The Final Fight - JB Salsbury(ang.)

Books by JB Salsbury Split Wrecked Fighting Series Fighting for Flight Fighting to Forgive Fighting to Forget Fighting the Fall A Father’s Fight Fighting for Forever Fighting Fate The Final Fight

THE FINAL FIGHT JB Salsbury

The Final Fight JB Salsbury Copyright © 2017 JB Salsbury This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Edited by Theresa Wegand

Cover by Amanda Simpson of Pixel Mischief Design

To every Fighting Girl who stuck by me until the end, Where one story ends, another begins.

Table of Contents Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen

Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-one Twenty-two Twenty-three Twenty-four Twenty-five Twenty-six Twenty-seven Twenty-eight Twenty-nine Thirty Thirty-one Thirty-two Thirty-three Thirty-four Epilogue Acknowledgments About the Author

Prologue Seven years ago . . . “Braeden.” “Hmm.” My shoulders shake. “Braeden. Wake up.” “Sleeping.” A hand grips my forearm that’s currently being used to clamp my pillow over my head. “You have to get up.” My mom pokes her needle-fingers into my back. “It’s time to go.” Go? And just like that, my booze-blurred brain comes back online, reminding me what day it is. Shit. I pull the pillow away and roll over to see my mom crouched at my bedside. Even in the semidark room, I can tell she’s showered, dressed, and fully made up for the day. Her hair pinned back, a perfectly pressed collared shirt the color of Pepto hangs off her narrow shoulders. She’s even wearing her special-occasion pearl earrings. “Ten more minutes.” A yawn crawls from my throat, and my mom wrinkles her nose.

“Don’t let your father catch you smelling like liquor.” She stands to her full height and hits the light on my nightstand. I cringe away from it, but it’s no use as it feels like daggers piercing my eyes and stabbing into my hungover brain. “Alright, I’m up. Cut the light.” “You’re supposed to be ready and in his study by seven, Brae.” She pulls on my hand. “Go get in the shower. You have fifteen minutes.” I swing my legs over the bed and pause for a minute to gain my balance before standing. It takes a little effort to negotiate my room and skirt my duffle bag, which has been packed since yesterday, by the door. I use my arm to brace my weight as I stumble down the hallway to the bathroom. When I flick the light on and stare at my bloodshot eyes in the mirror, I groan. “Great way to start the rest of your life, asshole.” I shed my clothes and fall into the shower, grateful for the narrow space and tiled walls that keep me upright. I swear to God I must fall asleep three or four times as I wash my hair and body. I know my Mom is worried about The General catching the stink of alcohol, but the added scent of a woman left behind from last night’s festivities would only manage to further piss off the great Duke Daniels. The water is hot, and when I’m convinced The General will smell nothing but Ivory, I step out and

dry. I brush my teeth longer than I need to and comb my hair because my mom says I look more responsible with a side part rather than letting the hair follicles have a mind of their own. With a towel around my waist, I head back to my room. The carpet of the hallway looks freshly vacuumed, which isn’t a surprise. I swear my mom must silently follow us around, erasing our footprints from the floor. If I’m honest? I don’t think I’ve seen more than ten to twelve sets of footprints in our carpet in my entire eighteen years of life. I make quick work of getting dressed in a navyblue suit, white shirt, and blue patterned tie. I slip on my dress shoes, and before heading to The General’s den on the other side of the house, I pop and chew a breath mint for good measure. It’s six fifty-four in the morning. Right on time. As I pass the kitchen, the smell of bacon and eggs swirls through my nose, making me hungry until the scent hits my gut and angers my hangover. I knew I drank too much last night, had a feeling I’d be paying for it today, but what better way to spend your last night as a civilian than drinking until you puke and fuckin’ until you can’t feel your legs . . . maybe not in that order. The carpet is spotless down another short hallway to the heavy wooden doors of my dad’s study. I head inside, and I’m not surprised to find

him wearing his dress blues. “General?” His cold green eyes find me, and the way he’s glaring makes me want to check to make sure my fly isn’t opened. “You didn’t wear the black one.” He’s referring to my suit. Shocking that he’d find something to give me shit about. “That’s my funeral suit.” I tug on the lapel of my coat. “This is my American Badass suit.” His eyes narrow. I should know better. Humor of any kind is totally lost on the man. “You sound like your brother.” No shit. I have to lock down every single muscle in my entire body to keep from dropping my head back and groaning. My entire life, from as far back as I can remember, I’ve had all my unfavorable qualities labeled as “just like my brother.” Blake is the shit stain on the polished family name because no Daniels man has ever strayed from his predestined military obligations—not my great-grandfather, grandfather, uncles, dad, and sure as shit not me. No, I saw firsthand what happens when you have interests outside of the military. The mere mention of anything else causes The General to completely lose his shit. Doesn’t matter if I wanted to be an engineer or a ballerina; if I’d said so, my ass would’ve been shipped off to military school faster than I could say fuck you.

I know because that’s exactly what happened to my brother. Doesn’t mean I can’t have a mind of my own though—pick my own destiny within the strict confines of The General’s expectations. He circles his desk, his hands locked behind his back. “When you get to Annapolis, go straight to campus. You’ll get a tour, and then they’ll have you sign your letter of commitment. You understand what’s expected of you, Braeden?” “Yes, sir.” Yes or no, sir are the only acceptable answers when asked anything by The General. “You’ve seen what a mockery your brother has made of our family.” His words rumble with a growl of anger. “Moving to that horrid city of depravity.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to explain that moving to Las Vegas to fight for the greatest MMA league in the world is far from a mockery, but, again, I know the right answer. “Yes, sir.” “It’s up to you to carry on the legacy.” He stands close, almost toe-to-toe. I hold my breath, fearing he’ll smell the liquor from last night because I can still taste it in the back of my throat. We’re almost nose-to-nose in height, yet the way he stands, his looming presence, makes me feel like a three-foot-tall kid again. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life, son. In just a few months, you’ll be a student at the best academy in the country, and four years later,

you’ll graduate as an officer. I know you’ll make me proud.” Thankfully, he turns and crosses to the far wall covered in plaques and awards. I blow out a breath and go back to breathing normally. “You see all this.” He motions to the wall-ohonors. “This is what you have to look forward to.” Yadda-yadda-yadda. I’ve heard it all a million times. But being an officer isn’t part of my plan. It’s never been what I want. Our country is in a war, and the last thing it needs is another able-bodied man sitting behind a desk for four years with his nose in books. I want to be on the front lines; I want to make an immediate difference. Soon he’ll dismiss me, and I’ll slide into a cab and wave good-bye to my mom, who’ll probably cry, and The General will salute. But I won’t be headed to the airport. Little does The General know I’ve already enlisted. There’s a bus waiting for me at the US Marine Corps recruitment center and a seat with my name on it. Sure, it’s rebellious. The General is going to be furious, but he’ll eventually get over it. Or not. Thankfully, I’ll be in boot camp on the other side of

the country where he can’t touch me. “You’re just like me, son.” He slaps me on the shoulder with as proud an expression as I’ve ever seen on his face. “You’ll make a fine officer.” And the correct reply is . . . “Yes, sir.”

One Present day . . . AJ A Vegas casino is like its own planet—a virtually inescapable planet without obvious exit points. The sun or moon never makes an appearance, so the essence of time is completely lost. People are always milling about, and if it weren’t for the coffee and pastry cart that opens at dawn and shuts down at noon, it would be impossible to tell morning from night. I drag my feet across the marble tile to the carpet of the casino floor, weaving around people who’re too drunk to react in time when they see me coming. Women wearing clothes they wouldn’t be caught dead in on a normal day laugh too loud and I grin. Sure, my Adidas-covered feet and blue athletic leggings announce my status. I haven’t fully assimilated, yet. But I will. Because I fucking love Las Vegas. This is where I was born to end up. The glitz, the

lights, the money. Las Vegas Boulevard is a strip of brick and mortar lit so bright as if to advertise to the world it’s brimming with opportunity. “Whoa, excuse me.” I dodge a stumbling couple then duck into the crowded bar and push my way to the back. My usual spot in the corner is hidden far enough away, in the shadow of the DJ booth, where I can get by with my less-than-impressive post-work attire. Leaning my elbows on the bar top, I pull my phone out and go through my schedule for the week. It’s just after midnight, and my stomach rumbles for dinner. As if on cue, the bartender, Bruce, tosses a protein bar in front of me. I look up at him as he lines up four glasses filled with ice and pours liquor. “So? How was it? Full house?” “Packed.” I snag the packaged protein. “You don’t have to keep feeding me.” “I keep a dozen behind the bar anyway. You have no idea how many times my stash has kept people from puking in here.” He shakes his head and scoops up the glasses, balances them on one big hand then divvies them out. I peruse my schedule. I have a couple of free mornings this week and want to ask Bruce if I’d be able to pick up a shift or two. “This seat taken?” the voice says over the

music, and without looking up, I shake my head. The stool next to me swivels, and the air around me shifts a little, indicating that the person taking the seat is of decent size. A yawn claws its way up my throat, and I cover my mouth with the back of my hand. “Budweiser in a bottle.” His voice is a deep bass that draws my attention. I expect to get a free peek, a split second to check this guy out without him noticing, but the moment my eyes dart to the side, I’m met with a wide grin and a square jaw with at least a day’s worth of stubble. “You know you’re in a hotel, right?” His eyebrows drop low over deep-set emerald eyes, which are currently dancing with humor. I blink and stand up straighter, trying my hardest to appear confident. “I’m in a bar.” He tilts his head. “A hotel bar.” I shrug, unable to argue that. Bruce tosses out a cocktail napkin followed by a bottle of beer just as the guy next to me leans to the side, digs into his back pocket, and shoves some cash across the bar. I’m not staring, but it’s hard not to notice his massive arms as his T-shirt pulls tight along his biceps with every move. He brings the bottle to his lips, and with his short, cropped, military-style haircut, it’s easy to see the muscles in his neck flex with every gulp. He puts his weight on his elbows

and looks at me from the corner of his eye, his lips twitching. I do a quick inventory, making sure I didn’t forget to wash the paint off my face, or did I forget to put on a shirt because the way he’s inspecting me makes me feel naked? I keep my gaze down and casually swipe my cheek. No makeup. Hair is back in a simple ponytail. Yay, I’m wearing a shirt, so what gives? He chuckles, and the deep roll of it gets my attention again. “What?” My face heats with a mix of anger and embarrassment. He doesn’t turn toward me, but takes another long pull of his beer before grinning and staring at his hands. His wide shoulders lean closer, and he dips his forehead. “You look fine.” Nope, now I’m just embarrassed. He noticed me checking myself out. “I thought—” I shake my head. “You were laughing and I thought—” “You think too much.” He angles his upper body toward me, opening his chest and torso for my viewing pleasure. Not that seeing him is pleasurable. It’s not that; it’s . . . he clearly works out or he was blessed with fantastic genes. Not that I’m noticing. Or care. Whatever. “You’re probably right about that.” I pick at the wrapper of the protein bar. “I’m just—” “Tired?”

I blow out a long breath. Why can’t this guy just ignore me? The downside of casinos? There’s always someone looking to get laid. “Yeah.” “Right, so . . . back to my original observation. You’re yawning . . .” He noticed that? “. . . in a hotel, probably hundreds of available beds.” He nods toward the elevators. “Oh, I’m not staying here. I mean I have. I just . . . not tonight.” His one eye squints a little, and the side of his mouth lifts. “Ah . . . so you’re a working girl.” “What! No!” He holds up one big hand. “Hey, no judgment. I get it. If I were a chick, prostitution would be at the top of my career goals. Hell, I’d tenure in it, get my PhD in it, fuckin’ open a school to teach others— after I make my millions, of course.” He shrugs one shoulder and takes another swig of his beer. “That’s awfully generous of you.” “What can I say? I’m giving like that.” I should be offended, but the way he says it, all laid back with a lazy grin, makes me smile. “I appreciate you not judging me, but no, I’m not a prostitute.” “Hm.” He chews his lip, studying me. “That’s too bad. I think you’d do great in the field.” I laugh and shake my head. “I think I should be offended by that.”

He casually sniffs. “No. It’s a compliment.” “Okay. Well then, thank you?” “Can I buy you a drink?” I roll my eyes. “I already told you I’m not a prostitute.” “Fuck.” He laughs. “If you ever change your mind, please tell me it’d take a hell of a lot more than a drink!” “I don’t drink.” “At all?” “Not often.” “Can I buy you a Coke?” He waves Bruce over, and the man looks sharply between us before nodding. Whoever he is motions for me to order. “Oh, I’ll just have a water. Thanks, Bruce.” In a couple dozen seconds, Bruce places a full glass of water in front of me and heads back down the bar. “So . . . we covered that you’re not a hooker. What do you do?” “I work here in the hotel.” I sip on my drink. “Doing?” “I’m a performer.” His eyes widen with genuine shock and he leans in. “No way, are you shittin’ me?” “Yes, I am.” Now it’s my turn to shrug. “I’m really a hooker.” “I knew it!” He laughs, deep and hearty. I smile, despite myself. “Ya know, in case no one

has told you yet, assuming a woman is a prostitute isn’t the best pick-up line.” His eyes narrow. “What makes you think I’m trying to pick you up?” “Because men don’t talk to women in bars because they’re looking for someone to golf with.” He concedes and takes a drink of his beer. “Good point.” Happy that I managed to shut him down for good, I sip my water and resume facing forward. “I’m Braeden.” I peek over to see his hand outstretched. I stare at it, look up at him, and he flashes me a warm and genuine smile. “AJ.” I reach over and take it, marveling at how his huge palm swallows mine. “AJ, nice to meet you. I’ve got a tee time at nine o’clock tomorrow if you’re interested.” I can’t fight off the smile that pulls at my lips. “Sure you do.” “So that’s a no?” “Sorry, I have to work.” He nods and glances around before bringing his arresting green eyes back to me. “You’re a Las Vegas performer, huh? Any chance that’s burlesque?” “Oh my God! You’re awful.” And yet, I’m laughing. God, what is wrong with me? Something about this guy’s blatant honesty I find so refreshing. Either that or I’m more tired than I thought. “And

no, I’m an acrobat in the show Eros.” “An acrobat. Wow.” His eyes shine with genuine interest. “I’m impressed.” “Well, don’t be. I’m performing on a very entry level.” But, hey, at least I’m on stage, doing what I love. “Entry level performer . . .” He sips off his beer. “What does that entail?” “You have a lot of questions for a guy who—” “Miss Pines.” My back stiffens at the all-business sound of my name. I know immediately it could only be one person. The almighty ruler of the Kairos Hotel & Casino. My boss, Mr. Monroe. His expensive-suited body slices the space between Braeden and me, cutting us off completely. My cheeks heat as he scrutinizes me. The guy is unnerving and attractive in an old-mafiamovie kind of way. I tug on my sweatshirt, self-consciously. “Mr. Monroe.” “What are you doing here?” He looks around us as if to check and make sure no one sees him talking to me. “I . . .” Am I not allowed to sit in the bar after a show? “I’m sorry?” With a huff that gives away his impatience, he

flicks a quick finger to Bruce, who reluctantly drops what he’s doing to serve the boss. Bruce places an open Red Bull down next to a highball glass with two ice cubes. Mr. Monroe doesn’t even make eye contact with Bruce, but pours and then takes a few pretentious sips. My skin breaks out in a nervous sweat as he uses his silence to torture me. Finally, he sets down his drink and leans in close. “I don’t have a problem with employees hanging around after their shift, but I need you to try harder to look the part.” With lifted eyebrows, his gaze drops to my Victoria’s Secret sweatshirt. Dammit, I fucked up. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” “It’s okay, but from now on, maybe bring a nice dress or something to keep in your dressing room.” His hand moves to my ponytail, and he rubs my overly thick hair between his fingers and grimaces. The urge to stumble all over myself in apology is overwhelming, and the words bubble up in my throat. “I’m still learning.” I wrap my hair up and around into a neat bun, and his expression softens. “You’ve been here two weeks, right?” He pushes his drink aside and closes in until my back presses against the wall. My heart speeds at having someone as powerful as Mr. Monroe so close to my face. Other than the

time I met him when I was hired on officially, I’ve only seen him in passing where he’s given me nothing more than a bored glance. It’s not only his status that’s intimidating, but his appearance. He can’t be older than his mid-thirties, and he’s hot, ya know, in a Good Fellas kind of way. “It’s ah . . .” I clear the nervousness from my throat. “It’s been three weeks, sir.” His lips tilt up in a grin that’s part feline. “Dinner.” “Excuse me?” He checks his watch, which probably costs more than what I’ll make in five years. I bet this guy never worries about how he’ll keep the water running, electricity on, or a roof over his head. Hell, he probably has a gold-plated roof just because he ran out of logical things to spend his fortune on. He acts uninterested in everything around me, but when his eyes come back to mine, he smiles. “Friday. And”—he studies me again, this time with less disdain— “wear something nice.” He turns to leave. “But . . . I have a show that night!” He ignores me as he disappears into the crowd. “What the hell was that?” Bruce hisses while finishing up a half dozen drinks on the bar. I have no idea, so I just shrug. It isn’t until I feel the heavy weight of his presence next to me that I

remember Braeden. And when I look up, I see him turned completely around in his chair, slumped with his back against the bar, staring in the direction Mr. Monroe just left. My cheeks run hot when I question whether he heard any of that conversation. He must feel me looking because he turns toward me, and I think I catch the tail end of an evil eye, but it disappears so quickly I wonder if I imagined it. He flashes the most devilish grin. “Daddy Warbucks is not happy with you, Little Orphan Annie.” I don’t know if it was the release of tension that I so badly needed or what Braeden said, but a burst of laughter flies from my lips. I’ve been so on edge about screwing something up and losing my chance to succeed in acrobatics that it’s been a long time since I’ve relaxed enough to laugh. Ya know, AJ, this won’t be funny when Mr. Monroe fires you at dinner for dressing like a hobo in his casino. Shit. My smile fades into a frown. Is that what he’s doing? Is he going to fire me? Because I can’t afford to start over some place new. And I want this more than anything. ~*~

Braeden Ain’t this a lovely fucking diversion. I figured I’d blow into town, go straight to my hotel room, and catch a little shut-eye before I head over to Blake’s to drop in on his ass in the morning. Now that he’s got a kid at home, I can’t just show up at midnight like the old days. I hadn’t planned on being restless as shit when I got here and then poppin’ into the bar for a quick four beers to help put my ass to sleep. I never would’ve anticipated seeing a girl who’s dressed like she belongs barefoot in a sorority house on some college campus rather than in a black-lit bar spinning techno. She’s got a ton of brown hair pulled back off the most perfectly oval-shaped face. And I am not the kind of man who gives a crap about shit like face shape, but it’s hard to notice anything else what with her hiding under a sweatshirt that’s two sizes too big. Any other day I’d be throwing out my best lines to get a peek under all those clothes and search for an added nightcap in the softness of a woman’s body, but not tonight. God, she looks hot when she laughs though. It’s almost as if she can hear my thoughts, because she instantly sobers. “You know . . .” I turn toward her. “You should laugh more.”

Worry takes over her expression. “I should?” “You look good smiling.” Her face crunches up on one side. “Oh, so I don’t look good when I’m not smiling? Is that what you’re saying?” I shrug, grinning into my beer. “You’re alright.” Lie. She’s hot as fuck, but then again, I’m a Marine who spends his days around more dicks than a gay porn star. “You’re so charming, I’m surprised the woman aren’t flocking to you by the dozens.” I make a show of looking around me in surprise. “What the fuck?” I shrug. “I think you’re chasing them off.” “AJ.” She looks up to the bartender, who’s been giving me a non-verbal fuck-off since I got here. “Enrique called in. He needs a shift covered tomorrow.” She perks up. “Really? What time?” “Ten to five.” “Yeah, tell him I’ll do it.” The dude nods and punches a few things out on his phone. “What, you work here too?” “When I can pick up a shift that doesn’t conflict with the shows.” She pokes at the mass of dark hair she’s piled onto her head then checks her phone. “Which means I better go. Tomorrow’s going to be

a long day.” She reaches down and scoops a backpack off the floor, hooking it over her shoulders. “It was nice to meet you.” I lift my beer in a quick salute. “Maybe I’ll see you around.” “Sure.” She doesn’t look at all convinced. “If not, have a nice stay.” She waves to Bruce, and I watch her walk away all while cursing that motherfucking backpack that hangs low enough to cover her ass. She’s an acrobatic performer, so I know what she’s hiding underneath has got to be smokin’. “You want another beer?” The bartender’s asking, but his expression says he prefers my attention to be off his little friend and back on him. I might take offense if it weren’t for the gold band the dude has on his left finger. This guy isn’t in love with AJ; although he’d have to be dead not to feel something below the belt for the girl, but he’s clearly protective. “Nah. I’m good.” I push my empty beer toward him and stand. “Question.” He tosses my bottle into the trash and then turns back to me, looking completely uninterested. “Yeah?” “Where can I get tickets for the acrobatics show?” He frowns. I fucking smile huge.

I’ve got some family shit to take care of in Vegas, but I’m going to make it a point to see AJ again. If for nothing else than for something—or someone—to do.

Two Braeden “. . . I’d really like you to be there to see me walk down the aisle, naked.” I glare across the patio table where my now very womanly and engaged niece is standing and staring down at me. “The fuck did you just say?” She crosses her arms over her chest and lifts a brow, pursing her mouth just as her mother does. I gotta admit I can see how my big brother Blake fell in love with these two. Their ’tude is fucking adorable. “Oh, so now you want to listen. What were you thinking about that’s more important than what I’m asking you?” “Nothing.” I may have been thinking about the ticket to the show I have in my pocket, but she doesn’t need to know that. “I’ve been listening this entire time.” Maybe I was a little sidetracked, but I heard the important parts. “You’re fucking stupid if you think you’re doing anything on your wedding day nekkid, kiddo. I don’t care what the rules say.” I tilt my head back and sink deeper into the

poolside chair. Even though I’m wearing shades, I close my eyes into the sun because being sprawled out poolside at Blake’s house is nicer than living on a regimented military schedule. “Who’s doing what naked?” My brother’s voice sounds to my left as he steps out through the sliding glass door. He presses a cold beer into my hand. “Thanks.” I take a swig. “I was just explaining to your daughter here that there will be no nudity on her wedding day.” She groans and rolls those beautiful blue eyes. “Oh my God, you can’t be serious.” “He’s dead serious.” Blake grunts as he takes the seat next to mine. I clink my beer with his in agreement. “They still make chastity belts, right?” “Yep. Real solid too. Made of iron, I think.” “I was kidding when I said naked. I was just checking to see if you were listening—” “I think they come with padlocks, like the kind we had on our high school lockers where you twist the dial.” “Guys—” “I’m pretty sure we could get her a chastity onesie.” Blake motions to his own chest and crotch. “One that locks all this stuff down for life.” “Now you’re talkin’.” “Who’s locking down what?” Axelle’s fiancé, Killian, comes out, swishing around some protein

concoction in a shaker cup. “We are.” I point between Blake and me with my beer. “We’re locking down your wife so you can’t touch her, you fucking horny bitch.” Killian grins and ogles his soon-to-be wife in a way that makes her bashful and makes me want to vomit. “Watch it, Killer.” Blake growls. “Just because you two are engaged doesn’t mean I won’t break your arms.” Kill hooks his woman—my niece, who I swear seemed to go from sixteen to twenty-one overnight —and pulls her to his side. “You guys don’t need to be worrying about my girl being naked. Let me handle that.” “I think we should gouge out his eyes,” I say to my brother. “Then I’ll have to memorize her with my hands and lips and—” “Enough!” Blake sets his beer down and leans toward Kill. “Boy, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you want to die.” He presses a kiss to his fiancée’s temple. “You assholes started it.” “Right, there’s enough testosterone out here to drown a horse.” Ax pushes up on her tiptoes and kisses her man’s cheek. “I’m going to go help Mom in the kitchen.” She passes by me and drops a kiss on the top of my head. “I was just saying I want

you to stand with Kill at my wedding.” My heart lodges in my throat. “I’d love to, kiddo.” She smiles softly. “Good.” It’s so fucking quiet when she walks away you could hear a tick fart, so when I clear my throat, it attracts the attention of both men. “Dude.” “Shut up, Blake.” “Are you crying?” I sniff. “I told you to shut the fuck up. And no, I’m not crying.” He chuckles along with Killian. “I’m allergic to these desert plants or . . . shit, whatever.” “Pussy.” I punch my brother in the bicep and grit my teeth past the pain that explodes in my fist. A few seconds of uncomfortable silence swirl between us, and I’m dying for a subject change. “You guys ever hear of the show Eros?” I kick my feet up onto the patio table, crossing my ankles. “Yeah, it’s the show at the Kairos.” Kill gulps from his shake. “What about it?” I try to act as casual as possible. “I’m seeing it tonight.” “Oh yeah?” Blake smiles, that asshole. “What’s her name?”

I stare at him with my mouth gaping. “What? I can’t go see a show unless it’s a way to get my hands in some girl’s pants?” “Yeah.” “Pretty much.” They answer in unison. “Dicks. Both of you.” Even though they’re somewhat right. Although this won’t be a date; this is straight up stalking. Because women loved to be pursued, right? Um . . . not like that they don’t. Whatever. “It’s getting great reviews.” “I heard it’s sexy as hell too.” Blake says. “Perfect for a date.” “You want to talk about dates? Eat a dick!” “Whoa . . . easy, brother.” My prick older sibling is grinning. “Judging by your overreaction, I’d say I’m spot on.” “About as spot on as you were with Katie Vanderhoff in tenth grade when you accidently fingered her butthole instead—” “I can’t believe you’d bring that shit up.” He squints. “Wait. How’d you even know about that.” I shrug and lean my head back, closing my eyes into the sun once again. “Who do you think all those girls came to after you left?” “You’re five years younger than I am.” “Don’t worry. I held them off until it was legal.”

~*~

AJ “What’re you waiting on?” I yell over the noise of the crowded bar to the cocktail server as she waits for drinks with an empty tray. “Vodka tonic, vodka cran, rum and Coke, two Long Islands, Bud Light, and six shots of Cuervo.” “Got it!” Some big medical conference in the hotel let out about an hour ago, and since then, we’ve been slammed. I check my phone behind the bar while filling shot glasses then call over to Bruce. “I’ll stay until five fifteen!” He slides four cocktails onto the bar and snags the offered cash. “You sure?” I was supposed to be off at five, but Enrique’s running late, and there’s no way I’d leave Bruce to fend for himself. Loading up Cammie’s tray with drinks, I pop the cap off the Bud. “As long as I’m ready by six, I’ll be okay.” He mouths thank you, and we both continue to grind. Even after the crappy sleep I had last night, I’m buzzing with unspent energy. There’s no better feeling in the world than a hard day’s work and a fat paycheck to back it up. I should take home a couple hundred plus in tips alone— “Hey, AJ!”

I whip my head around toward the calling of my name and lock eyes with a pair as green as clover leaves. “Braeden?” He manages to squeeze his big body between people to get to the bar. He smiles at me, and for a few seconds, the murmur around us fades as I’m locked in his gaze. Bruce bumps into me from behind, and Braeden frowns, calling me from my temporary fog. “Can I get you a beer?” I push more drinks from the service bar and blow a few strands of hair that fell loose from my ponytail off my face. “You guys are slammed, huh?” His eyes move from my hair to my neck then back, and I catch a hint of concern in his expression. “Yeah, but . . .” I check my phone. “I’m off to my other job in a few, so if you want something, let me know.” He flicks his big fingers, motioning me to come closer. We lean over the bar towards each other, and I assume he’s going to give me some complicated drink order and wants to make sure I don’t miss it. “I want your number.” His hot breath smells like mint as it ghosts across my jaw. As I shut down the shiver I feel building behind my skin, I shake my head. “Of course you want my number.” He doesn’t look apologetic just simply waits for

it. Man, I’d bet no woman has ever thrown up an obstacle. I mean he’s got the hot-guy thing going on, confidence for days, but his delivery is . . . typical. “Why don’t you just come out and ask me?” He frowns and his thick brows pinch together. “I’m pretty sure I just did.” “No, I mean . . .” I pop the tops of four beer bottles then place them on the service bar before leaning in to the man. “Why don’t you just ask if I’ll have sex with you?” His eyes grow wide, and right when I think he’s going to fumble his way through a long explanation about how his intentions are completely honorable, he shocks me by laughing. And not just any laugh, but a full-blown guttural belly laugh. Okay. Not what I expected. “AJ, that is most certainly not my intention—” Ah-ha! The denial— “But when you eventually jump me and beg for it, I won’t turn you down.” “Oh my God!” His eyes grow wide. “I’m kidding!” It shocks the crap out of me, but I’m smiling and laughing. What is it with this guy? “I honestly don’t think you are.” “Try me.” “No.”

He scowls, but he’s still smiling. “Why not?” Because he’s probably right. Because sex with a hot guy is not my priority. Because I don’t want to be another good time he had in Vegas. Because I don’t have time for the complications that men bring to a woman’s life. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you my phone number if you can correctly guess my shoe size.” Because men like him never see anything below a woman’s ass. He runs his teeth along his lower lip, but not in an overly sexy way, more like he’s trying to figure out how to respond. “Can I get a drink?” I look at the older man waving a fifty-dollar bill in my direction. “Sure.” Taking his order and mixing his drinks, I’m all too aware of the hulking man still standing at the bar, watching me with hawk-like precision. I drop the ice scoop and spill whiskey before I finally finish and make it back to him. “Seven.” My jaw falls open. How in the hell did he know that? And he can’t even see my feet. “How did you —?” “Take this.” He slides a cocktail napkin with a phone number on it toward me. “I’ll talk to you later.” “What makes you think I’ll use it?”

His cocky smile says he knows I’ll use the number. It’s the same cocky smile that makes me think he’s probably right. With nothing more than a lift of his chin, he backs away and disappears into the crowd. “How in the hell did he guess that?” I whisper to myself. Two hands clamp my shoulders from behind, making me jump and bringing me back from my internal questioning. I look up to see Enrique. “I owe you, woman.” “No, you don’t. I appreciated the hours.” I grab my phone and my bag from the cupboard under the register. “Bruce, you guys good?” He tosses a bottle Cocktail-style and grins. “Yeah! Now get out of here.” “Break a leg, Texas!” Enrique already has a line of glasses in front of him. “Thanks!” I duck under the service bar, slide my backpack on, and speed walk to the other side of the casino toward the amphitheater. It isn’t until I get there that I realize I have the wadded-up napkin with Braeden’s number held firmly in my hand. ~*~

Braeden

I had to pat myself on the back for taking the plunge and getting a more expensive ticket. I’m only a dozen rows back from the stage, more off-center than I’d like, but close enough that I’ll be able to see AJ with a decent amount of clarity. I grabbed a beer before taking my seat, but it’s doing jack shit to calm my nerves. I haven’t been this excited to see a woman again in a long time, and I’ve never met a woman who’s a performer, and in Las Vegas no less. That’s no small-time shit. Today, when I saw her at the bar, I caught a hint of a southern accent after asking for her number. I knew it was a mistake that it slipped out as if she forgot to hide it. She drew out her vowels, and her eyes grew even bigger than they already were, giving her away. It was cute as shit. The lights flash and then dim. A grin I can’t hold back hits my face. The cast comes out in various costumes, a story being told through aerial stunts and some circus-type shit, but I’m focused on every face, searching out one in particular. Some are painted, which makes it hard to tell, and having not seen her body in anything but baggy clothes or her button-up tuxedo shirt, tie, and vest from behind the bar today, I can’t tell which of these women twirling through the air is her. Holy shit, these people are flexible!

They’re folding their bodies in half, hanging from the ceiling held up by nothing but strips of fabric; this kind of crap isn’t for the faint of heart. I forget to search for her and get sucked into the story as it unravels. An innocent fairy, who gets lost in a seductive world of dance and pulsing music, gives into her innermost desires and finds herself in an undulating mass of bodies and touch. Fucking hell, this is erotic as shit, and I feel the stir of blood rushing between my legs. Right when things really heat up, the lights come on for a twenty-minute intermission. I groan and shift in my seat to give my dick some breathing room. My beer is empty and I have to piss, so I flood my mind with images of The Crucible course from boot camp. It starts to work when my phone vibrates against my thigh. The sensation just inches from my dick has me forcing my mind back to the Weaver Obstacle as I fish it from my pocket to see a new text. How did you know I wear a size seven?

If that isn’t a shot straight to my groin . . . no amount of creative thinking can help me now. Do I know you?

Her typing bubble pops up instantly, and I love that she wasn’t thrown off by my response.

You mean I’m not the only woman with size seven feet that you gave your number to?

I shift in my seat, my pants growing uncomfortably tighter. Would you be jealous if I dick?

“Oh shit!” DID. Not dick. LOL!!! Sure. That was a typo. I don’t talk about my dick with women unless they ask nicely.

She doesn’t text back, and after a few minutes, the lights of the amphitheater start to flash for people to take their seats. I punch out a quick text then shove my phone back into my pocket, grinning like the stalking pervo I am. ~*~

AJ “Oh my gosh.” My heart flutters wildly in my chest. I study the text again, sure I misread. Gotta run. Intermission is over. Break a leg. Can’t wait to see the second half.

The second half . . . he’s here? I shove my phone into my backpack when I hear the orchestra begin. Following the rest of the cast, I slide into position. Don’t read too much into this, AJ. He could’ve already had the ticket before tonight, but then why didn’t he say anything? And why in the hell does having him here make it feel like my first night on stage? I suppose it’s the fact that I’ve never had anyone I know pay money to come see me perform. No one in my family can afford to come to Vegas let alone the hundred-plus bucks they charge per ticket. I’ve heard they offer friends and family a discount, but even that would be too expensive for anyone back home to make a trip out. And for what? To see me as a back-up tumbler? So, AJ, I hear you’re performing in a big Las Vegas show. Who do you play? Tumbler number 23. I groan and shake out my legs, stretching and running in place to get the blood circulating because it’s all suddenly seemed to flood my face. “Don’t let it get to your head. Do not let it get to your head,” I whisper-chant the words over and over until I hear my cue to go on stage. With a nod to the three other performers, we take a collective breath and move into the blinding lights.

And even though I can’t see a single face in the crowd, I swear I can feel his eyes on me.

Three Braeden “Is there something I can help you with?” The big bearded guy wearing a suit and an ear com who has been eyeing me for the last half hour finally speaks up. “Nah, man, I’m good.” I motion to the double doors that lead backstage and shove my left hand deeper into the pocket of my jeans. “Just waiting for my wife.” “She a performer?” “Yeah.” He checks his watch and then resumes his protective stance. “Shouldn’t be long now.” “Great.” I lean on the opposite wall, hell bent on waiting however long it takes because, after I finally picked AJ out of the literal circus of performers, I was stupefied. I’ve never seen a person move like that before. It was like she was floating on air half the time, and some of the flips and shit she pulled off were just shy of miraculous. She didn’t even have a big part in the show, but

when she was on stage, she stole it. The doors behind bearded guy swing open, and a cluster of people come out: a couple of dudes so tiny I could carry one in each arm, and a threesome of girls all talking about grabbing a bite to eat. I wonder briefly if AJ might be hungry. I wonder if she managed to eat after her bar shift. I wonder how she could work on her feet behind a bar all day and then pull off the kind of physical stamina she did tonight. The door swings open again, and another group of performers files out, still no AJ. I start to think maybe she went out a different exit when the door cracks open and she pushes through alone. Her eyes land on me and she stumbles a bit. “Braeden? What are you—?” “Honey!” I hold my arms out wide and cross to her, folding them around her tiny but—whoa! — very firm little body. “What a great show! I don’t ever think I’ll get used to seeing my wife perform.” “Your wife?” “Shhh.” I put my mouth close to her ear, and the sweet scent of her skin makes me want to dart my tongue out for a taste. “Just go with it.” I pull back before I make a total fool out of myself by burying my nose in her hair. “Are you hungry, my little love muffin?” Her quick laugh makes a snorting sound. “You

know I’m always hungry after a show, pookie bear.” I link my hand in hers and drag her away before bearded dude realizes neither of us is wearing a wedding ring. “I have the perfect place, shnookems.” Her feet move quickly in Adidas, and I’m grateful that, although she’s sporting similar leggings to what she had on last night, tonight she has on a form-fitting tank top, and damn, just like her costume from the show, it’s leaving very little to the imagination. “Wait.” “Huh?” Just thinking about her body and the way she can move it is distracting. She freezes as we approach the main casino and pulls back on my hand. “I’m parked in employee parking.” She motions behind her with a jerk of her head. “Muffin, I’m not taking you to your car. I’m taking you the hell out of this place so I can feed you.” And I want to get you alone, somewhere quiet, so I can hear you talk. “We’re far away from Pete’s ears; you can cut it with the endearments.” I stop and look down at her, her big hazel eyes giving away a little insecurity. “Those weren’t only for his benefit.” “Why did you tell him we were married?”

“Because if I’d told him the truth, he would’ve banned me from the hotel.” She steps closer, so close it’s making our size difference painfully obvious. She can’t be taller than five and a half feet. “And what is the truth?” Her left eye squints in a humorously curious kind of way. “The truth is that I bumped into a woman at the bar last night that I decided I wanted to know better. Golfing was out of the question, so . . .” I shrug. “I showed up at her work, uninvited, gave her my number, showed up at her next job, and then waited for forty-five minutes, staring at a door just to catch a glimpse of her and hopefully a chance to talk to her again.” She sucks in a deep breath as if it’s the first one she’d taken since I started talking. “That’s all very sweet, but I can’t go anywhere with you. I don’t even know you.” I nod and consider her concern. As annoying as it is to prove to her that I’m not some psycho—well fuck. That’s exactly what I am. “I’m not out to peel you and make a dress out of your skin.” But I respect her for knowing how to take care of herself. With a quick snap of my wrist, I pull out my wallet and my Marine Corps-issued ID. “My name is Braeden Matthew Daniels.” She takes the card and stares down at it. “I’m twentyfive years old, live on base at Camp Pendleton, and

my brother and his family live here in Vegas, so I come to visit often.” I nod to the ID. “Take a photo of it and text it to a friend.” “You don’t have to do this.” I push back her hand offering the ID. “I refuse to take that back until you do it.” She takes a photo, but doesn’t send it. “Okay, I’m good.” “Why won’t you send it?” “Because the only people I could send it to would just worry, and I don’t think you’re going to . . . what did you say? Peel me and make a dress out of my skin?” “That’s what I said.” “Right. I don’t think you’re going to do that, so . . . what’s for dinner?” ~*~

AJ I cannot believe I agreed to go on a date with this guy. After everything he said, I’m not sure if I should be flattered or scared. When I walked out and saw him leaning against the wall, ankles crossed, one hand in his pocket as if that big body was nothing more than a place to store all that confidence, I got excited. I was happy to see him! What is wrong with me?

Maybe it’s because he’s got the kind of face you would trust immediately, that All-American smile that makes a woman envision her future babies with him. He could get any woman he wanted with a simple wink. Why would he work so hard for me? Everything about this guy screams broken heart, and yet I’m too curious to turn him away. He hands the hotel’s valet guy a ticket and turns toward me. “Okay, so I’m dying to know where you learned all the shit I saw you do tonight.” As stoked as I’ve been to get this job, it’s a lot lower on the performing totem pole than I wanted, and I’m a little embarrassed I didn’t land a better role. “I like gymnastics.” He rubs his jaw, and I can tell he’s fighting a smile. Come to think if it, every time we talk he’s on the verge of smiling. “I can see why. You’re incredible.” I hike my backpack up higher on my shoulder. “Are you sure you were watching me? My role in the show is pretty minor.” “Yeah, I’m sure.” He kicks the toe of my shoe with his . . . “Adidas too?” But whereas mine are the white with green stripes, his are the classic white with black. “You have great taste in shoes.” “You never did tell me how you knew what size shoe I wear.”

He wets his lips, and I have to look away as the action warms my cheeks for some ridiculous reason. “Can’t tell you that. It’s classified.” “So, what, if you tell me, you’d have to kill me?” “Naw, nothing like that, just . . .” He leans in and whispers. “I can’t give away my best moves . . . yet.” A dark gray hot rod pulls his head up and gets his attention. Thank God because a few more seconds of him whispering and I’d have been reduced to a quivering mess. Braeden moves to the passenger side door of the beast as the engine gurgles out a low growl, and he opens it, motioning for me to get in. “M’lady?” A second of hesitation cements my feet to the floor. “Where are we going again?” “The Dirty Drummer off Fiesta. They have the best pulled-pork sandwich; you’re gonna love it.” He squints. “Wait. You don’t have something against barbeque, do you? Because, if so, there’s no future for us and we should end this now.” I grin and shake my head. “I love barbeque.” “Alright then, woman, get your ass in the car and let me feed you.” Clutching my phone in my palm, I slide onto the sleek leather seat, and after he closes me in, I reach over to fasten my seatbelt. He tips the valet and pats the guy on the shoulder, saying something that

makes the attendant smile. Either Braeden is a genuinely nice guy, or he’s the world’s best con artist. The sound of his denim-covered ass hitting the leather seat and a click of his seatbelt later, we’re pulling out of the Kairos Hotel and Casino onto Las Vegas Boulevard. “This is a great car.” He rolls his window down, leans back, and pops his elbow out. “Thank you. She’s been good to me.” I trace circles on my phone screen. “So, you’re a Marine.” “Yes, ma’am. Fourth generation Daniels to serve our great country.” “Have you seen a lot of war then?” He sucks on the inside of his mouth for a second. “I’ve been on two deployments: one for six months, another for eleven.” “That’s a long time. I’m sorry, but . . . that sounds awful.” “It’s my job. Uncle Sam says I go, I go. I don’t mind. Makes me feel useful.” He puts on his blinker and stops behind a cab at a red light. “What about you? I know you’re not from Vegas.” “And how would you know that? Oh, let me guess, is it like the shoe-size thing?” “No.” The light turns green, and his eyes are back on the road. “It’s the accent thing.”

“I do not have an accent!” “You do when you’re not actively trying to hide it.” “That’s not true. And I don’t try to hide anything.” “We’ll see.” I can’t look over at him out of fear that he’ll see my lack of confidence, but I can hear the smile in his words. The lights fly by, and I’m like a kid at Disneyland with my face pressed to the window. No matter how many times I see them, they have yet to lose their appeal. It isn’t until we turn off on a side street and then another that the lights are lost behind the big buildings, and I settle back in my seat and face forward. “Dallas, Texas.” “I knew it.” “Whatever, dude.” “Did you just call me dude?” He chuckles. “Here we are.” ~~~ Braeden was right. That really was the best pulledpork sandwich I’ve ever had. And I’m from Texas, the home of slow-roasted swine. My muscles are exhausted, belly full, and after the pitcher of beer Braeden and I split, I’m feeling

long past ready for bed. Even though I’ll have to wake up a little early to log some extra gym time after that meal, it was totally worth it. “. . . they have two kids: my niece, Axelle, who’s getting married if you can believe that shit, and my nephew Jack, who’s almost five.” “Wow, they took a long break between the two, huh?” He doesn’t take his eyes off me, and he hasn’t all night. Even with the distraction of sports on multiple TVs and plenty of attractive women flashing skin, he’s only ever looked right at me. “Axelle is Layla’s from her first marriage, but my brother adopted her, so . . . she’s ours now.” “That’s sweet.” I run my fingertip around the rim of my empty pint glass. “What does your brother do?” “He fights for the UFL.” I sit up taller and stare. “Your brother is a UFL fighter?” “He is. One of the best, actually.” “What’s his name?” “Blake Daniels.” He says it with pride and a little wariness as if he expects me to flip out and fangirl. “Never heard of him.” He throws his head back and laughs. “That’s awesome. I can’t wait to tell him that.” “Don’t tell him!” I’m smiling too. “I feel stupid.

I just . . . I know it’s a huge sport. I just don’t really follow it.” He doesn’t respond with anything more than a half smile. “You didn’t want to be a professional fighter like him? You’re big enough; I bet you could have.” He leans in with his elbows on the table. “Did you ever play with GI Joe or those little green army men?” I laugh. “No.” “Well, I did. As far back as I can remember, I wanted to be in combat. My dad made going into the Corps a non-negotiable that my brother had to fight like hell to break free of. Me?” He shakes his head. “I wanted to go. My dad’s a general, and he expected me to spend four years at the academy to graduate and become an officer like him, but I always thirsted for battle. I wanted to be on the front lines.” “That sounds . . . dangerous.” He frowns. “It is, but I’m pretty good at what I do.” “Which is . . .?” “Classified.” I gasp and feel my eyes widening. “Really?” “No, but it’s boring, and I’ve been dying to ask you something all night.” A few beats of silence stretch between us and thicken the air until I’m fighting to take a full breath.

“What is it?” He leans in with his elbows braced on the table, so I do the same. His eyes roam over my face and settle on my lips. “How does it feel to be the most beautiful woman in the room?” I wish I could say I responded with something witty, maybe even flirty, or hell, I’d settle for quirky. But I didn’t. I snorted. So hard I felt it in the back of my throat. Braeden recoils at my response, but his answering chuckle makes me laugh. “That, Mr. Daniels, is a line if I’ve ever heard one.” He paints on a face of pure innocence. “Not true! I’m being dead serious!” Our waitress comes and drops a check at our table. We both reach for it. “No fucking way, muffin face.” He snags the small black folder. “This one is on me.” “Did you just call me muffin face?” “I did.” He tosses a few bills onto the top of the check and stands. “Let’s get you home before you fall asleep at the table.” He holds his hand out to pull me up and I allow him. But once we’re both standing, we stay. Me looking up at him. Him looking down at me.

And it seems we’re both helpless to pull away. I study his green eyes, noticing now that they are peppered with bursts of yellow. He blinks slowly, his dark lashes making a hesitant trip down then back up, and I’m drawn to his lips. The upper and lower are identical in size, totally symmetrical, and his Cupid’s bow is the kind of thing women pay plastic surgeons a ton of money for. “AJ . . .” The way he says my name sounds like a prayer, or a plea, or a groan of agony. I’m not sure. I suck in a cooling breath and rip my gaze from his mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened there. I think I’m just tired.” He slides his hand around the back of my neck and pulls my forehead to his. “And there’s the accent.” “What?” I shove against his chest, laughing. “I do not have an accent.” “You sure as fuck do. You’re just ty-rd.” He grabs my hand and guides me toward the door. I can’t stop laughing at how funny he sounds with his exaggerated southern drawl. I haven’t known Braeden long, and he already feels like one of my closest friends. And how pathetic is that?

Four Braeden I wasn’t going to do it, but now I have to. I’m going to kiss AJ. At first, I thought I could hold it back and simply take her out for a meal, get to know her a little better, and then call it a night. But no, she had to lock me up in that sexy stare-down as if I were the last source of oxygen left on the planet, and fuck if I didn’t feel that shit everywhere. If she were the easy type, the kind of woman who wouldn’t think twice about a quick no-stringsattached roll in the hay, I’d be all over her in a heartbeat, but AJ isn’t that kind of woman. I can spot them from a mile away. She would’ve propositioned me already. Would’ve tried to touch, grope. Hell, even AJ’s flirting is innocent compared to what I’m used to. I like her, and I like the chase she’s giving even more. Funny thing is she doesn’t seem to be aware she’s even giving it. Once we’re to my car, I open the door for her

and she drops in. I circle the hood and slide in then turn and hope what I’m about to say doesn’t ruin the fun we’ve had tonight. “I’ll take you to your car, but I’m going to be honest. I had one beer out of that pitcher, which means you had about three.” “Oh.” She covers her mouth with the tips of her fingers and smiles. “That’s embarrassing.” “You feel buzzed?” She seems to search her mind for a moment. “Maybe a little.” “Do you want me to swing you home? I’ll come back in the morning and take you to your car.” Her eyes dart to mine. “You don’t have to do that.” “I know I don’t, but seein’ as I’m the one who accidentally got you drunk, it’s my responsibility to get you home safely.” “Okay, that’s fine, but you don’t have to pick me up in the morning. I can take an Uber.” “What time do you work?” “I have three shows tomorrow. One, four, and seven. Oh!” She holds up her hand. “And I have to hit the gym early to work off that food you just bought me. But I suppose I could just go for a run.” “What time do you need to be at the hotel?” “Eleven thirty.” “Okay, I’ll pick you up at eleven. Now . . .” I throw the car into drive. “Tell me where you live,

sugar pits. I’ll get you home.” Her nose scrunches up at my pet name, and she gives me a quick rundown of the directions to her pad. “How long have you been in Vegas?” I hit the blinker and merge onto the freeway heading south. “About a month.” “Did you move here for the show?” “No, I moved here with zero prospects. I would’ve taken any job that allowed me to perform. I lucked out with Eros.” I peek over at her at the lack of confidence in her voice. How could she believe she’s anything short of amazing? “I saw you jump and flip three times in the air.” “That’s nothing—” “I also saw you do this . . .” I can’t even explain it. “Corkscrew thing.” I twist my fingers and swivel my wrist and then give up. “You’re sweet.” I look over at her and she’s staring at me. God, she’s so fucking pretty. I have to pull my eyes away and get them back on the road or I’ll get us both killed. “I’m not lying, AJ. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” Still can’t, apparently. A few turns off the freeway and the roads get dark. The buildings that run along the street are tall business and high-rise apartment structures. I lean

forward to see the occasional light, but it seems most of them are burned out or broken. “Up here on the left.” She points to a towering building with a double-door entrance, and again, no lights. I pull the GTO as close as I can and then throw it into park as she scoops her backpack into her arms. “Braeden, thank you—” I’m already out of the car and moving around to the passenger side, so I miss the rest of whatever it was she was going to say. She climbs out and eyes me warily. “What are you doing?” “Walking you to your door.” I jerk my head impatiently and then force myself to be gentle because I don’t want to be a dick, but I’m not digging her living arrangements at all. She falls into step with me, dragging her keys from her bag. “I live on the ninth floor. You don’t have to walk me all the way—” “It’s alright. I want to.” I grit my teeth as she goes to slide in the key to the security gate, only to find it already propped open. Fucking fabulous. And what’s worse is she doesn’t seem at all surprised. Clearly, this isn’t the first time the gate to keep the unwanted out has been left open. Son of a bitch. The smell of urine and mold assaults my senses as I follow her to a small, rickety elevator.

