess you could say. So I haven’t really had a chance to figure all that out yet. To test it.

It’s strange, though: I want to test it. Now. I feel wild in this sunny, perfect heat. My body is young and lush. Naked. Wet and hot and fiercely alive, maybe for the first time ever. I want to act on that feeling.

It’s probably a good thing I can’t. Because now that I’m on my way to Nashville (almost), I’ve got to stay focused.

The problem is, this small, sultry hunger, if you could even call it that, isn’t going away.

This morning when I was driving, I heard a song on the Nashville radio station that got me even more agitated. It’s by some hot new solo act they keep playing, and I can see why. He’s got one of those voices that’s sexy in a way you can feel. And I did: I could feel it. Right there. My panties, as I was driving along, got all clingy and wet. All because of that song and that husked, manly voice, singing so sweet. Like he was singing just for me.

I swim to the edge and make my way out of the pond. I climb onto a big, flat rock that’s warm from the day, not bothering to put my clothes back on. It’s too good to be loose like this. And completely alone. I can’t even remember the last time I was alone.

I lie here, and that song plays through my head. I think of that gravelled husk. How deep his voice was. I feel the memory of that melodic rasp as a strange flush on my skin. I let my hands rove my body. I’m illuminated by sparkly, jeweled diamond-drops.

The heat of the sun seems to center in a particular place. Like a slow, curling pulse. I lay still for a while, letting that pulse take hold. I think of trying to put it out of my mind, like I should. I

think of trying to resist its licking heat. But it’s too sweet, this little promise, deep inside my own body.

You’re a wild, wild girl, and I know what you like. I know how to tease and I know how to please.

I just lie there, not moving at all for a while. Just feeling the heat of the sun on my skin and the glow of my own blooming femininity. I feel ripe, like a sun-sweet peach. Brimming.

I imagine his strong hands as he strums his guitar.

He kissed it.

What would that feel like? It’s hard to even imagine.

When I stretch languidly, I feel strange. I feel beautiful. More beautiful than I’ve ever felt.

Slowly, I stand up. I walk down to the water’s edge. Gently, I wash myself. The water is cool. I splash water onto my breasts. My nipples, which had softened in the sun-warmth, contract into tight little peaks. I bend down and cup some water into my hand, to splash lightly onto my face.

Then I see something. Movement in the near distance. Over the fence.

Oh, my God. A man.

Watching me.

His dark hair is glinting with a gold halo in the sun and he’s big, even in this open landscape. Tall and broad. Shirtless and sun-bronzed and strong. I see the glint of his belt buckle. He might be in his early twenties or even twenty-five. Even through my shock it registers that he is insanely handsome, in an edgy kind of way. He’s standing there and he looks as stunned as I feel.

There’s more to it that, though. Something darker. Hungry, that’s how he looks. Lusty.

My heart lurches into an up-tempo beat. How much had he seen? I grab my sundress and pull it over my head.

I disappear behind a row of trees and I run away.

It’s goddamn peaceful out here in the country.

I’m writing a song in the sound-proof recording studio I’ve had installed in my new barn – totally awesome and state-of-the art, by the way. I’ve got the intro down, and it fucking rocks. And the chorus is starting to come together. But I can’t quite get the lyrics to mesh. I’ve never had trouble with lyrics before – usually they gush out in a torrent of ideas. So I’m annoyed as fuck. I mean, I have a small clue as to why this is happening and it’s exactly the reason I bought a house way out here in the middle of goddamn nowhere. I need peace. I need quiet. I need to get away from my manager and my band. The photographers and journalists and culture-vulture dickheads who all want a slice of yours truly. Who can blame them, right?

But I’m feeling the burn-out. Two years of solid touring has kicked my ass. So I told Vaughn I’m taking a break from touring for a couple months. I’ll do gigs in Nashville and they can come to me. The problem is, the paparazzi swarm my building. There’s only so much dodging and hiding away in a penthouse apartment a person can do without losing their fucking mind.

I decided I needed a goddamn getaway.

Which brings me here. To some idyllic backwater where nobody knows me. I bought the house under an alias, with my lawyer’s assistance. If I need to I’ll get a security gate installed, a fence, dogs, whatever it takes. I’ve got shitloads of land – and I mean shitloads. This place goes on for miles. I could fence around the house and still get the views. My house is on a hill, overlooking a pond and the hills.

I can see the road from my kitchen Some cute little blond drove by this morning in a beatup old pick-up truck and I wondered for a second if they’d already discovered me. But no. She put something in my mailbox and kept on going. Thank fuck. Although I almost felt a pang of regret this time, weirdly. Her hair caught the sun, a long strand of it trailing out the window as she drove away.