She hits the up arrow and must sense my unease as she refuses to look at me. “It’s kinda gross, but it’s only temporary.” “Hey, it’s a roof over your head.” And an open fucking door! We step into the elevator, which’s barely wide enough to hold us both comfortably, and I imagine AJ coming home late at night and being stuck in this tiny fucking thing with some piece of shit who snuck through the open motherfucking door. “You’re growling.” “What?” She readjusts her backpack, her eyes still cast forward. “You’re making a growling noise in your throat.” I cough to clear it and force myself to relax. “Huh, weird.” The elevator pings and the doors stutter when they open. I follow her into a long hallway and am thankful when she stops in front of the third door because the deeper I get into this place the more uneasy I feel. 903. I commit the number to memory and hold my breath, waiting for her to get safely inside with the door locked before I can turn away in good conscience. When she opens the door, the sweet scent of apples and cinnamon comes wafting out, not the

kind from a fresh baked apple pie, but from those air fresheners you get at the grocery store. It’s dark inside, so I can’t see what the state of her apartment is, but from the smell, I’d guess AJ is a girl who takes pride in her living space, even if the outside of it is a towering health-code violation. “Thanks again for tonight.” She leans a shoulder against the doorframe. “When do you head back?” I’m so busy scoping out my surroundings I hardly hear the question. “A couple of days.” “Well, if I don’t see you again . . .” Now she’s got my attention. Her lips are moving, but I’m deaf to whatever it is she’s saying, and even though I swore I’d keep my hands to myself, I hook her around the neck. She gasps as I pull her close and lower my lips to hers. I wait to feel the resistance, watch closely for the cues, no matter how subtle they might be, that she doesn’t want this. But instead, she leans toward me. Her hands brace on my pecs, and the heat of her palms is like a shot of lust to my head. I’m practically dizzy with it. I press closed lips to hers and—fuck me— they’re softer than I imagined. Just that one chaste kiss and she smiles against me. I risk pushing it a little farther and part my lips just enough to tug her silken flesh into my mouth. Her head tilts and it’s as if a button is pressed.

She pushes her hands up over my shoulders to lock around my neck, her mouth opening just enough to invite me in to explore. Never having been the kind of guy to say no, I grasp her hip and draw her closer until our bodies are pressed together. She moans and falls limp in my hold, which ignites my primitive brain. This woman wants me. I step forward, and she hurriedly steps back until I’m inside her apartment. I kick the door shut and then lean back against it, taking her sweet mouth and body with me. I don’t have the time or the patience to figure out how to lock the POS, so this impromptu makeout session is going to have to happen with me holding the damn door shut. Her kiss is hot and demanding as she practically crawls up my body. Her leg hitches up where I catch it at my hip, and I’m reminded again of how flexible she is. I want her naked in every position I can imagine. As if that thought alone isn’t enough to make my dick hard, the knowledge that she absolutely can get into any of my imaginable positions makes the rod between my legs turn to granite. “AJ . . . this isn’t what I came here for.” I’m panting as I run my lips along her jawline to her neck.

“You told me, when I jumped you and begged, you wouldn’t turn me down.” There’s a challenge in her voice that further heats my blood. “I’m nothing if not a man of my word, but . . .” God, she smells so good. “Are you sure?” She rubs against me like a hungry cat and nips at my mouth. “It’s been so long since I’ve thought of anything other than work.” Her hand slides down my abs to grip me over my jeans. We groan in unison. “With you, tonight, this is all I’ve been thinking about.” “Well, fuck.” I push off the door and find the deadbolt to lock it. “Show me to the bed, muffin.” With a tiny hop, she wraps both legs around my waist. I grab her by the ass, and fucking hell, it’s nothing but hard muscle surrounded by the softest flesh. Logic takes a hike, and I forget all the reasons I shouldn’t fuck AJ until her legs give out. As the lust rages through my veins, disappointment trickles in. One-night stands I can do. They’re what I’m best at. But I’m kinda enjoying spending time with AJ. After the orgasms, what happens next? ~*~

AJ I don’t know if it’s the beer or the man, possibly a

combination of both, that has me climbing him like a chain-link fence. Braeden’s hands cradle my ass, and caging me between his enormous arms, he carries me through my dark apartment. Our lips fuse together in a mess of tongue and teeth while my hands attempt to grip the short hair on the back of his head. “Ow—fuck!” He stumbles backwards, knocks into something, but his hold is secure. Visualizing the layout of my place, I’m pretty sure he just cracked his shin on my coffee table. I swallow his growl as he hits the side table, and the sound of things crashing to the floor echo around us. “Babe.” He dips his tongue into my mouth as if it’s almost painful for him to take a break from the passionate kiss just to speak. “Bed.” At this rate, we’ll never make it there. I wiggle in his hold. “Here’s fine.” He allows me to slide my feet to the floor, and I lean over, swiping my hand through the darkness in search of the side-table lamp. He must be crouching low because his mouth is on my neck, licking and sucking and—whoa! I tip too far. He darts to catch me but loses his footing, and we both tumble to the floor. Thankfully, he pulls me close so I fall on the big cushion of his body, but the thump of us hitting the floor is so loud the neighbors below thump back.

“Be quiet!!” I bury my head into Braeden’s big ole chest and giggle. His hands sift through my hair, and he brings my lips up to his. “Thin floors in this joint.” He devours my mouth so my low-hum response gets lost in our kiss. The hard tile must be killing his back, but he doesn’t complain as he pulls me on top of him. I gasp at the feel of his hard-on as he spreads my knees wide to straddle his hips. “AJ . . .” He flexes and rubs himself against me. “This wasn’t the plan.” A hint of worry laces his voice, and I fully believe he had no intention of having sex with me tonight, but he can’t deny his body’s reaction or the palpable chemistry between us. I rock my hips and nuzzle his neck, breathing in the fresh clean scent of his spicy aftershave. “And yet, here we are.” “Just . . . I don’t want this to be it.” He cups the back of my head, tilting his chin up to give me more of his throat. “Tell me, if we do this, this won’t be it.” My lips freeze against his skin. “You mean . . .?” He wants more than one night? “You want to hang out again?” Big fingers curl around my hip, holding me in place. “Yeah. I want to see you again.” “Isn’t this more of an after-sex talk?”

I can’t see more than his outline in the dark, but I feel his shrug. “Is it?” “Yeah, I mean what if the sex sucks and—” “No way is the sex gonna suck.” “—you regret it—” “Impossible.” “—I become clingy and—” “You don’t strike me as the type.” “—you change your mind.” His body shakes with silent laughter, and I’m grateful he can’t see how my eyes almost roll back in my head at the pleasure his huge, shaking body brings. “I don’t live here, AJ. I pop in and visit when I can, but it’s never for more than a few days. I’m at the beck and call of the United States Marine Corps. I suck at keeping in touch. But I do want to see you again.” His fingers fork through my hair, and he brings us nose to nose. “A woman like you deserves promises. But, those, I can’t make. If we’re gonna do this, I need you to know what you’re getting into.” A part of me aches for things to be different. I don’t know Braeden that well, but what I do know I really like. The thought of getting to know him better, of dating him exclusively, it all sounds great on paper, but that’s not what I’m here for. I didn’t move to Vegas to get caught up in romance and forget about my goals.

I want to be somebody. I want the nice house and the luxury car. I want designer clothes, extravagant vacations, and all the glitz and glamour life has to offer. As sexy and sweet and funny as Braeden is, anything more than sex with him would be a roadblock to my end game. I lean forward and brush my mouth against his. “I don’t need promises. I only want to live in this moment with you, whatever that means, and not think about tomorrow or a week or a year from now.” I slide my hands up his shirt, and oh wow, his skin is like the warmest silk. “Can we please do that? Can we just live in the now?” His chest rises and falls faster as I reach his nipples and run the pads of my thumbs over them. “Whatever you want.” We come back together in a soft, controlled kiss that quickly becomes frantic. My heart pounds as he tugs my shirt and sports bra off over my head. I’m grateful the lights are off so he can’t see my less-than-impressive breasts, but when his hands cup them, he lets out a reverent curse that has me rocking my hips harder against him. He gently toys with my nipples and then pushes himself up to suck them deep into his mouth. I arch my back, only to have him chase me down so that we’re both sitting upright, my legs wide and me sitting high on his lap. He commands every muscle in my body with the slightest flick of his tongue or pinch of his grip as if

I’m an instrument and he’s my maestro. I’m lost in the sensations of his hot mouth and firm touch, my skin on fire with want until I’m ripping at his shirt. “Hop up.” He lifts me just enough to get me on my knees, and I stagger while he makes quick work of getting his shirt off. Even in the dark, I can see the bulges of muscles that make up his shoulders, and I desperately search for a source of light—the lamp, a phone, a fucking lighter, anything—because I don’t know if I’ll ever get a chance to see him like this again. He shifts beneath me but only slightly, and then his fingers pinch my chin and pull our mouths close. “What is it?” “Nothing.” I was just looking for a source of illumination so I could see how hot you are without a shirt on. “Nothing, huh?” He doesn’t seem convinced, but pulls me back to sit on his—oh my gosh! The heat of his bare hard-on presses against the thin fabric of my leggings, and I gasp at how big he is. Like ice cream in the summer, I melt onto his body, every muscle releasing tension and becoming pliable to his hand. I roll my hips, rock against him, swivel from side to side until he’s panting and groaning into my neck. “I’m going to ruin these pants if you don’t get them off.” The heat and desperation in his voice

empowers me, and I rub against him again. “I’m serious, woman. I will poke a hole right through this shit to get inside you.” I push to standing so that the apex of my thighs is at his eye level, and even though I know he can’t see me well, I know he can see enough to watch as I slowly peel my leggings down. He leans back on his hands and watches the strip tease until I’m standing before him in nothing but my thin athletic thong. With one long arm, he reaches out and grips me behind my thigh. I don’t fight him as he pulls it forward and rests it over his shoulder, opening myself up to him in a way that I never would be comfortable with if we weren’t in the dark. He traces the line of my thong with his thick index finger in slow deliberate passes until the leg holding up my weight wobbles. And when I think he’s about to show me some mercy, he slips the fabric aside and continues the torture on my bare flesh. “Braeden . . .” My breath catches in my throat as he sinks his finger inside. “So soft.” He turns and kisses the inside of my thigh, dragging his tongue up until it meets his finger. I use my leg at his shoulder to tuck him in tighter, to lock him to the most sensitive part of me that he’s lavishing with thick, long lashes of his

tongue. My chin falls forward, and I watch the outline of his head bob between my legs from the privacy of the dark curtains of my hair. A low, animal-like purr bubbles up from my chest, and he responds by rumbling against me. Stars explode behind my eyes as he continues to work me until I’m forced to lean on him to keep from collapsing. When he’s finally had his fill, he places my leg back on the floor and pulls me by the backs of my knees to straddle him again. The cool, tacky feeling of a condom brushes my inner thigh as I lower myself onto him. When did he get that on? I rub myself against him, enjoying the way his huge body makes me feel so tiny. He kisses me, his hands stilling my hips to keep them from moving. “Last chance to back out. You say the word and we’ll stop.” “No, I don’t want to stop. I like this.” I try to move against him, but he’s too strong. “So happy to hear that, baby.” He licks along my neck and jawline to my ear. “I’m gonna fuck you now.” Before the final word is out of his mouth, he pushes inside me. My lungs suck in as much oxygen they can to keep me from passing out at the sensation of our bodies coming together. “Shit.” He spits the curse through clenched

teeth. “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.” I try to lift up, but he holds me down. “No, no, no, not yet, just . . .” His breath is hot and delicious against my neck. “Give me a second.” As I pepper his mouth with kisses and pull his lips between my teeth, he slowly begins to kiss me back. His hold on my hips loosens, and I move cautiously to get used to the feeling of him filling me. He leans into me, and I lock my hands behind his neck to keep from falling backwards, only to have him slowly lower me to the floor. I expect the bite of the cold, cheap tile on my back but only feel the warm cocoon of his arms as he wraps me up. His big palm is a pillow behind my head as our positions are flipped so that he’s now on top of me. His pace remains slow, languid rolls of his hips as he licks his way into my mouth. I arch my back for him to go deeper, and he accepts the invitation. In the dark, with a man I hardly know, time becomes irrelevant and nothing exists but us. Even when his thrusts turn desperate and uncoordinated, he seems to be wholly focused on me, never once allowing my skin to touch the cool floor. The pleasure builds so quickly that I hardly have time to brace when the orgasm crashes over me. If my neighbors thought us falling to the floor was loud, no doubt they heard the feral moan fall from

my lips when Braeden managed to move in such a way that extended my orgasm to the point where I didn’t think I could take another second without dying. I blink open my eyes while floating back to earth, and his fingers bite into my ass as he grunts loud and long into my neck before collapsing on my chest. We’re both breathing heavily when he rolls so that I’m back on top of him, but still connected. “Yeah, we are definitely doing that again.” I feel lighter and more relaxed than I’ve felt in years, and I chuckle with my cheek pressed to his warm pec. “Now that sounds like a promise, Mr. Daniels.” He smacks my ass and moans. “So it is, Miss, um . . .” My giggle matures to full-blown laughter at the discomfort I hear in Braeden’s voice. He brings a hand to his face, either to rub his forehead or run a hand through his short hair. “This is awkward.” “Why? Because you slept with a girl whose last name you don’t even know?” I can’t stop laughing now. “Har harr, muffin. Laugh it up.” “Ew, stop calling me muffin.” “Ew? Muffins are awesome.” “They’re awesome to eat, but no one wants to

be a muffin.” His stubby nails dig into my ass. “You’re awesome to eat.” His voice is so low and rumbly and full of lust, and I can feel him harden between my legs. “Pines!!! Your last name is Pines!” I push up and stare down at him through the darkness. “How did you know that?” “I intend to know everything about you, Miss Pines.” “No, but really . . .” How the hell did he know that? “I can’t see you, but I can feel you freaking out, so . . . I heard your Rico Suave boss call you that when we met.” “Rico Suave?” So, Braeden didn’t miss Mr. Monroe’s appeal either. “He looks like that Ricky Martin guy, but smarmier.” “Yeah, I guess he does. Definitely smarmier.” “My ass is killin’ me. Any chance I can get you into your bed?” “I think so.” I flex my legs. “I’ve regained feeling in my limbs, so yeah.” “Eh, what can I say? I give fantastic orgasms.” “Cocky much?” “Take me to your bed and I’ll show you cocky.”

Five Braeden My eyes pop open, and for a few seconds, I have no fucking idea where I am. It isn’t until I feel the warm, soft body curled up to me, the mess of chestnut hair fanned out all over my torso, and the perfect ache between my legs that I remember. AJ. Fuck me, but the woman has stamina. Her cardio game is on point, probably because of her job. I ran through every condom I had stashed in my wallet and had to move on to using my hands and mouth before I was able to bring her to exhaustion. A slow smile spreads across my face. It was a nice change of pace to be with a woman who could keep up. As I lie here reminiscing about last night, my eyes slide to the mini blinds. It’s still dark outside, which means it’s probably around five in the morning. Looks like I slept in.

Not unexpected after the sex machine here laid me on my ass. Best workout I’d had in a long time. Wanting to check my phone and take a leak, I carefully slip out of bed— “When do you leave?” Her voice is sleepscratchy and sexy. I settle back in and drag her close. “I didn’t know you were awake.” She tilts her head up, resting her chin on my chest. “Did I just catch you sneaking out?” The way one eye scrunches up and her mouth quirks at the side makes me think she wouldn’t be pissed if I was, which sucks for some reason. “No, I was going to get my phone to see what time it is and take a piss.” She drops her cheek back to my chest. “TMI.” I chuckle. “You asked.” “Do you always get up this early?” “Yeah, side effect of military life.” She sighs but then pushes up, and I love that she doesn’t take the sheet with her but instead bares her naked body to the room. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she rubs her eyes and then wraps her arms around her shins. Unable to control it, I reach out and run my hand over her back, enjoying the feel of her lean muscles beneath velvet skin. “I had fun last night.” Fuck, that’s a stupid thing to say, but it’s the truth.

She turns to rest her cheek on her knees, her hair a mess around her face, and she smiles. “Me too. You didn’t answer my question, when do you leave?” “I’ll take you back to your car—” “No. I mean when do you go home? When are you leaving Vegas?” “I have to be back at Pendleton by tomorrow night.” I don’t know what I expect, but it’s not the casual and indifferent shrug I get. “Okay.” She pushes off her bed, and I lock myself in place to keep from chasing her as a lion does an antelope and taking her to the floor. “I’ll get dressed and you can bring me to my car.” “Wait.” I throw my legs over the side of the bed with the same lack of modesty and make no attempt to cover my junk. Her eyes rake over me, and hunger flares in their pale brown depths. Yeah, she wants me. “Let’s hang out again. Tonight.” “I work—” “After work. Come to my room at the hotel. We’ll order room service and—” “And?” She cocks one smooth and very naked hip, her small perky breasts shoved out in defiance. “And . . . watch a movie?” Or fuck, ya know . . . your call. A slow smile pulls her lips. “Can we do it

naked?” “Fu—uh . . . I mean, whatever. Yeah, I—” “I’ll be there.” She turns on her heel and disappears into the bathroom. I take a few deep breaths, trying to regain my equilibrium. AJ is different from any girl I’ve met. She’s confident, talented, funny, and just about as sexy as anything I’ve ever seen. She’s not putting any demands on me and seems to want to hang out just as much as I do. Naked is good. I can do naked. She’s like every man’s dream in the flesh. This is going to be great. I’ll be able to see her when I come to town. We’ll hang out, hook up, and then high-five it until next time. Best of everything. Yeah . . . this is going to be great. ~*~

AJ “This could get ugly.” Braeden’s legs are spread wide as he rocks back and forth in side lunges to stretch his massive inner thighs. “Don’t feel like you have to be tough. If you can’t keep up, let me know, and I’ll slow my pace, sugar lips.” I’m doing some stretching of my own, grabbing my laces to open up my quads, and my eye muscles are getting a good workout ogling the man in front

of me. “Has anyone ever accused you of being too confident?” Not that he doesn’t have every right to be. Braeden took me to my car at the hotel early, but I wasn’t ready to say good-bye, so I invited him to go for a run. He changed his clothes and followed me to the park, and it wasn’t until he was walking toward me that I got a good look at what he was wearing. A military green T-shirt hugs his chest and shoulders and is paired with shorts of a similar color that display the powerful width of his thighs. A baseball hat, a worn-out navy blue one with no writing, looks well-loved and forms to his head but hides his eyes. The cap seems to soften his intimidating presence, giving him a boy-like charm that matches his playful grin. “Has anyone ever accused you of pointing out the obvious?” He stands up from his stretch and shakes out his legs. “Is that even a thing?” I unzip my light jacket because, even though it’s still early and there’s a chill in the air, I know the run will warm me up quickly. His gaze is drawn to my chest then drops lower to my stomach and then even lower to my spandex shorts. I tie the sleeves around my waist, and that seems to knock his eyes back up to mine. “You’re not going to wear a shirt?”

“I’m wearing a shirt.” “That’s a bra.” “It’s a sports bra.” He opens his mouth to say something but must change his mind as he slams it shut. “Okay, FloJo, you lead the way.” I start off at a slow jog, and Braeden has no problem keeping pace. Even though I was teasing him earlier, he’s probably right. With his rigorous military training, there’s no doubt he’d be able to smoke me running the mile, but I think he likes when I give him a hard time. The slight tilt of his lips and the hungry look in his eyes tell me my harassing him may very well be a turn-on. His feet are nearly silent on the pavement, which is shocking for his size. We jog until my muscles are warm and loose. “You ready to pick it up?” “Yeah.” He’s not even breathing heavily! “I’m following you.” I don’t dare speak because I need all the oxygen I can keep as I continue to run, but now at a faster pace. I don’t miss the way women stare at Braeden when he passes or the way little kids point him out as if they’re seeing a real-life superhero in the flesh. After the first lap, I pick it up and jog faster. As I always do when I run, I begin to zone out. It’s as if

nothing in the world exists except me and the pavement beneath my feet. The breeze cools my sweat-soaked skin, and if it weren’t for the steady breathing beside me, I’d forget Braeden was even here. With every lap around the park, I pick up the pace and he stays right with me. I don’t doubt that he could easily lap me, but he holds back, staying shoulder-to-shoulder. Right around the five-mile mark, I get winded but refuse to be the first to give up, so rather than him keeping pace with me, I keep pace with him. Another lap. Two more. And finally . . . he slows. “Motherfuck . . .” He’s breathing heavily. “Do you ever quit?” Stopped, he locks his hands behind his head, his shirt soaked in sweat, and breathes. “Never.” I hardly get the word out with the lack of oxygen getting to my head. I’m dizzy, so I drop to the grass, the itchy reeds sticking to my wet skin, as I focus on not throwing up. He paces in front of me, catching his breath, and once he does, he drops to my side. “Shit, woman. You ever consider being a Marine?” He takes off his hat, swipes his forehead with the back of his hand, then pops it back on. “’Cause I know about ten guys you’d smoke on the track.” “Nah . . .” The sky has stopped spinning, so I

push up on my elbows. “Military doesn’t pay enough.” He looks down at me with an amused grin. “Ah . . . so it’s about the money, is it? Not the glory.” Feeling a little exposed, but having no need to lie, I confess, “Is that such a bad thing to want to be rich?” He shrugs. “It’s not like I’m not willing to work my ass off for it. I want to work hard to have nice things.” “Nothing wrong with that.” His big hand lands on my thigh, and he massages my muscle with his thumb. “You cramping up?” “A little.” Thanks to trying to keep up with you. His fingers feel like heaven as they dig deep into my quad, so I lie back and allow him to continue. His hand slides up farther until his knuckles brush between my thighs. I grin. “You’re still coming over tonight, right?” His voice is thicker than it was, and I wish his knees weren’t cocked so I could see if I’m having the effect on him that he’s having on me. “Yes.” “Good.” He checks his industrial-looking watch. “It’s almost ten. You should probably leave if you’re going to eat and shower before work.” I pop up, and he brushes all the dead grass off my back before walking me to my car. “I’ll text you the room number.” He wraps his

arms around my waist, and our sweaty lips meet in the sexiest, slowest, closed-mouth kiss. “Okay.” I breathe against his lips. “I can’t wait.” ~*~

Braeden “Aw fuck, dude, I can’t.” I rack the leg press that Blake loaded with 520lbs. “I’m whipped.” “What do you mean you’re whipped?” He checks the clock on the wall in the UFL Training Center’s gym then glares at me. “We haven’t even been at it for an hour yet.” “My legs are shot.” I step back, grab my water, and take greedy swallows. After this morning’s run that followed last night’s sex-a-thon, I’m fucking spent. He crosses his arms at his chest. “Your legs are shot. Really? The United States Marine Corps is training you guys at the level of an average suit who gets his thirty-minute workouts after he puts in his eight hours behind a desk? Is that what you’re telling me?” I drop down to the bench and rest my elbows on my knees, willing my thighs to stop convulsing. “No, prick, I ran like five miles this morning, and I —” Shit, I don’t want to tell Blake about AJ, at least, not yet. “Didn’t sleep well last night, so my body’s revolting.”

He’s silent, which surprises me. Twelve times out of ten this asshole can’t resist the chance to give me a hard time about whatever assumptions he’s made about my nightlife. In this case, he’d probably be right. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” He clears his throat. “Is everything okay with Dad?” I shrug one shoulder, lean back, and meet his eyes. “Not really. You know the cancer’s back.” “Shit, I thought it might be.” He drops onto the bench next to me. “Mom’s been weird when I ask about him.” “Yeah, he doesn’t want anyone to know. The chemo fucked him up the first time. He doesn’t want to go through it again.” He grunts in acknowledgement but doesn’t give me even a hint of what he’s thinking. I slap my thighs and push up to grab a towel and wipe the sweat off my face. “Any idea how much time he has?” “Six months, a year, three years . . . who knows.” My older brother’s lips turn down. “Hey, don’t worry about Dad. He’s in a good place, man, really. I think . . . I don’t know . . . I think he’s ready. He got a few good years in after treatment, got to see you get married and see Jack grow up a little. Mom’s become a lot more independent; she’s involved in her church and

making friends. If Dad’s ready, we need to let him go.” “Not like the stubborn bastard would give us a choice. He’s done everything on his terms.” “The doctors told us it might come back. Dad always made it clear he wouldn’t fight it if it did.” “True. Just . . . things have been good, ya know? Between us.” “Yeah.” My dad and brother finally patched their fractured relationship. I can see why it would hurt like hell to lose him now that The General is finally acting like a dad rather than a drill sergeant. Blake pulls out his phone and starts stabbing his thick finger to the screen. “You’re coming for dinner tonight, right?” “What time?” He glares at me and his lips pull up on one side. This fucker. “Why, you got plans?” “Maybe.” “So, bring her along.” He goes back to punching out a text. “Nah, bro. We aren’t there yet.” “There where? You two can’t eat a meal together?” “Hey, I know we’ve only known each other for like a day, but how’d you like to come over and meet half my family?” “Good point.” He shoves the phone back into his pocket. “Layla will kick your ass if she doesn’t

get to see you again before you leave tomorrow.” “I can make it over for dinner; just have to be out of there by nine.” “That’s cool.” He stands and moves toward the dumbbells. “Since your weenie legs gave out, let’s get some arms in.” I can only hope our run this morning followed by three shows of flipping and flying will sap AJ of her stamina tonight or else the girl might kill me.

Six AJ “Two down, one to go, people!” Cedric, our stage manager, passes backstage with his headset and iPad. “Stage call in thirty minutes!” I roll my ankles and flex my toes while sitting flat on my ass with my phone in my hand. Still no word from Braeden. Maybe he changed his mind? It’s not that late, and he did mention spending time with his brother, so maybe he just hasn’t had a chance to text me. Don’t freak out yet, AJ. My legs feel warm and strong after today’s run, and I nailed my double tucks in the last show. After a couple of more floor-stretches, I make my way to the bathroom. With a full body suit of spandex covered in crystals, it’s always smart to allow a few extra minutes for pee breaks. “AJ, can you take my bladder with you, empty it, and bring it back?” William, a fellow tumbler, says from his full split stretch on the floor.

“First off, gross. And second . . .” I pity the poor guy. His unitard is similar to mine, but he’s wrapped in yards and yards of fabric that crisscross his private areas. “You’d think they’d at least give you guys a zipper or something.” He frowns, and even with his face covered in the green and brown paint of a wood nymph, he looks beautiful. Not handsome, but pretty. Judging by the lip-locks I’ve seen him in with Tomás, one of the main male fairies, I’d say I’m not the only one who finds William gorgeous. “Help. I gotta pee!” I laugh and then hold out my hand to assist him with standing. “That’s the best I can do. Everything else . . .” I motion to his body. “That’s all you.” “Fine!” “We better hurry or we’re going to miss stage call.” “I knew I shouldn’t have had those few sips of water.” We laugh and scurry to the bathrooms. Even after getting my arm stuck upon reentry, I manage to beat William and get back to my dressing table to check my phone again. Still nothing. I’m acting like some obsessed teenage girl. Shake this off, AJ. I refocus and get my head back into the game. If Braeden texts, great. If not, oh well, I can live through personal disappointment. Professional disappointment would destroy me. ~~~

I jog backstage after a standing ovation for our last performance, and my blood is humming with energy. Something about the roar of a crowd when I close my eyes and bathe in the sound makes me feel superhuman. And I’m only the back up. One day I’ll be the lead in a show, and all that applause will be for me. And, bonus, I’ll have the paycheck that goes along with it. A nice car, gorgeous apartment that overlooks the strip, and a closet overflowing with designer clothes, it’s a future I’ve visualized my entire life, and I’ll stop at nothing to get it. I’m stripping off my bodysuit when I remember Braeden. Once I made the decision to stop checking my phone every chance I got, I practically forgot about him completely, at least momentarily. Picking up the device, I see I have new texts. All of them from him. #273. Shit. I hit send too soon. I’d never be that much of a dick and just send a room number. I’m going to order some porn service. FUCK! NO, not PORN! ROOM SERVICE! And I hit the gdam send button again! This piece of shit porn hates me. I give up. Duck this shit. I hope you had a good

shower and I’ll see you when you get here. Shower. Shower. Mother duck! S H O W ßTHERE!

“Girl, what are you smiling about?” William’s standing behind me in nothing but his flesh-colored thong as he looks over my shoulder. I close out my text screen and smile back at him, making sure to keep my gaze above his chest. I made the mistake my first week here of checking out the performers in their skivvies, and the resulting blush lasted hours. “Just a text from a friend.” He lifts one beautifully sculpted eyebrow. “I’d say from the expression on your face this is more than a friend.” “Maybe.” I shove my phone into my backpack and continue to undress. Thankfully, William doesn’t even notice he’s in the presence of a mostly naked woman. “What are you up to tonight?” “Um . . .” I wonder how much I should share. I don’t know when or if I’ll ever see Braeden again after tonight, and William will bug the crap out of me for more information if I tell him I’m meeting up with a guy. I slide on a pair of Soffes and slip on

a sweatshirt. “Probably just go home. What about y —” “Excuse me.” The deep voice calls our attention to the doorway of my cubicle. “Mr. Monroe.” He nods to William, and I notice he, too, is avoiding everything below the chest. “Would you mind giving Miss Pines and me a moment alone?” “Sure thing, boss.” William scurries out of there, mouthing a quick holy shit to me before disappearing. Thankfully, Mr. Monroe didn’t come by two minutes sooner, or he may have caught me naked. The towering man fills the small space as he crosses to sit on my dressing stool. He’s wearing a sleek blue suit with a lighter blue shirt and tie that all look too clean and perfect to be real. How many suits does this guy own? His gaze slides around, studying the walls before settling on me. I grin, hoping it’s friendly and doesn’t give away how freaked the hell out I really am. “I enjoyed your performance tonight, Adeline.” “I prefer AJ.” I clench my teeth, having corrected him out of habit. He’s my boss, he can call me whatever he wants if it means I get to keep my job. “You’re very talented.” The sharp edge of his voice makes the compliment sound critical rather than heartfelt, but fuck it, I’ll take it.

“Thank you, Mr. Monroe.” “I’ve taken the liberty of getting you next Friday night off so that we can have dinner together.” I would be nervous if this sounded anything like a real date, but the way he says it, just like with the compliment, sounds one-hundred-percent business. So naturally, I’m shitting myself. “Sir, do you mind me asking what this is about?” His cold dark eyes settle on mine. “I do.” “You . . . do?” He stands and crosses the room then shoves his hands into his pockets while looking down at me. “I’ll meet you in the bar at Escalante at seven o’clock. Don’t be late.” With a slight frown and a nod, he leaves. I’m left with my jaw hanging open and fear tickling my veins. Don’t think the worst. He did say he enjoyed my performance. What could he possibly want to have dinner with me for? I suppose going is the only way I’ll find out. ~*~

Braeden With my back to the headboard and the remote firmly in hand, I continue to run through every channel the hotel offers without seeing any of it.

I managed to get out of Blake and Layla’s house with just enough time to get here, brush my teeth, order some room service, and wait. My phone is on the bed next to me, and it hasn’t buzzed once. It’s possible, after I totally fucked up my text messages, she’s thinking I’m some kind of illiterate porn-addicted prick with fat fingers, and she’s standing me up. Which would suck. I’ve been looking forward to seeing her again since the second we said good-bye at the park. The lights from the strip shine in through my second-floor window. It’s the lowest I could get to the ground. I may be a trained Marine, but I’m scared as shit of heights. There’s a soft knock at the door, and I hop up from the bed faster than I’d think I’m capable of. I peek through the peephole and see AJ, her hair pulled back, sweatshirt, and with her head turned and looking down the hallway, I study the gentle curve of her jawline. God, she’s beautiful. “Who is it?” She glares right at me. “Joe.” “Joe who?” “Joe Mama!” I grin. “Mom, I can’t let you in. See. I’ve got a girl coming over, and we planned on spending the

night naked doing all kinds of dirty on this hotel bed, so . . .” Her eyes flare, and I don’t miss the way her lips part to accommodate her breathing. “Come back tomorrow.” That seems to snap her out of it, and her spine stiffens. “Okay. Bye.” She walks away. I laugh and wait for her to come back. My eye frantically searches the small viewfinder, but she’s gone. Hurling the door open, I plan to chase her down and throw her over my shoulder— “Boo!” She jumps out at me. I stumble back with my hand on my chest. “Dead! I’m dead!” She throws her head back, laughing, and then points. “That’s what you get!” “You little shit, you scared me!” “Big tough Marine got scared by little ole me?” She really is little, especially now wearing rubber flip-flops, her toned legs on display in a pair of short cotton shorts that I fully plan to introduce to the floor in a matter of seconds. “Get inside, muffin.” “I thought you’d never ask.” Her hips sway as she passes by me and into the room. “Whoa, this is nice.” I follow her in and close the door. “Thank you. I decorated it myself.”

She walks right to the floor-to-ceiling windows and stares out at the strip. “Not the room, the view.” “You want something to drink? Or eat?” She doesn’t turn around when I motion to the room service cart that has a fruit plate, a turkey sandwich, and in case she’s feeling naughty, a gigantic slice of chocolate cake, all covered in silver domes. “I’m good, thanks.” “Maybe later.” After we work up an appetite. Shut up, Braeden! Don’t make this only about sex. “Yeah, later,” she says absently while still staring out the window. “You act like you’ve never seen the strip before.” Her shoulders hunch up a little and she turns. “Sorry, I just . . . every time I see it like this, it takes my breath away. I can’t believe I live here.” “You talk like Vegas is the Greek Isles. It’s a city in the desert.” “It’s more than that.” She glances back toward the lights. “It’s opportunity.” “If you say so. Are you sore after the workout I gave you?” “Which one?” Touché. “Both.” “No.” I close the distance between us, and when she

sees me advancing, she steps back. “Wait.” I hold my hands up. “Everything okay?” “I need to take a shower.” My lips pull into a wide grin. “I can help you with that.” “I’m really gross, Braeden.” “Call me Brae. And I highly doubt you’re gross.” “I am. I smell and I’m sticky all over and—” “You’re turning me on. Keep talking.” She bursts into laughter and shakes her head. “Alright, if you promise my nastiness won’t turn you off, you’re welcome to join me.” I take the few steps that bring us together. “No way, baby. Your nastiness is exactly what I want.” Hooking her sweatshirt, I pull it up slowly, making sure to brush my fingers along her sides, up her ribcage, and to— “Damn . . . no bra?” “Seemed pointless.” I pull the thick fleece over her head and lose my breath at the sight of her naked torso. It takes all my strength to respect her wishes to shower first with the hard-on of all hard-ons pressing painfully against the zipper of my jeans. I tug her shorts down, and she steps out of them along with her flipflops. “Turn around.” She does so that she’s facing the lights of the city, and I love that she’s not bashful or modest

about her nudity, proudly displaying her naked body rather than shying away from the glass. I carefully unwind the elastic band of her ponytail and watch the long waves tumble over her back. I push my fingers through her hair and press my hips to her ass so she can feel what her naked form does to me. She leans her head back against my shoulder as I rub her scalp with languid strokes. “You like people watching you.” She rubs her ass against me, and I grip her hair tighter, making her fucking purr. “Don’t stop.” I might be pressing my luck, but I’m so fucking curious, so I guide her a few steps forward until the tips of her breasts brush against the cold glass. She arches into my touch and moans so deep I feel it between my legs. “You like that? You like the idea of being seen?” “Yes.” I dip down and suck at the side of her neck, tasting the salt of her sweat as she slides her tits against the window. “You’re so fucking sexy. I want inside you.” “Shower. Then you can have me.” I scoop her into my arms. “Done.” ~~~ I have no fucking clue what time it is, and I refuse to look at the clock, fearing it’s going to announce

it’s time for AJ to leave. And I’m nowhere close to being done with her yet. Sometime after the third orgasm for both of us, we ate every scrap of food available on the roomservice tray. Chocolate cake is good, but it’s better eaten off the smooth skin of a beautiful woman. Covered in sticky sweet stuff, we were forced back into the shower where we made out slowly. Fatigue washed over us, and we decided together we’d grab a quick nap, but with the sky lightening in the distance and judging by the gentle and steady breathing of the woman in my arms, that nap turned into a full night’s sleep. As much as I’d love to roll AJ to her stomach and enter her from behind to wake her up, I know she has a show today and needs her sleep. So, this’ll have to be it for us. Until next time. And there will abso-fucking-lutely be a next time. ~*~

AJ I wake to the feeling of fingertips skating along my bare thigh and smile. Braeden Daniels . . . who knew a man of his size and virility could be a gentle lover? What started

off as purely animalistic turned into something sweet. The way he touched me, his kisses, it was as if it all turned from rushed to slow motion, like he was savoring every second between us. It was perfect. He was perfect. “Good morning.” His lips replace his fingers as he peppers kisses along my skin. “I hate waking you up, but check out is at ten.” “Ten?” I yawn and stretch then roll over to see him showered and dressed sitting at the edge of the bed. I sit up, feeling the sheet fall around my waist and the cool air hitting my naked chest. “What time is it?” He blinks up from my breasts to meet my eyes. “Almost nine.” “Nine? I never sleep in this late!” A grin that reeks of manly pride and satisfaction lights his gorgeous face. “Good to know I’m able to tire you out, muffin.” “Gross.” I yawn. “That has to be the worst pet name ever.” “I like it.” His tongue brushes along his lower lip, reminding me where those lips and that tongue had been on my body last night. I squirm and press my thighs together. His eyes track my movement and he frowns. “Stop that or we’ll never get out of this room.” “Party pooper.” I scoot to the edge of the bed and snag my shorts off the floor. Sliding them up

my legs, I move with my back to Braeden to get my sweatshirt and then pull my hair up in a high ponytail. He hands me a bottle of water, and I recognize it from the mini fridge, one of those fancy brands that probably cost fifteen bucks. The fact that he’d pay such a ridiculous price for water just for me warms my chest. “Thank you.” He nods to the chair. “Have a seat. I need to talk to you.” “Uh-oh, this sounds serious.” I try to infuse humor in my voice when my stomach is tumbling with nerves. This is the part where he tells me he’s married. Or he has a girlfriend, so please don’t text him. Or maybe he’s going to give me a big blow-off speech, which would suck, but it’s not like I don’t have life goals that don’t include hot Marines who— “I’d like us to keep in touch.” I choke on an incoming swallow and wipe water dribbles from my lower lip. “What?” He scowls. “I want to see you again, AJ.” He does? And oh my gosh, what is happening to my face? I’m smiling, big and all teeth and—wow, so is he. “Really?” “Yes.” He leans forward with his elbows to his knees, and the position speaks of such raw power I imagine he’s probably a very successful Marine. “Now, I know you’re busy and my schedule isn’t

exactly relationship friendly, but something easy, with less . . . expectation?” I squint and still can’t stop smiling. “Is that a question?” “I think so.” He chuckles and scratches his jaw. “God, I’m so bad at this. I just want to stay in touch . . . if that’s okay with you.” “Yeah, I’d like that.” “Yeah? Good.” He stands and holds out a hand to pull me to my feet then into his body for a long hug. I nuzzle in, close my eyes, and I could drift off like this, in his arms, against his warm powerful body, and be content forever. “You’re a lot easier than I thought you’d be.” I jerk back and glare up at him. “Excuse me?” He pulls me back in, his laugh vibrating against my cheek, and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “What I meant is I planned on having to convince you.” “Oh.” I wrap my arms around his waist, which is a massive trunk of solid muscle, and squeeze. “Nope. I’m totally on board.” I pull back because the comfort he gives is too addicting, too good to let go of, and we both have lives to live. Separately. “So, I’ll, uh . . . I’ll text you later.” “Cool.” Cool? Ugh. “Please do, I’d like to know you got home okay.” And I’m going to miss you. He snags his military-green duffle bag off the

floor and hooks it over his shoulder. “Feel free to hang here until check out. Take a Jacuzzi bath, order room service, whatever.” “Thanks.” “Okay, well . . .” He jerks his head toward the door. “I’ve got a five-hour drive. I should get goin’.” “Yeah.” He stalls for a few seconds and then closes in on me. Hooking one big hand behind my neck, he pulls me to his lips. “I’m glad I met you, AJ.” And after one solid press of his mouth to mine, he walks away.

Seven AJ “I’m not saying that Dwayne Johnson isn’t a badass. I’m just saying that he’s not trained in real fighting, so yeah, I still think I could kick his ass.” It’s Thursday night, four days after Braeden left town, and true to his word he’s kept in touch. We talk every day after he gets off duty, and his deep baritone voice lights me up with memories every single time. I push the wire to my earbud out of the way to swipe lipstick on my smiling lips. “I think you’re the first person I’ve ever known with zero selfesteem issues.” “With great power comes great responsibility, muffin—” “Would you please stop calling me that?” His answering chuckle rumbles in my ear. “You like it. Don’t lie.” “No, I don’t.” “You’re smiling.” God, he’s right! “Only because it’s so

ridiculous!” “What time do you go on?” “I have fifteen minutes until stage call, but I should probably stretch.” “Good idea. I wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle.” He lowers his voice, and if there weren’t cast members milling about around me, I’d close my eyes and let the sound wash over my body. “I’ll need you in shipshape for my next visit.” “When will that be?” Stupid hormones, I sound like a phone-sex operator. He clears his throat. “I don’t know, but as soon as I do, you’ll be the first person I call.” A few beats of silence pass between us as I consider what it is we’re building here. I’m not opposed to casual sex as it works best with my life plan, but does that mean he’s seeing other people? Would I care if he was? “Break a leg, muf—er . . . AJ.” “I will.” I cringe at my stupid response. “I mean I won’t really . . . and thank you.” “Talk to you tomorrow, babe.” Babe. That word from his mouth does messedup things to my insides. “’Kay, bye.” “Bye.” ~~~ An entire day off, and a Friday at that!

I did laundry, mopped, and vacuumed. The only thing left on my to-do list before my dinner with Mr. Monroe is to shop. With my Emergencies Only credit card in the back pocket of my jeans, I roam through the mall, searching for a good place to buy a formal dress. I’ve never had money, but I’ve studied the rich and famous my entire life. I knew I wanted to be one of them someday, so I made sure to dissect them like a science project: how they talk, where they eat, what they wear. I spot Neiman Marcus and frown. If only I had five grand to spend on a dress . . . I continue down to the far end of the mall to a discount store that sometimes offers designer labels. One day I’ll be able to shop the racks of NM, Grace Kellying it through the place, waving my platinum credit card, but today is not the day. I hit the formal dress rack and sift through fabrics and sequined gowns. I finger through the labels, searching for high-end but hoping to get lucky with couture. “Is there something in particular you’re looking for?” I turn toward the saleslady. She can’t be much older than I am, her dark hair slicked back in a tight bun at the base of her neck. “Yes.” I blow out a long breath, grateful for the help.

“Let’s start with the occasion and go from there.” She smiles sweetly. “I’m Lori, by the way.” “AJ.” Oh, a BCBG red cocktail dress. I pull it off the rack. “My boss is taking me to Escalante for a business dinner tonight.” “Nice choice. Beautiful restaurant, or so I hear.” She leans in. “I can’t afford to eat there.” A relieved grin curls my lips. “So, you see my problem.” “What do you need, just a dress or—?” “Everything.” Her eyes pop wide. “Okay, AJ, let’s have some fun.” Five hours later I’m walking through the hotel casino, headed for Escalante’s bar. My new strappy black Calvin Klein heels—which I got for next to nothing because of a scuff on the toe—even sound expensive on the marble floor. I pass the familiar faces of the hotel’s employees, but none seem to recognize me. Hell, I hardly recognize myself. Lori helped me pick out a form-fitting black Armani dress with a high neckline and cap-sleeves. The zipper had torn away from the fabric, but I managed to fix it at home with a needle and thread while getting it for a quarter of the retail price. It’s conservative enough for a business dinner, but the lace overlay and shorter length add a feminine sexiness to the LBD. With a red clutch and a simple pair of fake diamond studs to round off my look, I

finally feel like I fit in Las Vegas. “Good evening, ma’am.” The maître d’ greets me with a professional and warm smile. “Dining alone?” “No, I’m meeting Mr. Monroe in the bar.” Damn, I even sound rich! “Of course. I’ll show you to a seat.” I mentally pat myself on the back and follow him through the restaurant with dark mahogany walls and dim lighting. Classical music drifts from the speakers, the only other sound being the murmur of voices and the occasional laughter. “Here you are.” The man pulls out a tall-back leather stool and nods to get the bartender’s attention. “Miss . . .?” He looks at me. “Pines.” “Miss Pines is meeting Mr. Monroe. Please make sure she’s taken care of.” The bartender nods, which seems to satisfy the maître d’. He waits for a few silent seconds, and I wonder if I’m expected to tip. “Thank you?” That seems to be enough and he walks away. I order a cranberry juice, and since I’m a good twenty minutes early, I pull out my phone to kill time and check to see if Braeden texted. Getting ready for tonight, I missed his call, and I was so nervous I didn’t realize how much I crave talking to him until now.

I grin when I see I have one new voice message. I press the phone to my ear. “Muffin, it’s me . . .” I tuck my chin and smile to myself. There’s a sound like he’s trying to cover the phone and then a muffled, “Yeah. I told you I’d be right there.” I frown when I zone in on the background noise. “Sorry, I’m at a sports bar, but I didn’t want to miss our call. You’re probably working so . . . I’ll try again tomorrow. Text me when you—fucking prick!” A roar of male laughter. “I gotta run. Talk to you later. You assho—” The message abruptly ends, and I take a sip of my cranberry juice as I consider how different his life sounds from the life I’m currently living: the life of a wealthy woman who is about to eat a meal that will probably cost more than my car payment. I pull up the text box to fire off a quick one. Hey I got your message and—

“Adeline.” I flip my phone over and turn toward my boss, who’s standing to my left, glaring down at the device. “Mr. Monroe.” I slide the thing into my clutch, feeling my cheeks heat with embarrassment, but I can’t figure out exactly why. “You’re early.”

He takes the stool next to mine and nods to the bartender. Must be nice to have so much money that you don’t even have to use words anymore. He turns his intense coffee-colored eyes to mine before his gaze dances down my body to my shoes and then back up. “So are you.” His expression softens slightly, and if I’m not mistaken, I could swear that he smiles, maybe just a little? “You look . . . exquisite.” “Wow.” The beginning of laughter builds in my chest, but at his scowl, I push it down and clear my throat. “Thank you.” The bartender places a frosty martini with a big olive in front of Mr. Monroe. “Thank you.” Ahh, so he does speak to the help. I suck down a few gulps of cranberry juice while he sips his martini. “I assume you’ve had a good week?” He sips again and turns his body to face me. Why would he assume that? “Sure. How ’bout you?” “Good.” More cranberry juice down the hatch. God, this is so awkward. Right when I’m about to ask him what the hell this impromptu dinner is all about, the maître d’ comes to tell us our table is ready. I pull a twenty out of my purse to pay for my drink, but Mr. Monroe catches my hand in his and shakes his head.

Okay. I stuff the cash back into my clutch. “Thanks.” He nods—shocker—then places his hand on my lower back to lead me to our table. I’m not surprised when we’re led to the back of the restaurant into a private dining room complete with its own set of waiters. Mr. Monroe pulls my seat out for me and then takes off his coat, leaving him in a crisp gray shirt and tie. He hands his jacket to the waiter, and my eyes are drawn to his narrow waist and perfectly cut slacks, which were most likely made to his exact measurements. He sits and waiters drape our laps with black napkins. “Adeline, do you favor a particular wine?” “I’m assuming they don’t have Strawberry Hill.” My laugh is cut short by his scowl. “I’ve never heard of it.” He holds up two fingers, and seconds later, a man presents a bottle of red wine with French writing all over the label. A splash is poured, and once Mr. Monroe tastes it, he motions to my glass. I take a sip. “It’s good.” It tastes like winesoaked dirt, but I suppose that means it’s earthy. Once our glasses are filled, the staff disappears, and the room seems to shrink in their absence. And it gets even smaller when my boss scoots back in his chair, crosses his legs and studies me. “Mr. Mon—” “Enough with the Mr. Monroe, Adeline. Call me

Andre.” Andre. I never knew that was his name. I wonder how many people do? “Andre, what is the point of tonight? Have I done something wrong, or . . .?” He tilts his head, and again his lips pull up in a half smile. “I find you fascinating.” “Huh?” His eyebrows pinch together. “I’m sorry.” My palm presses to my chest. “You caught me off guard, but, um . . . is the point of this dinner not to discuss some aspect of my employment?” “Have you never been on a date before, Adeline?” My mind immediately flashes to the last date I was on, sharing a pitcher of beer over a plate of barbeque with Braeden. That was nothing like this. “Of course I have, but you’re my boss.” He casually swirls his wine in the glass. “Not tonight I’m not.” “Not tonight . . .” I trail off as what he’s saying becomes all too clear. “You like me?” This time he laughs! An actual laugh, and when he smiles, he has one dimple on his left cheek that makes him look less like a mobster, which is probably why he rarely does it. Takes away from his edge. “I don’t know yet, but so far?” He doesn’t take

his eyes off mine. “Yes.” Oh man, who turned on the oven in this place? I feel like I’m melting. “I don’t know what to say, Andre. I’m surprised, I guess. I . . .” Would it be rude to shove my napkin between my boobs? My Lord, the sweat! “I don’t typically attract men like you.” “Men like me, you mean successful? Driven? Competitive? Confident? Insanely good-looking?” Gah! There’s that dimple again. No, Braeden is most of those things, and I attracted him; it’s just I’ve never been noticed by someone so . . . “Rich.” “Ah, I see.” He runs his finger along his upper lip, flashing a sleek black watch with diamonds that catch the light. “Does my wealth turn you off, Adeline?” Wealth, a turn off? Never. “It’s intimidating.” I fold my napkin in my lap, avoiding his eyes. “A man like you has surely done your homework. You must know that, despite how I look tonight, I’m not wealthy.” “I don’t mean to intimidate you, and I have no plans to drop to one knee and propose. All I want is a quiet place where we can be ourselves and get to know one another.” I look up at him, and his gaze is settled firmly on my eyes. “That’s all?” “Of course.” He sips his wine and then leans in.

“Dinner. Nothing more.” I hear the unspoken message behind his words. He doesn’t expect sex, thank God. Dinner, I can do. “Okay.” “Good.” He nods to my wine glass. “Now, that’s settled. Please relax and tell me something about you I don’t already know.” I take a calming breath, feeling much better now that all the formalities are out of the way. “I think we should start on something simple, like why in the hell you’ve never heard of Strawberry Hill.”

Eight Braeden “You get your orders?” My roommate Deacon shoves me aside where I’m folding clothes on my bed. “Orders?” I stare at him with my eyes crossed. “Duh. What orders?” “Ha, ha, dipshit.” He drops to his bed with a Sports Illustrated in his hands. “Iraq. Again. We need to find a war at a tropical beach somewhere.” “Six months will go by quick; then you can take a vacation and fuck your way through the Bahamas.” He continues to flip through the magazine, knowing I’m right about his sextra-curricular activities. Deacon was born with the kind of face and body that chicks melt their panties for. He’s got the tall, dark, and fuckable thing going on in spades, and he uses his attributes to dick his way through every city he hits. “Good point. Besides, I’m a better Marine when I’m sexually frustrated.”

Speaking of sexually frustrated . . . I snag my phone. Almost time to call AJ. We couldn’t connect on Friday night, and by the time I was up and no longer hungover on Saturday, I’d missed her call. Now it’s Sunday, and I’m afraid I’ll miss her again if I don’t get in touch with her between shows. I hit her contact and walk outside. The sun is setting, and the salty air blows in off the ocean like a cool slap to the face. I drop down on a nearby bench. “Hello?” “Hey, muff.” “Ew.” She laughs and the sound shoots straight between my legs. “I didn’t think you could make muffin worse, but you did it. Congratulations.” “Thank you. You know it’s become my daily mission to make you laugh.” “Oh, I’m not laughing ’cause it’s funny; I’m laughing because it’s gross.” “A laugh is a laugh; I call that a victory.” “You’re insane.” “I miss you.” A few seconds pass where all I hear is her breathing, and then she says, “I miss you too.” “I had an idea. I’m not crazy about you driving all the way from Vegas to Pendleton alone, but how would you feel about coming out here for a visit? I’ll get us a hotel room, and we can spend my day

off together.” “I would, but I have shows all weekend.” “Shit . . . okay. I wish our schedules lined up better. I never have weekdays off and only a couple of weekends every few months.” “Any plans to come back to Vegas?” “Not yet.” A voice yells something in the background. “Shoot, I’m sorry, but I have to go. Stage call.” “Okay. Break a leg.” “I’ll try!” I hit end and stuff my phone in my pocket. There’s an ache in my chest that I’m becoming all too familiar with. I feel it every time I think too much about AJ, and it’s especially worse after every phone call. Why am I doing this to myself? It’s not like we’re in love. Hell, we spent two nights together. And yeah, she’s an amazing girl, but she lives in a different state. It’s only been a week since I last saw her, and already I feel the distance growing between us. We both have intense work schedules. She’s dedicated to staying in Vegas, and it’s not like I’m leaving the Marines anytime soon, so what the fuck are we putting ourselves through this torture for? Don’t overthink it, Braeden. One day at a time. AJ’s cool as shit.

I’ll see her when I see her. ~*~

AJ I huddle around the group of performers, and Cedric stands on a box in the center of us. William pushes up next to me. “Why are we stage-calling so early?” “No clue. I was hoping you’d know.” “Gather ’round, everyone! I have an announcement to make!” Cedric waits until the entire crew is bunched close around him. “I’m sad to announce that, in two weeks, we’re losing one of our own.” A collective aw fills the room. He goes on to explain how Miranda, one of the silk aerialists, auditioned for a Broadway show and got it so she’ll be leaving. Lucky bitch. Not that she didn’t earn it, she’s incredible at what she does. “No need to worry though. The show here will go on as I’ll be promoting one of our tumblers to take Miranda’s position.” A tumbler to a silk aerialist? What kind of a dumbshit would suggest that jump? “AJ Pines?” “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” William squeals at my side. I’m frozen. “Did he just say my name?”

“AJ, where are you?” Cedric squints into the crowd of performers. William shoves me forward. “She’s here!” He pulls my arm from my side and waves it in the air for me. “Here!” I finally find my voice. “I’m here!” “Come on up!” The group parts so I can stumble through, and Cedric pulls me to stand on the box with him. “So? What do you say? Do you accept the job?” Holy fuck, this can’t be happening. I’d think this was one of the best dreams ever if it weren’t for my pulse pounding in my ears and my shaking hands. I’m nodding frantically before my mouth can even find the words. The crowd erupts in applause. “Alright!” Cedric wraps his arm around my shoulders. “Now, let’s have a great show people!” The performers go to their positions, and I shake myself out of the daze, knowing I have to get my head back in the game. I hop down off the box, but remembering my manners, I turn back toward my stage manager. “Thank you for the opportunity. I won’t let you down.” The good humor melts from his face. “Don’t thank me.” He hops down and passes by me with a shitty expression. “Thank the boss.” Andre got me this promotion?

My excitement is doused in a wave of anger. There are a ton of people more qualified than I am for this position, who does he think he is interfering in my life? Does it matter? You got a promotion! “Five minutes!” Shit. I’ll worry about him later. Right now I have a show to do. ~~~ It’s close to midnight when I’m finally walking out to my car and completely exhausted. Miranda stayed late so she could evaluate me on the silks and determine how much training I would need before she leaves. Her pretty lips pursed every time I attempted one of the more difficult stunts and failed. But I refuse to let my own head be my worst critic. I will master the silks; there is no room for failure. We decided on a training schedule that starts at seven in the morning every single day until I take over her role. I can do this. I know I can. As I weave through the dark parking lot, the sound of slow clapping catches my attention. And there, leaning against my car, looking like some kind of dark angel, is Andre. He pushes up as I get closer. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

I stop a good couple of feet away and stare up at him, trying to sort out the right way to say, “Fuck you!,” without getting fired. He frowns. “You’re not pleased.” “No, Andre, I’m not pleased. It was you who got me that promotion, wasn’t it?” He glares as if it’s a trick question. “Yes.” “Why would you do that?” He steps closer, but I don’t back down. We had a pleasant dinner and discussed personal things like our families and our aspirations, and although I do feel more comfortable around him, he’s still intimidating as fuck. “You told me you wanted a better role in the show. I thought—” “I wanted to earn a better role in the show, not be given it because my boss thinks I have a nice ass.” I suck in breath and cringe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” “I see.” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against my car. I wonder how much that suit costs and if he cares that my car hasn’t been washed in two months. “I appreciate it. I do, but it’s important for me to be deserving of a promotion.” “Who says you’re not deserving, Adeline? Your role is tiny, and yet when you’re on the stage, you command the room.” “I do?” “Yes. I didn’t put you up for the promotion

because you have a fantastic ass. I did it because you deserve it. Miranda is good, but when she’s up there on the silks, all eyes in the room are on you.” My heart is at risk of beating out of my chest, and for some stupid reason, my eyes burn. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” He pushes up and steps in close. “The next couple of weeks are going to be busy, so I suggest you get home and get some sleep.” He moves around me, and the sound of his retreating steps fades behind me. “Andre.” I turn and close the distance between us, and in an awkward move, I press myself to him and wrap my arms around his waist. His body stiffens, but he swings one hand up to my back. “It means a lot that you believe in me.” Then something presses to my head, his chin maybe? “Goodnight, Adeline.” I release him, and he moves swiftly back into the building. ~~~ Ten days into my silk training everything hurts. My mornings are spent working through the routine until my muscles feel like mush, and every afternoon and evening I’m tumbling. Bruce has texted with open bar shifts, and as much as I hate passing up the money, the only time I’m not

working with Eros is when I’m sleeping, if you could call what I do sleeping. When my muscles have finally rested, my mind kicks into overdrive, going over every move, making it impossible to get a second of rest. I never thought I’d hate performing, but I’m on the verge of despising it. “Don’t say that. You’re better than that.” Another thing I’ve started doing is talking to myself. As my lids fall heavily over my burning eyes, I pull my car into an open spot outside my complex. The only thought that motivates me with enough energy to get out is the knowledge that I’ll be in bed soon. I stopped wincing at the tightness in my thighs, back, and arms, having become accustomed to the pain, as I drag myself to the security door of my building. Locked. If I weren’t so tired, I’d laugh. The one time I need an easy entry and the thing is fucking locked. Fishing my keys out of my backpack, I notice the shadowed figure of a man moving toward me. In my weakness, I drop my keys. I crouch down and scramble to pick them up just as I hear his voice. “AJ.” I look up. His face comes into view, and seeing him snaps the last of my strength. “Brae?” My

voice cracks pathetically. His long legs eat up the space between us, and when he steps to my crumpled form on the ground, his smile falls. “What’s wrong?” I open my mouth to tell him, but a hiccupping sob shoots from my lips. “What the fuck?” He squats, and when I catch the worry and concern in his eyes, it only makes me cry harder. He lifts me into his arms, and I bury my face into his neck as tears fall uncontrollably. “I haven’t talked . . . to you in . . . forever.” “We’ve been busy; that’s okay. But, AJ, what the fuck is going on? You look like you haven’t slept in a week.” He reaches for my keys. “Which one is it?” I show him, and he lets us into the building and then takes me to the elevator. I close my eyes and allow him to absorb my weight, which he does like I’m nothing more than a bar of soap. A couple of doors later and we’re in my apartment. He lays me down on the couch and flips on the light. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I choke out the words through coughing tears. He drops down at my hip and faces me, pushing a few strands of loose hair from my face, and he hands me a paper towel. “Thank you.” I sniff and wipe my cheeks.

“What’s going on, muffin?” I don’t have the energy to reprimand him for using that stupid name, maybe because for the first time I love the way it sounds. ~*~

Braeden What. The. Fuck. Last time I saw AJ she looked healthy, happy, and energetic. I come back to surprise her, and she’s lookin’ more like a crackhead—a sexy-asfuck crackhead, but still. Her eyes are bloodshot, her skin pale, and when I picked her up, it was obvious she’d lost weight. I don’t know what has caused this change, but I do know, if there’s a person responsible, I’m going to kill ’em. “Enough with the tears, AJ, talk to me.” She sits up and puts her fingers through her hair. “I’m sorry I haven’t called. I’ve been so busy.” “Is that what this is about? You feeling bad that we haven’t talked in a while?” “No, I mean I do feel bad, but I got promoted —” “You did? That’s great, not that I’m surprised; it was bound to happen eventually.” “Thank you, but . . . my skillset was lacking, and I’ve been training every day for hours and then

doing the show, and I don’t have time to eat or sleep.” The hysteria in her voice comes back. “I just want to do a good job, but I’m so tired, and my head hurts all the time. I can’t”—another sob rips from her throat— “do this. I can’t.” I pull her into my arms, dragging her over my lap and then falling back to get comfortable. “Shhh . . . it’s okay, baby.” Another hiccup as she soaks my shirt with tears. “You’re exhausted, AJ. The body can only handle so much.” “I know, but I can’t fail.” “You won’t, but you need to be mindful of your health. Shh . . .” I run my hand up and down her bare thigh, loving the feel of her smooth skin, but not digging the way her muscles jump and shake with fatigue. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” “Sleep.” “No, you’re here, and I missed you. I want to —” She yawns so hard her jaw pops. “Spend time with you.” “I’ll be here when you wake up.” “You will?” There’s no place else I’d rather be. “I promise.” ~~~ I’m cleaning the last of the dishes when AJ comes stumbling out of her room. She’s still wearing the

shorts and shirt she came home in last night. I did take off her shoes for her, but other than putting her in bed, I didn’t touch her. I wanted to. But I didn’t. The only other time I’ve seen a person have a complete emotional breakdown because of physical fatigue was in boot camp, and those were grown ass men, not a tiny female who has been at it for days straight. She blinks at me with tired eyes. “Good morning.” I set a plate on the drying rack. “Sleep okay?” “My face hurts.” She rubs her cheek with her fingertips. “Yeah, that’s probably because you slept on it.” “Oh, wow.” She covers her face with two hands and groans into her palms. “That had to be so attractive.” “It was.” I hang the wet dishtowel over the lip of the sink. “So was the snoring.” “Stop it! I’m so embarrassed.” “Don’t be.” I pull her in close and love the way she collapses against me. “You needed a good cry and a good night’s sleep followed by a good meal.” Her arms come around my waist and she moans. “I’m so hungry. I think I have something in the fridge I can whip together for us.” “Nope. I got you covered.”

I grab her hand and lead her to the refrigerator, then open it and motion to the fifty different Tupperware containers. “What is all that?” “That is called meal prep.” She peers up at me, slides her gaze to the stacks of clean dishes, then back to the fridge. “You cooked all that?” “Don’t sound so surprised, jeez. Yes, while you were playing Sleeping Beauty, I hit up the grocery store and whipped this up for you. The top shelf is breakfast, middle is lunch, bottom is dinner, and your drawers are snacks. All high protein, healthy carb, and a ton of green shit.” “Brae, I can’t believe . . .” “I know how bad you want to succeed, AJ, but you won’t get there without a little help. Take care of that body, baby, and it’ll take care of you.” She swallows hard and continues to stare at the food. “I don’t know what to say.” I shut the door, and finally she looks up at me. “Nothing to say. I’m happy to help.” A palpable heat expands between us, and fuck, I want inside her so badly, but she still looks tired and malnourished, so I clear my throat. “I need to swing by my brother’s house and then head back to base.” “What? Why so soon?” “I took advantage of an early shift yesterday

and a late shift tonight. I had to see you.” She rubs her forehead. “And I totally ruined it. I’m so sorry. Do you have to leave right now?” “No, I can squeeze in breakfast, but then I really have to get going. I’ll have to haul ass to get there on time, and if I’m late, my CO will feed me my balls.” “Sounds . . . painful.” She cracks a tiny smile, and it hits me right in the chest. “Sit down. I’ll cook.” “I’m not hungry anymore.” The sultry sound of her sleep-heavy voice drains my brain of blood as it all pools in one place. “AJ . . .” She lifts an eyebrow and seems to slide across the linoleum floor toward me where she gets close enough to shove both her hands in my back pockets. “I’ll make it fast.” She squeezes two little fists full of my ass, driving my hips forward. “I . . .” What was I going to say? There was something on the tip of my tongue, but now all that’s there is the taste for her. “Maybe I could skip out on seeing my brother.” I fork my fingers through her hair and nip at her chin, making her moan. “He’s probably not home anyway.” She releases my ass and pushes her hands up the back of my shirt, raking her nails up either side of my spine. “I’ve missed you.” Her soft lips press against mine before she takes my lower lip in her

mouth and sucks it deep. The sting triggers a response. I scoop her up by her ass, and she wraps her muscular legs around my hips. Our mouths meld together in a hot, wet frenzy as I walk her back to plant her ass on the kitchen counter. She rips her mouth from mine. “Wait! Shower.” She dives back into my mouth and locks her heels at my lower back. “Do I look like a pack mule?” I say against her lips. Shoving her hand between us, she palms me over my jeans. My head falls back on a moan. “Hurry, we don’t have much time.” “Yes, ma’am.” I tug her close, wedging her arm between us. She giggles as I stumble through the house with AJ riding my body like a fucking carnival ride. I’m vibrating with need by the time I shove us both into the tiny bathroom. I reach behind me to unhook her ankles. “I know you want it quick, but at this rate, you’re fixin’ to finish me off.” I have about sixty seconds as she finally takes her hand off me, and I turn my back to turn on the shower water while she strips. She steps under the spray, and I toss my shirt, jeans, and boxer-briefs on the closed toilet before joining her. My eyes devour her delicate form sleek with water and soap bubbles. Her hair is wet and slicked

back from her face as water clumps her dark eyelashes. “You’re so beautiful.” She gets close, her bare breasts brushing against my ribs, and she runs her sudsy hands up my chest and over my shoulders. “So are you.” I cup her jaw and lean in to kiss the water from her lips. Her touch moves down my biceps to my waist, my hips, and then her soaped-up hands wrap around to my ass. I could spend weeks with AJ like this, learning every square inch of her body as she explores mine, getting lost in the sweet seduction of her kiss, the flavor of her mouth flooding mine and leaving me lust drunk. However, there’s a clock ticking in the back of my mind, a countdown that can’t be ignored. “I hate that I have to leave.” My hands slide easily across her skin to cup her breasts, and I run my thumb along the pebbled tips until she hums. “Let me take you to bed, AJ.” Her head falls back into the spray, sending a river of bubbles between her breasts, past her belly button to dip between her thighs—the exact path I plan to take with my tongue. Flipping our positions, I rinse off the soap before turning off the water. Not bothering with towels, I scoop her, dripping wet, into my arms and carry her to the bed. When I lay her down, she doesn’t seem to mind the wet mess as her eyes stay hungry and on me.

Reaching into my bag, I pull out a condom and rip it open. “This is gonna be quick.” I roll it on and growl when she licks her lips. “But I’ll make it good for you, muffin.” She doesn’t scrunch up her nose at my pet name this time. Instead, she opens her thighs and reaches for me. “I know you will. You always do.” There’s a hint of her southern accent, and I take her hand and allow her to pull me down to be swallowed up in her embrace. Slick and worked up from the shower, I sink inside her easily. I pull back, my elbows braced on either side of her. I watch her face and use my thumbs to tilt her chin up as I move oh so slowly. Her eyelids fall closed. “Open ’em, AJ.” She blinks up at me but only gets her lids to stay at half-mast as I love her body with mine. “I’m glad you’re here.” “Me too.” She bites her lip and shifts her hips. “Easy . . . we’re in a hurry, but we’re not in that much of a hurry.” “I can’t help it.” It takes everything in me to keep up the leisurely pace, and before too long, I’ve hit my limit. Every muscle in my thighs coils tight. My abs go to steel beneath my skin as I power my hips forward. Knowing how thin the walls are, I drop my lips to hers and we grunt and moan into each other’s

mouths before the overwhelming release finds us and we collapse, wet and spent together. I wait for the stars to recede from my vision before I roll away from her to ditch the condom. “That was so much better than breakfast.” Smiling, I glance over my shoulder to see her naked on her side and staring at my ass. “Can’t argue that.” I dip into the bathroom to pull on my jeans, forgoing my boxer-briefs to give my junk some room. I don’t know what it is about AJ, probably the fact that she’s hot as shit, but even right after I orgasm, I’m still swollen. I’m pulling on my shirt when I come back into her room. “Promise me you’ll eat breakfast, muffin.” She sighs but nods. “I promise. I can’t believe you made me all that food.” Sitting on the bed next to her, I push wet tangles of her hair off her face and pull the comforter up over her. “Leaving like this makes me feel like the biggest asshole on the face of the planet.” She snuggles deeper into her pillow, grinning. “Then stay.” “If I could, I would.” I check the time on her clock. “As it is, I’m going to have to hall balls to make my shift.” She pushes up to sit and wraps her arms around my neck. Her wet hair is cold against me, and when I hug her back, there are goosebumps on her skin. “Okay, I’ll let you go then.”

“You need to get dry.” When she drops back to the bed, I cover her again, partly to keep her warm, partly because seeing her naked body will make it impossible for me to go. “I’ll call you tonight.” She yawns. “Okay.” I press a kiss to her head, grab my bag, and lock the door behind me before stepping out of her apartment. As I make my way to my car, I feel cheated to have had less than an hour with her, but then again, any time with AJ never feels like enough.

Nine AJ Breathe . . . I can’t do this. “Whoa, check out the new digs!” William comes sliding into my dressing room with a huge grin cutting through his face paint. “Movin’ on up like George and Weesie.” The room is four times the size of my dressing cubicle. I even have a couch, but I can’t relax enough to enjoy it. I press my palm to my stomach. “Ohhh, we need to warn the first five rows that they’re in the splash zone.” “Gross. And, please, I watched your rehearsal yesterday and you were flawless.” He flops down on the couch in his full-suit-leotard with his legs spread wide. “A girl could get used to this.” I pace the room, shaking out the numbness I feel in my hands. “I don’t know, Will. I’ve never been this nervous before.” “Channel all that nervous energy into your

performance. You know the routines; your muscles have them memorized. All you have to do is not fuck up.” I chew my thumbnail, nodding. “I’ll tell you one thing: that costume looks smokin’ on you. Miranda didn’t have the muscle tone you have.” He eyes my crotch. “I hope you shaved. Not leaving much to the imagination with that strip of fabric.” “Shut up.” It’s not a strip. It’s full-body, but it’s sheer everywhere except for my chest and between my legs where there’s a sprinkling of strategically placed crystals. The thing must cost a fortune, and I have six custom-fitted in my dressing closet. Again, something I could appreciate if I weren’t on the verge of passing out. There’s a knock on the door. Will flicks his fingers like a king and yells, “Come in!” A man walks in, but I can’t see his face because in his hands is the hugest bouquet of hot pink roses. “Whoa.” “Special delivery.” It’s Cedric’s voice that comes from behind the bush of extravagant flowers. He sets them down on my vanity and then sends me a look that I can’t decipher, but I wouldn’t say it’s pleasant. Maybe because he’s been subjected to being my delivery boy? “For you.” He eyes Will then turns to the door. “Stage

call in ten.” After the door shuts, I scurry to the bouquet, looking for something that will explain who they’re from. “There’s got to be four dozen there.” Will’s at my side counting each bud while I search for—ah ha! A card. I pluck it from its binding and open it with my heart hammering in my chest. I’ve only spoken with Braeden a few times in the last week since he showed up at my apartment. He was a godsend too because eating better and making sure I get in at least five hours sleep made a world of difference in my training. I slide out the simple white card, and my stomach plummets. Fly high, Adeline. -A

Andre. With a smile that feels more sad than happy, I drop the card on the dressing table. Will snags it. “Who is A?” “No one important.” The second the words fall from my lips I instantly regret them. It’s not that the man isn’t important; he’s just not Braeden. “No one important? AJ, this is like, I don’t know, two-hundred dollars in flowers!” When I don’t respond, he shakes his head in

disappointment. “Wow, well he may not be important to you, but you certainly mean something to him.” He tosses the card back on the table. “If you’re not interested, send him my way.” He wags his eyebrows. “I’d never turn away a sugar daddy.” Laughter bubbles up in my chest and along with it a lightening of my mood. “We should probably head out.” “Yeah, let’s go.” He turns away and I follow, but at the last second, it hits me to check my phone. I mentioned days ago that tonight was going to be my first performance on the silks, but I wouldn’t expect someone as busy as Braeden to remember. After all, it’s not like we’re a couple, but it’s because of him I made it this far. I want to celebrate this milestone with him. “I’ll be out in a minute. I forgot something.” Will heads out, and I dig through my backpack and pull out my phone. I have two new texts. My heart gallops in my chest. Hey muff, I don’t know if you’ll get this before you go on tonight, but I wanted to let you know I’m thinking about you. A great man once said that if you work hard enough even failure is success. That great man is me and I know there’s no way you won’t succeed. It’s not in your DNA. Push hard, go strong, and kick ass.

Oh, and call me when you’re done. I’ll be waiting to hear you tell me I’m right.

I fire off a quick text and then shove my phone into my backpack. With one final check in the mirror, I take a deep breath. “Push hard, go strong, kick ass.” I got this. ~~~ What a rush! As the crowd roars in a standing ovation, I bow for what feels like the millionth time. I nailed all my routines. Nerves wreaked havoc on my gut until I got my hands on those silks, and once I did, the world disappeared. It was just me and the music. I had an out-of-body experience as my muscles moved and responded to every cue and I could relax and really fall into the emotion of my performance. I bent and arched and rolled with a fluidity I’d never felt in rehearsals. It was like every dream I’ve ever had and so much more. With the final bow, the stage lights dim and the house lights come up. I’m floating on a cloud of Ican’t-fucking-believe-it as I make my way to my dressing room. “AJ, you were amazing!” “Fantastic job!” “We need to celebrate!”

“Drinks!” My fellow performers pat me on the back as I weave through them to my dressing room. Pushing inside, I shut the door and lean my forehead against it, needing a moment to rein in the tornado of emotions to avoid bursting into tears. “I did it,” I whisper to myself. “I really did it!” “Did you doubt you would?” I whirl around so fast it makes me dizzy. Andre’s sitting on my couch, one arm stretched across the back, long legs crossed at the knee, and his tall body in another stunning dark suit. He tilts his head, those dark eyes taking me in from top to bottom. “Andre, what are you doing in here?” And did anyone see him come in? The last thing I need is for rumors to spread about us—not that there is an us —but being behind a closed door in my dressing room with my boss is sure to send the wrong message. He stands with all the confidence and strength of a man who is used to being in charge. “I came to congratulate you. Your performance was breathtaking.” I couldn’t fight the smile that pulls at my lips if I’d tried. “Thank you. Oh, and thank you for the flowers. They’re”—I look over at the botanical monstrosity— “beautiful. I don’t think they’ll fit in my car.” I laugh uncomfortably.

“Tonight . . .” He crosses to me until there’s less than a foot of space between us and I have to tilt my head back to see his face. “We celebrate.” We? “Oh, that’s um . . .” I move around him to pull out a change of clothes. “That’s sweet of you, but I’ve already made plans to celebrate with the cast.” Not exactly true, but I will now. I’m not opposed to having Andre join us, but I get the feeling that his plans involve just the two of us. “Besides, I’m sure anything you have planned is going to require something nicer than the clothes I have to change into so . . .” My fingers brush a garment bag hanging in the closet. “What is—?” “It’s for you.” His voice is closer, right over my shoulder. “A gift.” I run the edge of the bag between my fingers, and it even feels expensive. “Andre, you didn’t have to—” “Open it.” His breath is warm against the skin on the back of my neck. I slide the zipper down to reveal a slinky silk dress the color of blood with a plunging neckline and spaghetti straps. “It’s . . . Andre, this is too much.” “I got your measurements from the costume designer here and had it tailored to fit.” “It’s so beautiful.” Too beautiful. I’m afraid to touch it, but I can tell by the way it catches the light that it would feel like heaven against my skin.

“But I can’t accept this.” “Of course you can.” He reaches over me, and I’m swallowed in the heady scent of his cologne. He even smells like money. Slipping the straps off the hanger, he offers it to me. My fingers itch to take it, but I get the feeling that by accepting his gift I’m agreeing to something more, something I don’t want. “What does it mean?” I whisper. “It’s only a gift, Adeline.” “An expensive gift.” He sighs hard enough to move the small hairs at my nape with his breath. “Is my spending money on you going to be a problem?” Money. Luxury. Never having to worry about where the next meal will come from. Everything I’m working so hard to achieve he now offers me on one powerful finger. “All good things come at a cost.” I turn around to face him, and because he’s so close, my breasts nearly brush against his chest. Eyeing the gorgeous silk, I whisper, “What will be mine?” The side of his mouth tips up, flashing the shadow of his singular dimple. “You’re very bright.” He grips my hand and drapes the dress across my arm. “Time. That’s all I want.” “You don’t have to buy me expensive gifts for my time.” He finally steps back, giving me some space.

“No, I suppose I don’t have to, but I want to.” He nods toward the dress. “Get changed. I’ll have someone waiting outside to bring you up.” It isn’t until he’s out the door that his words register. Bring me up? I suppose one drink wouldn’t hurt. I hold the dress in front of me and check out my reflection in the full-length mirror. “What am I getting myself into?” ~*~

Braeden “How many more times are you going to molest that phone?” Deacon eyes me and curls his lip. “It’s fucking indecent.” I had a feeling I’d get caught eventually. I haven’t been able to stop flipping my phone in my hand and checking for missed calls. The words from AJ’s last text keep ringing through my head. Where have you been all my life? And please, tell me you’ll stay. Thank you for your encouragement. You have no idea how badly I needed it. I’ll call ltr.

The first two hours after I got AJ’s text I wasn’t able to keep myself from re-reading it. I’ve been

expecting her call. It should’ve come through over an hour ago, but I’ve heard nothing. “Sorry, man.” I study my cards and throw down a ten of clubs. “This your Vegas chick?” Deek tosses a card down. “What’s up with you two?” I can’t fucking focus, so I fold my hand and rub my eyes. “No clue. I dig hanging out with her, but we hardly know each other. Our lives are so different, but she’s cool as shit.” “So what? You’re friends with benefits, but not exclusive.” The way he says it makes it sound so cheap. I clench my teeth at the idea of AJ with another guy, but I can’t deny Deacon’s assessment. “Guess so.” What will I do, tie her down to a man she’ll only get to see a few times a year? Besides, I’ve only hung out with her a handful of times. She could turn out to be a complete psycho; although I doubt it, but you never know. “Good, because I’m meeting up with some girls at O’Malley’s, and you’re coming with me.” He pushes back from his seat and grabs a beer from the fridge. “Right now?” “What do you mean right now? It’s ten o’clock on a Friday night. Hooper, Mack, and Swiz just got off duty; they’re meeting us there.” I shoot the dude a glare. “Sounds like an orgy,

and FYI, I’m not falling for it. Not after the last one.” “That wasn’t an orgy, dick breath.” He points at me with his beer bottle. “That was a backyard barbeque.” “Call it what you will. I say orgy.” “Skinny dipping is not an orgy.” “When there’s thirty people in the pool, it sure as fuck is.” He squints one eye. “Actually, no, it’s not.” “You’re desensitized to it, but I know what I experienced was far from innocent.” “Don’t be pissed because you were so drunk you hooked up with a grandmother.” I point at his face. “She was hot!” “Whatever.” He drains his beer and burps. “You’re driving.” I check my phone again. Nothing. “Alright, I’ll drive, but I’m not playing wingman.” Staying busy at the pool table should keep me from obsessing about hearing from AJ though. ~*~

AJ It’s well after midnight by the time I’m finally on my way home. My backpack in the passenger seat

of my ’94 Saturn with a tire that always wobbles and the AC that never works right, I stare between the vehicle and myself. Nothing about me feels like it belongs. From the most expensive couture silk that drapes my body to the sweet champagne that still flavors my lips, I am a living contradiction. And yet, I feel, in a way, transcended. Like I’ve finally burst free from the impoverished bubble of my past to live the life I knew I was made for. Dressed like the rich and famous, I was escorted to Andre’s penthouse on top of the building through a private elevator used only for him and the celebrities who stay in the hotel. He met me at the door and gave me a tour of the expansive modern space, all while classical music fell from hidden speakers. There was food waiting for us on the terrace by a warm fire and lemon mousse that I could’ve bathed in, it was so delicious. Besides Andre’s flirtatious compliments, he was a perfect gentleman, and after some time passed, he loosened up the neck of his shirt and flashed that dimpled smile. He is the kind of man I dreamed of dating before ... Before Braeden. I’ve never considered myself to be a silly girl, but as I sit staring out the window into the dark

employee lot, I think that’s exactly what I’m being. I am holding myself back from Andre for a man who will most likely fade from my life in time. With our conflicting schedules, Braeden and I will become too much work for the other. We’d be lucky to see each other a few weekends a year, and that’s not conducive to building a strong relationship. He told me he didn’t do promises, that he was married to the military. So why do I insist on hanging on? Andre . . . he’s settled. I learned he’s thirty-two, old enough to know what he wants, and done with the games. He’d mentioned a couple of serious relationships, but nothing lasting, and implied he’s ready to settle into something more permanent. With him, I’d be able to chase my dream for the love of what I do rather than the goal of being wealthy. The thought makes my heart revolt. I grab my phone, hit a contact, and press it to my ear. “’Lo?” I can hear music and voices in the background. “Braeden, hey—” “Hello?” “It’s me. AJ.” “Who?” I close my eyes. “AJ?” “Hold on.”

There’s muffled voices and then a fierce “Dick!” followed by “Muffin?” Who thought that word would send my heart reeling. “Yeah.” “Hey, sorry about Deacon. He snagged my phone. Hold on, okay?” I nod, unable to speak through the emotion swelling in my chest. “AJ?” “Yeah, I’m here.” “Good. Hold one sec.” The raucous background noise fades. “Okay, that’s better. It’s loud as fuck in there. Hey, how was your first show?” There’s so much concern and tenderness in his voice that out of nowhere tears spring to my eyes. “It was better than I ever could’ve imagined.” “I knew it would be. I’m so proud of you, babe. You worked so hard.” “I did.” I sniff and rub at my eye. “But I can’t take all the credit. If it weren’t for your help, I would’ve burned out. Thank you for that.” “Nah . . . that was all you.” He clears his throat. “So, uh . . . did you go out after the show?” “Yes. I . . .” I lick my lips. “My boss actually took me to dinner to celebrate.” I’m met with silence. “Yeah, he, uh . . . I guess he’s the one who put me up for the promotion after seeing me perform,

so he treated me to a meal.” And a dress and shoes, but I’ll keep that to myself. “See. I’m not the only one who believes in you.” He sounds so quiet, is he . . . hurt? “When can I see you?” “It’s busy over here, but I’ll do my best to make it down when I can.” I sniff again. “Okay.” “Get some sleep. You’ll need it if you plan on becoming the next Las Vegas superstar.” “I’ll text you tomorrow.” “Yeah.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “Bye, AJ.” The line goes dead. And somewhere deep inside so do I.

Ten Braeden I’m throwing a weekend’s worth of shit into a bag when Deacon slaps my back. “Good. You’re packing. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.” I grin and shake my head. “I already told you I’m not going to Ensenada with you guys.” “Daniels, don’t be a dumbshit. In a couple of days, we’ll be desert-bound, no pussy for six months. Don’t waste your time barking up the same ole tree. Come with us and spend the next fortyeight hours gloriously drunk and thoroughly fucked.” I zip up my bag and grab my phone, keys, and wallet. “As dirty and, frankly, unsanitary as all that sounds, you guys go ahead. I’m perfectly fine with my same ole tree.” “Brae.” His expression is serious, something I rarely see on Deek. “She never returns your calls, says she’s always too busy—” “She is busy.” “So are you, but you find the time to keep in

touch.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m just sayin’ maybe she’s not feeling the same thing, ya know? I’d hate to see you waste our last few days before deployment being fucked over by some girl.” I clap him on the shoulder. “I appreciate your concern, but you’ve never met her. You know next to nothing about her, so trust me that I know what I’m doing, okay?” “Fine, but if she blows you off and you’re stuck in the sand trap for six months with a perma-boner, that’s on you.” “Ten-four.” I salute him and storm out, eager as shit to get to Vegas. ~~~ I pulled into Las Vegas just after three, and I know AJ has shows until nine, so I dropped by my brother’s house. I didn’t bother getting a hotel room because I plan on spending my nights between AJ’s thighs and under her sheets. Blake and I are flopped on the couch, shooting the shit while he gives Jack a guitar lesson. “Layla and I are going over to see The General next weekend.” My brother adjusts Jack’s fingers on the mini guitar’s fret and whispers, “This is E minor.” Jack strums it lightly, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth as he focuses.

“That’s great. Mom’ll love to see JD.” I rub my nephew’s fluffy blond hair, but the touch doesn’t deter his focus as he keeps playing. “Bring some life into that old house. Every time I go over there, it’s so depressing.” “You plan on seeing Dad before you deploy?” “I’ll be there for dinner Monday night, leave first thing Tuesday.” Blake makes another adjustment to Jack’s fingers and says, “C major.” He drops back and looks at me. “You think he’ll last? Ya know, until you get back?” I nod. “He’s alright. You’ll see. I don’t think he’s going anywhere anytime soon.” “Good.” He runs a hand over his cropped hair. “Wish I could say I’m stoked you’re deploying because I know how much you love what you do, but I’m not.” There’s really nothing to say to that. I do love being a Marine. I love combat, the thrill, the victory, and more than anything, I love putting my training to use to protect innocent lives. Layla pushes through the sliding glass door, wearing a bright pink string bikini, her blond hair piled on top of her head, and a pair of dark sunglasses on. Damn, the woman is in her forties, but her body doesn’t look a day over twenty-five. She’s tan and tight and round and soft in all the right places—there’s a sharp sting on the side of my

head. I rub my temple. “Ow, you fu—” Jack’s gaze darts to mine. “—unny funbag.” My brother’s eyebrows pop up. “Oh, I’m a funny funbag? You were just eyeball-funbagging my wife right in front of your nephew.” “Boys—” “Hey, it’s not my fault your wife is funbaggable!” I motion to her. “Look at her!” “I know what she looks like. I get to funbag her. You need to keep your thoughts to yourself.” “I did keep my thoughts to myself until you temple-funbagged me!” “Guys!” We both jerk our eyes to Layla, who’s barely restraining her laughter. “Brae, I love you. Thank you for the compliment. Blake, he’s going to war, baby. Be nice.” She moves to her husband and drops into his lap. She’s so tiny compared to him. When he pulls her close, her feet come off the floor, and his hands circle her waist. I imagine what it would be like to have AJ like that, in my house, walking around in her bikini with our kid playing happily with his toys. But yeah, I know nothing of loving relationships. I was born and bred to be a Marine, and the only example of a loving husband I had was anything but. Blake

manages to at least act like he knows what he’s doing, but he was out of our house at fifteen, so, fuck, he got off easy. “Brae, promise me you’ll take care of yourself?” My sister-in-law is leaning into her husband, but the concern shining in her eyes speaks of how much she loves me. “Aw, girl. You know nothing can touch me.” “Just get your ass home safe, yeah?” Blake’s giving me that big-brother look, the one that says do as I say or I’ll kill you. “Sure thing, bro.” Out of nowhere, Jack crawls up into my lap and throws his little arms around my neck. “Don’t get killed, Uncle Brae.” Layla gasps. I hug my nephew. “Dude, never. I’ll always come back to you.” ~~~ After one of Layla’s gut-splitting meals, I’m leaning against a wall at the Kairos Hotel and Casino with a serious case of déjà vu. My hands shoved in my pockets, legs crossed at the ankles, I’m having a staring contest with the security guard standing at the double doors of the cast entrance to the amphitheater. “You sure she’s expecting you?” His eyes communicate a shit-ton of I don’t believe you, but

too bad. I’m not going anywhere. “I’m her husband, man. Of course she’s expecting me.” The doors push open, and a group of performers head out, but after a quick perusal, I see none of them are her. Another group exits, and if this time is anything like the last, I know she’ll come out alone and probably after the others. People file out in pairs until the doors burst wide open and a dozen plus performers push through. They’re energy is contagious as they laugh and talk loudly about what I assume was a successful show. I keep my eyes on the door, only giving them a cursory once-over when my sights settle on a head of cascading chestnut hair. The same chestnut hair I’ve had my fists buried in and felt splayed across my chest. A girl next to her turns to AJ and says something that makes her laugh so hard she throws her head back. Is it possible she’s gotten even more beautiful since the last time I saw her? “AJ.” She slams to a halt, her head whips around, and those gorgeous hazel eyes zero in. Right. On. Me. We’re stuck, suspended as our gazes tangle together, and her smile falls along with her eyebrows. “Braeden.”

I don’t hear her say my name, but I read her lips and smile. My grin acts as a take-off button, and she bolts out of the group and bounds toward me. I brace just a second before she launches herself into my arms. She wraps her arms around my neck, and I bury my face in her throat while gripping her thighs, which have circled my hips. “Muffin, I missed you.” She takes in a shaky breath and squeezes me tighter. “I missed you too. I can’t believe you’re here.” “Couldn’t stay away.” I nuzzle her skin, breathing in the delicate jasmine scent that I’ve come to associate with her. “AJ, you coming?” A man’s voice calls to her, and my skin pricks at the sound, but when I look up and see a fit little dude wearing pink leggings and a sparkly shirt, my irritation dissolves. “No, Will.” She doesn’t take her eyes off me as she speaks to the guy. “You guys go without me.” He chuckles and then turns to catch up with the other performers. “You didn’t have to ditch your friends for me.” I squeeze her thighs. “But I’m glad you did.” “When did you get here? How long have you been waiting? If you’d told me you were coming, I wouldn’t have hung out back there so long.” She releases her legs from my waist, and I slide her to

her feet. I walk us back until her butt hits the wall and cup her face. “I knew you had a show, so I didn’t want to bother you, or I would’ve texted.” I brush my lips along hers and swallow the soft puff of her breath. “I wasn’t sure if I could make it down tonight or tomorrow until about an hour before I left.” “I can’t believe you’re here.” She presses her mouth to mine, and our tongues meet in a tentative stroke. “We gotta get out of here before we do something we could get arrested for.” She giggles so fucking sweetly, and I take her hand to guide her down the corridor toward the casino. “Are you staying here?” My feet freeze and she looks up at me. “I can, but . . .” When I tell her I’d planned to stay with her, she could very well tell me to go screw myself. I didn’t consider that she’d reject me. “I hoped I could stay with you.” Her eyes light with an emotion I’m hoping is excitement and not panic. “Really?” “Only if you’re okay with it.” She pushes in and wraps one arm around my back. “I’m so okay with it.” I mouth, Thank, God. “I’ll walk you to your car and then meet you at your place.”

She squeezes me to her. “How long do I get you for?” “I have to leave day after tomorrow.” “I get you for two whole nights?” “Nope. I get you for two whole nights.” ~*~

AJ You know how you don’t realize how lucky you are to have something until you don’t have it for a while and then you get it back? That’s me. I went so long without seeing Braeden and only talking to him once or twice a week that I’d forgotten how much I crave him. And not just physically. I’ve missed his smile, his stupid jokes, the way he looks at me as if I’m the only girl in existence. I’ve missed the way he asks about my life and genuinely listens as I talk about the most minor details. I’ve missed the way his thumb rubs across my knuckles when we hold hands as if he’s programmed to constantly soothe me. The spicy scent of his cologne, the rough stubble on his cheeks, the spark in his eyes as he watches me talk, there isn’t a thing on this man that doesn’t turn my insides to Jell-O. I pull up to my apartment complex and grab my

bag. Brae asked me to wait for him in the car so he could walk me up. Always so protective. I kill time by checking my phone and notice I have a missed call from my parents. I’d call them back, but I know that’s going to be a long conversation, and I don’t want to cut into the limited time I have with Braeden, so I put it on my mental to-do list for tomorrow. I have a couple of new text messages, the first from William. You’ve been holding out on me! Who’s the man candy? I want full deets in the AM.

The next message is from Andre. Don’t make plans for Sunday. I have something I want to show you. A.

My stomach twists with nerves. Braeden will be here Sunday, or at least Sunday morning. Without giving too much away, I text back what time? He doesn’t respond right away, but then again, he never does. I check my email and play a couple of games of Fruit Ninja when the growl of a high-performance engine sounds from outside. The smile that pulls at my mouth can’t be called anything other than

embarrassing as I glance over and see Braeden parking. I hop out, all too eager to be back in his arms, and he pulls his army-green duffle from his trunk before slamming it and arming the alarm. The moment our eyes meet, the magnetic pull that always manages to tether us engages again. He walks toward me with the kind of elegance a man his size shouldn’t possess. When he gets close enough, he snags my hand and pulls me into his side. “Are you hungry?” “A little. You?” He smirks down at me, and a swarm of butterflies explodes in my belly. How is it possible for a man this big and powerful to look so innocent and sexy with one smile? His gaze slides down my body and back up to land on my lips. “I’m always hungry, muffin.” I wrinkle my nose at his pet name, but that only makes him smile more, and this time the grin is far from innocent. It’s all sex and dirty thoughts plastered on one devilishly handsome face. “Hey, you got a dollar?” A man dressed in jeans that appear four sizes too big and a baggy sweatshirt that’s covered in dirt probably from sleeping on the ground brings the short butt of a lit cigarette to his lips. His hands are filthy, his too-long fingernails caked with dirt. I’ve seen him around the neighborhood before, but

never this close to home. Braeden slows and pushes me slightly behind him. “You need some help, man?” “Yeah.” The guy’s hands shake, and as he talks, I notice he’s missing some teeth. “Haven’t had nothing to eat in days.” “Be honest with me. You lookin’ for food or a fix?” The way Braeden asks doesn’t sound confrontational; it’s as if he really cares about the guy. He shuffles on his feet. “Little o’ both, man. I’m hurtin’.” Brae seems to mull something over and then reaches into his back pocket and pulls out some cash, handing it to him. “This isn’t going to help in the long run. You know that, right?” He takes the offered cash and shoves it into his pants pocket. “I know.” “Get yourself some food, and get through the night, yeah? Tomorrow’s a new day. Better choices.” He nods, and if I’m not mistaken, I think he’s tearing up. Brae keeps himself as a barrier between the guy and me, but reaches back to grab my hand and continue into the building. Once we’re on the elevator, I nudge him with my shoulder. “That was really sweet.”