I’m even burned out on the chicks, if you can believe that. There are just so many of them.

Always begging for it. Waiting to obey my every command. It’s that easy. It’s so easy, in fact, it starts to lose some of its appeal.

What I need is some undistracted writing time, to be alone with my thoughts, to let the music out. Before it can get shut down by some needy bitch who bangs at my door in a desperate attempt to get my attention. I know that sounds harsh, but some of these women are crazy. They go insane, they want a piece of me so bad.

I need a beer.

I haven’t put a fridge into my studio yet: something I’ll get to eventually. I only moved in a couple days ago, and I’ve had shows every night. This morning I ended up waking up in my tour bus before dawn and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I took my Shelby and drove out here alone. I can tell you, knowing I had the whole day ahead of me to do nothing but write was a nice change. The prospect and the sunrise made me feel happier than I have for a while. Sure, I’m living the dream but the dream sometimes takes its toll, of excess and exhaustion. Tonight’s the first night in weeks that I won’t have a gig, and I plan on making the most of my solitude. Shit, maybe I’ll even sleep for a while. Let the creative juices reenergize.

I go outside and head towards the house.

The day is absurdly beautiful. The blue of the sky and the green of the trees is practically surreal, the colors are so bright. I’m almost blinded after the relative dimness of my studio, so it takes my eyes a minute to adjust.

Here I am, walking along, minding my own goddamn business. But then I see something.

Down by the pond my house overlooks.

A girl.

At first I think it’s my eyes playing tricks on me.

Because emerging from the water is not just any girl. She’s a goddamn goddess.

With no clothes on.

Holy hell, I mean it. I actually blink a couple times just to make sure I’m not hallucinating.

I don’t take drugs but Dr. Daniels can stay with you for a while if you overdo the prescription. Not that I drank that much last night. At least I don’t think I did.

But … this.

Jesus H. Christ.

She’s blond. Her long hair hangs to her hips and catches all these crazy hues of light, like she’s iridescent or something. Her skin is glimmering. God help me. Her body.

Holy fucking hell, she’s ridiculously hot. Her beauty is sparked with a shining radiance that’s blowing my goddamn mind.

She climbs onto a big flat rock and I watch her. Her hands lightly rove across her naked body.

All I can do was watch her in some kind of goddamn trance. I’m suddenly twenty feet closer without even realizing I’d been walking towards her.

Holy Mother.

I’ve never been so hard in my life. My cock is pressed painfully against the zipper of my jeans. Jesus. She’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.

Ever.

I imagine what she would feel like. All that delectable sweetness.

My cock is about to explode. I can practically feel how soft she’d be, how tight and wet she is for me as I enter her, as I push deep inside all that pink, snug, slippery beauty. I can practically taste her sweetness as I’d kiss her full mouth and lick the dewy sweat from her skin. As I take those perfect breasts in my hands and suck on her taut, rosy nipples.

Sweet Jesus, show me some mercy.

I watch her lithe little body and all I can think is: I want her. I want to hold her and feel her.

I want to make her happy. My lust is so fierce it shocks me.

But then her eyes open and she sits up. She looks peaceful. Happy. Holy hell. She is simply the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. In all my twenty-four years I have never seen anything or anyone so entirely … addictive.

Who the fuck is she?

I have to find out.

She gets up and wades into the pond, splashing herself. She cups a handful of water splashes it across her candy-pink nipples. Goddamn it.

I think about calling out to her but it might scare her off. Of course it would. She might think I’m a pervert or a stalker or something. I take a step back.

She looks up, like my movement has alerted her.

Shit.

She sees me.

A look of panic crosses her face and I want to tell her not to be afraid of me but she’s already pulling her dress over her head.

Just like that, she disappears.

I run over to the fence, like a goddamn idiot. She’s gone, you fool. Then something occurs to me: could it be? The girl in the ancient pick-up truck, this morning, at the mailbox. White-blond, cute as fuck.

It’s her.

So I walk out to the mailbox. The walk gives me time to regroup but I still feel weirdly frantic, like I need to see her again. I take out the rolled-up piece of paper. Something about the handwritten flyer sort of bowls me over, I have no idea why. The whimsical handwriting, the gentle flair.

Sadie Faraday, consider yourself hired …

Table of Contents 1: Skye 2: Blake 3: Skye 4: Blake 5: Skye 6: Blake 7: Skye 8: Blake 9: Skye 10: Blake 11: Skye Epilogue Epilogue #2 Epilogue #3 About HERO (Travis Brothers, Book #2) Hot Summer Lust excerpt Connect with Juliette Jones