He shrugs. “Anyone would’ve done the same.” He peers down at me. “He out there often?” “No. I’ve seen him around but never here.” “Good. He’s a smart man to approach when you’re with me. If he ever stops you when you’re alone, or if you see him approach a woman with her kids and without a man around, you call the cops, okay?” “You think that’s necessary? He seemed innocent enough.” The elevator dings and the doors slide open. “I’m sure he is, but he’s also an addict and has no control over his impulses. If he needs a hit bad enough, he’ll do anything to get one.” He holds out his palm. “Keys.” I fish them from my bag and hand them over for him to open the door. We step inside, and the second we do, the air between us thickens with anticipation. I drop my bag on the couch and flick on the light, and he drops the keys on the kitchen counter and his duffle on the floor. His deep green gaze finds mine, and he tilts his head, studying me. “What do you want, baby?” My throat feels so tight I can barely swallow. “You.” He lifts his eyebrows. “Then why aren’t we naked yet?” “I thought it would be rude to jump you the

second we’re behind a closed door.” He frowns and crosses to me, and my pulse picks up speed with every step he draws closer. “Be rude not to.” Hooking his fingers under the seam of my shirt, he pulls it up slowly, creating a drag of cotton along my over-sensitized skin. He eyes me in my sports bra and leggings until I grow self-conscious. “Not the sexy lingerie you were expecting?” He slides the pad of his finger along my collarbone to the strap and down between my barely-there cleavage before changing direction to my nipple, which is pebbled against the spandex. “You’d be sexy in a potato sack, AJ.” I arch my back as he cups my breasts, his thumbs brushing across their firm tips. My legs wobble, and I want so badly to lie down and give my body to him fully, allow him the access to explore me in any and every way he can fathom. His big hand slides down my ribs to my butt, and he brings our hips together, flexing his ass to grind his hard-on against me. I moan and drop my head back, arching even deeper, offering my breasts to this mouth. “Beautiful.” He dips down and sucks the fabric of my bra, using his tongue against his teeth to pinch the sensitive skin. “Love the way you move.” His hand slides up my spine until I’m upright, and he squats to lift me. I wrap my legs around his hips,

opening myself to the thickness between his legs, and we both groan at the contact. He walks me to my bedroom and falls on top of me onto the bed. His lips cover mine, and his tongue dips into my mouth. He tastes like peppermint gum and lust as I get lost in the power of his kiss. We kiss for what seems like forever as we take our time getting reacquainted with each other. Sometime in the slow seduction, we manage to strip down until we’re both naked. I shift over him, and he allows me to push him to his back. “Wait.” I freeze, but lost in a daze of lust, I blink to focus on his words. “What?” “Condom.” “Oh!” I slide to the side of his hip as he sits up, twists, and reaches to his jeans. He pulls out a string of condoms and rips one off. “Wow, you came prepared.” I almost laugh, thinking of what his thought process must’ve been for loading a weekend’s supply of condoms into the pocket of his jeans. “Did you expect less?” He winks while he rolls the condom on and then flops to his back and motions for me to come closer. “Mount back up, muffin. I liked where you were headed.” “If you’re trying to kill the mood, keep calling me muffin.” I straddle his hips again, feeling the

cold latex between my legs and missing the heat of his body. “You’re lying.” He grips my thighs and rolls his hips. “I know what your body loves even if you deny it . . . muffin.” A delicious shiver slides up my spine. He grins. “See.” “Shut up.” I lean forward and kiss him as he enters me slowly. I move over him at an unhurried pace as if we have all the time in the world. And even though we’ve only spent a handful of nights together, it somehow feels like I’ve always known him. He touches me with the surety of a man who knows exactly how I like to be touched. My heart swells every time our gazes lock together to the point where I feel as if it will burst. And even when we’re both close, when the desire to pump furiously against each other and chase down our orgasms ripples beneath the surface, we hold off and allow the sensations to wash over us. The sound of our mutual release is the most erotic symphony as we gasp and groan and fall limply into each other’s arms. “Oh fuck.” He has his hands on my ass and squeezes so hard I yelp. “That’s punishment for almost killing me.” “That felt good. If that’s my punishment, I’ll do it again.” The skin at his neck and chest is tacky

with the exertion it took to hold back, and I lick the saltiness from his throat. “You taste so good.” “Shit.” He flexes his hips. “I’m a dead man.” I roll off him and he stands up to throw away the condom. I hear the sink run, and then he saunters back in. We never did turn on the light, but the glow from a flickering streetlamp, along with the moon, shines on his gloriously built body. He doesn’t try to cover up his nudity, but stands at the edge of the bed, staring down at me. “You work up an appetite?” My eyes drop to his dick and I lick my lips. “AJ . . .” He cups his junk. “Eyes up here.” “Come here, Braeden.” “No.” I don’t miss the way his knee jerks as if he’s having to force his legs to stay put. “I’m gonna make you some food, woman. You stay here because, if we’re in the same room together, you’ll never eat.” “Oh, I’ll eat—” “Aaat!” He holds up his hand and squeezes his eyes closed. “No, none of that talk.” “Oh, come on—” “Stop!” He covers his ears. “La-la-la, I can’t hear you.” I laugh. “What did I say—?” “La-la. you said, ‘come.’ La-la . . .” “Okay, okay.” I pull the comforter up over my naked body. “I’ll be good.”

“Thank you.” He keeps his eyes closed as he searches out his jeans and puts them on, nearly falling over twice.” “You can open your eyes.” “Nope. I can’t look at you or I’ll never make it —ow!” He slams into the wall. “Motherfuck!” There’s pounding from downstairs. “Be quiet!!” “How the hell did they hear that?” he mumbles while heading out into the kitchen. I curl onto my side, shoving a pillow under my head as I watch Braeden move around my kitchen in nothing but a pair of well-worn jeans. “Breakfast okay?” “Yeah, I mean it’s almost midnight, but we are in Vegas, so . . .” He pulls out eggs and some other stuff, but I lose track as I’m mesmerized by the way his bare torso moves as he reaches in and grabs various items from my fridge. “How was the show tonight?” When he heads to the stove, I lose sight of him. “Great, actually. I’m feeling really confident on the silks now.” He leans back to catch my eyes through the doorway. “I’d love to see you. Any chance I can get tickets for this weekend?” Disappointment swallows my chest. “We’re sold out all weekend.” “Next time.” He winks, and it’s as if all the

wrongs in the world have been righted. “Yeah, I mean, if you’ll ever give me some notice that you’re coming, I’d get you a ticket.” “I’m sorry about just showing up. I’ll try to plan it out better next time.” “Any idea when that will be?” He’s silent. Did he not hear me? I sit up in bed. “Brae?” He clears his throat. “Yeah, I have an idea.” “Oh, okay . . . good.” I drop back down, not feeling totally at ease with his response. The rest of his cooking time passes with nothing more than the sound of utensils in a pan and then a plate. Finally, I hear the slide of the silverware drawer. Then his big body is filling the doorway and headed to me in bed. “Sit up.” I prop myself against the headboard, the smell of buttery pancakes making my mouth water. The room is still dark, but with the added light from the kitchen through the open door, I can see he has a plate in one hand and a glass in the other. He sets the glass on the bedside table and slides onto the bed next to me, staying above the covers. He places the plate on my lap. “Pancakes and syrup.” He nods to the plate. “Enjoy.” The fluffy stack looks like something from a

Denny’s commercial, each identical in size and dripping with sticky sweet syrup. “Brae, this is beautiful.” I peek over at him to see him shrug. “Where did you learn to cook like this?” “It’s no big deal.” “It’s a huge deal! I mean it’s just . . .” I blow away a long strand of hair that fell into my face. “First, all those meals, which were delicious by the way, and now this.” “It’s not rocket science. I just paid attention when my mom cooked, and then when I was on my own, it’s not like anyone was going to cook for me, so I figured it out.” “It’s not fair.” He scowls playfully. “Why isn’t it fair?” I shove a forkful of pancake into my mouth and, oh my gawd, so good. They’re like clouds that melt on my tongue. “Oh . . . wow.” I chew and swallow. “Please tell me there’s something wrong with you. I can’t stand the idea of being with a guy who is this perfect. Every woman on earth is going to want you for hers, and if I turn my back for a second, you’re gonna get snatched up!” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Well . . . I can’t deny that.” I backhand his bicep. “Don’t be afraid of modesty. It won’t bite.” We share breakfast until the plate is clean, and

then slide down into bed together. His arms cocoon me to his body, and with nothing but the occasional noise from outside, I start to drift. I jerk awake. “It’s okay, babe. Sleep.” “But you’re only here for another night, and I don’t want to spend it sleeping—” My words dissolve on a yawn. “Shhh . . . sleep. I’m beat too. Besides, we’re gonna need some rest for what I have planned for tomorrow.” I feel myself smile, not only on the outside but in my chest too, and on that, I fall to sleep in Braeden’s arms.

Eleven Braeden It’s still dark when I wake up in AJ’s bed alone. I rub my eyes and blink, trying to figure out where she might have gone when I hear her soft voice from the other side of her closed bedroom door. There aren’t any other voices coming through, so she must be on the phone. I snag my phone off the bedside table and check the time. Five thirty a.m. Yawning, I suck in the sweet scent of jasmine. AJ . . . the girl is something else. The more I’m around her, the harder it is to leave. And even now, knowing she’s just on the other side of that door, it takes all my strength not to go out there just so I can rub up against her like a cat. I stretch, roll my neck around, and slip on my jeans before the demand on my bladder is too much and I have to step out of the room and hit the john. Opening the bedroom door, I see her on the couch, her legs tucked up underneath her, and fuck me . . . she’s wearing my shirt.

She has the phone pressed to her ear, smiles at me, then waves and points to the phone as if I can’t clearly see she’s on it. Then she frowns. “Mom, that’s horrible. I’m sorry.” Shit, her Mom? That’s my cue to disappear. I tuck into the bathroom, take a piss, brush my teeth, and when I’m about to leave, I listen but don’t hear her voice, so assume she’s done. When I walk out, I realize I’m wrong. AJ’s chin is to her chest, and she has her hand on her forehead, the phone still pressed to her ear. And shit, is she crying? “No, I’m not crying.” I step closer, realizing whoever she’s talking to is drawing the same conclusion. A part of me knows I’m interfering in a private situation. We haven’t known each other long, and we never really talked about her family, but I drop onto the couch next to her anyway. She startles and peeks up at me, and although she wasn’t lying—she’s not crying—she looks like she wants to. “I know you do, Mom. I don’t care. I’m still going to.” She sighs as if the conversation is sapping her of energy. “Okay, have a good day at work, and please, Mom, don’t worry. I love you.” She hits End and tosses her cell to the coffee table. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to wake you.” “You didn’t.”

“My parents called me last night, but I never got back to them. They work early, so I needed to catch them before they left.” “No need to explain.” She seems a little relieved and nods. “How’d you sleep?” “Great.” I put a hand on her thigh. “Hey, I know it’s not my business, but you seem upset.” She drops her attempt to be strong, and her lower lip quivers. “I’m sorry.” “Stop saying that.” Her eyes slide to the side as if something on the wall will help her keep the tears from falling. “My dad lost his job.” Her voice cracks. “My parents have worked so hard their entire lives, and they barely get by as it is . . .” She trails off, not needing to finish the rest because what she’s given me is enough. The people she loves most in the world are hurting for money. And judging by AJ’s digs, she’s in no position to float them financially. That’s got to sting. “It’s okay.” She blows out a breath. “He got let go, but his boss said he’d give him a good recommendation. My dad is a great landscaper, and he’s worked at the same hotel for over thirty years. He’ll find something.” “What does your mom do?” “She’s in housekeeping. She manages the

morning crew at this Mom ’n Pop hotel in Dallas. That’s where they met.” I rub her leg, hoping my touch soothes her a little. “I’m sorry.” “It’s alright. I’m making a little more money now, and there are a few areas I think I can cut back on, so I’ll be able to help them out.” Her eyes slide to the lamp over my shoulder, and I wonder if she’s considering cutting her electricity to help her parents. Fuck, I make decent money, could help her with cash, but something tells me even offering would be an insult to my hard-working girl. Besides, we’ve hung out only a handful of times. We’re hardly to the place where I start paying her damn bills. I hate problems I can’t fix. Obstacles I can’t get over. So, to avoid the failure I feel settling in my chest, I shoot for a diversion. “What time do you work today?” “I have to be there at two.” She runs her teeth along her lower lip but not in a sexy way, in an overthinking way. “I had an idea for today—” “Maybe I can pick up a shift at the bar—” “Oh, I mean, unless you need to work.” My teeth grind together at the idea of losing AJ all weekend, but I’m not that much of a dick to bring it up.

Her eyes scrunch up. “No, you’re right. I’ll work after you leave. I have until tomorrow with you, and I want to soak up every minute.” She grabs my hand between hers and pulls it into her lap. “So, what’s your plan?” “Well, I figure you’re not afraid of heights.” “No.” “So how about we go out to Bootleg Canyon for some zip-lining?” “Really? That would be fun. I’ve never been.” “It’s supposed to be pretty cool, but I have to warn you heights and I don’t play well together.” “You’re afraid of heights?” Her expression says she’s skeptical, but if she were to feel my pulse right now, she’d see I’m not messing around. “Would I lose badass dude points if I said, ‘kinda?’” “No.” She laughs, and I feel like a giant having been the one to make her do it after the heavy mood she was in just a few seconds ago. “I think it’s cute.” “Cute?” I scrunch up my nose. “That can’t be good.” “Why zip-lining if you’re afraid of heights, though?” I shrug. “Because I thought you’d like it, and it’ll get us out of the city. The weather’s perfect—” She leans in and presses a kiss to my jaw. “You’re perfect.”

“Yeah, I know.” “Oh my God, you’re horrible!” I purse my lips. “If by horrible you mean awesome, then yeah, I agree.” “What will you do when I go to work?” “I have plans with my brother, but I’ll meet you after the show.” She hops up and pads to the kitchen with bare feet, bare legs, and my T-shirt hanging down below her knees. Whether she looks better in my shirt or bare-ass naked, I can’t decide. Both have the same effect on my body, the really good kind. She opens a drawer, comes back, and hands me a key. “Take this and wait for me here.” I palm the silver key with something growing in my chest that feels a lot like honor. “Are you sure?” “Yeah. I’d rather you wait for me here. You can watch TV—although I don’t have cable—or nap, whatever.” I fist the front of my tee at her belly. “Did I mention that I fucking dig you wearing my shirt?” I give it a sharp tug until she’s standing between my legs. “You do?” I run one hand up the side of her leg to her bare thigh and I groan. “Muffin? You’re not wearing panties.” Her hands brace on my shoulders, and when she

grins down at me, her dark hair forms curtains around her face. “I know.” She leans forward, putting one knee on the couch and then the other, successfully straddling me and locking me between her thighs. I grip her ass tightly, even use my blunt nails against her skin as the urge to take her hard rides me. “I want you.” “You have me.” She drops down to press the heat of her nakedness against my jeans. “What are you waiting for?” ~~~ “Are you sure these are safe?” She checks the harness clip at her chest, her toned bare arms turning pink in the sun already. It’s a toasty eighty degrees without a cloud in the sky, and we’re surrounded by miles of barren landscape. I flip my baseball hat backwards and adjust my sunglasses against the desert glare. “You’re not afraid, are you?” She looks up at me, and even from behind her sunglasses, I can see her bored expression. “Really? I do this kind of stuff for a living, without a harness.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying it sounds like you’re getting a little scared; that’s all.” Truth be told, I’m not exactly suckin’ my thumb in a womb of contentment over here either,

but I’d never let her see my unease. She gives her harness another tug then another. “I am not scared. I think I . . .” She tugs again. “Muffin, you keep yankin’ on that thing, you’re gonna fuck it all up.” “When I’m on the silks, I trust myself to keep me safe, but here I have to trust people I don’t even know.” She looks behind her at the guy who gave us the run down and is now hooking the other ten people up to their lines. “For all we know, he could be a stoner,” she whispers. I step close and cup her shoulders then run my hands up and down her arms. “If I thought you were in any kind of danger at all, I’d walk us both out of here right now.” She stares back at the guy again. “AJ.” When she turns back to me, I push her sunglasses up onto her head and remove mine. “Look at me.” It’s pointless to say because she already is. “Do I seem like the type of man who would put you in an unsafe situation?” Her body sways toward me unconsciously. “No.” “Good.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “Now come on. This is going to be fun.” “I know; you’re right.” She leans into my side, and fuck, I love how she fits against me. “Just enjoy the ride. It’ll be over before you

know it.” A few seconds later, the guy comes over, and I watch as he hooks AJ up to the line, making sure he doesn’t miss a single attachment. My heart kicks behind my ribs a little, seeing her strapped up there and at the mercy of the equipment, so I give it a pull until I’m satisfied she’s secure. One finely sculpted brow lifts above her shades. “What? I’m just helping to make you feel better.” “I didn’t say anything.” “Not with your mouth you didn’t, but—” “I know you!” A girl’s voice squeals from behind me. AJ leans around me, and I turn to see a couple of college-aged girls waiting to get hooked onto their lines. My stomach drops, thinking maybe I’d fooled around with one of them, but thankfully, neither look familiar, and I’d never forget a face, especially one I’d screwed. Wait. That didn’t sound right— “You’re that guy!” She points at me then looks to her friend. “Remember? The MMA guy?” “Ohh . . .” Her friend looks me up and down. “Are you sure that’s him?” “Yes! I can tell by his mouth and chin, and . . .” Her cheeks get pink. “He’s huge.” “Ladies, I think you’re getting me confused—” “Daniels, right?” Her smile stretches across her

face. “They call you The Snake!” “No—” “Oh yeah!” Her friend steps closer. “It does look like him.” “No shit, you’re Blake Daniels.” The guy hooking everyone up draws nearer and gets the attention of everyone else. “You’re a UFL god!” “I won money on your last fight!” “Who are you fighting next?” “Whoa, whoa, whoa . . .” I hold up my hands. “Everyone calm down. I’m not who you think I am.” “It’s cool, man.” The guy running the show leans in. “Your secret is safe with us, brah.” “Shit.” I glance over at AJ, and she’s laughing so hard it’s making her metal clips clink together. “Funny. Ha. Ha.” “Can you sign my shirt?” One of the college girls sticks her tiny-tee-covered tits toward me. I turn to AJ and, yeah, she’s not laughing anymore. I grin. “Listen,” I speak up so everyone can hear me. “I am not Blake Daniels.” There’s a chorus of aws and a couple yeah, rights. “I’m not, but . . .” I sigh. “He’s my older brother, so I can see why you’d get us confused.” The murmuring continues, and when I turn

around, both college girls have their tits shoved in my direction, and the guy running the place hands me a Sharpie. “Girls, please. I already said—” “You’re the brother of Blake “The Snake” Daniels!” The one hops a little, bouncing her boobies. “Sign!” I turn back to AJ in a silent request for permission, but she just shakes her head and huffs. “Alright, but not there.” I point to their chests. “Turn around.” ~*~

AJ “Great show, AJ.” Danny, one of the tumblers, squeezes my shoulder as he passes by. “Thanks.” I’m walking as quickly as I can through the crowded backstage to my dressing room so I can grab my stuff and get home to Braeden. My hip is sore after I misjudged my position on a kamikaze drop. Thankfully, the audience didn’t notice, but fuck, I felt it. I keep an even expression until I turn the corner into my dressing room where my face pinches in pain— “What happened?” That deep commanding voice flips open my lids just as Andre stands from the couch, looking

worried. “Nothing?” I shake off the ache and smile as best I can, but his scowl shuts me down. I head to my dressing table. “You’re limping.” “I’m fine.” He cuts me off by putting his big, expensivesuited body right in front of me. “Don’t lie.” I huff out a breath. “I tweaked a muscle; it’s not a big deal. I’ll roll it out and ice it. I’ll be fine.” I gently move him aside, and he allows it so I can sit. “What are you doing here?” He props a hip on my dressing table. “You never got back to me about tomorrow.” Oh shit . . . his text. “I’m sorry. I totally forgot.” “Forgot.” His eyes flash with irritation until it seems he forces himself to relax. “I’m here now, so you’ll meet me at the penthouse at five o’clock tomorrow night?” No. I don’t necessarily want to, but Braeden will be gone, and I have the night off, so why wouldn’t I? Because you might be giving Andre the impression that you’re interested. I peer up at my boss and wonder if we’d started hanging out just a few weeks earlier if I wouldn’t be in this mess. Maybe I’d never have run into Brae that night at the bar, or if I had, I would’ve shut him down and he’d have moved on. And why does the thought seem so incredibly tragic?

“Andre, as much as I appreciate everything you’re doing, I can’t.” I force myself to hold his eyes, even though the confusion I see behind them hurts to witness. “The thing is . . . there’s someone else.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I assumed there would be. AJ, you’re a very attractive woman.” “Oh. Well, thank you, but—” “Do you think because there are other men trying to win your affection that I’ll concede? You know me better than that.” “The thing is being with you feels like cheating on him.” “Ahh, so your conscience is getting in the way.” Not my conscience, my feelings for Braeden, but when I open my mouth to say just that, he cuts me off. “I didn’t get where I am today by giving up. I enjoy the chase, the fight, the competition.” He squats down and places a heavy, warm palm on my thigh. “The very idea that another man is touching you in ways I’ve only imagined just makes me want you more. I like to win, AJ.” I recoil and scoot out from under his touch. “I’m not a game. My heart isn’t something that can be won. Or bought.” It was a low-blow, but it didn’t strike. Andre smiles slowly then stands to his full height, making

me feel tiny at his feet. “We’ll see.” He moves to walk out of the room, and I’m grateful he’s gone because, as much as I hate what he’s saying, I can’t deny that his attempts at winning me were, to some degree, working. “Ask him, AJ, this man who you’ve grown feelings for. Ask him where the future lies for you two. Make sure you have all the facts before you turn me away.” I jump as the door clicks closed behind me and he’s gone. ~~~ Text me from the parking lot and I’ll come meet you.

Overprotective much? I stare at the last text I got from Brae and consider ignoring it. I hate that he worries so much about the short walk I have from my car to the front door of my building. I shoot him a quick text. I’m here awaiting my escort.

I hit send. There’s a knock on my car window. “Holy shit!” I turn with my pulse hammering in my chest to see a grinning Braeden. “What are you doing? You scared me to death!” He opens my door, offers his hand, and pulls me out. “I didn’t think your stubborn ass would text

me, so I’ve been waiting out here.” “Are you nuts?” He wraps his two big hands around my waist and drags me in for a kiss. “Nuts about you.” “You didn’t have to do that.” “No?” He pulls back, studying me, and the scent of soap and shampoo wafts off him; he smells like heaven. “So, you’re telling me that for the five minutes I watched you stare at your phone you weren’t debating whether to text me.” I press my lips together. “That’s what I thought.” “But I ended up texting and that’s all that matters.” “No, I knew you were making yourself do it. Ya know it wouldn’t hurt for you to let someone take care of you a little, AJ. I know you’re a strong, independent woman and all, but when someone who cares about you offers to help out, take it.” “You care about me?” He drops a kiss to the tip of my nose. “You know I do.” Ask him where the future lies for you two. Andre’s words tumble around in my head. “Come on.” He slides his hand down my arm until it reaches my hand and grips it. “Let’s go upstairs.” I twist to grab my backpack and hiss as my hip muscle cramps up. I brace my weight against the

car. “Whoa, you okay?” He reaches around me and snags the bag, his eyes traveling up and down my body in a clinical way. “Yes. I just tweaked a muscle. I’m so pissed at myself; it was such a stupid mistake.” He leans down and hooks his shoulder under my arm to help me walk. “It’s okay. I got it.” “AJ.” His tone is warning and sharp. “Fine.” I lean my weight onto him, and he takes the burden off my bum side. He settles me inside the elevator then pushes the ninth-floor button. “What happened?” I explain about the drop and how I messed up my position. “Sounds like a pulled muscle.” He uses his key to open my door and ushers me to the couch to deposit me there. “I’ll run a hot bath and then you should ice it.” He takes off, and I fidget, feeling awkward about him nursing me as he did the last time he showed up when I was half starving and sleep deprived. “Do you have any Epsom salt?” “Under the sink.” I call out as he’s filling the bathtub. “How was your dinner with your family?” “Good.” The sound of his heavy feet stomping across the

thin floors echoes off the walls. “Did you tell your brother about the girls at the zip line?” He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, which was a huge mistake.” He dips down to help me off the couch. It isn’t necessary, but I love the feel of his hands on me. “One thing my brother does not need is a bigger ego.” I laugh and shake my head. “Guess those run in the family, huh?” “Hey, I don’t have a big ego. I’m just realistic.” I stop walking, and he’s forced to stop with me. “Don’t ever say that to anyone else, okay? It makes you sound like a douchebag.” He throws his head back, laughing. “Best cure for a healthy self-image is you, AJ Pines.” We both squeeze into the tiny bathroom, and he sets me on the closed toilet seat. There’s a moment of hesitation where he reaches for the hem of my shirt but then steps back to the wall and tucks his hands under his biceps. “I think you can get undressed by yourself.” I shove out my lower lip. “Aww, I wanted you to do it.” “If I do it, I think by the time I get you to the bath it’ll be cold.” “Maybe you could join me?” He groans and drops his chin. “Fuck, woman. You need to stop with this shit.”

“What?” I feign innocence. “First off, look at the size of that tub and look at me.” I chew my lip and do what he says. The fantasy of our sexed-up, slicked-up bodies sliding together in the water morphs into an awkward and painful tangle of arms and legs. “I see your point.” “Get in and soak for fifteen. I’ll have ice ready.” He winks, but I can tell the way his eyes snag on mine that he’s having to force himself out of the room. I strip down and slip into the water, and the warmth does its job, loosening my muscles and relaxing me. When it starts to cool, I assume it’s been about fifteen minutes, and I cautiously get out, making sure to put most of my weight on my healthy side to avoid falling. Nothing hotter than a naked woman passed out in her own bathroom after slipping and conking her head. I slide on my terrycloth robe and head into my bedroom to get dressed. Braeden is stretched out with his back to the headboard and his long muscular legs crossed at the ankles. His shoes are off, and his athletic-sock covered feet rub together as if subconsciously. He’s staring down at his phone, but when he hears me shuffle in, he glances up and smiles. “Better?” “Yes, thank you.”

I snag a pair of sweet pink lace panties and a tank top from my drawer and put them on then hang my robe up. Brae watches it all like I’m a payper-view show and he wants his money’s worth. “Ice.” He points to a bowl on the bedside table that has a Ziplock bag in it. “Lie down.” God, he sounds so erotic when he says that. I lumber up to the bed and stretch out beside him. He reaches over me to grab the ice and then sits up and pulls his T-shirt off over his head. Good heaven help me, but his body is glorious. Sculpted and tan and his skin is so soft. I’d ask him what kind of lotion he used if I thought I’d get a straight answer. He methodically wraps the ice pack in his shirt and then presses it gently to my hip. “Here?” “Mm-hm.” “Hip flexor.” His voice is like warm honey all over my body. If there were a market for anatomy phone sex, like phone sex for science nerds, Braeden would dominate the market. What are we doing? Staring at each other now, locked gazes, I can see the questions swirling behind his eyes match my own. What started as a one-night stand has turned into something more, something neither of us planned, and yet here we are at an impossible crossroads. He’s married to the military for God knows how long.

And I will never give up my dreams of becoming a Las Vegas superstar. Not even for him. So where does that leave us? “AJ,” he whispers as if my name is the answer to a question. “I think . . .” He smiles, but it lacks happiness; then he drops back to the pillow. “There’s something I need to tell you.” I don’t trust my voice, so I remain quiet. “It’s actually the main reason I came to town this weekend.” Oh God, here it comes. He’s married. Has a kid. He’s gay. I knew this all felt too good to be real— “I’m deploying to Iraq on Tuesday.” Okay, not what I expected. When I don’t immediately respond, he rolls to his side to see me. “For how long?” “Six months.” A fist squeezes my throat. Six months. That’s three times as long as we’ve known each other, and we aren’t in the kind of relationship that implies we stay in touch. What does he expect from us over that time? Do we throw away everything we feel and do a see ya when I see ya, or is this where we talk about commitment and a future? It all seems too soon, and yet, I can’t imagine letting him go. “What does this mean for . . . ya know, us?” He clears his throat, swallows, and scratches his cheek. He’s fidgeting.

Shit. “I . . . fuck, AJ, I don’t know what to say.” His deep green eyes bore into mine. “I’ve never left a woman behind before. I’ve made it a point not to get attached enough to have to explain myself.” “We hardly know each other. It’s not like you owe me anything.” “Right. And I’d never expect you to wait for me.” “It’s only six months.” Please, tell me to wait. He drops away from me, his head to the pillow, and throws his forearm over his eyes. “I wish that were true, muffin. But I’m a career Marine. I’ve dedicated my life to the Marines, and just like my dad and his dad before him, I’m committed to staying in.” I try to fill my lungs with air, but the damn things refuse to inflate. “I see the life you have here in Vegas, and you’re so talented, AJ. I want this life for you. I just . . .” He licks his lips, rolls them between his teeth. “You don’t see yourself in it.” “No.” I nod. It’s not like it’s news to me. I always knew in the back of my head that neither of us would budge on the goals we’d set for ourselves; it’s one of the things I like so much about Braeden. If he gave up his military career for me, I’d lose respect for him. “So where does that leave us?”

He reaches over and grabs my hand, but continues to stare at the ceiling. “I’ll be in and out of town, and when I’m here, I’d love to see you.” “I’ll be your . . . booty call?” “No! I mean, fuck . . . I’m fucking this up. I’m sorry.” “There’s just no polite way to say it. I understand.” “I don’t want it to be this way, but no matter how many ways I bend it in my head, it just doesn’t work.” My eyes burn, and I angrily swipe at a tear that escapes. “Let’s not dwell too much on this shit, okay? Neither of us can predict the future, so there’s no use in getting all fucked up in the head about it now.” He’s right. But he’s also wrong. We may care deeply for each other, but not enough to put our own ambitions down to see where this goes. “Baby . . .” I blink up to see he’s moved and is leaning over me. He kisses me softly, and I taste his lips mingled with my tears. “Don’t cry.” “I’m sorry. I’m usually stronger than this, just . . . not around you.” His lips twitch in a grin. “I like that you don’t have to be strong around me. I want to take care of

you, at least, while I can.” “I’m going to miss you.” “Don’t do that.” He kisses me again. “Don’t say good-bye.” “Six months.” “Six months, and then I’ll be right back here, in your bed, and we’ll be laughing about all this.” “And after that? When years have passed and I’m sitting in my apartment alone while you’re in California, what about then?” He cringes. “I’m going to hate myself forever for what I’m about to say, but”—he licks his lips— “I don’t want you to wait for me. If someone better comes along, don’t let him get away.” “Brae—” “You deserve it all, AJ. Every single good and wonderful thing you can pull from this life, I want you to have.” “Even if it’s not you?” He rolls me to my back and climbs between my legs. His weight is heavy on one side as he holds himself off my bad hip. “Hey, I said if someone better comes along, and we both know that’ll be like finding a needle in a haystack.” I laugh, and it sounds so fucking sad. I slide my hands up his chest and lock them behind his neck. “Promise me you’ll be safe and not get yourself killed.” His expression grows serious. “Only if you

promise me you’ll never settle for less than perfection.” “I promise.” He dips down and covers my mouth with his, sealing our promises in a warm wet kiss. Perfection. I never knew it existed. Until now.

Twelve Braeden I’m a pathetic sap. It’s been twenty-four hours since I dragged myself out of AJ’s apartment with the kind of goodbye kiss that would put The Notebook to shame. I was a fucking mess on the drive back to Pendleton, blasting Sarah McLachlan and wishing I could fork my heart out of my chest and throw it out the damn window to shrivel up on the sun-soaked highway. Having the where-do-we-stand talk sucked donkey ass because we were both right. There’s no future for us outside of a stolen weekend or, if we’re lucky, a week. But relationships aren’t composed of a few days per year. She deserves someone who’s going to be there for the day-to-day to ice her injuries and fix her a warm meal. I just wish to fuck that guy could be me. It’s almost five o’clock when I pull into my parents’ driveway. Ever since I was a kid, The General insisted on an early dinner, and my mom is programmed to have it out and ready at five-thirty

on the dot. I hop out of the car and mentally prepare for what I’m about to walk in on, pushing out one heartache for another. My dad’s health is failing, and every time I see him, I wonder if it’ll be the last. The door swings open and my mom grins wide. “Braeden.” “Hey, Mom.” I step inside, and she squeezes my shoulder. We’ve never been the kind of family that shows physical affection, and although my parents are coming around to the idea—I even saw The General awkwardly wrap his arm around Blake’s boy last Christmas—getting any kind of affectionate touch from them still feels like wearing shoes three sizes too small and on the wrong feet. “Your dad is set up in the study.” Set up? That doesn’t sound good. I move through the house that hasn’t changed a bit since I was a kid. Same seventies-era furniture with busy wallpaper and floral prints. I can smell The General’s study before I get there. Wood polish. The scent has always made my heart tick a little faster since it’s the room we were always punished in. Even now, I can’t get near lemon-scented oil without feeling the sting of a belt on my ass. I pause before entering the room. The static voice of AM radio and the tic-tock of

the grandfather clock set my pulse hammering. Fuck me. I’m a six-foot-two, two-hundredpound Marine. Man the fuck up. I turn the corner and push down my reaction to the sight before me. A hospital bed is set up where The General’s desk used to be. His once thick silver hair is thinned so much that I’m catching a glare off his scalp. His strong jaw protrudes from the paperlike skin that was once thick and tanned. I frown. “Don’t just stand there. Get your ass in here and say hello to your father.” Nice to see cancer hasn’t stolen his edge. I cross to him and drop into a seat at the side of his bed. “General, how’s things?” He eyes me with that cold green stare I used to have nightmares about as a kid. “Doing great. Running a 5K tomorrow and I have a triathlon next week. Thinking of picking up golf again.” “Uh . . .” Shit, I knew he was sick, but I didn’t think the man had dementia. “Don’t have a coronary, son. I’m kidding.” “Since when did you catch a sense of humor?” “Stupid question deserves a stupid answer.” Feeling scolded, I slide my gaze away like a submissive dog and study all the plaques, certificates, and awards hanging on the walls. One small table is dedicated to family, where he has photos of me in my uniform, him and my mom at

Blake’s wedding, and a family photo of Blake, Layla, Ax, and Jack. One tiny section makes up less than ten percent of the entire space. “You ready for tomorrow?” “Yes, sir. Packed up and ready for duty.” He stares blankly ahead. “If you’d listened to me and gone to the Academy—” “We’re not going to do this again, are we?” “You’d be a First Lieutenant by now.” “You know I don’t want that.” Silence builds between us. When my dad was active, he’d pull all the strings he could to keep me local. It wasn’t until he got sick the first time that he let up and I was able to get some deployments. He’s never openly told me that he hates when I leave, but it doesn’t take a mind reader to figure out the firm set of his mouth means he hasn’t totally come around to the idea. There’s a soft knock on the door, and my mom comes shuffling in. She pulls out a card table, the kind with the fold up legs. “I got that.” I hop up and take it from her. “Where do you want it?” She points to a spot close to The General’s bed. “There, please.” So, he moved from his bedroom to his study and now eats his meals in here too. Makes sense I guess. However much more time he has, he wants to spend it surrounded by the

evidence of his greatest achievements. His military career. All that life lived, all those years behind him, and there’s a lot of polished wood and metal to show for it. He’ll leave behind a legacy of success as a Marine. People will tell stories about his dedication and bravery until time forgets him and moves on to the next great American hero. A feeling of dread washes over me, making my spine tingle. I may have gone my own way, but I’m right on track to become just like him. ~*~

AJ I’m obsessively smiling. Staring at my phone for the umpteenth time, I read the words again. Boarding my plane and I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. Not even war could erase the memory of those lips, muffin. Take care of yourself.

Bruce hip checks me and I smother a wince. “Everything okay?” I stash my phone into my uniform pants and

continue to wipe down the bar. “Of course.” I was lucky enough to grab a morning shift at the bar, which is keeping me busy enough to distract my thoughts from Braeden. I figure if I send all the money I make bartending to my parents I’ll still be able to stay afloat financially. “You sure? You’ve been on your phone since you got here.” He pops open a few bottles of well liquor and mounts them with pourers, all while keeping his eyes on me. “Is it your parents?” I shared my parents’ situation with Bruce. He’s a good guy and promised he’d fit me into the schedule when he could. Like now, when it’s nine o’clock in the morning and we don’t have enough business to justify two bartenders, yet here I am. “No, sorry. I was just reading a text from a friend.” Friend. Is that all he is? Yeah, I suppose it is. The morning starts off slow, but business picks up around eleven, and I manage to earn a great tip from a guy who scored big at the roulette table. I keep focused on my job, and it helps to pass the time. It’s two o’clock when I wrap up my last order and cash out. I roll up the one eighty in tips and shove it into my backpack, feeling satisfied with the earnings. If I can do this a few times a week, that should help my dad until he gets back on his feet.

“Thanks, Bruce.” I pat my friend on the shoulder as I pass behind him to the bar exit. “No problem, Texas. I’ll let you know when another shift pops up.” He winks at me over his shoulder, and I smile, grateful to have the opportunity to work. I wave good-bye to the cocktail servers and move around people and tables until I’m out in the casino. I have just enough time to throw some food down my throat before I need to get ready for tonight’s performances. As I’m heading past the Black Jack tables, I see Andre talking to the pit boss. He must feel my eyes on him because he looks up at me and flashes the tiniest smile, just enough to bring that one dimple to the surface. He holds up a hand, as if to tell me to wait. I stop but groan because this is cutting into my eating time, and the last thing I want is to roll around on the silks with a full stomach. His face is all hard lines and business as he finishes up with the older man who is nodding, his lips forming a series of “yes sirs” until finally Andre makes his way toward me. He moves with grace and elegance in his charcoal gray suit that’s fitted perfectly to his slender, yet fit, frame. And although it seems crazy, it’s almost like people instinctively move out of his way when they sense him coming. Not that I blame

them; he throws some serious fuck-off vibes. “Adeline . . .” He eyes me from my head to my feet. “What are you doing?” I avoid the urge to curl in on myself at the way he eyes me disapprovingly. “Headed to the amphitheater.” He runs a powerful finger along his upper lip then leans in close. “You’re limping.” “Oh, my hip, yeah, but it’s fine. I iced it and rested yesterday, so—” “Call in your understudy.” “Andre, no. I’m fine.” I hike my backpack further up on my shoulder. His dark gaze bores into mine in a take-nobullshit way. “I wasn’t asking.” Our conversation attracts the attention of cocktail servers and dealers in the area. I step in and whisper, “Don’t be ridiculous. I can do this.” He smiles, but there’s not even the shadow of a dimple. It’s more of a thin-lipped display that proves I’m testing his patience. He hooks me by the elbow and walks me off to the side of the casino where a scan pad hangs on the wall. He flashes his wrist, and a series of beeps unlocks a massive door before he guides me through to a long hallway with tiled floor and fluorescent lights, a bright contrast to the soothing dim of the casino. “Where are we going?”

He turns the corner and pushes into a room, showing me to the space that houses a long conference table and a flat screen TV. The setup seats about twelve, and the chairs are all fancy leather. “Sit.” I take the closest seat, and he pulls a chair out, turns it to face me, and drops into it in a way that reminds me of a cougar sizing up his next meal. “Let’s try this again.” “Why am I here?” “Because I can’t have your public insubordination. If it were anyone else, they’d be fired, but because I like you, Adeline, I pulled you off the floor so we could do this in private.” “Oh.” Now I feel like an ass. “I want you to feel comfortable with me. And I realize it’s going to be hard to draw the line between our business relationship and our”—he shifts in his seat as if what he’s about to say makes his suit feel too small— “friendship. But I can’t have you talking back to me in front of other employees.” I drop my backpack and my shoulders deflate. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just really need—want to do tonight’s shows.” He leans back and crosses his legs, resting one elegant hand on his thigh. “What did the doctor say about your hip?” I lift a brow and smirk. “Are you asking as my

boss or my friend?” I get the dimple. “Your friend.” “I didn’t go to the doctor—” “Adeline—” “It’s fine! I swear. It’s just a tweaked muscle. They’d only tell me to ice it and rest.” “Rest.” He blinks slowly, as if he’s bored, and I’m captivated by those thick black eyelashes that I would kill to have. “I can perform.” “As your friend, I’m asking you to call your understudy.” “I don’t want to.” Oh great, now I sound like an eight-year-old throwing a tantrum. “Fine. As your boss, I’m demanding you call her.” “No.” He reaches into the inner pocket of his suit coat and pulls out a cell phone. He hits a number and presses it to his ear. “Andre—” He extends one finger in the air to shush me. “Cedric.” I groan and drop back in defeat. “Call AJ’s understudy. She’s not been medically cleared to perform.” There’s a mumble on the other end that sounds like a yes sir. Andre doesn’t say thank you, but simply hits a button and shoves the phone back into

his pocket. “See how easy that was?” “I can’t believe you just did that.” “Believe it.” He stands and buttons his coat. “This is my hotel. Your injury is a liability.” There’s no friendliness in his tone, no illusion of familiarity. “Now go home, Adeline. Rest that hip.” Asshole. A slow smile spreads across his face. “I see that fire behind your eyes. I wonder . . .” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks and tilts his head. “What do you want to say to me right now?” “Nothing, sir.” He licks his lips, like he’s trying to keep his grin under control. “Oh, now I’m dying to know.” He closes in, towering over me, and I push to stand to avoid feeling smaller than I already do. “I’m not your boss now, Adeline. Tell me. Tell me what you want to say.” I can feel the flames bursting from my eyes. Or maybe that’s the beginning of tears, because shit, I need this money! He reaches out and brushes his thumb along my cheek, and something about the tenderness of his touch has me blinking back emotion. “There is so much to learn about you, Miss Pines. Don’t hold it back; tell me what you’re thinking.” “I need to work.” I push the four words through clenched teeth. A silent, tension-filled moment passes between

us until I see understanding soften his features. He drops his hand and steps back. “Go home. You can resume your schedule on Wednesday.” “Wednesday! That’s in—” “Don’t push me, Adeline.” I suck in a calming breath and glare. “I won’t be able to make it to whatever you had planned for tonight. I’ll be home, resting my hip.” He frowns, opens the door, and I scurry out of the room and back the way we came. I don’t wait for him and push into the casino to beeline to my car. I can’t believe this shit! If I didn’t need this job, I’d tell him to go fuck himself, but now more than ever, I must do whatever I can to bite my tongue.

Thirteen AJ “Full house, people!” Cedric hollers as he walks from one end of the backstage to the other. “It’s a sellout!” The performers explode in a frenzy of chatter as we’re gathered for stage call. Will looks at me and mouths fuck yeah, and I laugh while continuing to stretch. I’ve been back for three days after my forced sick leave, and although I’d never admit it out loud, I think Andre did the right thing by making me rest my hip. And the best part was that one day into my leave I got a message from the HR department saying my time off was paid. There’s no doubt in my mind that Andre made the call, and if I didn’t need the money so badly—if my parents weren’t hurting for it—I would’ve demanded he stop interfering. But then again, who calls their boss and insists he take back their paid leave? I couldn’t stop hearing Braeden’s voice in my head telling me to take the help.

So I did. I was able to send my parents a few hundred bucks and still managed to make my rent payment. What’s better is my hip feels great. After the second day of resting it, I could do all my stretches without even a twinge of discomfort. “Have you heard from your soldier boy?” Will’s eyebrows jump, and when I shove him, he laughs. “No, but I don’t think he can call from wherever he is.” “Really?” He scrunches up his nose. “I think they can.” “It’s probably better if he doesn’t. I mean it’s not like we’re a couple.” I bend over and press my palms to the floor, hiding my disappointment. “Did he tell you that? Because the way he held you that day when you climbed him like a monkey, you two looked as official as it gets.” I take a deep breath and stand to my full height. “Yeah, we talked about it. He even gave me permission to move on.” “Ouch.” “It’s not ideal, but neither of us is willing to change the course of our lives at this point. We’ll see, after he gets back, maybe a couple of years from now . . .” I trail off because, even while I’m saying it, I know there’s nothing waiting for Braeden and me. “Damn.” He sucks in air while stretching his

back and blows it out. “That’s depressing.” “Not really. I don’t believe in falling in love. It’s a choice. I choose to be in love with performing; he is in love with his military career.” “Wow. How romantic.” He rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “We’re being realistic.” He nods but doesn’t seem convinced. “As long as you’re okay with it.” I grin and hate how forced it feels. “I’m great with it.” ~~~ We finish the last show to a packed house with a standing ovation. My blood thrums through my veins, and I’m reminded again why I love this so much. There’s something so gratifying about entertaining, and if I’m being honest, there’s something magical about aweing a crowd with what I can do on the silks. I remember the first time I went to the circus I was convinced the trapeze performers weren’t human. They flew without wings, and it seemed otherworldly and magical. I see that same amazement in the eyes of the audience every time I perform. There’s nothing better than giving that feeling of wonder to someone else. When I race off stage with the rest of the cast,

I’m surprised to see Andre waiting for me. Usually, he’s in my dressing room, I assume, to keep our friendship from public knowledge, but when his eyes fix on mine, he crosses to me, and the stares from the performers zero in. “Another breathtaking performance.” He locks his hands behind his back, and I wonder if it’s to keep from touching me in some way or possibly his public display proving to everyone he’s keeping his hands off. He looks as handsome as ever in his black suit and steel-gray shirt and tie. His thick dark hair is brushed off a strong forehead, and his smoldering gaze settles on mine. “What are you doing here?” “Are you still mad at me?” I haven’t seen or spoken to Andre since the day in the back room of the casino. I wanted to thank him for giving me paid leave, but felt sending him a personal text or phone call was, I don’t know, too personal. “No, you were right. My hip needed the rest.” He doesn’t rub it in my face, but simply nods. “Do you have plans tonight?” I shake my head. He looks around, glaring at the nosey crowd that’s formed close in proximity to where we are. They scatter quickly. “I’ll have someone meet you and bring you up.”

Up, as in, another dinner at his place? “Mr. Monroe—” He scowls at me in a way that makes my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I don’t know if . . .” A girl walks by, and I stop talking at the risk of being overheard. “Take your time. I’ll see you up there.” Before I can protest, he turns and walks away. “Wait!” A group of performers gathers closer. Dammit! Okay, I’ll go up there where we can speak in private, and I’ll thank him for the paid leave and explain that we shouldn’t be hanging out even as friends. My God, he’s my boss! I avoid the whispers from my fellow performers, and when I finally get to my dressing room, I expect to find another fancy dress waiting for me. I open the closet door only to find my leggings and sweatshirt. Huh. It’s better this way. Seems like less of a date if I’m wearing what would be considered pajamas to some. Plus, I know how much Andre despises my casual wardrobe. This will make the conversation we need to have a lot easier. After I strip off my bodysuit, wash all the

makeup off my face, and shake out my tight bun, I’m dressed and ready to go. Just as Andre said, a casino security guard is waiting for me outside my door. He’s dressed in a black suit and has a communication device in his ear. I can’t see it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a weapon stashed somewhere under all that polyester blend. “Miss Pines, I’m Tyler.” His greeting is one hundred percent business. “Follow me.” Tyler leads me to the amphitheater exit, and I smile as we pass a few people still lingering backstage. Rather than take a right toward the casino, he takes me left to the private elevator. It’s a quick ride up to the fiftieth floor, and when the elevator door pings, Tyler steps out first. I follow him to the double doors and stand behind him when he knocks. The door clicks open and I hear Andre’s mumbled, “Thank you, Tyler.” “Sir.” He steps away and nods to me before heading back to the elevator. I stare at the man before me, but don’t recognize him at all. “What are you doing?” He smiles, all white teeth and dark eyes dancing with humor. “Don’t act so surprised, Adeline.” He opens the door wider. “Come in.” I step inside, unable to stop staring at his pants. “Are those . . . jeans?”

“You’re making fun of me.” He motions to lead the way into the expansive penthouse suite. “I do own casual clothes.” “I assumed you even slept in suits.” And dammit, seeing him dressed in faded jeans that hang a little loose and a T-shirt makes him seem . . . human. I keep my eyes to the floor and . . . oh God, he’s barefoot and his feet are so handsome. Can feet be handsome? “I have a manager on duty and the hotel is slow. I figured I’d take the rest of the evening off to do something I haven’t done in years.” Levity fills his voice, a boy-like excitement that makes me smile. “And what’s that?” He takes my backpack from my shoulder and points to the living room. On the floor where a coffee table used to be are close to two dozen hotel pillows and folded blankets. “Movie night.” I turn toward him. “You haven’t had a movie night in years?” “Nope. And on this television, I have access to movies that are still in the theaters. The only problem is I don’t know what to pick.” He smiles shyly. “I was hoping you could help me.” “Um, sure.” “Oh!” He turns on a heel, and even though he’s dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, he still moves like he owns the world. He comes back from the kitchen with a tray in his hands, carrying a huge

bowl of popcorn and two Coke bottles with straws. “Movie food.” He sets the tray down on the floor and then reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a bag of gummy bears and a box of peanut M&Ms. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I grabbed this and”—he pulls a box of Red Vines from his other pocket— “this.” He holds the treats out to me and grins. “Look alright?” His casual appearance and demeanor manage to lift all the pressure I was feeling tonight and usually feel when we hang out. I’m not second-guessing everything I do or say, and with him being somewhat out of his element, I feel like I’m the one in control. “Looks great.” I toe off my shoes and settle in to the nest of pillows on the floor. He comes along beside me, but there are two pillows between us so it doesn’t feel intimate. “Here’s the remote.” He hands me an iPad Mini. “Just scroll through the movies and pick.” I try not to look as shocked as I am while skimming through the available options for the hundred-plus-inch television on the wall. “Oh wow, Andre, some of these movies just came out this week.” He fingers a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth. “Anything look good?” I pick a few out that I like, making sure to stay

away from anything romantic. We watch the trailers until we both agree on something, which ends up being easier than I thought. It’s a comedy. He settles in and sets the food tray between us. The opening credits start and I hit pause. His eyes slide to me. “What happened?” I sit up and turn to face him. “I meant to tell you this sooner, and I’m afraid, once the movie starts, I’ll forget.” His eyebrows drop, and he loses a little of that carefree expression. “Thank you for the paid leave.” He seems to relax a little. “You don’t have to thank me.” “Yes, I do. I haven’t been here long enough to earn it, and I hate that it feels like a handout, but —” “You needed it.” He takes a sip of his soda, and his bottom lip glistens from the moisture. I blink and mentally give myself a shake. “Yes. I did.” “I know you think I’m a tyrant. Most of the employees do. Understand. Running this hotel is like running a small country. I have over six thousand employees, and although I rule with an iron fist, I take care of what’s mine.” And why the fuck does that make me feel all tingly inside?

At least now I know that he’d give the same treatment to any of his employees. “Well, still . . . thanks.” He nods. I hit play. I settle back against the luxurious pillows in front of a movie-sized screen and dig into the bag of gummy bears. Fifty floors above the Las Vegas strip I’m reminded this is the kind of life I will have for myself. I won’t give up until I do.

Fourteen Braeden “Daniels, you look like shit, man.” Deacon drops his tray of food next to mine and shoves in beside me at the bench. I bring my coffee cup to my lips. “You haven’t been laid in three weeks, and already you’re turning into an asshole.” “He was an asshole twenty-four hours after we got here,” Swizz says through a cheek of scrambled eggs. “I get cranky when I can’t fuck.” Deek tosses a strip of bacon between his teeth. “Doesn’t mean I’m not right. Swizz, you ever seen Daniels so broken up over a girl?” “I’m not broken up.” Eh . . . maybe I am, but just a little. Thing is I’ve never left anyone behind before. And while all these dicks made sure to keep the communication open with their women, getting letters stuffed with naked pictures and whatever the fuck else these assholes do, I made it a point to not exchange info with AJ.

Because of our location, I couldn’t text her if I wanted to, which is for the best. I want her to be free. It’s the right thing to do. Pining after a guy on the other side of the world who has no future to offer her is fucked up beyond reason. But it doesn’t change the fact that I miss the shit out of her. Something about being over here surrounded by sand and my brothers makes me appreciate what I have back home. Not that I have AJ. Fuck, this is such a waste of energy. I drain the rest of my coffee, which is about as thick as brownie batter. “Patrols today.” Both Swizz and Deek grunt. “I’m going to catch a shower. Meet at oh-eighthundred.” “Roger.” Swizz scoots over just as Mitchell drops a tray next to his. “Sun’s barely up, and I’m already sweating my balls off.” I grab my mug and stand. “You’re in the fucking desert, Swizzledick. What did you expect?” ~*~

AJ If I’d known that just a few months after moving to Vegas I’d be shooting pool in the penthouse suite at the Kairos Hotel and Casino with my friend Will, I

never would’ve believed it. And yet, here I am in Andre’s place with the lights of Las Vegas Boulevard at my back, lining up a shot that could win me the game. “If you sink this, we’re going double or nothing.” Will sips from his martini while leaning against his pool stick. “Corner pocket.” I hit the ball, it rolls, and . . . “In!” “You bitch!” He sets down his glass and groans. “You played me!” “I did not.” I pluck a mini crab cake from the hors d’oeuvres tray. One of the many perks of being friends with your boss—on top of using his sweet pad—is the unlimited room service. “Rack ’em up. I’ll make drinks.” He moves to the wet bar and mixes together another batch of drinks. We had a show tonight but have tomorrow off, so we decided, rather than hang out in a crowded bar or restaurant, we’d hang at Andre’s. It’s become somewhat of a habit, and according to Will, we’ve been spoiled and will never again be satisfied with anything else. Andre has given me full access, all the codes to his place, and even allowed me one guest as long as it’s always the same guest. The door clicks open, and I look up just in time

to see Andre come in. Will whirls around, having heard it too. “Aw, honey, you’re home.” Andre shakes his head, his dress shoes clicking along the marble floor as he comes toward us. “Hey.” He moves around the table to me, and as he gets closer, I see dark shadows under his eyes. “Bad night?” He shrugs, but his face remains stoic. “You could say that.” Although our relationship has remained platonic, we’ve become more affectionate, as friends do. The occasional hugs, hand holding, and— He hooks me at the hip and leans in, brushing his warm lips against my cheek. That. The cheek kiss is new as of a few days ago. He releases me. “You guys having fun?” “A blast as always.” Will slides up and offers him my martini. “Here.” “Hey!” Andre grins into the drink and takes a sip, then another, before handing it to me. “Who’s winning?” I cock a hip and raise my martini hand. “That would be me.” He takes his coat off and loosens his tie. “You, huh?” “She’s been kicking my ass.” Will drops to a

sleek leather club chair. Andre unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt then snags a stick. “Think you can beat me, Adeline?” I don’t know if it’s the booze or the way his dark eyes settle on me, but my stomach tumbles. “Probably.” “Wanna bet?” I sip from my drink. “Sure. But you have a lot more money than I do so . . .” He runs his teeth along his lower lip. “If you win, I’ll give you a thousand dollars.” I spew vodka from my mouth then wipe it off my chin. “Are you serious?” “Aren’t I always?” “Yes. But what if you win?” “If I win . . .” His gaze melts into mine. “I get a kiss.” “Oh fuck . . .” Will slaps his hand over his mouth. One thousand dollars would pay my parents living expenses for a month. And while my dad has been searching for a job, he’s constantly competing against men half his age. It’s been months, and he’s only managed to pick up a few side jobs landscaping that have left him exhausted and sore all over, not to mention totally demoralized. But a kiss? My mind immediately conjures up the image it

always does: those green eyes, square jaw, perfect lips, all of it towering over me as he moves slowly inside me. Braeden. Even in my mind, his name is spoken on a sigh. I haven’t heard a word from him since he left, and although I think of him often, it seems less and less every day. Even fifty years from now, if I never speak to the man again, I know I’ll never forget him. He’s made an irreversible mark on me as real as the heart that beats in my chest. I don’t want you to wait for me. Braeden’s words ring so clearly in my head as if he were here and said them himself. I straighten my shoulders and face off with Andre, my living opportunity. “I’ll do it.” He puts out his hand. We shake on it. “Oh . . .” I point to his handsome face. “It’s on.”

Fifteen Five months and four days later . . . Braeden “Third time’s the charm.” Deacon and I have our backs to a building in a small residential area on the outskirts of Fallujah. “Not from the sound of it,” I say absently. Our brains are on double duty, scanning the streets while listening to our Sarge play back and forth with the man of the house. “They’re not here. They’re not here.” The grayhaired Iraqi is like the energizer bunny as he frantically speaks in Arabic. “I don’t lie.” My eyes are on a constant swivel as I keep a lookout for a possible threat. Residents act as I’d expect: mothers pulling their children in close and fathers barking for their families to get inside. Door coverings are dropped, and tension pours through the streets like a fog. This isn’t the first time we’ve had intel that some fucked-up terrorist assholes were hitting town for funsies. But somehow, every fucking time we

get down here, everyone clams up tighter than a straight guy’s ass in prison. “Calm down.” Sarge growls in Arabic. “‘Kunt ’asmae.” I hear you. Deacon bursts out laughing. I glare at him. “Real mature, fucker.” He wipes his eyes. “I’m sorry, but every time it sounds like he’s sayin’ ‘cunt ass.’” Another burst of laughter. I shove him. “Keep your eyes up; stop fucking around.” “Yeah, I know. They’re not here; now chill the fuck out.” Sarge turns away from the man, who scurries back into his house, slamming and locking the door. “What? No invite inside for cookies?” Deek grins like we’re hanging out in a bar not neck-deep in enemy territory. Sarge shakes his head. “Dead fuckin’ end, boys.” Swizz comes up from the rear. “Base wants us back to debrief.” “They’re gonna be real fucking excited to hear we ain’t got shit to tell.” Sarge waves for us to head back to the convoy. We return the way we came, still on alert, but more relaxed than when we came in. “Few more days and we’re headed home.” Deacon pulls a smoke from behind his ear. “Went

by fast, yeah?” “Wasn’t too bad.” I’ve talked to Blake a few times and found out The General’s health took a nosedive. He used words like hospice and final wishes. Not happy about going home and losing the man, but it’s not like staying in this sandbox will keep it from happening. After all, death is inevitable. “I’m lookin’ forward to my own bed, but not working the kinks out with my woman.” Swizz’s eyes roam while he talks. It becomes like second nature. Even after we get back on US soil, it’s hard to break the habit of constantly searching for something that might kill you. “First few weeks of deployment she’s great, but then she starts getting cranked up I’m not around, and by the time I get home, I’ve got weeks of ass-kissing to do.” “That’s bullshit, man.” Deek takes a drag of his smoke. “This is why Daniels and I stay untethered. Better to go back to plenty of women with open arms than one who’s pissed as shit you’re out working and trying not to get killed.” “Ain’t that the truth.” I’d hate to be out here dealing with shit only to go home and deal with someone else’s shit. The only girl I even considered getting close to was the one I met in Vegas. Seems like a lifetime ago that I spent the night in her arms. AJ. I smile at the memory of our last kiss as it seems to be seared

against my lips and my brain. I’ll have to reconnect when I get back. “You guys got any big plans once we’re home?” Mack, who’s always pretty quiet, speaks up. “Just get caught up on my fuckin’.” “You are such a charmer.” I clap Deek on the shoulder. “I’m shocked no one has snagged you up and married you yet.” “Suck it, Daniels. You know you’re going to do the same.” “You pansy bitches mind focusing with your heads back there and not your dicks?” Sarge yells from up front. “Yes, sir!” “Load up.” Deek takes off running toward the front seat of the Humvee. “Shotgun!” I go after him. He swings open the door, and I hook him by the vest and knock him back. He stumbles. I swerve then jump into the front seat. “I win.” “You bitchass—” I slam the door, laughing. I don’t have to hear the rest of Deek’s colorful curse. The man can mix bad words to invent new ones, but knowing the guy for as long as I have, there isn’t one I haven’t heard. He jumps into the seat behind me. “Prick.”

“Dick.” Swizz climbs in the driver’s seat. “Lick.” Mack hops in behind him. “Stick.” We all burst into laughter, half delirious because we’re in the home stretch now. I’m so close to getting back on US soil I can practically smell it. The growl of the engine coming to life vibrates all around us. I watch out the window as the Humvee pulls forward, following the one ahead. With the exit of our vehicles, the town comes back to life. Through the haze of dust kicked up from our tires, people peek out their windows and one by one begin to pour into the streets. A little boy races from the front door like a puppy who’s been caged, and I grin, thinking he’s not much older than Jack. He has a toy in his hand, a truck or maybe a tractor. He kneels and runs it through the dirt, and I can imagine the engine noises he’s making with his mouth while he does it. I’m about to turn away from him and give Swizz shit for stopping when the little boy’s head snaps up, his eyes huge. What the fuck? I turn to the direction he’s gaping. An explosion racks my ears. Heat sears my side. I’m airborne. Everything goes black. ~~~

I’m burning. Engulfed in flames. But, fuck, my lungs. I’m still breathing. I can’t open my eyes, but it doesn’t matter. The pain paints a vivid image of my death. I’m being filleted alive. I roar in agony, the sound giving voice to my end. I beg for the sweet relief of a final breath. Rolling to my side, my body heaves as the torment refuses to let me go. The murmuring of speech surrounds me: hopefully, the whispered sounds of angels who’ve come to take me. I vomit, spit, and cry out against the blistering of my flesh and yet nothing lessens it. “Kill . . . me.” A sob bursts free, and although I’m blind, I can feel my cheeks streaked with tears. “Please.” My body crumples together in another spine-snapping heave. “Kill . . . me.” Their voices get louder. They’re speaking Arabic. These aren’t angels. They’re my enemies. The chatter between them continues, and even through my suffering, I pick up on words. Jundi ’amriki. American soldier. Maelumat. Information. Aistakhdamah. Use him. I’ve been captured. This is how it all ends.

With the knowledge of what the enemy does with American soldiers, peace washes over me. The pain will be over soon. In the darkness behind my eyes, I see my mother’s face. God . . . this is going to kill her. Blake and Layla, Axelle . . . Jack, I promised him I’d come back. I say a silent prayer that he’ll one day forgive me. And then there’s another face. Dark hair, eyes that smile along with the softest lips. Her voice and laughter that wash over me like warm sunshine and brighten even the darkest mood. Had I known this is how it would end, I would’ve told her I was falling in love with her. I would’ve given up being a Marine to spend the rest of my life serving her instead of my country. AJ. I frown. I never even knew her real name. A firm grip on my jaw shakes me. “Tell us what you know and you live!” The broken English and thick accent confirm what I already know. I’m gonna die. I grunt past a wave of nausea. “Might as well kill me, boys.” I grin and my skin feels like it’ll split. The tang of blood coats my mouth along with dirt and ash. “You ain’t gonna . . . get shit . . . outta me—”

The blow to my head comes from nowhere. I’m swallowed in darkness.

Sixteen AJ “Hey, you’ve reached Braeden. You know what to do.” The drawn-out beep blares in my ear for what feels like the millionth time. I open my mouth to speak, but the speech I’ve been rehearsing every night for the last week drowns in confusion. It’s been six months and seventeen days since Braeden said good-bye. I hang up and grip my phone between my hands, willing him to call. I managed to push him to the back of my mind for the last six months. I focused on work, making new friends, settling into my Las Vegas lifestyle. I hardly ever checked the calendar. It wasn’t until I started to get a restless feeling, like some internal clock was telling me his time was up that I counted down the days. The day of his return came and went. Then a week passed and I didn’t get a phone call. At the end of every show I’d race to get out,

half expecting to see him leaning against the wall outside the amphitheater or yelling my name from the parking lot of my building, surprising me as he always did. But there’s been nothing, no contact. It wasn’t until a few days ago, after drinking a martini alone in my dark apartment, that I decided to call. I wanted to tell him how worried I’ve been. That I’m afraid to look at the newspaper because I’m terrified of seeing his name printed in that cold black ink that announces another Marine was lost in the war. He said when he got back we’d pick up where we left off. Even if he changed his mind, wouldn’t he at least call? I wipe at my sweaty hairline and groan. I don’t have time to be obsessing over someone who most likely has blown me off. Even with every window—all two of them— open in my apartment, it’s still stifling hot. I fan myself with a piece of junk mail I brought up from the box when I got back from running this morning. I’ve heard summer temperatures in Las Vegas could get scorching, but I’m from Dallas, so I can handle a little heat. But after running in it, I came home and jumped in the shower, and as soon as I dried off, I was coated in sweat again. I flick the thermostat on the wall and punch the down arrow, and still nothing but hot air comes from the vents.

“I’m so sick of being poor.” I head to the freezer, pull it open, and stick my head in it when my phone, still in my hand, rings. I frantically scramble to answer, hoping beyond hope it’s Braeden but realize quickly it’s not. “Hey, Andre. You’re up early.” “Adeline.” I hear a rustling of paper in the background and picture him sitting at his huge dining room table with a French press and the newspaper. I wonder what he sleeps in. Fancy silk PJs? Plaid flannel pants with no shirt? Naked? Oh no, do not go there! “Is everything okay?” I blink at a bag of frozen peas covered in furry freezer burn. “No, it’s not okay.” I haven’t heard from Braeden. He’s either forgotten about me, or— my pulse throbs in my temples—he could be dead. “Everything sucks.” His low and gruff chuckle chips away a little of my macabre mood. Next to Will, Andre’s become one of my best friends. Though our relationship feels like something more, he’s made no attempt to kiss me or take things to a deeper level. We’re friends that go on dates, and I find he’s always figuring out ways to filter me money, like the game of pool he purposefully lost so he could give me a thousand dollars. I knew he botched up his last few shots, and as much as I appreciated the cash for my

parents, I was surprised he wouldn’t try to win that kiss. And that’s how it’s been for us—the occasional touches, the lingering stares, the flirty conversation —but when it all comes down to it, he’s never made a move. A man as masculine and potent as Andre must be getting his needs met somewhere, but he never talks about it. He’ll disappear for a day, excuse himself to take private calls, yet I’ve never seen him with another woman. “Oh come on, surely not everything sucks?” Humor fills his voice, and hearing a man like Andre use slang further lightens my chest. “The AC in my apartment is broken.” “I suggest you call your landlord.” I press my forehead deeper into the freezer and breathe the frigid air into my lungs. “I will. What are you doing today?” “After I finish my coffee, I’ll hit the gym. I have meetings this afternoon. Are you coming over?” “Yeah.” “The pool is perfect.” And being in the water will keep me from autodialing Braeden. “That sounds nice.” He clears his throat, something I’ve realized he does when he’s about to breach a sensitive subject, so I brace myself by closing my eyes. “How are things with your parents?” With my face cool, I step away from the freezer,

slam the door, and plop down on the couch. “They’re good. My dad is still without a steady job, and my mom is taking extra shifts to pick up the slack, but the hours are killing her.” I give all the same responses and try to sound lighthearted about it, even while inside I despise that they both have to endure financial instability at this stage in life. Again, I find myself thankful for Andre’s help. “If there’s anything I can do—” “You’ve already done so much.” I turn toward the TV that has been playing the morning news since I woke up. “I swear I’ll pay you back.” A banner appears at the bottom of the screen below the beautiful black-haired anchorwoman. Fallen Heroes Return Home. “Andre, can you hold on a sec?” I scramble for the remote and turn up the volume. “The bodies of six Americans killed in Iraq were flown home to the U.S. in flag-draped caskets on Tuesday. The body of Sergeant Chris Jarrett and five other Marines are finally home after their convoy was hit by a roadside bomb just outside of Fallujah.” Photos of the fallen show up on screen, and I scoot closer to study their faces while the anchor reads their names. No Braeden Daniels. He’s not one of them.

And yet my stomach churns with anxiety as I watch the timber boxes being carried one by one by Marines wearing their dress blues. “Andre, I, uh . . . I should go. I need to call my landlord about the air.” The lie falls easily from my lips. “Sure. I’ll see you later.” “Yeah.” My finger shakes as I swipe through my contact list to his number and press the phone to my ear. “Hey, you’ve reached Braeden. You know what to do.” The beep screams in my ear. “Braeden! It’s AJ . . .” Oh God, what am I doing? What if he’s fine and only wants to move on? Maybe he met someone new, someone who lives in California, someone less maintenance. What do I say? Hey, if you’re not dead and only blowing me off please give me a call? “If you’re satisfied with your message press one.” The robotic woman’s voice snaps me from my stupor. “If you’re not satisfied with your message, press two to re-record.” I press two and hang up. “Shit.” I clutch the phone between my two hands. “No, he’s not dead. There have got to be thousands of Marines in Iraq; he’s not dead.” I fall back to the couch and close my eyes. Please, Braeden, be okay. I . . . this world needs

you in it. It’s been so long since he’s been more than a passing thought, a dream-inspired memory, but right now it feels like he left only yesterday. This is stupid. I’m sure he’s fine. But then, why hasn’t he called? Texted? Why doesn’t his phone get service? I’ll never know because our telephone connection is the only link between us. I blow off going to Andre’s and spend the rest of the morning before work, searching for any information on what could’ve happened to Braeden. I thought a person could find anything on the Internet, but after hours of searching using every keyword I could think of, I didn’t find anything that would tell me where he is. I even tried calling Camp Pendleton, which proved to be more of a dead end than the Internet. I sat on my couch, flipping the three channels on my TV obsessively while my mind spun with possibilities to his whereabouts, and none of the conclusions were good. Feeling nauseated, I force myself to eat something and then gather my things for work. He’s not dead. I won’t accept that. But the alternative is that he’s forgotten about me, which is a pain I can’t bear to wrestle with. I move like a ghost to my car and drive in a daze

to the hotel. I’m on autopilot when I walk into my dressing room and prepare for the performance just as I do every night, but something aches in my chest. It’s as if I lost something I never even had. Braeden’s forgotten about me. On some level, I’ve been holding out for him, hoping there might be a chance for us. Stupid, stupid, AJ. He told you not to wait! I move through my pre-performance stretches, but my mind is somewhere else: replaying all the times I spent with Braeden like watching old movies to relive a past you know you’ll never have again. They loop over and over through my head in a sad reminder of what little time we had together. “AJ!” I’m pulled from Braeden’s ghostly arms by Cedric’s firm voice and coarse stare. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” “What?” “Stage call was five minutes ago!” He ducks out, leaving me to race after him. Holy shit, I almost missed my first performance. Skirting around people backstage, I climb the scaffolding. My foot slips, and I gasp but manage to hold on. Heart hammering in my chest, I continue up. With deep breaths, I try to focus, to push away all thoughts of the man who so easily cast me aside, and concentrate. At the top, I swing my legs over and with shaking hands wrap the silks around my

waist to prepare for my entrance. Shrouded in shadows above the stage, I scan the crowd. For one stupid second, I imagine Braeden is out there, that he’s watching me with pride filling those beautiful green eyes. The orchestra plays its opening piece, and below me, the stage comes alive with activity. I count down. The song builds and I scoot out to drop in. When the strings hit their high note, I let the silks fall and roll out with them. There’s a collective gasp from the crowd, followed by cheering. My hand slips. I reach, but it’s too late. The floor comes rushing toward me. The room erupts in screaming. Pain, like a blade, slices through me and I black out. ~*~

Braeden I blink open my eyes to the dim lights of a hospital room. It’s a different room and yet it seems no different from the one before. And even though I’m alive and my eyes are open, it feels no more significant than cracking the window in an empty

house. I stare at the wall in front of me. I don’t bother to make it interesting, to count the cracks or make patterns out of the texture. I just stare. I’ve been in and out of so many surgeries, put to sleep and woken up, sedated and writhing in pain, I don’t know which side of being awake is a druginduced illusion and which is real. What happened to me? Isn’t that the milliondollar question. I’ve heard the breakdown from all different mouths, but none of it feels like my life. It’s all too bloody. Too intense. But I killed the feeling part of me years ago. Or was it only months? Days? Who knows. Who fucking cares. There’s a soft shuffling of feet and then a small feminine gasp. “You’re awake.” I blink. Layla’s here. When did she show up? “Bro, you’re up.” Blake’s voice cracks, and it’s like a vise grip on my heart. I hear creaking at my bedside and see him out of my peripheral vision, but I keep my gaze firmly locked on the wall. His big hand moves over mine, but only hovers before he pulls it back to his side. “Fuck.” He drops

his head a little and sniffs. “It’s so good to see you, man. I didn’t think—” He clears his throat. “I’m glad you’re home.” I blink again. “You gonna talk to me?” The muscle in my cheek jumps, but it does that from time to time, uncontrollable from the damage, I’m sure. “Don’t want Mom and The General to see me.” My voice sounds like a whisper dragged over broken glass. Blake and Layla share a look, and the air in the room grows thick. “Please. Dad . . . he’ll—” My words are silenced as emotion grips my raw throat. “Alright. You don’t need to see anyone till you’re ready.” He reaches over my body to my good hand and squeezes it. The touch makes my eyes burn. “You focus on getting better, okay?” He sniffs and clears his throat. With the unexpected onslaught of emotion, I turn away and close my eyes. The mattress shakes from the force of my brother’s silent tears.

Seventeen AJ “Are you comfortable?” Andre stands with his arms crossed over his chest, and although he’s wearing a nice pair of dark jeans and a long-sleeved button-up shirt, the evidence of stress is all over him. Most people probably wouldn’t see his rolled-up sleeves as a sign of distress, or the way his short black hair stands up as if he’s been pulling on it, and unless you look closely, you wouldn’t see the red that tinges the whites of his eyes or the slight bags beneath them. The man hasn’t been himself since the night I fell from the silks. He also hasn’t left my bedside. Not when I was in the back of an ambulance. Not when I was rushed into surgery where plates and pins were used to put my bones back together, and not the days that followed. I shift as much as I can on the bed, thinking it’s impossible to be comfortable with a broken body, but I suppose I’m as comfortable as I can be. “Yeah, I’m good.”

My phone rings, and the caller ID flashes my parents’ number. “Hello?” “AJ, it’s Dad. How are you feeling, honey?” “I’m better. I got released from the hospital this morning, and my friend Andre is letting me stay with him. I can’t even get out of bed without help.” “Andre, your boss?” I explain our friendship, making sure to leave out the current offer on the table, and that seems to set my dad at ease. He tries to talk me into moving home, but I’m not yet ready to give up the idea that I’ll be performing again. The doctors said it’s not likely, that because of the location of the breaks my body won’t be as sturdy as it was before, but I refuse to accept that this is it for me. I’m twenty-five years old with at least ten good years ahead of me. I’m nowhere near ready to give up everything I’ve worked for. “I’m sorry we couldn’t come down.” The pain in my father’s voice almost brings me to tears, but I push all that back and let him know there’s nothing they could’ve done anyway. He doesn’t seem sold but tells me how he and my mom will be checking in daily and lets me off the phone. Andre never left the room, and when he hears me say good-bye, he circles the end of the giant bed to come sit next to me. He lowers himself to the mattress slowly, to avoid disrupting my position,

then leans over me and braces his weight on his palm at my opposite hip. “I need to get to the office. You have my number if you need me.” I hold up the device to prove I do. “The nurse’s number is in there too. Your physical therapist will be here after lunch. Your meals will be brought to you as well as snacks, and your medication will be delivered every six hours.” “Andre, this is excessive. I could’ve stayed at the rehab center for physical therapy, and then you wouldn’t have had to go through all this trouble.” “Nonsense. It’s no trouble at all, now can you think of anything else you might need?” God, he’s insanely stubborn. I look around Andre’s guest room, which is the size of a large hotel room complete with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the Las Vegas mountains. “You’ve already done too much.” “No.” He reaches forward and pushes a strand of hair from my face. “Never too much.” “Just listen to me, okay? A private nurse? Twenty-four-hour care and room service? You know I can’t pay you back for all this.” “I know, and I’d never expect you to.” He stares at my lips then seems to mentally shake himself and moves his gaze to my eyes. “I want you here. And the money? Please understand that for me the cost of this is pocket change.” I roll my eyes and grin. “Must be nice.”

“Is it?” The seriousness in his voice gets my attention. “Do you like being here? Do you enjoy living this lifestyle with me?” Private balcony, pool, being waited on, and getting the best service wherever we go? “What’s not to like?” “I’m happy to hear you say that, Adeline, because I’d like for you to move in with me.” My stomach jumps with either excitement or unease, I can’t tell, so I laugh awkwardly. “I’m pretty sure I already have.” He leans in, putting his face only a few inches from mine. “In my room, in my bed. I want you in my life in every way imaginable. Do you understand what I’m asking?” “I . . . I think so.” I might be loaded on pain meds, but I’m not stupid. He wants to take whatever this is that’s been simmering between us to the next level. But from friends to live-in girlfriend? “Good.” He reaches forward and fluffs up the pillows at my back, and when he’s done, he doesn’t move away. “Heal first; then we’ll talk about where we go from there.” I manage to nod once. He stares at my lips and then with a slight dip presses his mouth to mine. My eyes stay wide and open as he brushes

tender kisses across my lips. They’re warm and soft and communicate a level of caring I’ve been missing for what seems like a lifetime. “I’m sorry. I’ve been waiting so long to do that.” He kisses the tip of my nose and then my forehead. “I’ll be working tonight, but I’ll drop everything if you need me.” “That won’t be necessary, but thank you.” He cups my jaw, rubbing his thumb along my cheek. “Anything for you.” Then, as if he’s having to push himself away, he stands from the bed and leaves me to contemplate his words alone. Move in permanently? Into his bedroom? Give Andre not only my body, but my heart? A fierce wave of anxiety speeds my pulse. Emotions war with my vulnerability and all the unanswered questions about my future. When the door to the penthouse closes and I’m sure Andre is gone, I slide open my contacts and hit Braeden’s name. With my heart in my throat, I wait for his voice, the playful way he’d answer and call me muffin. The three-tone squeal of a dead line seals our fate. “You have reached a number that is disconnected or is no longer in service.” As if robot woman didn’t get her point across the first time, she repeats it again. I force myself to

listen, refusing to hang up until I’m sure the message Braeden is sending me sinks in. It’s over. It’s really over. I made a mistake and let my head get the best of me by worrying about a man who it seems only saw me as a weekend fling, an orgasm away from home. My spine stiffens with resolve. It’s my interests first from here on out. I allowed Braeden to complicate my life, and look where that got me. I’m left feeling used and nursing a broken heart and more broken bones than I can count. Braeden Daniels is my past. Andre is my future. ~*~

Braeden “You don’t have to stay.” Blake and Layla whip their heads toward me in unison. I immediately feel guilty for freezing them out. It wasn’t intentional. I just don’t have shit to say about shit. Anytime I manage to put together a cohesive thought, it’s like a burst of wind blows through my head and takes everything in me with it. But my brother and his wife have been at my side for God knows how long now, and it’s making me feel like a dick for keeping them from their kid.

Blake scoots his chair up closer, probably helping me to see him since I’m still pretty comfortable with my good ole friend the wall. “We don’t have anywhere to be—” “Bullshit.” I catch the hint of his grin in my sight-line and turn my head to the side so I can look at my big brother head on. His eyes glisten, but fuck him if he thinks this is turning into a cry fest. “Your boy needs you.” Layla comes up behind her husband and puts her hands on his shoulders, showing him the kind of support that a good woman can give. “He’s with Ax and Killian, and they’re having a blast. I don’t even think he’s noticed we’re gone.” I stare into the compassionate eyes of my sisterin-law and think they remind me of someone I cared about once, in another lifetime. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate you guys being here.” I’m going to have to try harder to convince them I’m okay if I’m going to get them to leave. I push up and adjust in the bed to make myself more comfortable. The right side of my body feels ten sizes too small. “I’ve got PT for the next couple of weeks and then . . .” My words trail off. And then what? “I, uh . . .” Where do I go? I’ve been living at Pendleton, but . . . I return to the safety of the blank wall. “I’m out, aren’t I.”

“Yeah, man. You got a Purple Heart, discharged with honor, but yeah.” Well, fuck, now what? I wonder if I should feel something having heard that, if there should be some sorrow or at the very least a sense of loss, but I feel nothing. I’m as blank as that fucking wall. “I guess I’ll move back home with Mom and Dad.” A thick silence fills the space between us. “I’ll be outside,” Layla whispers, but I can hear the tears in her voice. My brother looks like he’s got a fucking hurricane brewing behind his eyes. “What?” His throat bobs, and I can tell it’s taking everything in him to push something from his throat. “Dad’s gone, man.” “Dad’s gone? As in . . .?” Oh fuck, here come the feelings. My throat aches like a motherfucker, and I swallow hard against the tightness that strangles me. “A few days after you were rescued, he slipped away. It was peaceful, in his sleep.” Oh fuck . . . my chest. “Did he know?” God, the idea that The General’s worst fear, of me being killed in action, was the last thought running through his mind before he died is too much to consider.

“No. Mom kept it from him. He was so confused at the end that he thought you were already back. We didn’t think it was necessary to correct him.” I try to swallow. And again. “I’ll move in with Mom; she’s gotta be a mess over there in that house alone.” “She sold the house. She’s moving in with us until she finds a place in Las Vegas.” “Sold it?” I stare down at my worthless body. “How long have I been in here?” “It’s, uh . . .” He leans forward in his seat, rubbing his face, and clears his throat. “You were overseas until they got you stabilized. Been back here on US soil for about a month.” I suck in a shaky breath. I missed my dad dying. The funeral. What else? “Ax’s wedding?” “She pushed it off. My girl is stubborn as shit, and she refuses to get married until you’re able to stand up with her.” I don’t know what it is, maybe all the fucking heaviness in the room that’s damn near suffocating us, but I laugh. It’s deep and gravelly and doesn’t sound like me or at least the me I remember, but I fucking laugh. Blake joins in, his chuckle not much better than mine. We look at each other, tears forming in our eyes as the fucking tragedy reaches in to take my heart

in its unforgiving fist, and our laughter turns to something else altogether. My shoulders jump and liquid regret pours from my eyes. Blake gets up and wraps his big arms around me, and I grip his shirt with my good hand, fisting it and pulling him closer. His tears soak my neck as we both break down and allow the injustice to leech from our souls. Soft small arms come around us, and the soothing sound of Layla’s voice wraps us in its embrace. “Let it out.” She chokes on her own tears. “You’ll be okay. We’re going to get through this. We’re gonna fight our way through this because we know no other way. And we’re gonna do it together.”

Eighteen Two months later . . . AJ Whoever said the lights of Las Vegas were magical is a fucking idiot. I know this to be true because that person was me. These lights are nothing more than sharp teeth disguised as opportunity waiting to snag and devour a person’s dreams before it spits them out. The colors blur and mix, and I wipe the stupid fucking tears for the millionth time. I told myself I wouldn’t cry and I didn’t. Not until I got home did it hit me that I’d never perform again. The doctors all say I should be happy, that I’m lucky to be alive. But what kind of life do I have left if I’ve been robbed of my future? Because that’s what my job gave me. Hope for a better future for myself. Hope that I could give my parents a break as they get older. Hope is nothing but the worst of four-letter words. Fuck hope.

The wind whips my hair around my face, and I don’t bother to hold it down. I stare out at the lie that is Las Vegas and consider petitioning the city for a billboard right outside the county line that reads, “Las Vegas: Where Dreams Come to Die.” A long arm tipped with a frosted martini glass comes into view. I follow the dark-suited length up to Andre’s worried face then accept the martini from his hand. “Thank you.” I take a sip and savor the cold-burn down my throat. “You’re home early.” He takes the chaise lounge next to mine, but sits facing me. “What happened at the doctor today?” I stare at him and wait until he notices the tears streaking my face. He drops his head. “Fuck. I’m sorry.” I shrug and take a mouthful of vodka. “Me too.” “So that’s it? There’s not a chance—?” “Not according to the doctors, no.” He turns to stare at the lights, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking the same things I was, about how they lure you in only to crush your heart, or in my case my bones. The outdoor lights catch the sharp lines of his jaw, and I wonder what I would’ve done without Andre? After he nursed me back to health, I decided I’d give us a chance. I moved what little I had into his guest room and brought my personal things into his room.

The hotel staff and security have been briefed on our relationship, so I have access to all the perks of being the boss’s old lady. We are, for all intents and purposes, a couple. Well, mostly a couple. I still haven’t slept with him. We’ve kissed and made out. I just haven’t been able to give him everything. At first, I blamed my sore body, but now it just doesn’t feel right. It’s not that I’m not attracted to him, because any woman with eyeballs would be, but there’s something holding me back. I’m ashamed that I’ve taken so much from him: his kindness, his financial help. Part of me thinks if I have sex with him, give him the one thing I can, it’ll feel cheap, like I’m prostituting myself. I’m so messed up in my own head that I don’t even know what I think anymore. The only thing I do know is that I miss the days when life was easier, when two plus two equaled four. You work hard; you earn a paycheck. You fall for a guy; you sleep with him. But now everything is tangled up and convoluted, and I’m the helpless fly suspended in this web of confusion. “You need a job.” I jerk my gaze to Andre and my cheeks heat. I knew this day would come where he got tired of supporting me. “I know you, Adeline.” He smiles, and that dimple he seems to reserve for only me shows

itself. “As much as I wish you’d let me take care of you, you’re happiest when you’re working.” I reach over and grab his hand, and he gives it to me. God, I swear the man has softer hands than a woman. Must be the hundred-dollar lotion he uses. “I appreciate you wanting to take care of me, but you’re right. I just . . . I hate feeling like a leech.” “I know you do.” He kisses my knuckles. “But what can I do now? All I know is performing. I never gave myself a back-up plan because I refused to fail.” Tears build again and I curse my weakness. “Hmm . . . I’ve been thinking.” The corner of his mouth turns up. “I have a proposition for you.” Something that feels like that dreaded four-letter word swells behind my chest. “I’m listening.” “The hotel needs some good publicity. I was thinking a charity event, something where we could promote as we give back to a worthy cause.” “Sure, something positive that makes the Kairos stand out.” “Exactly. I’d like you to plan it.” He props his elbows on his knees, keeping a hold on my hand. “You’ll be officially hired and paid a salary that includes benefits.” “Andre, are you serious? You want me to do it?” “Absolutely. So, we’ll start at say . . . eighty grand a year, and if this first event is a success, we’ll move up from there.”

I squeal and am hardly able to steady my drink on the table before I launch myself into him. He falls back on the lounger, laughing. “Is this your way of telling me you accept?” I rain kisses all over his face. “Yes, yes, yes, yes! I accept!” His arms come around my waist, and he smiles up at me. “Great. You can start Monday.” “Oh wow, I don’t even know where to start!” “I’ll hire you an assistant, maybe someone from catering and events. But I think the first step would be picking a charity.” I smack a hard kiss to his lips. “You’re not going to regret this, Andre.” And without even a second thought, I have the perfect charity already picked out. ~*~

Braeden “So? You think it’ll work?” Blake tosses my duffle bag onto the bed that’s covered in some kick-ass gray hotel-style bedding. “Hell yeah, man. This is perfect.” I spin in a circle, checking out the man-cave converted guesthouse. Blake had this thing built when he bought the house. He’d planned on making it a music room, but Layla refused to let him lock his music away

and wanted it in the main house. So, he put in a flat screen TV the size of a pick-up truck, a state-ofthe-art kitchen on a smaller scale, and a full-sized bathroom with Jacuzzi tub and shower. “You sure you’re okay with me living here?” “Are you kidding? I’m fucking stoked to have you here. Free babysitting.” He’s such a bullshitter. He knows I had nowhere else to go. The staff at the VA hospital in California had me doing shit like squeezing a rubber ball in my hand and called it PT. Like that’s supposed to help? All it did was make me feel worse while simultaneously making me look like a complete jack off. No thank you. They politely suggested that I consider finding somewhere “more conducive to my recovery goals.” I told them all to go fuck themselves. My eviction notice was delivered the next day. I shove him with my good arm and toss my backpack on the bed. “That’s what Mom’s for.” “True. We just got rid of Ax, and now we have a full house again. I’m happy you’re using the place. It just sits here.” I open the fridge and see it’s stocked with food and beer. Even the cupboards have everything from pancake mix to bags of chips and ahhh . . . booze. I snag a bottle of tequila from the shelf. Blake eyes me funny. “Don’t worry, bro. I’m not gonna drink around

Jack. I’ll just keep to myself back here.” “I’m not worried about Jack. I’m worried about you.” I drop to the couch, put the bottle to my mouth, and unscrew the cap with my teeth then spit it to the floor. “Don’t.” I swallow a long gulp. “I’m better.” His expression is all kinds of no the fuck you are not, but I’m getting good at ignoring everyone’s non-verbal worry. “You can get to the back driveway through this door.” He points to the door in the back of the room. “But I’m guessing, if you’re getting loaded, you’ll be smart enough to stay away from the GTO.” “I can’t drive it anyway.” I motion to the arm that bomb turned into charcoal and now resembles a fucked-up Buffalo Bill style skin quilt. “Get settled in; we’ll work on driving later.” “Later. Sounds good, thanks.” Now leave me be to get fucked up alone. “I’ll come get you when dinner—” “Don’t bother. I’m not hungry.” I take a swig of my evening’s sustenance. “Brae.” “Yeah, man. I’m right here. What?” The disappointment I see in his eyes reflects my own, but in the words of Smokey I don’t give a fuuuck.

“You know where I am if you need me.” “Ten four, brother.” Buh-bye. ~~~ I drank, fell asleep, woke up and took a shower, drank more, and it all seemed like I blinked when a knock came at my door. “Come in!” It’s not fucking locked. The door creaks open slowly, and I don’t bother to look up, but the sound of a female gasp calls my eyes. Axelle’s staring down at me as I’m sprawled out on the couch in nothing but a pair of sweat pants. Her eyes are wide in horror, and her hand is over her mouth. I suppose I should get used to the way women react to me now. Her gaze travels down the right side of my body, from my fucked-up arm that refuses to straighten all the way to the puckered melted flesh of my shoulder, pectoral, and rib cage. Her perusal stops on my waistline where the damage disappears beneath my pants. This isn’t the first time she’s seen me, but it’s the first time she’s seen me shirtless. “Yo, kiddo. Come on in.” I turn back to the game show I wasn’t really watching. “Take a load off.” She sits on the armrest of the couch. “I just came to tell you dinner’s ready.”

“You still have an appetite after looking at me?” I face her head on and give her a good long eyeful of the scarring down the side of my face. She tears up, and I immediately feel like a total dickhead. “It’s not that bad. At least my hair grew back.” Thank God for my helmet, which protected my scalp from the flash of flame. “I can’t believe how close we came to losing you.” She hiccups and muffles a cry into her hands. Shit. I sit up and rub her back with my good arm. “Hey . . . it’s okay, kiddo. Shhh . . . you’re okay. I’m here and I’m . . .” Good? No. Okay? Nuh-uh. Alive? “I’m alive, and that’s what counts.” She nods, but she’s still crying. “Heard you held off the wedding for me.” She turns bright red eyes on me. “Yeah, I refuse to do it until you’re ready. I will not get married unless you’re there standing with Kill.” “Thankfully, a tux will cover most of this Freddy Kruger wannabe action, yeah?” Her expression becomes serious. “You’re just as handsome as you ever were, Uncle Brae. I’m proud of you. No matter what you look like, I’m honored to have you stand up for me.” My eyes burn, but I push that shit away. “I hear some chicks dig a dude with scars.” She chuckles through her tears, and fuck me if the sound doesn’t lighten the heavy weight that’s

been parked on my chest since she walked in. “I don’t know what you see when you look in the mirror, Brae, but I still see my uncle.” I don’t look in the mirror. Not once, I avoid it at all costs. I don’t need to see my face to know I look like a freak. I can feel it. Who knew I was such a vain bastard? I clear the emotion from my throat. “Right, so . . . dinner.” “Mom made your favorite.” My stomach rumbles on cue. “Pot roast?” “Yep.” “Well fuck, let me grab a shirt.” ~~~ “Wake up!” Cool air hits my body as the comforter is ripped from me, and the entire mattress shakes. “Go away!” I reach for a pillow with my alligator arm and groan as pain slices through my muscles. “Get the fuck up!” All the lights blast on, and I roll into my pillow, burying my face. The mattress lifts then slides, and I’m tossed to the hardwood floor. “Up!” I jump to my feet and cringe as the light and quick movement combo sends lightning through my skull. “What the fuck is your problem, man?” Blake’s jaw is hard, his eyes dancing with some

kind of fury-frustration cocktail. “You’re drunk.” “No, I’m not.” I sway on my feet, but cover it up by bending over to put the mattress back on its frame. “It reeks of booze in here.” He walks around pulling empty bottles from between couch cushions, off the coffee table, and tosses them in the trash where they clank against empty beer bottles. “How fucking observant—” “Take a shower.” He snags a pair of gym shorts from my duffle bag and tosses them at me where they hit my chest and drop to the floor. “Get dressed.” I lean against the wall and rub my eyes before shoving my hand through my hair. This is the last thing I need with the headache of all headaches throbbing between my ears. “No can do, bro. I’ve got a breakfast date with a pretty little six-pack of IPA.” “I gave you a week to sit back here and lick your wounds, but that shit ends now. Get up, wash the stink off your body, and be ready to leave in ten minutes.” Just because he’s giving me a place to live doesn’t mean he owns me. I don’t have to do shit if I don’t want to. I straighten up and stumble over my feet. His glare tightens. “I’m not going anywhere.” I drop on

the bed. “Just leave me alone.” He crosses to me and grabs me by my good arm, just as an angry father does to an ornery son. He ushers me to the bathroom, and maybe if I were stronger, if my blood wasn’t still hanging on to the last bottle of liquor I killed before I passed out, I would’ve fought him, but really what’s the point? He shoves me in front of the mirror, but my eyes know the drill and stay glued to the sink. His firm grip digs into the back of my neck. “Look at yourself!” My head sinks deeper between my shoulders. “No.” “Do it. Now!” I cringe away from his roar of anger then shake my head. “Braeden. Just look at yourself.” His voice is a little softer now, like the dying wind. “Please.” My mouth aches to form words, to pour out my defense, because looking at myself makes all this real, and if this gets anymore real, I’ll lose what little control I have left. “Just . . .” Blake’s presence looms behind me. “Look.” The amount of emotion packed in that one word threatens to disable me. My big brother, my hero, the man I always looked up to, is asking me to man the fuck up. “I . . .” I clear the shakiness from my throat. “I

can’t.” His big hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes. “You can, bro. I’m right here.” “What if . . .?” It breaks me. “You can’t keep hiding from your shit. Face it. Let me face this with you.” Another squeeze. “I got your back.” Blinking moisture from my eyes, I dart my gaze to the side of the mirror only taking in my reflection from the periphery. With the good side of my face to the glass, I don’t look much different than I used to. My hair is longer, my body thinner. The dark shadow of facial hair from months of only using an electric razor, masks little of the damage beneath, but I’m still me. Is it possible I’m not as mangled as I thought? With a little restored confidence, I turn slowly into the light, and with the strength of my big brother at my back, I lift my eyes. Seconds pass as I stare numbly at my reflection. It’s not the scarring that holds my attention. Sure, it’s there, the puckered discolored skin that goes up my neck to my jaw, over my cheek, and ending just below my eye. The same mangled skin covers my shoulder and most of my right side, and then there’s my arm. Bent and cradled close to my body, it looks like ground meat, but it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. What I’m stuck staring at is the vacancy in my

reflection, the hollows of my cheeks and pallor of my skin. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I died and was staring at my ghost, a shell of the man I used to be. My bloodshot eyes track to the firm fingers of my brother’s hand at my shoulder. “Not what I expected.” “Brae, I don’t give a fuck what you look like on the outside, but when I look in your eyes and no longer recognize my brother in there, I will not stand by and let you slip away.” My gaze drops back to the sink, and tears build behind my eyelashes. “I’m fucking lost, bro.” “Nope. You’re not.” He puts both hands on my shoulders. “I will die before I let you go, you hear me? You’ll be back. You’ll be fighting for this shit too, but until you’re there, until you get your fight back, I’m fighting for you.” “I don’t think it works that way.” “Oh, it most certainly fucking does work that way. We make our own destiny. You’re not feeling it now, and no one blames you for that. I’m going to guide you there, and we’re gonna start by getting your drunk ass to the gym.” I glare at him through the mirror. “The gym? My arm is mincemeat, man. I can’t—” “Aht!” He shakes his hand. “That word is no longer a part of your vocabulary, you hear me? We’re erasing that shit right here, right now. You

can; you just have to try.” He has no clue what he’s saying. I’ve lost all the muscle and mobility in my fucked-up arm. If he doesn’t believe me, I’ll let him drag me to the gym and I’ll prove it. He claps me on the back. “Well, lookie there. I think I see a little flicker of my baby bro coming back to life.” “Nah, man. That’s the hangover.” He chuckles and—weird as shit—I find myself laughing a little too. “Meet me in the main house for some breakfast, and then we start working on your resurrection.” He’s halfway out the door and the words Thank you are on the tip of my tongue, but they won’t form and fall from my mouth. Blake might believe in me now, but once he sees just how fucked up I really am, he’ll give up on trying to save me.

Nineteen AJ Tapping my pen against my lip, I stare at the cold cup of coffee that sits between my assistant Barbara and me. Andre recruited the event coordinator for the hotel to help me with the charity event. She’s ten years older than I am and looks like she belongs walking the halls of the courthouse in her red power suit and sleek blond bob. Andre says she’s the best at what she does, and after spending some time with her, I can see why. She has planners to organizer her planners, and the coffee order she gave to her assistant was three minutes long. She knows what she likes and she demands perfection. “There are so many acts in Vegas. We need to reach out to one of them and see if they’d be willing to perform.” Barbara turns over a page in her legal pad. “Start throwing out names and let’s brainstorm.” “What is Vegas known for?” “Gambling, binge drinking, strippers, and

debauchery.” I shake my head, smiling. “Not exactly charityworthy activities.” She chuckles and scratches something down on paper. “Since the charity is the Injured Heroes Foundation, I think it’s important we keep it family friendly.” I point my pen at her. “Agreed. So, what else is Vegas known for.” “Comedy, magic shows . . . we could get the Eros performers to come in costume, maybe do a short performance?” My stomach turns sour at the mention of my old crew. God, how I miss performing and Will. It’s been hard to spend time with him after my accident. His life is performing, as mine was, and hearing him talk about it hurts too much. I stretch my legs beneath the table as if to convince myself that I’m not completely broken. “Good idea, but I think we need something bigger.” “Britney Spears?” My eyebrows rise. “You think we could get her?” “I’ll get her. Although . . .” She frowns and makes another scratch on her pad. “It’ll probably cost us.” “Hmm . . . too bad the Raiders haven’t moved here yet. Everyone loves athletes.” Barbara’s eyes light up. “What about the UFL?”

A flash of dizziness washes over me, and my pulse races at the mention of the MMA league. “Oh, I don’t know.” UFL means Blake Daniels. Blake Daniels means Braeden. On the off chance that Blake is involved, how could I be in the same room with that man and not fall to his feet, begging him to bring me to his brother—the brother who I spent just a few weekends with and yet can’t seem to purge from my thoughts. Even though he clearly didn’t have a problem purging me from his. God, when did I become so pathetic? This isn’t about you, Adeline. It’s about charity and Barbara is a genius. “We could see if they’d be willing to send over some of their superstar status fighters to sign autographs and take photos.” Barbara talks while filling her notepad. “We’ll jack up the cost of admission with the promise of face-to-face time. They could donate tickets for auction. Oh, and you know there’s a fighter who’s in a pretty popular band.” She flips a page. “I wonder if they’d be willing to play. I mean the possibilities are endless.” “What do I do, just call their office and ask?” “Yes.” Grabbing the phone off the desk she hits a button. “Tara, we need the direct line to the UFL offices. The owner, what’s his name?” She writes something else down. “Cameron Kyle. That’s him.

Thanks.” I feel like I’m going to throw up when she hangs the phone up. “Let’s get some other ideas going just in case this one doesn’t pan out.” Or in case I’m too much of a chicken shit to follow through and call. We spend the next hour throwing around ideas, and all of them pale in comparison to getting the UFL involved. I’m in the middle of my pitch on taking the magician angle when the phone rings. Barbara snags it. “Yeah? You have him on the phone?” Her eyes light and flash to mine. “Absolutely, put him through.” She shoves the handset in my direction and mouths Cameron Kyle. I shake my head and shoo my hands for her to take the call. Her head drops to the side, and she glares, her lips moving to silently say, “Take the fucking call.” Dammit! Don’t panic. This is for charity. The worst he can say is no. There’s a click and then silence, so I stiffen my spine and say, “Hello, is this Mr. Kyle?” “You got ’em. Who’s this?” “Mr. Kyle, my name—” “Call me Cam.” I have never been so intimidated by someone’s voice in my entire life. It’s deep and gruff, and I get

the feeling this man takes zero shit from anyone. “Cam, thank you. I’m Adeline Pines from The Kairos Hotel and Casino.” Silence. Okay. “We’re throwing a charity event for the Injured Heroes Foundation in next month, and we would love if the UFL could be involved.” “Involved how?” He’s annoyed, or maybe he always sounds like this, but either way if I don’t get my pitch out soon, I get the feeling he’ll hang up on my ass. “There are over 3.6 million veterans with service-related disabilities. Over 32 thousand from this Iraq war alone.” A knot forms in my throat, and when I open my mouth to continue, I can’t find the words. “What’s this got to do with your hotel?” “Nothing.” I’m losing him; I can feel it. I lean against the table and put my head in my hand. “And everything. I, uh . . . I knew someone who went to Iraq, and well, I haven’t spoken to him in a long time, but he’s left part of himself with me, and I guess I want to do this for him, for all the men and women just like him who give up . . . things . . . people . . . to put their lives on the line for others. We just want to give back, and we want to partner with the greatest fighting organization in the world to do that. I mean it makes sense, right? Fighters

supporting fighters . . .” I close my eyes to the sound of his breathing and wait for him to shoot me down. “Fighters supporting fighters.” There’s no emotion in his words. “I like that.” I perk up and stare at Barbara as a slow smile pulls my lips. “You do?” “We’re in. Send me details and I’ll see what I can do.” “Are you . . .? Wait. You’re serious?” “Do I strike you as the type of man who would waste his time or yours telling jokes, Miss Pines?” I shrink in on myself. “No.” If this guy gives me the shakes over the phone, I can’t imagine what seeing him in person would be like. “Details.” “On their way.” “Speak soon.” The phone clicks and I stare at Barbara, who’s grinning wide. “He’s in!” “With that pitch, who wouldn’t be? I had no idea this charity was personal to you. You have a friend in the military?” The short-lived victory is squashed at the mention of my friend. He was so much more to me than that. “Yes. He was in Iraq, but I haven’t heard from him since he’s been back.” The small ball of fire that I’d managed to snuff to an ember flares

behind my ribs. “I’m sure he got swept off his feet by the perfect military wife and he’s out there somewhere living the dream.” “Um . . . Adeline? You sound a little bitter.” I wave her off and gather my things to head back up to the penthouse because for some stupid reason a wave of tears is threatening to crest. But damn, rejection is a bitch. “Not at all. I want the best for him.” I just wish the best for him was me. ~*~

Braeden The vomit hits from out of nowhere as it does every single time. I jump off the equipment and swerve around bodies as they do their best to get out of my way. “Here he goes again,” someone says in a bored tone. The burn of stomach acid climbs up my throat just as I grip the trashcan. My back arches as the first of a dozen dry heaves squeezes my body. “Only the second time this session. He’s getting better.” “Leave the guy alone, for fuck’s sake.” Puking your brains out is bad enough when you’re alone, but doing it in front of a handful of professional MMA fighters is a motherfucking tea

party. I’m spitting and trying to catch my breath when a heavily tattooed arm the size of my thigh comes into view, offering me a water bottle. I accept it and then stand and suck in muchneeded oxygen. Jonah smiles. “You’re doing great, Brae. It’s what? Your third day back?” “Day five.” I drain the water bottle and toss it in the trash. Rex wipes sweat from his forehead with a towel before tossing it aside. “Day five and you’re down to two upchucks. That’s improvement.” I catch a glimpse of a new tattoo on his hand. A thick black band is at the base of his ring finger and then scrolled down the length in fancy script it reads Georgia. He got married? A lot has happened since I’ve been gone. “It’s legs.” Jonah claps me on the shoulder. “I still get the pukes on leg day.” Blake eyes me from across the room as he squats with plates the size of large pizzas stacked on either side of the bar. “You sure it’s the workout that’s turning your stomach? Or could it be the fifth of vodka you killed last night.” He racks the bar and glares. Alright, so Blake’s mission to heal me and shit hasn’t exactly worked to plan. It’s not that I haven’t been trying; I have. Hell, I wake up every day and shower, I’ve been eating, and I’ve been

working out. But it’s the nights that take me down. When I’m sitting alone and the images of war tangle with images of the man I used to be, I find the only thing that blurs the thoughts and dulls the ache is booze. “I’ll get there. Eventually.” I head over to the weight stack and pick up a forty-pound dumbbell to curl with my good arm. I stare at my reflection, keeping my focus below the neck. I’m finally putting on a little of the weight I’d lost, and in a T-shirt and workout shorts, I’m not totally repulsed by the man staring back at me. The scarring is noticeable, but with a couple dozen pounds of muscle, I’ll be as close to my old self as I can get. At least, on the outside. “You ever try working your bad arm?” Rex nods to the disgrace bent and tucked at my gut. “No.” It hurts, and I don’t want to bear witness to its weakness, so I just treat it like an amputated limb. Jonah and Blake eye each other behind me, but fuck them. They don’t know what it’s like to be me. So easy to pass judgment when you’re standing back there with the perfect fucking life and two working arms. The doors to the gym burst open, and the owner of the UFL strolls in. “Meeting in ten.” Mason walks in with all the urgency of a sloth. His body says fighter, but his laidback attitude and

shaggy blond hair make him look like he belongs on the North Shore with a board under his arm. “Have you guys seen Ax? I was hoping she could work on my left shoulder.” “She’s off today. Wedding shit.” Cam points to his fighters. “Don’t be late.” Then he storms out. Mason throws me a chin lift. “Brae, good to see you back.” I mimic his greeting and grunt through another rep of curls. “What’s the last-minute meeting about?” Jonah says as he helps Rex load the bar for bench pressing. “Heard him talking to Eve about some charity gig over at the Kairos—” The weight in my hand drops to the floor with a thud. The shock on everyone’s face matches my own. What the hell is wrong with me? I pick it up, apologize, and re-rack it, pretending to mind my own business. “What’s that got to do with us?” My brother thankfully has something else to focus on, so I can hang my head and regain my equilibrium in peace. “They want the UFL involved in some way,” Mase says. “That’s all I know.” Fuck, my hands are sweating and my pulse races. Kairos. The girl.

AJ. An image of her face flashes in my mind, the same image I got when I thought I was going to die, and I’m overwhelmed with feelings: the tingle in my chest every time she’d laugh and how it would vibrate against me when I held her; the touch of her lips on mine, the warmth of her body as it wrapped around me and I’d sink deeply inside her; the bite of her nails against my skin as she clawed at me for more. My dick jerks behind my shorts. I stare down at myself in fucking awe and wonder. I’ve been such a fucked-up mess it’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything pleasurable below the waist. AJ. A frantic need pounds behind my ribs. My leg muscles cramp as I force them to still when they want to run to hunt her down. I stare at my reflection again. If she saw me now, would she still want me? Does it even matter? Just the idea of being in her presence sparks something inside that’s been dead since I got blown up. I’m breathing heavily, panting with the war being waged—half of me wanting to see her, the other half terrified of what she’ll say. How long has it been? I kick around some numbers in my head.

Nine months? What if she’s not the same girl she was when I left? Fuck knows I’m far from the same guy. She’s going to hate what I’ve become. I hate what I’ve become. As much as I crave her, maybe staying far away from AJ is best for us both.

Twenty Braeden Liquor is magical. It can disintegrate even the strongest will. I’m thinking the marketing for booze is all wrong. It should be sold as a quick-fix remedy. Need courage? Drink. Can’t sleep? Drink. Want to become the most pathetic pussy bitch alive? Drink. I’m in the middle of brainstorming alcohol’s new marketing slogan when my Uber driver pulls up to the front of AJ’s apartment building. I throw open the door and nearly fall out of the car. Want to test your balancing skills? Drink. I stand at the base of the tall complex. Tilting my head back, I try to find her tiny window, further testing my body’s ability to stay upright. Even in the dark, I find it immediately. Ninth floor. 903. My mind pulls up the info as if it’s as important as remembering my birthdate and

social security number. With a quick slug from the flask in my pocket, I cap the liquid strength and stumble to the door. It swings open without issue, not unlocked like usual but broken. A weak groan rumbles in my throat, and as soon as AJ forgives me for being away for so long, I’m going to spank her sweet ass for living in this shit hole. Squinting to focus on the dancing elevator buttons, I manage to push the number nine. “Hold the elevator!” A woman’s voice yells from the lobby. My reaction time sucks thanks to the whiskey coursing through my veins. Need to slow down? Drink. Thankfully, she manages to slide in before the doors shut. She hits the number three and scoots to the far end of the elevator, her eyes avoidant and cautious. Yep, you’re sharing an elevator with the Swamp Thing. I’d be scared too. I chuckle, which makes no sense because nothing about this shit is funny. Need to laugh in a serious sitch? Drink. The elevator movement has me swaying, and I peek over and realize it’s not only my appearance that’s freaking her out. It’s being stuck in an elevator with an over six-foot-tall drunk son-of-a-

bitch. She scurries out at her floor, and I have the urge to apologize, but as the words form, I’m not fast enough, and the doors close. The carriage continues upward, and my muscles jump in anticipation. I get to see AJ. Be with her for longer than a night. All the barriers that kept us apart are gone. I live here. My military career is Poof! She can come home with me, and we can drink all night and fuck until our legs give out. I head for her door, and the floor tilts beneath me. With my hand on one wall to steady myself, I finally make it to her door and knock hard. “I’m baa-aack.” I crack my fist into the door again. “Muffin, it’s me. Open up.” Still nothing. I slam my palm to the wood, desperate for the door to fly open and to feel my girl back in my arms. “AJ! Open the door! Hello!” The click of a lock and the creak of a hinge have me stumbling backwards, but it’s not her door that opens. I look up to see a man, her neighbor who has to be pushing seventy, poke his head out. “It’s vacant.” I step back and stare at the three numbers 9-0-3 then turn to the man. “Vacant? AJ Pines lives here.” “No. She moved out a while ago.”

Moved out? “Well fuck.” He ducks back into his place. “Thank you.” I don’t know if he heard me, but I remember the thin walls, so my guess is he did. “Moved.” Good for her, but that means she could be anywhere. My phone, the only connection to her, is now charcoal on some dirt road in Iraq. I swerve back down the hall to the elevator. The trip is a lonely one, and when I step outside into the fresh air, I feel like I’ve been hit in the chest. Leaning against the wall, I drop to my ass on the concrete. I stare at the parking lot, remembering the day I sat in my car, so antsy to see her, only to have her break down in my arms. It felt so good to hold her. I hurt that she was hurting, but she made me feel like a king the way she curled into me and allowed me to fix her. And now she’s gone. There’s movement to my right. My head lolls to the side where a homeless guy with what I assume to be everything he owns in bags sits down next to me. His hand shakes as he pulls out a cigarette. “Hey. I remember you.” He turns dark eyes on me and studies the scars on my neck and cheek. “I don’t know you.” My head drops between my shoulders, feeling like it weighs a ton. “Yeah, I don’t know me

either.” I straighten my left leg to dig the flask from my pocket and swig back as much as I can fit in my mouth. “Got enough to share?” I study the silver flask in my hand and read the engraved words for the millionth time. Improvise, adapt, and overcome. The slogan of the United States Marines. A lot of good that shit did me. It was a gift from Deek after my first deployment. I’ll never forget his face when he gave it to me, one of the only times I’ve ever seen the guy not act like a total clown. He didn’t say anything profound, no flowery words or deep meaningful speeches. Just a look. One that said we were in this shit together now. If I’d only known what was coming, how our careers would end in a fiery ball of death and destruction . . . Nope. Not going down that road. I hand the homeless guy my flask. “It’s all you.” He swigs it back like it’s water then settles against the brick wall with a sigh. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to sit in silence with anyone without feeling the millions of things they must be thinking. I tilt my head back as a little peace trickles in— A couple of one-dollar bills fall into my lap. I look up and catch the guy who tossed them there heading into the building.

“This is new,” I mumble, not sure how I feel about being mistaken for homeless. I turn to my new friend, and when he looks at me to hand me back the flask, I see the lost hopelessness I feel reflected in his blank stare. “Shit.” I groan and hit the Uber app on my phone. “It’s been nice, but I’m outta here, my man.” Need a stupid plan that you’ll regret? Drink. ~*~

AJ After a late dinner at Escalante, which included a chocolate soufflé I could’ve bathed in, my dress feels too tight. Andre insisted that we sneak away for a celebratory dinner and a sweet, high-caloric ending was part of the deal. The charity event is officially planned. All the i’s dotted and t’s crossed. In three weeks, we’ll be holding the event in our premier ballroom with live music and more UFL fighters than would fit in a limo. Including Blake “The Snake” Daniels. As nervous as I was at the prospect of seeing Braeden’s older brother, I no longer think it’s going to be an issue. After all, he doesn’t know me. I’ll be busy mingling and making sure everything goes to plan, so there’s very little chance we’ll do more than a quick introduction.

And I’ll be damned if I’m going to come off like some clingy girl who got her heart broken by asking Blake about his brother. I have way too much pride for that. Besides, Braeden doesn’t want me. Andre’s arm curls around my back, the stiff fabric of his suit coat brushing against the bare skin of my arm as he leads me to the elevators. “I wish I could come up with you.” I lean into him, enjoying the feel of his masculine strength as he supports me. “I’m going to soak in a long hot bath; you’d be bored out of your mind.” He stops walking and smirks down at me. “Adeline, watching you in the bath would be one of the greatest pleasures of my life.” I blush and can’t hold his gaze. He hooks my chin with two fingers, bringing my eyes back to his. “You’ve been living with me for months.” I want to kick him for reminding me. “I know.” I still haven’t been able to have sex with him, and although he has the patience of a saint, I feel his self-control slipping. “You’ve had other lovers.” I never should’ve told him. This would be easier if he assumed I was saving myself for marriage, but back before, when we were friends, I’d shared about my sexual past. Including Braeden. “You’re telling me things I already know.”

He drops his fingers from my chin, his smoldering eyes boring into mine. “I have you in every way except the one that means the most.” He’s right. And I don’t know what my hang-up is, but every time we get close, I feel sick to my stomach. I cry myself to sleep, wondering how it’s possible to know Braeden for such a small amount of time and yet be so completely different because of him. I fell into bed with the man on our first night without a single regret, and here I’ve been living with Andre, whom I care deeply for, and can’t manage more than foreplay. “Soon. I just need a little more time.” For what? Who knows? I hope one day I’ll wake up without the dull ache of loss in my chest. Then, maybe, when I feel Andre’s hands on me, I won’t want to pretend they belong to someone else. He leans in and drops a soft kiss to my lips. “Then I will wait.” Don’t wait for me. Braeden’s words are like daggers in my skull. I pinch my eyes closed. “Headache?” Andre hooks my waist and continues walking me toward the elevators. “Yeah. Probably all the paperwork I—” He holds up a hand to silence me and pulls his vibrating phone from his pocket. “Yes?” The sound of a deep voice is on the other end,

but I can’t make out what he’s saying. “How can he refuse to leave when you’re escorting him out?” He frowns at me apologetically, but continues to walk. “How many nights has he shown up? And always at the same spot? Okay, have extra security posted and make sure when you take him out that you explain the next time he’ll leave in the back of a police car.” He listens a little more. “It doesn’t matter that he’s looking for his wife. He’s drunk and belligerent. I won’t tolerate that in my casino.” He hits end and shoves the phone back into his pocket. “Everything okay?” He keys in a code that brings down the elevator. “Nothing you need to worry about.” He presses a kiss to my forehead and then waits as I climb into the carriage. “Good night, Adeline.” The doors slide closed, and as soon as they do, my smile falls. I’m losing it. I’m totally losing it. I have everything I could ever want—money, luxury, a man who cares deeply for me—and yet, I’ve never been more miserable. ~*~

Braeden I shove the security guard off me. “I’m going. You

don’t have to fucking hold my hand.” “I keep showing you the door, and four nights in a row you’ve come back. Next time I’m calling the cops, you hear me? Do not come back here.” “It’s a free country! You want to know how I know? I fucking helped make it that way! I got this”—I shove my finger toward my face— “so you could live rather than get bombed to fuck by terrorists!” “You’re drunk.” I hold my hands out and laugh. “I’m so fucking sick of people telling me shit I already know!” The POS stands there with his arms crossed at his chest, barring the door. “Do you know what happens when you stand between a man and his wife?” He stares at me, looking unimpressed and totally unfazed. “Fine. I’ll go, but I’ll be back tomorrow! You can’t keep me away—” “Braeden!” I turn and blink because it looks like Rex jogging toward me. “What the fuck?” I squint through the drunken haze, and sure enough, it’s him. He’s traded in the usual workout gear for a pair of dark jeans, a thick black belt, a shirt that looks a half size too small, black Converse, and a black baseball hat. “What’s going on?” He eyes the security guard,

and with his piercings and all his fucking tats, he looks hardcore and unhappy. “This your friend?” Security douche says. He steps in front of me. “He’s my brother.” I roll my eyes to the heavens. Great, that’s all I need. Another fucking brother. “Get him out of here before the cops take him away.” Rex turns toward me and jerks his head. “Come on. I’ll take you home.” I wiggle my fingers to the suit. “Until next time, sweet pea.” “There better not be a next time.” I rush the guy, but Rex snags my good arm, holding me back easily as my balance is for shit. “Looks like someone had an eventful night.” He guides me a few steps then releases me. “Not even a little.” His midnight blue pickup truck is parked on the curb, as if he was driving by and pulled over when he saw me. “Hop in the back seat.” He circles the hood and loads up. The back? Do I stink? I climb up and throw my drunk and useless body into the back, and the scent of sweet heaven fills the cab. I look up to find Gia, Rex’s wife, sitting in the front. “Gia, hey gorgeous.” She laughs in that deep throaty way that reminds

me of AJ. “Did you leave any alcohol for the other kids?” “Fuck the other kids.” I sit in the middle of the backseat, my knees spread wide. Rex throws the transmission into drive, and when he pulls the truck out, he reaches over for his wife’s hand. “You feel like talking about what the hell happened back there?” I turn away from their intertwined fingers as the burning in my chest flares. “No.” “Is it too late for a chocolate milkshake?” Gia’s asking Rex, but I can’t help but pipe up. “Never too late.” Rex brings her hand to his lips. “Craving?” “So bad.” Leaning a little to the side, I eye Gia’s tight black shirt and . . . holy shit. “Gia, are you pregnant?” She turns back to me with a flash of silky red hair and grins. “Very.” “I noticed the new tat.” I motion to Rex’s left hand. I catch Rex’s proud smile. “Congratulations. Sorry I missed it.” “You didn’t miss shit.” Rex pulls Gia’s hand to his thigh. “We eloped.” “That’s cool. No fuss, no muss. You guys know what you’re having?” If it’s possible, Rex’s grin widens. “Boy. Henry

Dylan Carter.” “Sweet name. I’m happy for you guys.” That’s something I’ll never have: a woman who looks at me like I’m the master of her heart while the little life we made together grows in her belly. Need to cry for a stupid reason? Drink. I run a hand over my hair and lick my lips, feeling awkward as hell being third wheel to this new family. “So, uh . . . what were you guys doing at the Kairos?” Rex looks in the rearview mirror. “Checking out the set up for the charity event. Ataxia’s playing, and they wanted to know if the stage they have will work for us.” I stare out the window as the city of Las Vegas flies by in a blur of lights. “You’re coming, right?” “No, I don’t think so.” Gia turns around. “Really?” I shrug. “I can see Ataxia play another time.” She looks confused. “No, it’s a benefit concert for the Injured Heroes Foundation.” “Ah . . . so you thought since I am an injured hero it would make sense that I be there.” “Well . . . yeah.” “I wasn’t invited.” “Yeah, you were.” Rex pipes up from behind the wheel. “Blake has your invite.” Why the hell wouldn’t he give it to me?

Maybe because he doesn’t want you embarrassing him in front of all his friends and colleagues. Shit. I rub my face. He’d be right. “How ’bout that milkshake.” I pull cash from my pocket. “I’m buyin’.”

Twenty-one Braeden “Now I see why you didn’t tell me I was invited to this shit.” Our feet have just passed through the huge double-doors that open into an enormous banquet room. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and the fragrant smell of fresh flowers screams of straightup class. Tables dressed in fancy linens and china, it looks like a set-up for a wedding reception complete with a stage at the far end of the room and a dance floor. Blake glares at me, but his mouth kicks up on one side. “I did invite you; you just don’t remember because you were shit-housed.” I roll my shoulders back and search out the closest bar. “This ain’t my scene.” We’re early. The only people here are UFL fighters, Rex’s band, a handful of random people I’ve never seen before, and a couple dozen wait staff dressed in tuxedos. “Can’t believe I got my hair cut for this.” Layla slides next to me, her long form-fitting

gown showcasing her perfect figure. She hooks her hand into the crook of my bad arm—the way it’s bent making for an ideal handle. “Don’t worry. You’re going to be great.” “I don’t like talking to people.” Fuck, my skin’s already crawling, and we just got here. No doubt it’ll take two point four seconds for a room of hundreds to find out I’m an injured Marine. They’ll ask questions, share their condolences—the thought makes my clothes feel too tight. Sandwiched between Layla and Blake, I feel like they’re bookending me on purpose, and I’m grateful for it. “You don’t have to say shit, bro.” Blake tosses a chin lift to a group of fighters who are huddled by a table. “Tell them it ain’t their fucking business.” “Blake.” Layla’s whisper-hiss catches his eyes. “What? I’m serious, Mouse. I don’t like this anymore than he does. I hate the idea of people thinking because he’s here they get to crawl straight up his ass. He wants to be left alone. I’ll make sure he is.” “Okay, but maybe be polite about it.” “If people ask him what happened during his service, they’re being rude and deserve to be dealt with accordingly.” He nods to me. “Anyone fucks with you, you let me handle it.” “Dude, I’m not eight. Calm your ass down.” Besides, when I shove my bad hand into my pants

pocket and turn my head a little to the right, I look almost normal. That’ll help. “I’m serious—” “Blake.” Cameron walks up to us with another guy. There’s no way the man is a fighter. He’s tall, but he’s about as thick as one of Cam’s forearms. “This is George St. Claire. He runs the Injured Heroes Foundation.” Cam directs his usual scowl at me. I roll my eyes. Oh great, here we go. My brother shakes St. Claire’s hand, introduces him to Layla, and then to me. I reach out with my good arm, grateful that Layla’s still holding firm to my bum appendage. “Nice to meet you.” “Cam here tells me that you’re both exMarines.” Blake answers for us, explaining his quick service and my more extensive stay, but avoids mentioning anything else. He nods at all the appropriate places. “Thank you, guys, for being here. This is a huge help to the foundation. You’ll get to meet some of the men and women we’re able to assist later.” Awesome. More like me. I better snag my spot at the bar before all those tortured souls descend upon it. “I’m going to grab a drink.” My brother eyes me. Yeah, I hear ya. I promised

Blake I wouldn’t get fucked up tonight, but that doesn’t mean I can’t drink to dull the sharp edges a little bit. At least down enough so my hands stop shaking. “I’ll go with you.” Layla hugs closer to my side. “Blake, want anything?” “I’m going to go say hi to the guys. I’ll meet you two over there.” As Layla and I walk away, I lean down and whisper, “You don’t have to do this.” Her perfectly made up face pinches. “Do what?” I lift a brow toward her arm that’s locked on mine. “Protect me.” She shakes her head, and all that long hair brushes over her bare shoulders. “Blake is so busy at these things. I’m just happy to have someone to talk to.” We belly up to the bar, and I order a double whiskey on the rocks for me and a glass of wine for Layla. Tossing a few dollars into the tip jar, we grab our drinks then scoot to a dark corner to watch the room slowly fill. It doesn’t take long before all the fighters are engaged in conversation, picture-taking, and autographs. Axelle joins us with a plate of mini appetizers. Then Eve, Trix, Gia, and a very pregnant Raven join us. Damn, what do these people do, just fuck nonstop?

I nod to Raven’s round belly encased in a silky fabric. “You too, huh?” “Yeah.” She rubs her belly, smiling. “Took us long enough.” Sadness touches her mouth. I don’t know shit about pregnancy, but it doesn’t take a doctor to conclude Jonah and Raven may have had some unsuccessful pregnancies. And I’m not dick enough to ask. “Congratulations.” I sip from my drink. “Jonah must be stoked.” Layla grins into her wine glass. “Oh, he is. He won’t be outnumbered anymore. Now the teams are even.” Guess that means they’re having a boy. Good for them. “You got a name picked out?” Raven slides her hand over her belly and shrugs one delicate shoulder. “I like the name Carey.” “Carey?” I glance around the semi-circle of woman and notice them all actively engaged in studying the floor or ceiling. They’re also silent, and I’ve been around these women enough times to know that shit is about as rare as a priest in Vegas. I focus back on Jonah’s wife. “I thought you said you were having a boy?” Layla clears her throat, or was that a laugh? “We are. Carey’s a boy name.” “No. It’s not.”

She tilts her head and glares at me, which is oddly scary. Isn’t there a saying about not pissing off a pregnant woman? “You’re just like the rest of them.” She jerks her head toward the room, but I’m assuming by them she means Jonah, my brother, and the like. “You’re gonna give your boy a complex by giving him a chick name, but hey . . .” I hold my drink up for an air-cheers before I take a sip. “She’s your son.” Eve snorts and then covers it up quickly with a cough. The women quickly forget I’m there and go on about pregnancy stuff. They compliment each other on their dresses, hair, shoes, and fuck me, who knew chicks were so damn nice to each other? I’m half considering busting free of the estrogen circle and getting some air, but there are worse things than being shielded by a circle of beautiful women. Like being circled by people with probing eyes and intrusive questions, which is exactly what will happen if I don’t stay right where I am. “. . . set him up with my friend from work.” “Oh, you mean the model? She’s gorgeous.” “What do you think, Brae?” I turn toward the calling of my name only to find six sets of female eyes on me. “What do I think about what?” Eve cocks her head to the side, which makes a

lock of golden hair fall along her cheek. “About Trix’s friend.” I look at the girl with hot pink streaks in her white-blond hair. “Is she a stripper?” Not that it matters. I have no desire for women, at least, none that actually exist. My mind, heart, and dick are all still fixated on one girl that I’m starting to think may have been a figment of my imagination. How is it possible that a woman like AJ, so driven and dedicated to her job, would be there for less than a year? Maybe she got a better offer somewhere else or she was forced home to help her parents, in which case I’d never see her again. And as much as I’ve convinced my mind of that, it still won’t let her go. “No.” Layla leans in to whisper. “She works at the community center with Trix.” Feeling like a dick, I smile apologetically. “Sorry.” Trix doesn’t seem the least bit offended and goes on. “She’s so much fun. I can set you up, ya know, if you’re not already seeing anyone.” Layla and Axelle’s eyes both suddenly find the swirly fucking design on the carpet more interesting than it is. Gia leans against the wall to my right. “Maybe he’s not ready to date.” Eve gestures toward me with her cocktail. “Of course he’s ready. Look at him.”

The redhead holds up a hand. “I’m not saying he’s not hot. I’m just saying maybe he’s not ready to dive into the dating pool.” “It wouldn’t have to be a date.” Trix is smiling too big for my comfort. “You guys could just be friends.” Raven’s nodding. “That’s a good idea.” “Like he could just be friends with a woman who looks like Justice?” Eve shakes her head. “No way. I’m not gay, but I’d do her.” Raven clears her throat, and Eve glares at her friend. “It was a phase!” Raven smiles. “It was a long phase.” “Shut up.” Axelle looks at Trix. “I think Uncle Brae should call her up. Wouldn’t hurt to introduce himself.” “He’s not ready,” Layla says. “You know I’m standing here, right?” I scan all the women’s faces, and not one of them looks apologetic. “Fuck, it’s like having six sisters.” Trix blinks and smiles. “Yep, he’s totally ready.” Laughter rumbles up my throat and it feels so . . . off. When was the last time I laughed? “I’m getting another drink. Make sure to plan the rest of my life while I’m gone. I’ll get the update when I come back.” They giggle, but as soon as I exit the girl circle, I hear their conversation pick up right where it left off. Shit, at this rate, they’ll have me married off

and have all my kids named before I get back. I step up to the crowd that’s gathered around the bar, but I keep my eyes forward to avoid being forced to make conversation with anyone. So far, this night hasn’t been half bad. The room is now packed, people mingling and drinking. I’m well on my way to a good buzz, not feeling as jittery as I did when we arrived. Dinner service should start soon, then Ataxia, and it’ll be easy for me to blend into the background for the rest of the night. ~*~

AJ I did it! I fucking did it! I haven’t felt this good, this sense of accomplishment, since I was on the silks. There’s just no better feeling in the world than working hard for something and watching it pan out. In the back of my mind, the question as to why I haven’t felt that in so long whispers for an answer, and after thinking on it for a second, I shove it away. There’s a nagging feeling that I’ve disappointed myself, which is ridiculous, considering the room I’m standing in now. I’m surrounded by over two-hundred people who splurged on the five-hundred dollar tickets to

be here tonight to support Injured Heroes. The UFL is here, and although I’ve seen a few of the fighters —they’re hard to miss with their superhuman size —from what I can tell, they’ve kept to their word and have been circulating the room. Cameron Kyle even donated three pairs of season tickets to the local fights this year to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Phenomenal. Which reminds me . . . “Barbara, have you seen Mr. Kyle from the UFL? I wanted to introduce myself in person and thank him again for helping us out.” She looks as professional as always in a long simple green gown rather than her trademark pants suit. “I don’t see him.” She casually peruses the room. “If I see him, I’ll come grab you.” “Thanks. I’m going to see how things are going in the back. We should get dinner service started.” I head off in the direction of the kitchen, stopping briefly to say hello to the people I know. Andre must be around here somewhere, no doubt rubbing elbows with the most influential of those in attendance. I walk as briskly as I can in my Louboutins but not so quickly that I’ll disrupt the fall of my short cocktail dress and flash the crowd. The bar is packed, and the sound of laughter is like music to my ears. Not only have people come, but they’re enjoying themselves. I’m smiling as I follow the sound of women’s joint laughter. A

group of ladies are huddled together and whoa . . . nice shoes. A woman with fiery red hair cascading down her back has on a gorgeous pair of strappy heels that come up to her calf. I’ll have to look for those the next time I’m at Saks. Another peel of laughter draws my gaze up as I pass by them. I mean to throw them a friendly smile, then push through the doors to the kitchen, when I catch the profile of a man standing in the center of them. It’s brief, as he seems to be slouched against the wall and none of the surrounding women are short, but the image I catch causes a severe ache in my chest. I’m so caught off by it that I slow until I’m stuck staring between the sea of beautifully sculpted shoulders, shiny hair, and perfectly feminine jawlines. A dark-haired girl shifts slightly, and I catch the view again. I gasp. Is it . . .? I move closer to get a better look, because it’s not possible, is it? That the man I’ve been consumed with for the last ten months could be the focus of this group of beautiful women. That’s when I see him. Leaning with all the casual confidence of a god as a half dozen drop-dead gorgeous women fawn all over him, is Braeden. It’s him. His hair is a little longer, just enough that he’s

able to put hair product in it and mess it all up. I’ve felt that strong nose run up and down the side of my neck and between my breasts. And those lips had me collapsing into his arms more times than I can count. He’s here. He mumbles something, and though I can’t hear the words, I feel the rumble of his voice against my skin like ghostly fingers. A blonde reaches out and presses against his chest, and something about the touch zaps my muscles to retreat. I turn and scurry away, push through the kitchen doors, and slam my back against the wall. My breath is coming too fast. Tears burn my eyes. My throat feels like it’s on fire as I force myself to swallow the incoming deluge of emotions. Why is he here? Why now? It’s got to be because of his brother. I can’t stay here. I can’t see him after everything that has happened. Not tonight. Not now! And yet, how can I walk away? If I leave, I’ll never know why he moved on without me. Sure, he gave me permission to move on, but I never gave the same freedom to him. I wanted to keep him. I didn’t see a way, but I wanted it just the same. “Would you like us to announce dinner service,

Adeline?” I blink up to find Marco, the head of catering, waiting for an answer. “Dinner?” Come on, Adeline, get your brain back in the game. I push up from the wall and straighten my dress. “Yeah, that’s good. If you could do it, I have a . . . I’ll be back.” My heels clip along the tile floor to the service entrance where I burst out into the hallway. As fast as my feet will move, I jog to the elevator and hit the button frantically. “Come on, come on, come on.” The heat of tears fills my eyes, and I pray I can make it inside before the damn bursts. The elevator pings, doors slide open, and I shove myself in before letting go and allowing my emotions to get the best of me. Hours of hair and makeup prep go to shit as I sob uncontrollably while the elevator hurls me up and away, a safe distance from the one man who has the power to destroy me without even trying.

Twenty-two AJ By the time I return to the party, I’m feeling much better. I had a good cry, made myself a double martini, and pressed an ice pack to my face to bring down the swelling my breakdown caused. I reapplied my make up as best I could and was happy I wore my hair up in a bun so I couldn’t fuck that up. My legs feel loose, and my pulse is dull when I walk toward the table for dinner. I see Andre immediately and the glaringly empty seat next to him. The table of twelve all seem to be at ease, chatting amongst themselves, but I pick up on the slight tension in Andre’s shoulders and jaw. “I’m sorry I’m late.” He graciously pushes back from his chair to pull out mine. “I’m just happy you’re here.” He presses a kiss to my bare shoulder, and it takes everything in me not to cringe away from him. It’s not his fault, after all. I just can’t stomach his lips on me when I know Braeden is somewhere in the room.

I take my seat, and the thin heel of my shoe snags on the carpet, making me stumble. My palm slams to the table, shaking the crystal and china. “Oops. Sorry.” I look over at the mayor, who is seated next to me, and smile at his wife. “New shoes.” She laughs and sips her wine as I finally manage to take my seat. Andre sits next to me, and whatever tension I noticed before is now multiplied tenfold. “Oh, wine. Thank God.” I grab the glass of red and open my mouth around the delicate edge, draining the thing completely. “Adeline.” Andre’s stern voice sounds at my shoulder. I flag down a passing waiter. “Can I get a vodka martini, please? Make it two. Or just one, but keep ’em coming.” I wink at him, earning a chuckle from the mayor’s wife. “What has gotten into you?” Andre hisses in my ear. I turn toward him, and the moment I do, he must see it in my eyes. As much as I tried to cover the evidence of my tears, my eyeballs are probably bloodshot to shit. That seems to be all the answer he needs as his expression softens and his hand finds my thigh under the table. His show of concern would usually melt away my anxieties, but not tonight. I feel like Braeden’s

eyes are everywhere, and I don’t want to be caught being touched by another man. I pat Andre’s hand and then angle my body away from him. The waiter delivers my martini, and I greedily swig back half. “This was a great idea, Andre,” some kiss-ass says from across the table. “I’ll be interested to know how much you profit from the event.” I hold up a finger. “All proceeds go to charity. The hotel is shouldering tonight’s entire expense.” “Is that true?” The man’s asking Andre, as if I’m not sitting right there and fully capable of answering questions. “It’s—” “Of course it’s true.” I sense more than feel Andre’s frustration at my cutting him off, oh, but guess what? I don’t fucking care. “Do I look like I’d lie about that, Mr . . .?” “This is Harold Smith, the owner of Smith Trust and Loan,” Andre says. I huff into my drink. “Kinda stupid for a smart guy,” I mumble. A burst of laughter comes from Andre’s left. I’ve been avoiding that entire side of the table to keep from having to look at Andre, but I swing a glare to whomever it is who’s laughing at me. It’s a man, a big man, with a shaved head, and though I could swear the sound of the laughter came from him, he’s not smiling now. His date,

however, is. She’s a petite blonde—oh shit . . . she’s one of the girls who was flirting with Braeden. My scalp prickles with awareness, and I start to sweat. This could be Blake Daniels, although he doesn’t look like Brae. I do a quick scan of the table with my heart in my stomach, hoping to God the subject of my thoughts isn’t sitting right across from me, and thankfully he’s not. “I’m Adeline Pines.” I have no idea where the courage comes from, but the cold glass in my hand might have something to do with it. The big guy nods. “Cameron Kyle. We talked on the phone.” Ah-ha! So, he is just as intimidating in person. He turns toward the woman sipping and smiling into her wine glass. “This is my wife, Eve.” Wife. Eve Kyle. With this new knowledge, most of the tension in my shoulders melts away. “Thank you for doing this.” It’s not the most eloquent show of appreciation, but the way the man nods in response makes me think fancy words wouldn’t impress him anyway. “This is a great party,” Eve says so genuinely I feel guilty for wishing her and her perfect friends dead earlier tonight. “Thank you, it’s my first event, so I was nervous about the turn out.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. “You did this yourself?” “I did. Oh, well . . . with Barbara’s help.”

She asks me a few questions that I can’t imagine she wants answers to. Eve strikes me as the kind of woman who makes other women feel comfortable, as if she’s confident enough not to feel threatened. And with a hulking stone-faced husband like Cameron Kyle, I’d guess she never feels threatened by anything. I swear the guy could incinerate someone with a look. “Eat.” The barking order comes from Andre, and I realize I haven’t touched my food. “I’m not hungry.” There’s no way I can eat. I’d be forcing food down my throat, and the way my stomach is feeling, that wouldn’t be smart. His glare cuts into me, and without words, I can hear his accusation. You’re drunk. I smile and bring my glass to his for a toast. “Cheers.” He shakes his head and leans away, obviously dismissing me. Whatever. As dessert is distributed and another martini is delivered, people begin moving around the room once again. I’m feeling the effects of the liquor and think it’s better for me to sit tight rather than attempt to walk or talk to anyone. I also stay put to keep from running into Braeden. As much as I want to see him, I’m terrified of what that would mean. I’d be forcing him to tell me he doesn’t want me,

and as fragile as I am right now, I don’t think I’d survive it. If I’m lucky, maybe if I stay in one spot long enough, I’ll disappear. The conversation around our table gets louder. There’s a growling voice coming from Cameron’s section of the table, and I look up to see him talking to two other guys. Both are big, really big, but I can only see one of them clearly. He’s got shaggy blond hair and a boyish face, all of this betraying his size, and although I can’t see his muscles under his dark gray suit, I can tell the poor seams are straining to stay together. “How drunk?” I hear Cameron bark. The man I can’t see mumbles something deep I can’t make out. Eve’s still in her seat, and she looks up at them. “Leave him alone; he’ll be fine.” The guy I can’t see answers her and she rolls her eyes. “Whatever.” Yeah, I like this girl. She reminds me of myself. Cameron pulls out his seat to sit back down, and that’s when I catch a glimpse of the guy behind him. I jerk so hard vodka spills over the rim of my glass, waking me up. I grab my napkin and dab at my dress, but I can’t take my eyes off the man. It’s Braeden, only not. That has to be Blake. An older, slightly harder version of the man I know. The man I knew. He must sense me staring because his eyes come

to mine. I gasp when the light catches those green orbs, and there is zero doubt in my mind this is Blake “The Snake” Daniels, UFL fighter, MMA god. An awkward few seconds pass between us when Cameron speaks up. “Adeline, this is Blake Daniels . . .” I knew it! “. . . and Mason Mahoney.” “Nice to meet you.” I can’t stop staring. Cam goes on to explain my organizing the event, and the longer I’m stuck on Blake, the more I sense his discomfort. I blink down at my lap, realizing he probably thinks my lingering stare is a form of flirting. But being so close to Braeden, knowing that his blood relative is two feet from me, I’m . . . oh God, I’m hyperventilating. “If you’ll excuse me.” I push back my chair, but in my haste, I knock it over behind me. Andre groans, but stands to help extract me from the table. “I’m sorry.” His hold on my elbow is firm, and I can’t look up at him or he’ll see the flurry of emotions stirring through me. “I’ll just be a minute.” He jerks my arm once. It’s so minute, but it gets my attention. He leans down as if to brush a kiss against my cheek, but his lips reach my ear. “Pull it

the fuck together. Do not embarrass me.” I stand stock still, but, feeling eyes on me, catch the sight of Cameron, who is back on his feet, Mason, and Blake all glaring at Andre with the fire of hell behind their eyes. Even Eve is shaking her head with death in her gaze. Andre must feel it too, so he presses a kiss to my cheek and then releases me. “Take your time.” I turn away from him so quickly I almost lose my balance and have to grab the back of a chair to keep myself up. With my eyes to the floor to keep steady, I swerve through the tables to the back of the room where the stage is set up. I lean against it, facing the guitars, drums, and amplifiers and breathe through the shit stirring in my chest. The sound of heavy footfalls, dress shoes against the dance floor, grows louder as they approach. I sigh, knowing Andre is going to demand I leave and then later want answers. His steps are slow until I can feel his heat right behind me, feel wisps of his angry breath against the bare skin of my neck. I want to straighten my shoulders and turn to him with confidence, but I can’t. I’ve lost the strength to fight. His hand clasps my hip in an unforgiving hold. His breath is hot on my ear, and I close my eyes and wait for his reprimand. “How does it feel?” I jerk my head up, and my eyes fly open at the

rough, gravelly voice I thought I’d never hear again. My heart gallops. My eyes fill with tears. “How does what feel?” I whisper. Soft lips brush the exposed skin of my shoulder. “To be the most beautiful woman in the room.” My breath shudders as his words send a quake down my spine. “Braeden . . .” And just like that, he’s gone. His touch, his heat, it’s as if I imagined him completely. I turn around just in time to catch his back disappearing into a crowd of people. ~*~

Braeden Fuck me. Fuck me! I touched her. I had to. It was a draw there was no way I could deny. One minute I’m sitting at my table while some dumb fuck asks me about my service, and the next I’m hunting down my brother only to see her. My eyes were drawn like magnets only to get a visual slap in the face when I saw her in the arms of Daddy Warbucks. So that’s what happened to my sweet little AJ.

She got swept off her feet by Mr. Moneybags. I was going to walk away. I told my fucking feet to move in the opposite direction, but damn if those assholes listened. I just had to know. After trying to hunt her down and practically convincing myself she was a ghost, I had to see for myself that she was real, that she wasn’t some hallucination. I touched her. Breathed her in. Felt her pulse like hummingbird wings against my lips. She was real. Right there and real as fuck. And she didn’t run. It was as if her body remembered me even if her heart had moved on. I’m shoving my way through people, not giving a flying shit where I’m going just as long as it’s away, when I spot an exit. I throw open the door and find myself in an unfamiliar hallway. I head down it, turn a corner, and have no idea where I am, but don’t care, as long as it’s away from her, away from people I’ll be— “Braeden!” My feet become lead bricks soldered to the floor. I stuff my fucked-up hand into my pocket and turn toward her, making sure to keep my bad side hidden. She races at me, and my chest clenches as she’s never looked more beautiful. Her hair is pulled up and off her oval face, and her short dress is made of flowing fabric that

billows behind her when she moves, making her look like an apparition. Her legs seem to go on for miles in a pair of sexy heels, and I mourn the loss of the view when she closes in on me. I expect her to cuss me out. Slap me. Kick me in the balls. What I don’t expect is for her to hurl herself into me so hard I’m knocked off balance. Thankfully, I’m not far from the wall, and it catches the brunt of our weight. Her arms slide around my waist, bypassing my bad arm, which is securely settled in my pocket. “You’re back!” A sob rips from her throat, and fucking hell, I feel that shit. “Why . . . why . . .?” I don’t know if she’s asking why I left or why I’m back, so I stand there pulling at every last bit of my strength to keep from crying too. Her body shakes against mine, and I keep my head slightly turned as the moisture from her tears starts to seep through my shirt, marking me right over my heart. Right where I’ve kept her. I want to hold her. I want to put my arms around her and squeeze her until she can’t catch a deep enough breath to produce tears. I want to pull her so close she becomes a part of me, meld our bodies together forever so that I’ll never have to live another day in the reality of life without her. Unable to deny my urge, I use my good arm to

hold her loosely. Loosely because she isn’t mine to keep. She shudders at my touch then melts deeper into me. After what seems like mere seconds, she leans back and looks up into the good side of my slightly turned face. “Braeden?” Black shit runs down her perfect cheeks, and I’d give anything to kiss away every tear. “Why aren’t you holding me?” Her gaze slides across my chest; then she notices my hand in my pocket. She seems to come to some conclusion, most likely the wrong one, and pulls away. My arms itch to grab her back, to crush her to my chest until it hurts. But I let her go. “So that’s it?” Her tone is dead. “You won’t even look at me?” My eyes dart to her face, but it hurts too much to see her like this. Broken. Confused. And it’s all my fault. She reaches to my face, but I step away and turn further into the wall. She slowly drops her hand. “Will you not even talk to me?” I run my tongue along my lips, not even sure if the thing still works. “What’s there to say?” “I don’t know. How about you tell me where the fuck you’ve been for the past five months.” I can’t do that. “You moved on.” My words are like a strike and she recoils, but doesn’t deny it. I drop my chin, still maintaining the protective

angle of my face. “It’s alright. I told you if you found someone better—” “He isn’t better.” I laugh, but it’s not fucking funny. It’s sad. “If you only knew.” “Then tell me. My God, Braeden, I need answers here, please. I’m listening.” “Adeline!” Rico Suave comes slithering down the hallway toward us. Adeline . . . not AJ. He knows her real name. She drops her chin and closes her eyes. “Please, Andre. I just . . . I need a second.” The suit eyes the space between her and me, his gaze darting from her blackened cheeks to my makeup stained shirt. “What the fuck is going on here?” “Braeden is an old friend of mine.” I can’t help but grin. If the guy only knew what kind of friend I was to his dear sweet Adeline, how many hours I spent with my mouth all over and inside her beautiful body, he’d probably kick my ass. I suppose he’s the one who’s getting all the friend benefits now. Huh, so I guess I should kick his ass. “He made you cry?” “Brae.” My brother’s voice comes from the other side of the hallway, probably having found me after sending out a search party. As if on cue, Jonah shows up through the same door Mr.

Cashflow did. Both the fighters approach cautiously, keeping their eyes on Andre, who doesn’t seem phased by the two men who’re four-times his size and closing in. “Everything okay?” Jonah’s staring right at me, and I know he and Blake see the angle of my face, my hand in my pocket, and being smart men, they’re doing the math. “Just fucking dandy.” I nod to her as she stares between them with eyes the size of beach balls. “Boys, this is Adeline.” She frowns at the sound of her name from my lips. Another guy shows up, this one bigger and in a suit. I realize as he approaches it’s the guy who kicked me out the other night. “Fuckin’ great, it’s a party.” “Sir,” Douchebag says to Moneybags. “This is the man you had me escort off the property.” “What?” “The fuck?” AJ and Blake say in unison. Jonah’s jaw is hard and he faces off with douchebag. “It’s cool.” I put my good hand up. “I was just leaving.” Andre pushes in front of AJ, and I fight a growl

at him for thinking he has the right to place himself between her and me. “You were the drunk looking for his wife?” AJ gasps and I inwardly cringe at how pathetic she must think I am. “Wife?” My brother gives me the side-eye. “Long story, it’s . . . it’s nothing.” I can feel AJ’s teary glare on me. “Not anymore.” Andre turns to her. “Did you know he’s a married man, Adeline?” I do not appreciate his tone. “He’s not married.” She gives me a look as if she’s pleading for me to do something, to speak up for us, to claim her, drag her away with me, but all of it goes ignored. Jonah runs a hand over his black hair and huffs. “Alright, my head’s fucking spinning. Let’s get our boy home and sort this out tomorrow.” “Your boy is not welcome in my hotel. He is also not to contact Adeline, is that understood?” “Excuse me?” Her shrill question makes me want to give her a high five. “You don’t tell me who I can talk to Andre.” Maybe my feisty AJ still lives deep within all that fancy fucking Adeline façade. The rich asshole grabs her elbow. “As long as you’re sleeping in my bed under my roof, I most certainly fucking do.” I lunge for the guy, but Blake must’ve seen it

coming and holds me back. “Get to the penthouse,” Big bucks snaps at AJ. “Now.” Blood pounds through my head. My muscles jump with repressed aggression. When she doesn’t move, he nods to the security guy, who grabs her upper arms. “Don’t touch me.” “Fine.” Richie Rich Dick gets in her face. “You want to be his whore?” Black bleeds into my vision. I don’t know how I get passed Blake and Jonah, but I have that piece of shit to the wall with my forearm pressed into his neck. “I’ll kill you!” It’s all I manage to get out before I’m pulled back. AJ rushes to me, but the security guy holds her back. “Get your fucking hands off her.” AJ’s upper arms are red where that fucker’s grip holds her back. “Let her go and I’ll walk away.” The dickbags share a look, and I force myself to calm down. “I’m serious.” Jonah’s hold loosens, allowing me to take a full breath, further slowing my pulse. “I’m not leaving until I know she’s okay.” “I’d listen to the man.” Jonah’s voice is deep and calm but carries the subtle shake of an underlying threat. “We can make this real ugly for you if you want.” With my face still angled away, I watch out of

the corner of my eye as he releases her, but him and the Golden boy remain a barrier in front of her. I try to pull away, but Jonah’s forearm is wrapped around my neck from behind. Blake then nods for Jonah and me to follow. “Let’s get out of here before this pansy calls the cops.” Without much of a choice with Jonah’s heavyweight body at my back, we move toward the emergency exit. “Braeden, please!” AJ’s voice echoes down the hallway. “Braeden . . .” The broken sobs of her voice cut off as the door slams shut behind us. Blake nudges me. “You good?” “Fucking fantastic, brother. Thanks for asking.” Jonah laughs. “Something tells me you got history with Mr. Fancy Pants’ lady.” “You could say that.” Even in the dark alleyway behind the hotel, I can feel my brother’s eyes on me. “She know?” I understand what he’s asking. Does she know what happened in Iraq? Know you lost your mind? Is she aware you’re a drunk? Does she know you love her, you dumbshit? “Nope.” He groans. “Fuck.” “Pretty much.”

Twenty-three AJ It’s close to three in the morning when I hear Andre slip into the bedroom. I left the party after the blow-up with Brae, but, ever the professional, Andre stayed. I expect him to head to the bathroom, change, and then crawl into bed with his back facing mine, so when I feel the bed dip and then hear the click of the lamp I startle. He’s still in his suit, looking as he did when the night began, the picture of sophisticated elegance, but his eyes are tired. Not so much sleepy, but more like a fed-up-with-my-shit kind of tired. “I don’t care how long it takes. If I don’t sleep all night tonight or tomorrow, you will explain to me what the fuck that was all about.” Where do I even start? My eyes burn from crying, and my head hurts from the combination of sobriety and confusion. I sit up and push back to lean against the headboard, taking the thick comforter to my chest.

“I’m sure you figured out that was Braeden, the guy I told you about, before when we weren’t . . .” Together. I can’t bring myself to even say the word now that I know Braeden is in the same city. “What I didn’t tell you was I met him shortly before I met you. He’s a Marine stationed at Camp Pendleton. He came to visit me on weekends, and I don’t know, I thought . . . we thought we were just hanging out.” Andre doesn’t take his cold hard eyes off mine, the warmth I’ve become used to completely gone. “The last time I saw him was almost a year ago when he told me he was leaving on a six-month deployment.” It seems like a lifetime ago that we lay in bed wrapped up in each other, discussing our questionable future. “He said he’d be back.” “You cheated on him.” Not a question, and so matter of fact that I peel away from the headboard. “He told me not to wait. He told me if someone better came along to take it!” “And tonight?” I throw my hands in the air. “I don’t know. He just reappeared, and I didn’t know how to handle it.” He leans away, bracing his weight with a hand to the mattress as he studies me. “He’s been showing up at the hotel, hanging around the amphitheater, claiming he’s waiting for his wife. Did you marry this guy?”

“No! It’s . . .” I chew my bottom lip, feeling the burn of tears as they bubble to the surface. “It was just a joke.” “It’s not funny.” He sniffs and stares across the room before bringing his gaze back to mine. “Security has had to kick him out for being drunk and obnoxious.” I drop my head back and groan. “I don’t understand any of this. Why now, after all this time?” I don’t expect Andre to answer, and talking about this with him is an asshole thing to do, but before we were together-together, he was my friend, and old habits die hard. He shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck as silence stretches between us. “Do you love him?” “I don’t know what I’m feeling right now.” Braeden shows up out of the blue searching for me, after five months of being back, but when I hugged him, he barely touched me. He wouldn’t even look at me and hardly spoke. “That’s not the answer I was hoping for.” Andre doesn’t meet my eyes as he pushes off the bed. He crosses to the far side of the room and takes off his suit jacket, tie, and unbuttons his shirt before disappearing into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. I click off the light then slip down into bed. Being with Andre isn’t wrong.

Braeden told me to move on. Then why does sleeping in the same bed with my boyfriend feel so disloyal? Not that I’ll be doing much sleeping tonight. Knowing Braeden is out there somewhere and he has the answers I need to move on, makes it impossible to relax. If I’m ever going to be able to leave him in the past, to get the closure I need to let go, I’ll have to hunt him down.

Twenty-four AJ One thing I’ve learned in life is that you get what you pay for. Nothing proves that point more than driving a luxury car. The sweltering summer sun is nothing but an annoying reflection off the jet-black hood, easily counteracted by my sunglasses, as I navigate Interstate 15. The climate control keeps me comfortable at a cool sixty degrees, the leather seats inflated for lower back support, and my mom’s voice coming through the Bluetooth speakers. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t feel content, totally at ease. And yet inside, I’m a melting pot of depression and restlessness. “I’m so glad you called. How was the benefit dinner?” As if my stomach wasn’t already cartwheeling all over itself . . . “It was great. Total success.” “I knew it would be. And, AJ, Dad really

doesn’t feel comfortable taking your money. He has a job now.” I look at the piece of scratch paper pinched between my fingers at the wheel. My exit is coming up. “I know, but you said it pays less.” And they were struggling back then. “Just tell him it’s only until he gets back on his feet.” What he doesn’t know is that I paid their mortgage for the next three months too. I’ll make sure to avoid my phone when he figures that one out. “That’s very sweet of you, but don’t you have bills to pay too?” “I told you, Mom, we’re part of the hotel, and Andre refuses to take my money anyway.” He also insists I drive his car. I guess an Audi outranks my Saturn, but I’m not complaining. Especially today. I took my time getting ready for this meeting: picked out my best skinny jeans, a blousy silk tank with spaghetti straps, and a pair of navy blue wedges. I have a cardigan to wear over it, which gives it more of a professional look, but with the amount of nervous sweat I’m giving off, there’s no way I’m putting it on. I crank the AC up and angle the vents to my underarms. The gust blows my hair away from my shoulders, and I wonder if I should’ve curled it rather than worn it straight. Maybe a darker lip stain? God, AJ, calm down!

“Hello? Did I lose you?” “Sorry, Mom. I’m trying to find this building, and I wasn’t paying attention. What did you say?” “You know I hate it when you talk on the phone while driving.” “I know, but I like the company.” And if I don’t keep my mind busy, I might lose my nerve and pull a one-eighty. I half-listen while she goes on about all the latest happenings, and I make sure to throw in a “Uhhuh” every now and then. I turn left, then left again, and one right, until . . . “Okay, Mom. I’m here.” I swallow and for some stupid reason feel like bawling. “I gotta go.” “Alright, honey, I love you.” “Love you too.” She hangs up just as I hit the front gate, and a security guard is waiting for me to roll down my window. The second I do, a gust of hot hair blows in from outside, which isn’t helping my internal temperature. “Do you have an appointment?” “Yes.” Thank God. Or rather, thank Barbara. While I lay around and nursed my swollen face and bruised ego, she managed to pull some strings to get me this meeting. “My name is Adeline Pines.” He checks an iPad then taps the screen before opening the gate and allowing me through. And damn, but now this all seems too real.

I take the first parking spot I can find, which is in the row farthest away from the building. As nervous as I am, I need a wide berth to avoid dinging Andre’s car or one of the twenty-plus in the lot. I grab my purse and hit the key fob to lock up then scamper across the burning asphalt. That cardigan would’ve melted me alive. Not giving myself a chance to second-guess what I’m doing, I focus on what I’m here for, or rather, half of what I’m here for, and push through the glass door and into the UFL Training Center. The lobby is what I expected. Clean. Modern. Manly. There are multiple TVs on the walls playing clips from fights, but I keep my eyes trained on the woman behind the desk. She looks up at me as I approach. “Hi, I’m Adeline Pines. I have a two-o’clock appointment with Mr. Kyle.” “I’ll let him know you’re here.” She picks up the phone, hits a few buttons, and throws out a clipped, “Cam’s two o’clock is here.” I could’ve sworn she said that with bitchiness in her voice, but I might be reading too heavily into it. “His assistant will be down to get you.” She quickly dismisses me and goes back to her magazine opened in front of her. “Thank you.” I’m too antsy to sit, so I move around the lobby, taking in the framed photos of live-action fights. Some are incredible shots taken

mid-hit, others show two fighters wrapped up together in some complicated configuration, and others are fighters holding up a big gold belt. This one looks a lot like the guy from the other night. His midnight black hair is spikey with sweat, and what I couldn’t see under his suit is that he’s covered in brightly colored tattoos. There’s a nameplate on the frame that reads Heavyweight Champion Jonah “The Assassin” Sl— “Miss Pines?” I turn toward the calling of my name to find a petite, and very beautiful, blonde. Her hair is pulled back in an extreme ponytail showcasing a dainty face with picture perfect features—big eyes the color of chocolate, a pert nose, and lips that aren’t too thin or too thick. She’s wearing something similar to me, skinny jeans, cute sandals, but her black T-shirt is tight and has a skull on it, and not the pretty sugar skull kind either, but the kind you’d see tattooed on a biker. As I approach her, she holds out her hand. “I’m Layla, Cam’s assistant.” “Adeline. Nice to meet you.” “Come on back.” She motions for me to follow her, and from behind, I notice even her hips and ass are tiny. Round, perfect, but small. And why am I checking this woman out? Other than the fact that she’s gorgeous and hard to pull my eyes from?

The hallway spits us out into a huge gymnasiumstyle room. Gigantic speakers hang from the walls, and I realize this is the source of the heavy metal music I heard from the lobby. There are clusters of men and women involved in different forms of exercise and fighting, and if I had more time, I’d pull up a seat and watch. “This way,” Layla says, directing me to a large staircase. We head up side-by-side and she turns to me. “I love your top.” “Thank you. I got it at Target.” She freezes mid-step. “No way. I got this at Target.” She points at her shirt, and we both share a quick giggle. “They have really cute stuff.” We continue to move up the stairs. “I know, right? Every time I go to grab something for my son, I always end up with more for myself.” Her ponytail swings with each step, and after moving down a long hallway, she points to a door. “Here we are.” I step inside to see Cameron sitting at his desk, and my God, the man’s shoulders are as wide as the table. His blue UFL T-shirt is pulled tight to accommodate his large body. He’s bent over a planner or notebook and doesn’t acknowledge us when we come in or when we move to sit in two empty chairs in front of his desk. I didn’t know Layla would be joining us for the

meeting, which is going to make the second half a little awkward, but I feel comfortable enough around her that she won’t pass judgment. Hell, if Jesus himself were in Layla’s place, I’d still say what it is I came here to say. I refuse to pass up what could be my last opportunity to find Braeden. Mr. Kyle finally finishes whatever he’s writing and throws the notebook shut, drops his pen, and peers up at me. “Miss Pines, what can I do for you?” Alright, no pleasantries. I can get behind that. Gotta respect a man who doesn’t waste time, even if it does make him scary as shit. I reach into my purse and pull out an envelope. “I have the winners of the silent auction from Saturday night here.” I pass it to him, he opens it up, fingers through the pages, and then slides it to Layla. “That’s great, but you didn’t have to drive all the way over here to hand that off.” Shit. My face warms slowly. “No, but I wanted to take the opportunity to thank you again for the UFL’s involvement. Because of your help, we were able to raise one hundred and ninety-three thousand dollars for the Injured Heroes Foundation.” “Wow,” Layla whispers. Cam merely nods, his expression blank as he silently waits for me to continue because, again, I

could’ve communicated that information via email as well. I clear my throat and find it hard to hold his gaze. “I also wanted to personally apologize for my behavior.” I don’t know how much he knows. I wouldn’t think he knows anything about what transpired in the back hallway just before I left, but he was at the dinner table with me when I was making a complete ass out of myself. “I have no excuse for how I acted, and I hope my behavior doesn’t affect your opinion of the Kairos or the IHF.” He rocks back in his chair, making the hinges creak. Then forward. And back. Each whine of metal on metal makes my pulse kick a little harder until he deflates the tension in the room by speaking. “It was a party. It’s not unheard of to have too much fun at a party.” I smile and my cheeks get even warmer, knowing that having too much fun isn’t exactly what I’m apologizing for. “Right. Thank you for understanding.” “Is that it?” His question is challenging. I look over at Layla, who grins encouragingly. She’s obviously completely unaffected by this guy, which only makes me respect her more. “Actually, there is one more thing.” I clear my throat. “I was wondering if you’d be able to pass along a message for me to one of your fighters.”

If it’s possible, the man’s eyes pull tighter. Is it too late to change my mind? To grab my shit and run out of here pretending none of this ever happened? Yes. I’ll hate myself forever if I don’t at least try. “Um . . . if you could pass my phone number along to Blake Daniels—” “I’m sorry, what?” I lean away from the venom in Layla’s voice, the sweet smile she once wore replaced by a fire that I never thought a woman of her size was capable of. They always say be careful of the little ones . . . or is it redheads? “Do you know him?” She tilts her head with a whole lot of fuck you rolling off her body. “Blake Daniels is my husband.” No freakin’ way! Hope swells in my chest. “That’s great! So, you can help me.” “What the fuck?” Cameron mumbles, but I keep my eyes on Layla. “Please.” She closes her eyes, shakes her head, then focuses back on me. “You’re asking me, his wife, to give him your phone number? Are you insane?” “Yes! No! I mean . . .” I look between Layla and Cameron, hoping one of them will bail me out, but they’re both staring at me, happy to watch me drown. “I’m not interested in Blake. It’s his brother, Braeden. I need to talk to him.”

“What do you need to . . .?” Layla’s eyes grow wide. “Oh my God, it’s you.” “Me?” “The girl Blake caught crying over Braeden.” “I was not . . .” I pinch my lips closed to cut off the lie. “Okay, maybe I was, but you have to understand I never thought I’d see him again.” I paraphrase my history with Braeden in a rush of words that I don’t even know make sense, but judging by the way Layla’s face softens, I think I got my point across. “So? Will you help me?” She looks to Cameron, who merely shrugs; then she looks back at me. “He hasn’t been out of bed since that night.” That’s strange. That doesn’t sound like Braeden at all. “Is he sick?” “I think he is, Adeline.” Layla’s eyes glisten. “More than any of us even know.” My legs hurl me out of my seat to standing. “I need to see him. Right now.” “I can’t do that.” She shakes her head. “I’ll need to talk to him first.” Her dark eyes drop to her lap where she flicks at a few pieces of invisible lint. “Why do I get the feeling that if you ask him he’ll refuse to see me?” She tugs repeatedly on her bottom lip, and if we were in a cartoon, I bet I’d see wheels turning in her head as her thoughts run wild. “Because he probably will.”

I drop back into my seat, and the weakness inside me, the possibility that Braeden will deny me, is deflating. I chuckle, earning a glare from both Cam and Layla. “I didn’t think I had any of these left.” I point to the tears building in my eyes. Cameron reaches for his phone, hits a button, and barks into the mouthpiece. “Daniels. In my office. Now.” Oh shit . . . now the whole family is involved. ~*~

Braeden “Mom, please stop. You’re making me feel like an invalid.” She ignores me and continues to fluff my pillows, including the one under my head. “Stop acting like one and I’ll stop treating you like one.” I blink up at the woman who raised me. Back in the day, she wouldn’t say shit if she had a mouthful, but after The General passed, she’s full of ’tude and throwing sass. She’s spending too much time with Layla and starting to act just like her. “What. A man can’t take a day to lie low?” She punches the pillow next to me, and fuckin’ hell, that blow had some heat on it. “A day, yes. You’ve been a mess for months.” “How can you say that? I’ve been working out with Blake, and I’ve been out and doing shit.”

“Getting drunk.” She lifts her thin eyebrows and waits for me to deny it. I can’t. “I’ll be alright, Mom. I might look like I’m doing nothing, but I am. I’m trying to figure out what I’ll do with the rest of my life.” “You could start by staying sober for longer than an afternoon.” I wish I could. I fucking hate drinking. Hate the taste. Hate how it makes me sad and pissed off. But the alternative is reliving the memories and facing how far I’ve fallen. She shoves my dirty clothes into a hamper. “Mom, stop. If you do my laundry, you might as well hack off my balls and shove those in your pocket.” “Gross, Brae.” “Well, it’s true.” I push up from the bed and cross to her, taking the bundle of my dirties from her hand. “Stop it. I’m fine.” Her eyes tear up and she shakes her head. “You’re not fine.” “I will be. I swear.” As soon as I figure out who the hell I am now that I lost everything I ever wanted. My military career is gone, and I’ve got nothing to fall back on, never had a secondary because failure wasn’t an option. And the girl. Fuck. I lost her too. Seeing her the other night brought back feelings

I haven’t felt since the last time we were together. My chest stirred with a longing to be close, to hear her voice as she talks about her goals and dreams. I was reminded of what it felt like to laugh with her, the way being with her was easier than breathing. Anything and everything she needed from me was so fucking easy to give. But I’m not that man to her anymore. She’s replaced me with someone better. Someone who doesn’t have nightmares of war. Who can function without being shitfaced. A successful, hard-working guy, someone who can take care of her. Not the freeloading bastard who lives in his brother’s pool house. “Knock, knock?” Layla’s voice comes in through the door as it simultaneously opens. “Can I come in?” I throw my good hand up in defeat. “Grand Central Station up in here. May as well.” Mom and Layla exchange a few whispered words before my mom leaves. Oh great. If Layla’s sending her away, she’s gearing up to rail me for something. I pick up the remote, drop down on the couch, and hit power. She sits in front of me on the coffee table but off to the side enough so I can still see the screen. “Don’t hate me.” I peek over at her then go back to the tube. “What did you do? Put glitter in my toothpaste?”

“No.” “You kicking me out?” “Never.” “Then what—” “Hey, Braeden.” At the sound of AJ’s voice, I glare at my sisterin-law, thankful my right side is facing away from the door. “What the fuck is she doing here?” “She came to the training center, searching for you. Blake and I figured since you’ve been getting kicked out of the Kairos looking for her, you’d be okay with a visit.” I dart my eyes over to AJ as she stands just inside the door, wringing her hands. “Some notice would’ve been nice.” At least then I’d have had time to put on a long-sleeved T-shirt and maybe a hat to cover some of this shit up. “I’ll leave you two alone.” Layla leaves, and when she does, she forgets to take all the awkward air in the room with her. “May I sit?” AJ says. “I guess.” With my left side to her, I keep my eyes forward as she drops down on the opposite end of the sofa, and I can feel her studying me. “Braeden, I know this seems weird, but I can’t get through another day without some answers.” “I don’t have any for you.” The scent of jasmine wafts off her, and though it’s the same, it’s subtly different, as if she’s traded in her old soap for some

fancy fucking body wash. Long gone are her leggings and sweatshirts; she now looks like she’s been plucked straight from a designer clothing catalog. “Where have you been?” “You don’t want to know.” “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know. Why won’t you look at me? It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other and you can’t stand the sight of me?” Her voice is boarding on hysterics. “What did I do to push you away?” “AJ, please—” “You’ve been back for months, and I haven’t heard a word from you.” “I’m sorry.” “For what? Tell me why you’re sorry. My God, put me out of my misery because I can’t stand sitting this close to you and feeling so far away.” Without warning, she reaches for my chin. I dodge her and jump up from the couch. “So that’s it? You have nothing to say to me?” Why can’t I bring myself to talk to her? “Whatever this was between us is really over,” she whispers almost as if she’s talking to herself, her words tinged with shock and hurt. “Guess so.” “You won’t talk to me at all?” I don’t answer. She huffs out a frustrated breath. “You’ve

changed.” No shit. Silent seconds turn to minutes as I stare at the blank wall while listening intently to her breathing. “I came here looking for something.” The sound of her moving off the leather couch puts me on alert, but her voice only becomes more distant. She’s leaving. “Either hope or closure.” The door opens, and it takes everything in me not to run to her and beg her to stay. “Alright, Braeden, you win. Have a good life—” “Wait.” I don’t know where the word came from, didn’t feel it coming, and couldn’t act fast enough to stifle it. “Don’t go,” I whisper. I can’t tell if she’s still there, if she heard me at all. The silence in the room is so thick it’s hard to breathe. Either she’s feeling it too or she’s holding her breath, or maybe she’s halfway to her car. There’s only one way to find out. Slowly, I turn around, and when I bring my gaze to the door, it locks on the pair of golden-brown eyes I thought I’d only ever see again in my dreams. Those eyes widen with delight. Her lips tip up on the ends in a gentle smile until she sees me. Until she really sees me. And this time, I don’t hide. The happiness drains from her face, the pink fire in her cheeks fading to a ghostly white. Her gaze

travels down to my arm that’s tucked to my gut, my hand curled up there. Her lips part, and her chest rises and falls until the sound of her labored breathing fills the space between us. “Braeden . . .” I don’t know why her first response to seeing my damaged arm and face is to say my name, but my guess is she’s trying to convince herself I’m still me. “What happened?” I shake my head. No way I’m filling that beautiful mind with stories of death and war. She comes toward me, and with my back to the wall, there’s nowhere to run. I tell myself to allow her to see me. Let her see for herself what a mess I’ve become. Then, after she’s fully repulsed, she’ll be able to walk away with a clean conscience. If she doesn’t walk away, there’s no fucking way I’ll let her go of my own free will. Once she’s up close, she studies my jaw. I close my eyes and tilt my head, exposing the damage for her to inspect. The skin there pulls tight, and I’m thankful I can’t see what’s sure to be horror in her eyes. I jump at the tender brush of her fingertips against the mangled flesh. “I’m sorry, does it hurt?” “No, I just . . .” My heart slams against my ribs, and heat swirls in my gut. “It’s been a long time

since anyone’s touched me like that.” “Let me?” Fuck, yes. Please. Touch me. I nod and offer her my damaged side. Her fingers brush tentatively from my temple down to my chin, and I shiver at the barely there contact. “Is this okay?” She continues down my neck, and my eyes dart open when I sense her moving closer. I lean back against the wall and drop my chin to the side as she lavishes my wounds with sensations. Her breath feathers across my neck as her touch moves back up my jaw. “Feels good.” Her fingers sift through my hair as if she’s searching for scarring, and I moan at how fucking great it feels to have her hand on me. Dancing the soft pads of her fingers back down my neck, she slides them over my T-shirt to my chest, brushes them along my nipple, and my hips jack forward of their own accord. I feel like a virgin being loved by a woman for the first time and damn near ready to explode. Her touch continues to my forearm; her fingers shake as she moves up to my elbow, my bicep, and back down. I focus on my breathing and force myself not to consider what might be going through her head. She touches me with care, but I know what she’s seeing is what nightmares are made of. I’m ruined.

Revolting. Soon enough she’ll run, and I won’t blame her when she does. She feathers shaking fingers against my knuckles. Then I feel the first drop of her hot tears against my skin. “Don’t cry.” “I’m sorry.” She covers her face with her hands, and I don’t know why I do it, but I reach for her with my good arm and pull her to me, making sure I turn my head and give her my undamaged side as she buries her face in my neck. “Don’t be sorry. It’s a normal reaction to . . . all this.” “No.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t know. I should’ve been there for you. I should’ve . . .” Her voice breaks on a sob. “I didn’t know.” So, these tears aren’t tears of disgust? Damn if that doesn’t puff my chest. “Who did this to you?” Her shoulders shake. “The bad guys?” I rub her back and smile into her hair. Fuck . . . I’ve missed this woman. “Yeah, muffin. The bad guys.” She leans back, sniffing, and wipes all that black shit off her cheeks. “You called me muffin.” I shift uncomfortably and drop my arm from her back. After all, I have no business touching another man’s woman. Sure as fuck have no business calling her a pet name. “Yeah, sorry ’bout that.

Habit.” She blinks as if she’s realizing for the first time that she’s in my room and crying in my arms. “It’s okay. I don’t hate it as much as I used to.” I scratch the top of my head and nod. Yeah, well that shit won’t be happening again, so . . . “I’m glad you came by.” “Me too. So, uh, maybe you’ll stay out of trouble now, huh? No more stalking the amphitheater for your wife?” Realization hits me like a two-by-four to the gut, and the fire of anger sparks behind my ribs. “Ah, so that’s what this is about. Daddy Warbucks sent you here to fend me off.” What little humor she had dissolves instantly. “No.” I tuck my good hand into my pocket to keep from physically pushing her away. “Whatever you say, Adeline.” She scrunches her nose at the sound of her own name. “Don’t call me that.” “My bad. That name reserved for the highclass?” Fuck, I need a drink. I move around her and swipe a bottle of vodka from the cabinet, working the top of with my teeth. “No, I just don’t like it—what are you doing?” I pull the bottle from my lips and offer it to her. “No, thanks.” I use the bottle as a pointer as I motion to her

fancy fucking outfit and shit. “The Richie Rich life suits you. Little stuck up for my taste, but still fuckable.” “Excuse me?” “Oops.” I bug my eyes out and cover my mouth. “Sorry for the f-bomb. You used to like it when I talked dirty.” The muscles beneath the smooth skin of her shoulders tense, and she balls her fists. “What is your problem?” I take a swig of vodka and drop to the couch, my legs open, my heart squeezed in my chest. “You two serious?” “I . . . I mean—” My eyes cut to her, and if she thought of lying to me before, she’s thinking twice about it now. She tugs on the hem of her top. “I live with him, but—” “Fuck.” I fold forward and stare at the floor. “Braeden, please—” “You found someone better.” “He is not better than you.” I slice my eyes back to her and tilt my head. “Don’t. Fucking. Lie.” “He’s not!” I slam the bottle down, jump up, and get in her face. “Look at me and don’t fucking lie!” “Brae—” “Look at me! Look!”

The door bursts open, and Blake comes in, stepping between us. “Back the fuck up, bro.” “Piss off.” I shove him hard, but he doesn’t budge. “Adeline.” Blake’s eyes don’t waver from mine. “This visit is over.” “Please, let me talk to him.” “Not tonight, babe,” he grumbles and maintains the barrier between us. Layla slides in behind him and motions for AJ to leave. I want to fight for her to stay, but why? She’s living with her fucking piece-of-shit, rich, son-of-abitch boyfriend who’s got her all dolled up in those fancy fucking clothes. Well, fuck him. Fuck them both. The door shuts, and Blake points one beefy finger in my face. “You fucked that up big time, asshole.” “Whatever.” I drop back to the couch. He stands at the foot of it. “That woman out there loves you.” I pinch my eyes closed, forcing myself to see the truth rather than the lies. It’s all lies. “You don’t want to open up to me, to Mom, a fucking shrink, fine. But if you have half a fucking brain, you will open up to that woman and let her love you.” “She lives with her boyfriend, dickhead.”

He shakes his head. “You really are a complete idiot.” “Sticks and stones may break my bones . . .” “Fuck off.” He storms out of the room and slams the door. What does he expect me to do? Go to war with Mr. Moneybags over her? I’m done fighting wars I have no chance of winning.

Twenty-five AJ The sun is barely up, and I’m practically bouncing off the walls of the penthouse suite. I’d blame the coffee if I didn’t know this feeling well: the coil of excitement in my gut, rush of adrenaline through my veins, the drive for victory no matter how much it hurts. Yeah, I’m familiar with this feeling. It’s just been so long since I’ve felt it, really felt it, that it’s like being reacquainted with an old friend. How apropos. I check the clock on the microwave and decide I can’t stand another second being idle. I pour a steaming cup of coffee and walk as slowly as I can to Andre’s room, my sneakers soundless on the marble floor. Since the night after the charity event, I’ve been sleeping in the guest bedroom. Andre’s usually up pretty early, but I don’t know what time he got home from work last night. I get the feeling he’s sleeping in to avoid me, not that I blame him.

His room is dark except for the early morning light that shines through the double-pane windows. Circling to his side of the bed, I take a moment to watch him sleep. He really is a very attractive man: strong forehead, regal nose, and a firm jawline. Awake the combination is intimidating; asleep; he looks almost harmless. I set the coffee down on his side table and prop my butt on the edge of the bed. “Andre?” I rest a hand on his forearm. He blinks open his eyes and they focus on me. “Hey, what time is it?” “Just after six.” “Everything okay?” He studies my face then what I’m wearing, as if it’ll give him some clue as to the purpose of the wake-up call. “Yeah.” He rolls to his back and stretches then pushes himself up. I snag the coffee off the table and hand it to him. “Thank you.” I wait while he takes a few sips, and then he frowns at me. “You headed somewhere?” Fidgeting in one place, I tug at my tank and smooth my hands down my workout leggings. “Yeah, that’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.” His expression turns cold and guarded, exactly what I expected. “I went by and saw Braeden yesterday.”

He continues to sip from his coffee, but I don’t miss the slight twitch of his eye. “I needed answers and—” “Did you sleep with him?” I recoil at his words. “No, Andre, I didn’t sleep with him.” I want to tear into him for being an insensitive prick, but I can understand his frustration. Surely, he feels me slipping away, but I’d never do that to him. “He was wounded in Iraq. Horribly wounded.” The memory of his damaged skin beneath my touch sends dread weighing heavily on my shoulders, and I don’t even think I’ve seen the full extent of it. “I want to help him.” “How do you want to help him, Adeline?” I close my eyes and drop my chin at the shitty tone in his voice. “Please don’t make this dirty. If you’re worried about us running away together, you have nothing to be concerned about. He doesn’t want me. He made that very clear.” “And you?” He leans to set his coffee down before refocusing on me. “Do you want him?” “You want the truth?” “Always.” “I did. In the worst way, I wanted him. I think . . . I don’t know . . . I may have loved him.” His cheek jumps. “But the man I saw at the charity event, the same man I saw yesterday, that’s not the guy I knew. I think whatever happened to him changed

him.” That’s the truth, and Andre deserves to hear it. “Yet since he came back into your life you refuse to share our bed.” “Yes. Just until I figure this out.” He pushes two hands through his dark hair and locks his fingers behind his head. “I don’t like it.” “I know, and it’s not fair to ask you to deal with my baggage. I understand if you want me to leave.” “Where would you go?” “It might take me a couple of days, but I could get an apartment.” I touch his hand that’s now resting by his hip. “Thanks to you I have some extra money for a deposit.” He studies me, probably using his brilliant business mind to determine the cost benefit of my living here, and frowns when it seems he’s come to some sort of decision. “You can stay—” “Thank you—” “—as long as you continue to be honest with me, Adeline. I’ve invested in us; you know I have.” Guilt crushes my lungs. “You’ve been so patient with me, and I appreciate that.” “My generosity will only go so far.” He leans forward and kisses my forehead where he whispers, “I won’t have a woman living in my home while she’s fucking someone else.” Those last three words drip in acid. “I understand, and I think you know me well

enough to know I’d never do that to you.” “I do. However, maybe this is what you need to do to dissolve the last barrier between us. I’m tired of sharing you with a ghost.” “I know.” His gaze is cast downward, and he slips back beneath the sheets. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to catch a couple of more hours of sleep.” “Thank you, Andre.” When he doesn’t reply, I slip quietly from the room, grab my water bottle, keys, and race for the door. ~~~ By the time I pull up at the Daniels’ house, the sun has thoroughly warmed the atmosphere. The weather report said it’s supposed to get up into the nineties today, which means we better get moving. Walking as quietly as I can to avoid waking anyone in the main house, I grin when I see the lock on the side gate is unlatched. “Thank you, Layla,” I whisper as I slip through and scurry across the manicured lawn to the guesthouse. Yesterday, after being forced out by Blake, I had a talk with Braeden’s sister-in-law. I told her I wasn’t giving up on Brae, which made her smile and tear up simultaneously. When I explained my plan, she assured me she’d do whatever she could

to help. When I reach Braeden’s door, I lift a fist to knock, but then figure I’ll try the handle first, just in case he left it unlocked. If I’m forced to knock, there’s a good chance he won’t let me in. With a light grip on the handle, I turn and—yes! It opens. I slide in quickly and shut the door. The room is dark, the window blinds closed. I assume the heap on the bed is Braeden, and the coffee table is littered with empty beer bottles and an open pizza box with only a few crusts left inside. The atmosphere is stagnant, and I wonder how often he pops the windows for fresh air, clearly not often enough. Layla had mentioned he was in bad shape but refused to expand on what exactly that meant, saying, “That’s Brae’s story to tell.” I hope he’ll confide in me because seeing the vibrant, healthy, active man I used to know reduced to this kind of behavior is as sad as it is frustrating. I grab two fists-full of comforter at the foot of the bed and yank as hard as I can. “Reveille, reveille, reveille! All hands on deck!” He surprises me by violently grabbing a pillow and rolling over to his side, smashing his head beneath the puffy stuff with a muttered, “Fuck off.” Something tells me this isn’t the first time he’s been forced out of bed. “Nice try, but nope.” I walk around the room,

drawing up the shutters as loudly as I can. “This is the first day of the rest of your—” A pillow smacks me hard in the back of the head. I reach down, pick it up, and hurl it back at the hulking piece of meat, who has managed to tuck back under a thin sheet. “Get up!” “Get out!” With the room now fully illuminated, I circle to his side of the king-sized bed. I cross my arms over my chest and kick out a foot. “Make me.” He groans. “You want me out? Drag your ass out of bed and make me get out.” He flops to his back and glares up at me. “Fuck. I thought this was a nightmare.” “Nope.” He rubs his puffy eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “What are you doing here, Adeline.” I ignore his use of my name but call him an asshole in my head. “We’re going for a run.” What starts off as a slight shaking of his body turns into full-blown hysterical laughter. “Go ahead. Laugh it up. You think I’m kidding, but I’m not leaving here unless it’s with you and you’re in running gear.” “Running? You’re joking, right? I’m still drunk!” Another pillow comes flying at my face, but I dodge it. “Good, then get up and run it off.”

He pushes up from the bed in a slow coordinated prowl, and with the light in the room and without the protection of a sheet, I can see he’s wearing a pair of thin white exercise shorts and a T-shirt. He advances, his hips drawing my focus to the obvious arousal punching at the silken fabric. So close he towers over me, and I have to tilt my head back, back, back to catch his eyes. He allows the tension to simmer between us, and as much as his size and stare make me want to take real estate on the other side of the room, I refuse to back down. I lick my lips, nervousness making my mouth as dry as the desert outside these four walls. “You’re up. Good.” He groans and flashes a lopsided grin that I feel low in my belly, then grabs his dick. “Oh, I’m up alright. But don’t get excited; this isn’t for you.” Heat flashes over my entire body, and my heart beats wildly. “That’s, um . . . good to know.” He tilts his head and leans in close. “Is it?” Humor fills his voice, as if he’s getting enjoyment from torturing me. Okay, he wins. I throw up the white flag on our stare down and step back then turn toward the kitchenette. “Go get ready. I’ll, um”—I open the fridge only to find more booze, condiments, Chinese takeout containers, and loaf of bread— “throw something together for breakfast for you, and then we’ll hit the pavement. It’s going to be hot

today, so the sooner we go, the bett—” A door slams. I peek over to see it’s the bathroom door and that Braeden has closed himself inside. I shove my fist in the air and do a victory dance, whirling around the loaf of bread above my head. “I win, I win, I win . . .” I whisper my chant so he won’t hear me, and then I get it together and prep for the next battle of wills. ~*~

Braeden Dammit all to hell, I can’t breathe. She’s back. My AJ is back. And she’s in my fucking house. How the hell did she pull that off? Blake has this place so locked up it rivals Pendleton, and yet little ole AJ managed to strut right in, all ’tude and fuckme leggings. And seriously, why, why in the hell does my body decide it’s done being dead when she’s in the room? Traitorous piece of shit. The way she looked at me didn’t help. She slid those hazel eyes over my face, even the messy parts, and I swear she liked what she saw. I didn’t miss the pinch of her eyebrows when she studied my injuries, but it was the way her pulse fluttered in her neck, the way her breathing sped up, and ultimately the way her lips parted as her

gaze ate me up that gave her away. I wanted to kiss her. Every urge in me screamed to grab her and make her prove me wrong. But nah . . . I might hate that she’s with someone else, but that doesn’t mean I want to mess things up for her. The last thing she needs is to walk away from a sure thing only to tie up to a sinking ship. With a hand braced on the sink, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Aren’t I a fucking prize? Half of my body looks like road kill, and I’m still swaying from last night’s binge. There’s no fucking way I’m going running with AJ. She’s smoking crack if she thinks I’m in any condition for that. Lifting weights is easy enough. Running might kill me. I hit the shower on and drop my shorts to step under the cold spray. If I can smell the alcohol coming off my skin, I’m sure AJ can too, and just because there’s nothing romantic between us, doesn’t mean I want her to know how badly I stink. It takes a while to wash my hair and body; using one hand for all the landscape makes for a difficult wash and rinse. I take my time drying, brushing my teeth, and slipping on a cleaner pair of athletic shorts. With my hair almost dry, I head out only to freeze solid. My room is clean. Spotless.

No more trash on the countertops, all the clothes are off the floor and out of sight, my bed is made and—I sniff the air—it smells like Windex. “What the fuck did you do?” AJ’s sitting on the couch, her legs crossed at the knee, remote in hand. She turns to me, smiling. “That’s not a serious question, right?” I step farther into the room, and there’s a plate on the kitchen counter with two pieces of toast coated in peanut butter next to a large glass of ice water. “Eat up. I’ll wait.” I whip my head around and scowl only to find her smiling back at me. “Why are you doing this?” “Simple. You need me.” “I don’t need shit.” She sighs as if I’m a toddler who’s just pissed on the floor. “This would be so much easier if you’d stop fighting me.” “Fighting you? Look. I don’t think you understand. I don’t want this.” I motion around the room, to the food, to her. “Any of it.” My stomach twists at my lie. Her expression turns sad, but she pushes that off with a weak smile. “I know. I get it.” She hits the power-off button on the TV and tosses the remote on the coffee table. “You want me to move on.” “Yeah!” No! “Here’s the problem.” She wipes at a barely-

there piece of dust on the table. “I’m having trouble doing that.” How five words can feel like a bomb exploding in my chest, I have no idea, but sure enough, I wince as the shrapnel buries deep. Instinctively, I step back until my ass hits the kitchen counter. She puts her elbows to her thighs, and her long ponytail falls over one shoulder. “Give me a week.” “No.” “Five days.” “No.” “Braeden, all I’m asking for is time. Please. Let me try, and then I can walk away, knowing you’ll be okay.” I’ll never be okay. I’ll never be okay knowing she’s in the arms of another man more deserving than I am, knowing he’s making all her dreams come true when I couldn’t. “What I have can’t be fixed. You can’t fix me.” She nods. “That’s fair. I don’t want to fix you. I just want a chance to . . .” “To what?” My stupid throat aches with bullshit emotions. “To bring you back.” If she only knew how badly I wish that were possible. The idea that I’d be able to one day look in the mirror and see even a fraction of the man I once was, or hell, even to be able to feel somewhat normal again, it’s more than I could ever hope for.

There’s no way she can do what she’s proposing; she’s just one girl. But she’s the girl. Fuck. Me. “Come on, Braeden. You helped me once when I really needed you. Let me do this, if not for you, then for me.” “Whatever you have planned, it won’t work.” “Who says I have a plan?” I chuckle and the sound is so foreign. “Anyone ever told you you’re a huge pain in the ass?” A slow grin pulls her lips. “Only you.” “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” I shake my head. “I’ll grab my shoes.”

Twenty-six Braeden “Just drink it!” I knock the offered water bottle out of my face and continue to rock back and forth in the fetal position. AJ rolls her eyes and crouches down on the grass next to me. “You’re dehydrated.” “No, really? Thanks for the prognosis, Dr. Obvious.” The gut cramps coil once more, and I’m racked with another round of dry heaves. “I don’t remember you being so stupid.” “I don’t”—another heave— “remember you being so”—and another. “Aw, fuck.” I’m never drinking again. Or eating. Or moving. “Hmm, you were saying . . .?” She cups a hand to her ear. “I’m waiting. I expect this one will be a doozie.” “So annoying!” She crunches up one side of her face. “That was pathetic.” She tilts her head back and squeezes a liberal amount of water into her mouth then drops

to her ass and stares at the passing cars. We decided we’d just take a quick jog around the neighborhood. “It’s all flat,” she said. “It’ll be easy,” she said. Now the neighbors are getting a good view of the inside of my stomach. As soon as the burning in my lungs, convulsions, and nausea pass, I roll over on my back, grateful for the bit of shade offered by the tree I chose to drop dead under. “Better?” “Shut it.” I knew when she walked out the door I should’ve slammed and locked it behind her. “I quit.” “You can’t quit. You promised.” “I didn’t promise shit. Are we done?” “No.” She stands and offers me a hand. I don’t think she does it on purpose, but she’s reaching for my bad side. I use my good arm to grab hers and pull myself up, spit one more time, then wipe my mouth with my shirt. She starts walking down the sidewalk, so I follow and then pull up beside her. “Why can’t you use it?” “That’s not a serious question, right?” I throw her own words back at her. She stops walking and looks up at me. “Yeah, I’m serious.” “It’s all fucked up, see?” I motion to my gimp

arm like a Price Is Right model. “Is the inside fucked up too?” “It won’t straighten all the way.” “Have you tried?” “Of course I’ve tried.” I start walking as the flare of anger builds in my chest. She catches up to me, but doesn’t speak, thank God. “Have you tried hard?” I stop again. “What is wrong with you?” “It’s just a question.” “Leave it alone!” A man watering his plants glares at me. AJ waves at him and smiles. “Good morning!” I continue to walk, and in need of a subject change pronto, I flip the tables. “Why aren’t you performing anymore?” “It’s a long story.” She expects me to be an open fucking book, but she’s pushing off my questions? “I thought you loved it.” “I do. I . . . did.” “Then why quit—?” Now it’s her turn to stop. “I didn’t quit.” I hold up my hand in surrender. “Whatever you say . . . quitter.” Maybe it’s best we don’t dig too deep into each other’s lives, become too imbedded, too invested. The break will be easier if we keep things as

superficial as possible. Besides, if she shares with me, she’ll expect tit for tat, and that shit ain’t happening. ~*~

AJ I hate the defeated look in his eyes, how his shoulders slump and every step seems to sap him of energy. He’s a drastic contrast to the man he was the last time we ran together, and the truth of that makes everything so much more real. This isn’t the same light-hearted guy who insisted I go out to dinner with him, who relentlessly pursued me and refused to take no for an answer. This is a man who has lost his will to fight. We walk in silence the rest of the way back to his house. When we turn the corner to the sprawling ranch-style home nestled up to the mountains, Blake’s in the front yard, playing catch with a small blond-headed boy. The tiny kid spots us and takes off running down the sidewalk. “Uncle Brae!” “Squirt.” Braeden drops to a squat and catches the kid with one arm, scooping him up with little effort. He nuzzles the kid’s neck, making him squeal. “You’re sweaty!”

“I know; that’s because my friend here tried to kill me.” The kid’s eyebrows slam down over his green eyes, and I imagine this is exactly what Braeden looked like as a kid. “Why did you do that?” I glare at Braeden. “I didn’t.” I soften my expression then focus on the little boy. “I promise. I just took him for a jog.” The little boy glares harder, reminding me of the way Blake reacted to Andre in the back hall of the charity event. Jeez, these Daniels boys are no joke. Loyal to the bone apparently. I hold my hands up in surrender. “I swear. It was just a jog.” Braeden chuckles. “Quit with the mad-doggin’, kiddo. I was just playin’. This is my . . . friend, AJ. AJ, this is my nephew, Jack.” “It’s nice to meet you.” “You too,” he mumbles, but I’m not convinced he means it. Brae puts the boy down in the grass and gives Blake one of those non-verbal hellos that guys give by lifting their chin. Jack tosses the ball to his dad, and Blake stretches far to the left to snag it from the air before throwing it back at a soft lob. “You alright, bro?” Braeden props his hand on his hip, his bad hand nestled firmly into his belly. “Let’s see . . . I woke up too early, still d-r-u-n-k from last night.”

Jack side-eyes his uncle, clearly understanding that the spelling of a word means for adults only. “Forced to jog, barfed up my spleen on the corner of 5th and Maple, and I’m pretty sure I pulled a muscle from dry-heaving.” Blake grins, his gaze sliding to mine for a second, before going back to his brother. “Sounds like the perfect morning.” “Oh good, you got in okay.” Layla’s coming down the driveway in an adorable pair of ripped jeans and a tank, her hair down and wavy. “I did. Thanks for the help.” “You mean you’re the one who set this up?” Brae looks to the sky as if he’s asking the Almighty for patience or maybe help. “My own sister-in-law —” “Oh! It worked!” A woman who appears to be in her late fifties comes from the open garage, her eyes on us, hands clapping. “Mom!” Braeden’s jaw falls open. “You too?” I panic for a moment when I realize I’m about to be introduced to Braeden’s mom and remind myself that he’s not my boyfriend. This shouldn’t feel as awkward as it does. The woman smiles meekly at her son then shakes her head, the graying brown hair pinned off her face in a twist not moving an inch. “No, but Layla told me last night, and I wholeheartedly support the effort.” Her vibrant green eyes come to

me. “Hi, I’m Brooke, the one responsible for birthing these two.” I nervously wipe my hands on my thighs. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m AJ.” “Layla’s told me all about you.” My cheeks grow warm. “Women!” Braeden barks. “The three of you are no longer allowed to conspire against me.” Layla holds up her hands. “Hey, all I did was leave the gate unlocked.” Braeden stares over at his brother, who seems to find this entire exchange comical. “Do you believe this shi—take?” Jack smiles at Brae’s easy cover of a curse word. “Come on, bro, you know where two or more women are gathered there’s bound to be a man suffering.” “Give me a break.” “That is so not true!” Layla and I say in unison then giggle. “Well . . .” Layla leans over to place a kiss on her son’s head. “We’re going to meet Ax for a dress fitting and lunch.” Blake hooks his wife around the shoulders and pulls her body flush to his. He’s so much bigger than she is that, when he leans to whisper something in her ear, he practically curls himself over her. She nods once, then twice, then laughs and tilts her head up so he can reach her lips. “I

love you too.” He smacks her ass, backs away, but keeps his gaze on her, and it is hot and hungry. Feeling a little out of place, as if I’m intruding on a private moment, I avert my eyes only to see Braeden studying them too. But not in a creepy way, more of a curious or scientific way. When his brother tosses him the ball, Braeden seems to snap out of it. He catches the baseball with his good hand. “Don’t forget to go try on your tux,” Blake mumbles loud enough for me to overhear. “Bye, AJ.” Layla smiles at me from the driver’s side of her car, and her mother-in-law waves from the passenger seat. Brae tosses the ball to Jack, and my heart melts a little when he does it underhand and gently. “Right, I forgot.” “You’ve put on enough muscle I’m sure it’ll be fine, but you should probably check to make sure.” This seems like a conversation Braeden isn’t totally comfortable with as he shifts on his feet and eyes the back gate that leads toward the safety of his cave. “Mm-hm.” “You can take my car.” Braeden doesn’t say anything, but he nods and then heads back to his place after rubbing his nephew’s fluffy hair. For a moment, I wonder if I should follow him,

and if it weren’t for my keys and wallet in his place, I would’ve taken his cue and left him alone, but instead I follow behind him. “Nice to meet you, Jack.” “Thank you. It was nice to meet you too.” The last word is grunted as he tosses the ball to his dad. I hear a mumbled, “Good boy” from Blake just as I pass through the gate to the backyard. Braeden’s long legs eat up space, and by the time I’m around the main house, he’s passing by the pool and then pushing through his door. I speed up and follow him in, just in time to see him pull a beer out of the fridge. He pops the top and swallows back half. Disappointment unfurls in my gut and I frown. “It’s barely nine o’clock in the morning.” The suction on the bottle makes a loud pop when he breaks the beer from his lips. “Your point?” “Maybe you should eat something.” He holds up his bottle. “There’s a sandwich in every beer.” I track his body as he lumbers across the room to drop back on the couch, and a thick impenetrable wall goes up between us. Whatever progress I made with him today seemed to dissolve in a matter of seconds. For a moment back there when he was interacting with his family, it almost seemed like I got a little of him back, but it may

have just been wishful thinking. And with every gulp of beer, I feel the distance between us growing. “I can’t believe I just met your mom,” I say almost to myself, and with his lack of response, I wonder if I might have said it in my head. “Will I be meeting your dad soon too?” His chin drops and he shakes his head. “Nope.” He brings the bottle to his lips. “He died when I was away. Cancer.” Oh my God! “Braeden, I’m . . .” I swallow hard, wondering how his father’s death played out in the timeline of his injury, and the conclusion I come to is devastating. “I’m so sorry.” “So am I,” he whispers. I should’ve stayed in touch, written letters, done something so he knew he wasn’t alone. “I called you.” He turns his head just enough to see me but doesn’t respond, so I move to the opposite end of the couch but maintain my distance. My hands fist in the hem of my tank top. “Six months seemed like forever, and when I didn’t hear from you, I called.” He tilts the beer to his lips, his eyes firmly fixed on the wall in front of him. “Why didn’t you call me?” His chin drops, but he regains his composure. “Didn’t have your number.”

“But, you could’ve tried—” “I didn’t want to, alright?” His emerald eyes dance with anger. “Okay.” Well, I think that’s about all the heartache I can handle for today. I stand and cross to my keys and wallet I set on the countertop. Gripping them tightly, I move toward the door. “So that’s it? You drag my ass out of bed for a run, and you think that’s going to fix me?” I pull all the strength I can muster and will my muscles to hold me upright, my shoulders back, but I can’t force myself to turn around and look at him. “I’ll see you around.” He doesn’t stop me as I walk out the door, close it softly behind me, and head out through the side gate. When I hit the driveway, I hear my name, but when I look up, it’s Blake who’s walking toward me. “How’s he doin’?” I shrug. “I see these . . . glimpses, ya know? But . . .” I shake my head. “Thanks for trying.” “I’m not giving up, at least not yet.” He eyes my keys in my hand. “A girl can only take so much.” Understanding softens his features and he nods. “I’m sorry if he hurt you; he’s, uh . . . not himself. He won’t talk to anyone about what happened over

there. I think if he did, ya know, he’d decompress a little.” I pull the end of my ponytail over my shoulder and finger the ends. “He’s a vault with me too, so far.” “He’s blowing off physical therapy, counseling; it’s like he’s stuck”—he thumps his head— “in here and can’t move forward.” Blake is right. Even when I’d catch a glimpse of the old Braeden, it was like he’d catch it too and shove it back down. “When I look at him, I hardly—” “Recognize him,” we say at the same time. He nods. “Yeah.” “I’m not giving up on him.” I surprise myself by the fierce resolve in my voice. “Here.” He holds out his hand for my phone and hits a few buttons before giving it back. “I programmed Layla’s number in there, Braeden’s too, if you need it.” I palm the device. “Thanks.” “I appreciate what you’re doing for my brother, but you can’t let him take you down too. I can tell you’re on a mission. If you let him break you too, he’ll only hate himself more than he already does.” I can already feel Braeden’s words chipping away at what little confidence I have left. Is what Blake’s saying true? Can I help Braeden without sacrificing my heart?

Twenty-seven Braeden Chaos. That’s the only word to describe my brother’s kitchen on any given morning. With my second cup of black coffee in hand, I watch as Layla and Blake nearly collide multiple times while passing back and forth between the fridge and the island. Layla’s making a second breakfast for Jack while Blake is packing the kid’s lunchbox. To make matters worse, it seems most of the people they know have decided seven thirty in the morning is the perfect time to call because even their phones are demanding. “Mom, I want cheese on my eggs!” I lean into my nephew. “You know you gotta hit up the magic word, buddy.” “Please, Mom?” “Atta boy.” “Cheese, okay.” Layla swings around and slams right into Blake’s chest. “Sorry.” “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No,” they say at the same time. The sound of Jack’s lunchbox getting fiercely zipped up is followed by the clank of a plate that gets shoved in front of my nephew. “Son,” Blake’s voice is low and reprimanding. “Thank you, Mommy,” Jack says through a mouthful of food. “Let me know if you change your mind about hitting legs.” My brother tosses the Star Wars lunchbox into a Captain America backpack. He and Layla have been carpooling to work every day so that I can use Layla’s car if I need it. I hate that they do it, and I’ve tried to tell them I’m fine, but I can’t drive the GTO with my bum-fucking arm. I wonder if I should just sell it— “No AJ today, huh?” Blake’s eyebrows are lifted in question. Layla’s eyes snap up, suddenly not in as much of a hurry. “Nope.” And fuck me, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. I even cut myself off early last night and cleaned up my pad, thinking I’d get a wake-up call at the crack of dawn. When I rolled out of bed at six, I waited for her until finally coming in the main house for some coffee. It was either that or whiskey, and I haven’t completely given up that AJ won’t show, so . . . here I am. “She mentioned you two met at the Kairos?”

Layla rinses Jack’s dishes, puts them in the dishwasher, and pulls the guy off his chair, asking him to go brush his teeth, all while keeping those dark brown globes focused on me. “Yeah, she was working as a performer, and I caught her after a show.” I give my bro and SIL a quick rundown, leaving out the personal shit they’re smart enough to fill in on their own. “Hold on.” Layla angles a stool and drops down next to me. “She’s a performer in Eros?” “Was.” I twist my coffee mug around in a full circle. “I guess this guy she’s living with is floating her now, so she quit the show. No need to work when you’re rollin’ in cash.” The words cause a bitter taste in my mouth. It’s hard to believe a woman like AJ would give it all up so easily, amazing the power of the almighty buck. She never kept it a secret that money was important, which is why I think deep down I knew I’d never stand a chance with her. “So that’s it?” Blake shoves his wallet and keys into his pocket. “She’s shacked up with some dude, and you’re just gonna let him have her?” “Don’t you like her?” my sister-in-law says. “I do like her. That’s why I’m not going to fuck with what she’s got, ya know?” Blake scratches his jaw. “I learned this lesson once.” Jack comes back into the kitchen, and Layla

helps him slip on his backpack. “You guys ready?” Blake opens the door to the garage, ushering Layla and his son through. Once they’re gone, his eyes come to mine. “If I had given up, let myself continue to believe I wasn’t good enough for Layla, I wouldn’t have all this.” The weight of his words sends my eyes to my coffee, and the door closes behind him. ~~~ I’m on the couch, my feet on the coffee table and a cold beer between my legs, perusing an online site that sells cars. The clock says two twelve p.m., and although I wouldn’t say I’ve had the most productive day, it’s been better than most. By ten o’clock, I was convinced AJ wasn’t coming back. Not that I blame her. I pushed her away as much as I could yesterday, and when she left, I knew I finally hit a nerve. Rather than sit around and drink myself to naptime, I grabbed a beer and pulled the tarp off my GTO. The thing was beautiful, and eyeing it for too long hurt, but I made myself snap a few pics and upload them to sites that specialize in selling classic hot rods. Scrolling through the ads, I think I should be able to pull in some decent cash, enough to get settled in my own place, and sooner or later, I’m

going to have to get a job. But what kind of place could use a man with no use of his right arm? My mind spins with all I need to do. Ever since my stay at the all-inclusive Iraqi holding cell of horrors, my head hasn’t worked right. It’s like a cage that’s too small. I put one thought in and I can roll with it. Add another, then one more, and those fuckers start flapping against each other in full-blown panic, and I can’t sort them out. I reach for my beer and distill my thoughts to focus on one thing at a time. First, the car. Then the job. Then I’ll have to— “Knock, knock.” The door was already open, so when I look up, I see AJ crossing the threshold. Something she sees in my expression stops her cold. “What. Is it okay if I come in?” I blink, clearing my surprise. “I didn’t think you were coming.” She takes that as an invitation and drops on the armrest of the couch. I let my gaze linger along her body. She’s wearing a pair of shorts, nothing fancy, denim cutoffs that aren’t too short but showcase her legs, which seem to have filled out since the last time I had the privilege of touching them. The long firm muscles that used to rope up her thighs have now matured into something softer, more feminine, and

equally sexy. She drops her purse on the couch, officially cutting me off from the view. “Why are you inside? It’s beautiful today.” I turn to the phone in my hand, and it takes me a second to remember what the fuck I was doing before she walked in and made everything in my world momentarily irrelevant. “I’m selling the GTO.” “What?! Why?” As if it isn’t obvious? She’s gonna make me say it. “Because I can’t drive it. My arm . . . I-I can’t work the stick.” “Are you sure?” I allow my head to fall back to the couch and bite down on a nasty string of words that will surely send her away. “Yes. I’m sure.” “So, what? You sell it and buy something else?” “Eventually. I thought first I could use the money to get out of my brother’s hair.” “Does he know you’re selling your car?” My head lolls to the side to see her. “He’s my brother, AJ, not my fucking dad. I’m a grown man. Pretty sure that means I can do whatever I want with my car.” I go back to staring up at the ceiling fan as silence stretches between us. “That’s too bad.” My eyes roll back in my head. Shit, just hours

ago I thought I missed this girl, and now I’m thinking I must’ve been insane to. “I have an idea.” She hops off the couch. “Come with me.” “I don’t want to go jogging.” She props her hands on her hips. “Braeden Daniels, are you scared?” “No, I am not scared.” Shitless, actually. Of your effect on me, of how bad I want you, and how much I need you to walk away. Of you, AJ, I’m terrified. “Then come on!” She grabs my arm, the one holding my phone, and tries to pull me up. When I hardly budge, she leans back, using her weight to try again. Her face gets red, and a tiny vein in her temple surfaces as she grunts to get me on my feet. “It’s like . . . trying to move . . . a mountain—ugh. You’re too big!” She gives up and huffs out a breath. “Just get up. Please?” The way she says it reminds me of Jack this morning with his eggs, so I loop my fingers around the neck of my beer and shift up to my feet. She looks me up and down. “Good. Now, you won’t need these.” She takes my phone and beer then places them on the table. “Okay, follow me.” Half curious and half not having the energy for the back and forth, I move in the direction she’s pointing out the door. I step into the sun and squint, but feel she’s behind me.

“Hmm . . . how about over there.” She points to a couple of shaded lounge chairs, so I go that way when I’m suddenly shoved from the side. “What the fu—” My words continue in a series of bubbles as pool water swallows me. My feet hit the deep end, and I shove to the surface to find AJ doubled over laughing. “You’re fucking hilarious.” “I know, right?” She’s still laughing when I swim to the edge of the pool. “What are you doing? Don’t get out!” With a quick crouch, she fires off the side of the pool, over my head, and dives in. She surfaces close to me, her hair darker and slicked back from her face and a smile stretched between her rose-colored cheeks. “Hi.” “You done?” “Done what? Having fun?” She splashes me and swims to the shallow end where she can stand. My shorts and T-shirt create a drag, which makes propelling me from one end to the other with one arm a little difficult. When I manage to get there, I find AJ with her elbows propped on the edge of the pool and her chin lifted toward the sun. “Perfect day for a swim.” Water droplets drip from her jaw to her chest and then disappear between her breasts and—fuck me. My eyes widen at her white tank top now transparent to showcase a pair of round tits encased in lace. The white is such a contrast to her dark

nipples that pebble against the fabric. I’m instantly reminded of how they felt as they’d rasp against my palms, how they tasted on my tongue. Before I realize what I’m doing, my foot brushes against hers under water. Her eyes pop open, and she stares at me, our bodies less than a foot apart. God, I want to kiss her. I want to feel her warm body wrapped around me, lift her up, and carry her wet and needy back to my bed and sink between the healing embrace of her thighs. “So . . . um . . .” She steps to the side and skirts away from me. I run a hand through my hair, thrown from the moment, realizing how fucking close I was to messing everything up. “I was at the library this morning, ya know, reading up on some PT stuff—” “AJ, I can’t do this.” “They say water is a great place to—” “I’m sorry—” “—zero resistance.” “I can’t—” “Stop saying that!” My eyes snap to hers. “One thing I can guarantee you is you absolutely will not succeed with that kind of attitude. Just try.” I realize we’re talking about two different things,

but I bite my tongue anyway. She has no idea what it feels like to be me, she’s never walked in my shoes, and as much as I’m ready to tell her just that, I know I’ll say something to hurt her, so I hold back. When I don’t respond, she moves closer. The only sound between us is the breaking water as she reaches for my bad arm. Her fingers curl under the crook of my elbow, and she lifts my arm just inches from my body. I have to look away because I can’t risk the chance of seeing disgust in her eyes. Gently, she tests my flexibility, moving my arm through the water until she senses resistance then releasing it to move it in another way. I hiss as the muscles and skin protest. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, but doesn’t remove her touch. Goosebumps race over my shoulder up to my neck. Her warm smooth skin against my damaged arm overloads me with sensations. When she’s satisfied, she moves to my hand, uncurling my fingers from their white-knuckled fist. She runs the palm of her hand along the underside of my arm then interweaves our fingers and squeezes. “Does this hurt?” “No.” That one word carries so much yearning, hunger for her to continue, desire for her to touch the rest of me, to bring feeling back to the other parts of my body that have felt dead for too long.

“How about this?” She continues to manipulate my arm under the water. “A little.” I grind my molars through the pain. “You have mobility, see? I think you’re crippling yourself by not using it.” I pull free of her hold and step back. “And why would I do that?” She sighs and moves to the pool’s steps and sits. “I don’t mean you’re doing it on purpose. Listen. I’m no doctor, but I know what the human body is capable of. It’s like . . .” She brings all her long hair over her shoulder and squeezes out the water. “No one walks into a gym for the first time, able to do the splits or a backbend on command. It’s a process of stretching the muscles and building strength. Your bones are good, it doesn’t seem like you lost a ton of muscle mass, and the skin can be stretched, maybe not by a lot but more than you’re allowing it now.” “You think I’ll be able to use my hand and arm like . . . normal again?” “I do.” She smiles, and that fucker is so bright I’d believe Bigfoot and mermaids spawned unicorns if she told me it were so. “Think you could hold off on selling the GTO and we could work on that arm? Maybe get you back into the driver’s seat?” I shrug one shoulder, feeling for the first time that there’s hope for me after all. “What do I have

to lose?” “Exactly.”

Twenty-eight Braeden It’s been days since I’ve seen AJ. For the first couple of days, I waited around at home, hoping she’d show up. I even got up early to work my arm in the pool the way she showed me. On the third day with no word from her, I ended up diving to the bottom of a bottle. Unable to stomach the way my brother would look at me or the way Layla seemed to avoid looking at me, I picked my pathetic ass off the floor and sobered up. When and if I see AJ again, I don’t want her to find me in a useless drunken heap of human. I sobered up and agreed to hit the gym with my brother. “Whoa . . .” Blake comes up to the weight stack where I’m gearin’ up to pull a forty-pound dumbbell from the rack with my bad arm. “What are you doing?” “Curls.” He places a hand on the weight then eyes my fucked-up appendage. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“No, but I’ll never know unless I try. Besides, it’s not like I could mess it up any worse than it already is.” “I beg to fucking differ.” He looks outraged, and I know it’s only because he cares about me, but AJ was right. I’ll never get any better if I keep listening to the voice in my head that tells me I can’t. I reach for the dumbbell again only to have Blake lock it in place with one hand. “Look, man,” I say quietly so only he can hear. “I know you’re worried about me.” I shake my head. “But you were right, ya know? I can’t keep living like this. I’ll never be the man I was before, but, if I don’t try, if I give up, I’m already dead.” “I just wanted you to get up and start doing something, not push yourself so hard you get injured.” “I know. I don’t want to get hurt either, but I have to give it a shot.” He stares at me, a million emotions passing behind his eyes: worry, fear, pride . . . they’re all there and more. “This AJ’s influence?” I don’t answer, but just continue to hold his gaze, which is answer enough. “Fuck.” He runs a hand over his cropped hair. “In that case”—he leans over and grabs a tenpound weight— “start with something a little lighter, see how it feels, and work your way up.” I take the offered weight, the muscles in my

hand refusing to obey my brain’s command to grip. The weight slips and hits the floor. “Fuck! My hand, it’s—” “Try again.” My brother places the weight back in my hand then helps to curl my fingers around it. “That good?” “Yeah, I think . . .” I grit my teeth and force my hand to hold tight. “I got it.” I have a moment of panic when I feel the eyes of the other fighters in the room on me, but Blake shields me with his body to keep me from becoming a side-show freak. I allow the weight to pull my forearm from my body. When my elbow opens, the skin pulls tight and my muscles shake. I hammer-curl the weight up, and fuck me, but it feels like I’m lifting fifty pounds. I repeat the motion, unable to fully extend my arm at the bottom, but it seems to drop a fraction lower with each rep. When I’m at my limit, my muscles quivering with fatigue, I’m proud to see my arm more extended than before I started. I think that pool shit might be working. AJ’s a damn genius. “Nice job.” I glance up to see Rex and Killian walk over. They must’ve been tucked away in the back, spying on me like a couple of creepers. Rex flicks a hand toward my right arm. “This is the first time you’ve worked that side.”

“Didn’t realize you’d paid that much attention.” I restack the weight. “Not gonna lie, it’s”—I grin at him over my shoulder— “kinda freaky.” “I didn’t think you could even move that arm,” Killian says without a hint of humor or teasing in his tone. “Yeah, well . . .” I drop my hand and again get almost a full extension. “I didn’t either.” I open and close my fingers, my grip strength totally depleted and the skin tight, but I’m able to open it enough to see my palm. “Brae’s picked up his own personal PT girl.” I slide my gaze to my brother with his big fucking mouth and scowl, not at all liking what he’s implying. As always, he ignores my non-verbal threat. “She makes house calls.” “Is that right?” Rex crosses his colorful arms over his chest and grins like he’s just heard a dirty little secret. “Is this the chick from the Injured Heroes thing?” Killian snaps his head back at my answering glare. “What? Axelle told me what happened.” I drop my chin and rub my head with my good arm, sliding my hand back to my neck to rub the muscles as the reminder of that night makes me tense. “Nice to know my life has become hot gossip.” “Hold up.” Rex moves in as if trying to avoid

being overheard. “The girl you were drunk and slurring about when the Kairos’s security dragged you out by your balls?” Now it’s Blake’s turn to scowl, all the humor in his voice gone as he blurts, “Fuckin’ hell, Brae.” “Don’t get all worked up.” I decide that giving them the info they’re interested in is my best option next to allowing them to draw their own conclusions and spread gossip like the little bitches they are. “Her name is AJ. She was an acrobat in that show Eros. I hadn’t seen her since before I was deployed, and . . . I don’t know . . . I wanted to see her again; that’s all.” Those green eyes that match mine spark with irritation. “You could’ve called her, not shown up shitfaced at her work.” “Blake. Her number was in my phone, and unfortunately the device had a nasty blind date with an RPG.” He braces his hands on the weight stack and drops his head between his shoulders. “Right. Sorry.” “Anyway, I guess I could’ve called the phone company and asked for the call records for my old phone, but at the time, dropping in on her seemed easier. I agree, not my proudest moment, but it didn’t matter because she doesn’t do the shows anymore. Nope. Now she’s shacked up with Andre Mon-fucking-roe in his penthouse and living off all

the piles of money he throws at her.” “That sucks.” Killer frowns. “I like AJ, but I’m not trying to win her over. I told her when I left for Iraq that I didn’t want her waiting for me. Someone better came along and she did the right thing. I mean”—I hold out my arm, and when the underside of my bicep flashes, the guys collectively cringe— “look at me.” “That’s bullshit, Brae, and you know it,” Blake grumbles. “It is what it is.” Feeling a heaviness in my chest and an urge for a drink riding me hard, I grab my towel and water. “I’ll see you at home.” I push through the doors, shoving them harder than I need to, and speed-walk through the expansive UFL gymnasium. I’m craving a shot of whiskey more than my next breath and can’t get to Layla’s car fast enough when something catches my eye. It’s a man in a wheelchair, but not the kind you see in a hospital. This thing is a more compact version. He appears to be in his twenties, and he’s fit, his shoulders and arms matching the size of the fighter he’s smiling up at. “Oh, come on,” the guy says. “Don’t tell me that the UFL heavyweight champion of the world is afraid to race a guy with no legs.” The couple of men surrounding them laugh and clap Jonah’s back.

I step closer, and fuck me . . . the guy really has no legs. His shorts are empty from mid-thigh down. “I’m a professional fighter, Zach, which means I’m competitive as fuck. You’re gonna make me look like a dick for racing you and winning.” Jonah’s grinning so hard those pretty-boy dimples drill holes in his cheeks. “You’re so sure you’ll beat me.” Zach does a quick spin in his chair and faces the long expanse of the room. “Let’s see if you’re right.” “Fuck, are you serious?” “Yeah, I’m serious. I may make you look bad but only because I’m about to beat you in a foot race without using my feet.” Jonah chuckles. “You sure you don’t have a motor on that thing?” Zach fist-thumps one of his pecs then the next. “I got all the power I need right here.” No joke, the guy is swollen. “Alright.” Jonah eyes the far wall. “Whoever gets there first, wins.” Zach flips his baseball cap backwards. “Nope, let’s go there and back. Mason can call winner.” I scoot off to the side to watch, completely fascinated by Zach’s confidence. Mase claps his hands and rubs them together. “This is gonna be good.” Jonah and Zach line up, and after a quick check to make sure they’re ready, Mason yells, “Go!”

They take off toward the wall, Zach’s arms building up speed and Jonah’s legs firing at a full sprint. I wonder if Jonah will go half-ass to ensure Zach’s the winner—as I do with Jack every time we race—but the dude is moving quick for a heavyweight. There’s no way he’s throwing this on purpose. It would be insulting to Zach if he did. They hit the wall about tied, and Zach whips his chair around then builds up speed again. Jonah’s ahead, but just as Zach catches up, he fires his arms faster, like throwing a car into overdrive, and darts ahead of the fighter. “Winner!” Mason yells, pointing to Zach, and Jonah slows as he crosses the finish line slightly behind him. He folds over with his hands on his knees, catching his breath. “Damn, you’re a quick little shit.” I move toward them, and as I approach, Zach’s eyes come up to meet mine. “That’s some impressive speed you got there.” Zach’s breathing heavily, sweat dripping from his hairline, and he smiles. “Thanks.” Jonah motions to me with a quick tilt of his head. “Zach, this is Braeden Daniels, Blake’s brother.” I shake the guy’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” His gaze lands heavily on my arm, which has somehow ended up pressed back into my body. Jonah’s now caught his breath and pulls in close. “Brae’s a Marine.” “No shit?” Zach’s grin widens. “Army.” “Iraq?” He shakes his head. “Afghanistan, until a grenade took my legs.” He nods to my bad arm. “Souvenir from Iraq?” I can’t help but grin, something about Zach’s ease helping the words come out easier. “Yep.” “Are you a fighter?” I recoil at the ridiculousness of his question. How can he go from looking at the melted shit that is my arm and then ask me if I’m a fighter? I’m readying a super smartass reply when I remember this guy just beat a professional athlete in a foot race . . . and he has no legs! “Nah, I, uh . . .” I shrug. “I don’t have a lot of mobility in this arm.” And why the fuck does saying that make me feel like such a Nancy around this guy? He doesn’t respond, but his eyebrows drop low in a way that says I’m a big fat fucking pussy. Jonah must sense the tension because he jumps right in. “I met Zach at the Injured Heroes event and invited him here to work out with us. You’d be blown away to see what this guy can do. He

benches 400 pounds!” “No fuckin’ way.” I stare at Zach. “I usually work out at Fitness X. The place isn’t outfitted for people with disabilities, but I manage.” “I’d say you more than manage.” Would it be too much to tell Zach he’s my new hero? “Zach!” We all turn to see Cameron roll up with as much of a smile as I’ve ever seen him wear, morphing his hardened face. “You made it.” They all chat with Zach, and Cameron invites him to come back whenever he wants, stating it’ll make his fighters less whiney to have him here kickin’ their asses. I turn to head to the car, my thirst for booze that I was feeling earlier tempered with the weight of guilt and humility that I picked up after visiting with the Army amputee. If he can do what he does without legs, for crying out loud, surely I can drive my GTO. “Braeden!” I whirl around to see Zach wheeling up to me. “Let me give you my number, ya know, in case you ever want to hit the gym together.” “Sure.” I pull my phone from my pocket and see I have one new text message. I ignore that for now and open my contacts then hand my phone to Zach so he can punch in his digits. “Thanks, I’ll hit you up soon.” “Cool—”

“Zach, get over here!” Wade calls from a set of pull-up bars. “Show Cam your pull-ups!” He spins on his tires and wheels himself back. With a quick lift from Jonah, Zach does perfect pull-ups with the weight of his wheel chair strapped to his waist. Yeah, this guy is an animal. He obviously lives with the same shit I do, the fear and terror, but he’s exorcising his demons. Literally. I move to the parking lot, climb into Layla’s car, and open my unread text. It’s from AJ. Do you have plans tonight? Tux fitting.

I don’t hear back from her until I’m home, wet from a shower and staring at a bottle of vodka. Just as I reach for it, my phone buzzes. I blink away the fog of lust that has my mouth watering for a drink and snag my phone. Perfect! I’ll come with. Be there at 5.

Damn, she’s pushy. It’s three o’clock now. If I hit the booze, I’ll be a mess at my tux fitting, and the last thing I want to do is fuck this up for Axelle. I’ll make it quick. AJ will feel like she’s helping,

and I can get back to my old reliable friend Grey Goose before the shakes get too bad. ~*~

AJ I’m dying. Okay, maybe not dying, dying, but I’m definitely melting. I’m slipping through the back gate of Blake and Layla’s house, headed for Braeden’s, wiping my forehead and second-guessing my choice to wear makeup. I just figured, if we aren’t going to be exercising, a little effort put forth might be smart. I know Braeden only looks at me as a friend now, but that doesn’t mean I want him to think I’m a sweaty stink monster with makeup dripping off my chin, which is exactly what I am when I knock on his door. “Come in!” I tuck my hair behind my ears, hoping he won’t notice how my roots are damp with perspiration, and walk inside. He’s standing in the kitchenette, one hip propped against the counter and a glass of clear liquid in his good hand. I sigh at the heavenly blast of chilled air conditioning while also absorbing the blow that he’s drinking. “What the hell happened to you?” He takes a full-mouthed gulp from the glass while keeping his

gaze steady on me. So much for him not noticing how icky I am. “Aw, look at you being all charming.” I selfconsciously push my hair off my face and gather it at the back of my neck, hoping to cool my skin. “I’m serious. You alright?” He takes another gulp. I stare as he empties his glass and sets it down on the counter. “Are you?” He seems to understand my meaning, his eyes darting between me and the glass. “This?” He picks the glass back up. “Water.” He crosses to me and stops just close enough to extend it to my nose. “Smell if you don’t believe me.” His eyebrows are dropped low over those deep green eyes. I lean in, sniff, and sure enough, it’s odorless. “Oh. Sorry.” “It’s cool. I get it.” He sets the glass back down on the counter. “Now, tell me what happened to you? It looks like you ran here.” “The AC in my car doesn’t work, and I swear today is hotter than usual.” I pinch my top between my fingers and pull it out to fan my skin. “I drove here with my windows down, but even the air coming in felt like flames.” He snags a large glass from the cupboard and sets it down, opens the freezer, and pulls out a heaping handful of ice, then uses the filtered water on the fridge to fill it up. “You look like a cherry.

Here.” I grab the glass from him and drink greedily, draining the entire cup. “Ahhh . . . thank you.” “Sit down.” He takes the glass and refills it, handing it back to me as I drop to the couch. Then he backs up, putting space between us as he leans against the counter. “Is it making noise?” “Yeah, like a tick-tick-tick-woosh-tick-tickwoosh kind of sound—why are you laughing?” He rolls his lips between his teeth. “I’m not. Swear.” “It’s fine. I’ll find a mechanic—” “I’ll take a peek at it. No use paying out the ass for a mechanic.” “You don’t have to do that. You’re—” My eyes dart without warning to his bad arm, and he visibly tenses. “I’m sorry.” “Just say it, AJ.” His glare slices right through me. “I’m a cripple. Just call it what it is.” “No. And don’t you dare put words into my mouth. That’s not what I was going to say.” “Oh yeah?” He spits through clenched teeth. “Well, fucking enlighten me then, Adeline.” “Don’t call me that!” “Why not? Because only guys with money get the honor of using your real name?” He smiles, but it’s far from friendly. “Is that why you don’t want me under your hood?” He nods to the apex of my thighs. “Already pretty crowded under there what

with Daddy Warbucks and his stacks of cash.” “Stop it.” “I bet if you ask him real nice . . .” He makes the motion of a blow job with his hand and his tongue punching one side of his cheek. “He’ll buy you ten new cars.” “Wow. Bravo.” The intense slash of his brow softens. “Takes a big man to kick a woman when she’s down.” I set my glass on the table and try to calm the rage that’s building behind my ribs. “Do you feel better now?” The muscles in his jaw relax, and he frowns then dips his chin. “AJ, I—” “Tell me to leave and I’m gone.” As much as his words hurt, they make me angry more than anything because they reaffirm my fear that the Braeden I once knew really is gone forever. “No. I don’t want you to leave.” He looks up at me and there’s apology in his eyes. “I’m sorry.” “Apology accepted. Now, I’d love it if you could take a peek at my AC, and while you’re at it, maybe flush and replenish your asshole fluids, but not now. You have a tux fitting to get to.” “AJ—” I slap my hands on my thighs and push to stand. “We really should go.” He stares at me for a few poignant seconds before nodding. “’Kay, but I’m driving ’cause

there’s no way I’m gonna sweat my balls off in your car before I try on some monkey suit.” He snags his keys. I drink what’s left of the water, feeling a lot cooler. “Mind if I use your bathroom really quick?” “Sure. I’ll meet you out front. I need to go get the address to the place from Layla.” I nod and head to his bathroom, hearing his front door close shortly after I’m in. I take in the decentsized space while peeing, noticing how tidy it is and wondering if he cleaned up for me. After I’m through with my business, I wash my hands and do the best I can to save what little makeup hasn’t sweated from my face. I fingerbrush my hair, grateful that I went with a beachier look, opting to keep it down and allow it to air dry with its natural waves. I could use a little deodorant, not that I smell . . . yet. But I don’t want to start stinking. I search in the medicine cabinet and find a stick of Old Spice and pop the top, lifting it to my nose. I close my eyes at the peppery clean scent that I’ve smelled on Braeden since we first met. I’m applying it to my underarm when I wonder, is it gross to use his deodorant? He’s had his mouth on parts of my body I blush to even think about; surely this isn’t a big deal. I finish up quickly and put it back when something catches my eye. A row of prescription medication bottles. I lean

in and read they all belong to Braeden. Sertraline, hydrocodone, oxycodone, trazodone, alprazolam . . . my gosh, it’s like a pharmacy in here. I shut the cabinet, stare at my reflection, and whisper, “God, Braeden . . . what have you been through?” ~*~

Braeden Layla hands me a business card for the tux shop, and her lips are uncharacteristically tight. I accept the card. “You obviously have something you want to say; just say it already. I’m afraid your jaw will crack if you don’t.” She tucks her wallet back into her purse and looks up at me with overly wide eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.” “You insult me. Like I don’t fu”—I check the living room for Jack, but he’s nowhere to be seen— “cking know when you’re holding something back? Just spit it out already. I can’t stand to see you look so . . . constipated.” She shrugs and starts stacking and rearranging magazines on the coffee table. “No clue what you mean.” “Layla!” Her eyes snap to mine, and she takes pity on me and sighs. “I was just thinking that it’s really cool of

AJ to go to your fitting with you. Maybe if you’re hungry after, you could . . . oh, I don’t know”—she goes back to the magazines— “take her to dinner.” “I knew it!” “What?” She shrugs and feigns innocence. “This isn’t a date.” “Maybe it should be.” I lean in close to ensure I don’t get overheard. “She has a boyfriend, a millionaire boyfriend who could fly her to China for real Chinese food. You think she gives a shit about me?” She shakes her head and moves through the house to the kitchen. “Money isn’t everything.” I follow on her heels. “It is to her. She loves money like you love nineties rock.” “I don’t believe that.” She pulls shit out of the fridge. “You don’t know her. Look at her for fuck’s sake. She has rich-ass clothes bought by her richass boyfriend. I can practically smell the money pouring off her. She even quit her job so she could live off his money.” Layla slams the refrigerator door and turns to look out the front window where she just stares. I follow her gaze, and out parked in the street is AJ’s old Saturn with faded paint, a missing hubcap, and now broken AC. “Yeah, I see what you’re saying now. I mean only a girl who drives a car like that and buys her clothes from Target would be money-

obsessed.” “Target? But—” “You know what?” Her eyes burn with a fire I’ve only seen a few times. I take a step back when I notice her knuckles going white on a head of lettuce as I fear she might chuck it right at me. “I love you, Brae, but sometimes you’re a complete fuckface.” “Fuckface . . .?” I whisper. “You only see what you want to see, and because opening yourself up to someone is so damn scary, you’ll paint her out to be something she’s not so you don’t have to.” “That’s not true.” Is it? She holds up her hand. “Don’t waste your breath. I have more important things to do than listen to all that hot air coming out of your mouth.” “Ouch.” “Go to your tux fitting and stop being a dick to that sweet girl who’s been putting up with your shit just to be near you.” She doesn’t stomp off in some dramatic way but instead turns her back, officially dismissing me. “Fine!” “Fine.” “I will!” “Then go.” “Enough you two!” Blake comes in and curls up behind his wife. “You guys sound like kids in here.”

Lettuce flies all around her as she rips at the innocent vegetable. “It’s his fault; he’s being a pain in the ass.” I gasp and point at my sister-in-law. “You lie! She’s lying!” “Bro, seriously . . . you can’t win. Don’t even try.” Layla looks up at me with a proud little smirk. I glare back. “I’m outta here.” I stomp out the garage door to find AJ tucked in the shade, waiting for me. With Layla’s words fresh in my head, I do a quick once-over of AJ’s clothes: cropped jeans, brown Jesus sandals, and a frilly sleeveless shirt. Target? Impossible. The way the fabric hugs her body, I assumed it must be expensive, but what the hell do I know about chick shit? “How long have you been waiting out here?” She smiles, but something about it looks sad, and I can see the heat is turning her cheeks pink again. “Not too long.” I open the passenger side door of Layla’s car. “Get in. I’ll crank the AC.” She walks over, and before she ducks inside, she looks up at me, her gaze asking a million questions I don’t understand. “Thanks.” I nod and close her in, then hop in, crank the AC, and point the car toward the freeway. This is most definitely not a date.

Twenty-nine Braeden “You sure you’re okay in there?” AJ’s voice carries through the thin-walled dressing room at the tuxedo shop. “Fine,” I growl as I continue to struggle with the buttons of the tuxedo shirt. The thing is starched to near concrete, and using one hand to force the buttons through the holes is proving harder than I thought. Why can’t they make man-sized buttons? These things are so fucking small I keep fumbling them in my fingers. “Dammit.” “You don’t sound fine.” “I’m fine—fuck!” Another button slips. “That’s it. I’m coming in.” Ha! Like she’s coming in. The door’s locked. She’s not doing shi— “What the hell are you doing?” I stumble back as AJ gracefully slides her body beneath the door that’s only giving her about one foot of play. She arches her back, her tits brushing the carpet, and then dips low to get her round ass and legs the rest of the way through.

“What does it look like?” She struggles a little pulling her legs through, but stands to her full height, which brings her face right to my chest. Thankfully I’m wearing an undershirt, so she’s not able to eyeball my mutilated skin. “Is it the buttons?” I expect her to step close and start doing them up for me, which has me wanting to crawl the walls to get out of this tiny cage, but instead she locks her hands behind her back and waits for my answer. I clear my throat. “Yeah.” “Have you tried using both hands?” “You know I can’t—” Her glare slices to mine. “I haven’t tried.” My jaw aches from being clenched down tight. “What are you waiting for? Try.” I lick my lips and open then flex my fingers on my bad hand. I’ve regained a little strength holding weights at the gym, but my fine motor skills are for shit. “Give it a shot. If it’s too hard, I’ll help you.” I start with the button closest to my right hand. My fingers shake. “Why do the buttons have to be on the right side?” I mumble as I slowly try to grip and slip the fucker through the hole. “We could get you a woman’s shirt.” “Ha, ha, smartass.” I continue to struggle, my head aching with the

effort of concentration as my brain screams commands to the muscles in my hand. AJ doesn’t encourage me or cheer me on, just patiently waits until I finally get one through. “Fuck yeah! Take that you sucka’ ass button.” AJ chuckles, and I move on to the next. Using the same technique I did with the first, I manage to get the disc through in half the amount of time. When I get to the top two close to my neck, I wince at the pulling of tight skin and sore muscles. “You need help—” “No.” I inwardly cringe and soften my tone. “I need to do this.” I’m nearly sweating by the time I get the last button done. “Well, what do ya know? You did it.” She nods to the shirttails. “Tuck it in.” I do that pretty easily, grateful for the hook-andeye closure, then stand for her next direction. “Cufflinks?” Shit. With a little struggle, I manage to get the fuckers out of the baggie with my left hand. With my bad arm pressed to my gut, I use my body as leverage and slip the metal through the holes. When it’s time to move to the left arm, I drop the cufflink twice. “Slippery little fuckers.” My cheeks burn as I struggle to get a tight enough hold, and when it slips again, I want to punch a hole through the piece-of-shit door. “I got it.” AJ snags it and steps close, securing it

with ease. “Thank you.” I hate that I need her help. I should be taking care of her, not the other way around. “Tie and jacket.” She doesn’t hand me anything but stands back while I snag the tie from the garment bag. I try to slip it around my neck with one hand then reach up with my bad hand and stop. “I can’t.” “Try again.” I do, and when I fumble, she steps forward. “Okay, okay . . . let me.” Her fingers brush my neck, sending a warm sensation down my spine as a heavy weight settles behind my ribs. I study the tiny lines between her eyebrows as she focuses on getting the silk looped and properly tied. Her face, the same one that got me through countless nights where I prayed for death, is now just inches away, and she has no idea. She thinks I moved on and forgot about her. That I didn’t spend every conscious minute of my captivity, fantasizing that I was with her, in her arms, her lips whispering in my ear, telling me to hang on and never give up. Suddenly, those hazel eyes slide up to meet mine. “There,” she whispers but doesn’t step back. Rather than drop her hands from my neck, she slides them down to settle on my chest. My pulse

pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears. I want to kiss her. I really want to kiss her. Then I want to bring her home and spend days relearning every single dip and flare of her body. I want to bathe in her moans and cleanse my soul with her laughter. “Your jacket.” Her voice is deep and seductive. Is it possible she wants me too? Even though I’m ruined? She doesn’t even know how ruined I am. Whatever scars I carry on the outside are nothing compared to the ones that mar my insides. I pull my jacket off the hanger, and I realize if I put my bad arm in first, I’m able to get it on with minor complications. She moves behind me and straightens the shoulders, pulls at the bottom, then comes to the front. Her smile lightens the heavy weight on my chest. “You look incredible. Pictureperfect uncle of the bride.” I study myself in the mirror, turning my head to hide the scars on my face. AJ cups my jaw. “No, don’t do that. You have nothing to hide. You’re just as handsome as you were the first day I met you.” “How can you say that?” She meets my eyes in the reflection, and our gazes tangle. A sad smile touches her lips. “Because it’s true.” “AJ, do you think—?”

“How does it look?” The saleslady’s voice extinguishes the moment between us. “Any lastminute alterations I need to make?” AJ unlatches the door and swings it open. The woman takes me in, asks me to turn around while she checks a few things before agreeing the tux fits, then gives me the thumbs-up to change. When I move to begin to undress, AJ slips out of the dressing room. “Hey, aren’t you going to help me?” She flashes a sweet but still sad-looking smile. “Nah, I think you got it.” Right, because whatever just happened between us is over and was nothing more than a moment. A few seconds in time charged up with memories of the past. Of who we used to be. Now, she’s living and sleeping with another man. A better man. She’s made her choice. I can’t argue it wasn’t the right one. ~*~

AJ I couldn’t stand to be in that dressing room with Braeden for another second. Being so close, my hands on his chest, I wanted to pull his lips to mine and get lost forever in his arms the way I used to. I miss the way he’d kiss me, the way he’d touch my

skin as if it were the softest silk he couldn’t keep his hands off. I miss who we used to be together, who we were to each other. And I miss who I used to be. Fearless. Optimistic. Full of hope and drive. The dressing room door swings open, and Braden comes out with the garment bag in one hand. “You ready?” It took him a while to undress, and he needed help with the cufflinks. However, he got everything hung back up on its proper hanger. The shirt’s a little lopsided, the buttons are undone, and the tie hangs off the hanger’s neck, but it’s good enough. “Yeah.” The thick energy that had formed between us is gone, but when his eyes lock on mine, my heart hiccups. The saleslady has Brae sign a paper, and when we’re about to leave, he hesitates. “Uh . . . how late are you open?” “We’re open until nine.” He nods then watches me while talking to her. “You mind hanging on to this tux for about an hour?” “Oh, um . . . sure.” The woman takes the bag and hangs it on a bar behind the register. “An hour?” I tilt my head, eager to hear what the plan is. He shifts from one foot to the other then rubs

the back of his neck with his good hand. “Yeah, I figured . . . I mean it is dinner time. Thought you’d want to grab a bite with me.” “You’re asking me out to dinner?” I don’t know why I need the clarification. What he said was pretty clear, but something inside me just doesn’t believe it. “If you want . . . are you hungry? If you think it’ll cause problems with your . . . with . . . you don’t have to go or whatever. I—” “I’d love to.” His eyebrows pop up in a non-verbal Really? But instead he says, “Cool.” It’s so different from the first dinner invitation he gave me where there wasn’t an ounce of insecurity or doubt that I’d accept his offer. I have to wonder, is it merely the scars on his skin that have caused him to question how people, specifically women, respond to him? The tux shop is in an upscale strip center that’s peppered with restaurants. After we check out our options, we decide on a place that serves California cuisine. At a small table for two, tucked back in a corner, it not only looks like but also feels very much like a date. I hide behind my menu while I attempt to get control over my racing heart. There’s so much I want to say, but there’s been a noticeable change in Braeden since we were at his place, and I don’t

want to risk losing what little parts of him I’ve managed to get back. His knee slides and brushes against mine under the table, making me jump; although he doesn’t seem to notice. “What looks good?” He sets down his menu as if his decision has been made. You. “I’m thinking I should probably get a salad.” I allow my eyes to run down the list of salads for the fourth time, still not seeing any of them. “Salad? You sure? They’re known for their fish tacos here.” Knowing I can’t keep my menu shelter, I put it down and sip from my water. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’ve gained a little weight since you were gone.” He squints and tilts his head. “It’s not that I haven’t been exercising. I have, just . . . now that I’m not performing . . .” Excuses, excuses. “I need to do better. I do. It’s just hard to find the time. I’m babbling.” I chuckle. “Sorry.” “I think you look great.” “Well, you have to say that, you’re . . .” I bite my bottom lip. Fuck, what was I about to say? “What am I?” I shrink back in my chair. Is it too much to ask that he let that one go? “I don’t know—” “Sure, you do. You never say anything you don’t

mean.” “That can’t be true.” “You’re the most honest woman I’ve ever met. It’s one of the things I love about you.” He sucks in a quick breath. “You, uh . . . you know what I mean.” My heart feels like it’s on the verge of bursting from my chest! “I guess I was going to say you’re my . . . friend, but it felt wrong.” “Why’s that?” He watches me intently, but turns his head almost subconsciously to shadow his scarred side. “Why does it feel wrong?” Because in my heart you’re so much more. I shake my head, and dammit my eyes are burning. His gaze slides along my neck up to my jaw where it settles for too long on my lips before meeting my eyes. “Why’d you stop?” I blink at the abrupt change of subject. “Stop?” “Performing.” An angry fist of emotion closes in around my throat, squeezing an answer from my lips. “I fe—” “Are you two ready to order?” The waitress smiles warmly, having no idea she just saved me from having to confess. If I’m lucky, Braeden will forget he even asked and we can move on to a happier subject. We order our food, and she takes our menus, so I’ve lost anything to hide behind. I’m forced to sit

face-to-face with Braeden and his scowl. “Go on. You were saying?” He leans back and waits for me to continue. “It’s nothing.” I can’t tell him the truth, that my worry and fear for him caused me to lose focus and shatter my pelvis as well as give me a severe hip fracture. The image from his medicine cabinet flashes through my mind. The last thing he needs on top of everything else is to carry my career-ending fall on his conscience. “You don’t want to tell me.” He crosses his good arm into his bad arm, which has been tucked close to his side since we left the tux shop. “Tell me how you got your scars.” It’s a cheap shot, but it worked. The shutters in Brae’s eyes fall the second the words are out, and although I feel bereft at the loss of what little openness he was showing, I can’t tell him what he wants to know. “So, you’re not performing, but you’re still working for the hotel?” His voice seems to tremble, whether from anger or sadness I can’t tell. “Yes, I’m an event coordinator now.” I slump back in my seat, hating the way that sounds. My worst fear was living out the rest of my life behind a desk, and here I am. “Working on anything cool?” He flicks at a piece of lint on the tablecloth. “A couple of conventions coming up, but, no, I

wouldn’t say either of them are cool.” “Why do you go by AJ?” Why do I get the feeling he’s running down a list of questions to avoid me asking anything of him? “Because I hate the name Adeline.” “Why?” “I was named after my grandmother, Adeline Jane. She wasn’t the nicest woman. I hated sharing her name. My parents called me AJ, and I liked that.” “But you let him call you a name you hate?” There’s no question as to whom the him he’s referring to is. “Andre does what he wants, and after a while, I got used to it.” He huffs out a humorless laugh, and the heat of anger begins to boil in my gut. “The wedding. Are you excited?” Stupid question, but I need the diversion, and judging by the way his shoulder muscles relax along with his jaw, I think he’s grateful for it as well. He shrugs. “I guess. I’m glad it’s finally happening. Ax and Kill waited for me. I feel like shit about that.” “Ax and Kill? Sounds like a horror movie.” I freeze with my water glass halfway to my mouth. “No offense.” He smiles, but it’s small. “None taken. It fits them. Not that they’re violent or anything, but they’re horrifyingly disgusting. They’ve loved each

other forever, ya know? Real Nicholas Sparks’ shit.” “How do you know who Nicholas Sparks is?” He chuckles, and God, the sound . . . it’s like a drop of water to my thirsty soul. “My roommate, Deek. He’s always . . . um . . .” He gets a faraway look in his eyes and frowns. “Braeden?” He doesn’t move at all, doesn’t acknowledge me as if he’s unaware of anything outside of his head. “Braeden?” Still no response. I slide out of my seat and round the table to squat next to him. Gently laying my hand on his, I finally get his eyes, but they’re blank. “Hey . . . you okay?” “Yeah.” He nods. “Breathe.” I rub his forearm until he takes a deep shuddering breath. “I’m good. Sorry.” “Don’t apologize. It’s fine.” It’s so not fine. Why won’t you talk to me? I take my seat quietly and, not wanting to push him, wait for him to initiate conversation. He flips his fork over a few times. “Deacon would, uh . . .” He coughs as if to clear his throat. “He’d watch those movies and use the lines on chicks.” His shoulders deflate as if just that one sentence sapped him of his energy.

“Did it work?” “Mm-hm.” What happened to Deacon? A few minutes of silence stretch between us when he looks up at me, and his eyes show more life than they did earlier, thank goodness. “AJ?” “Hmm?” “I know it’s short notice, but . . . do you, could you come to Axelle’s wedding with me?” I gasp and he rushes his words. “Don’t worry. Just as friends. Nothing more. I swear. I won’t touch you; that I can promise.” That stings. I square my shoulders and smile. “I’d be honored. When is it?” “This Saturday.” “That’s in less than a week.” “I told you it was short notice.” He folds and unfolds the napkin in his lap. “It’s okay if you can’t. I understand.” The way he says it though, with that low growl to his voice that reminds me of an angry lion, I don’t think he would understand. “No, it’s fine. I’ll go.” “You sure?” “Yeah, I mean, if I’m not there, who else will help get you dressed.” Please say that’s not what this is, that I’m more than a security blanket. Please tell me you still want me in your life. Say we can try again, this new you

and this new me, that we can give a relationship a real shot! He stares at something just over my head and then shrugs. “Exactly.”

Thirty Braeden Thanks again for dinner. Sorry I had to rush out. I’ll be in touch about the wedding.

The sun is barely up, my ass is planted at my brother’s kitchen table, and I’m on my second cup of coffee as I stare at my phone. I’m obsessively reading the text AJ sent after leaving yesterday, hoping the reason why things got weird last night will be hidden in the message like some Da Vinci Code shit. I read it again. Nope. Nothing. After we got back to Blake’s house, I told her I’d check out the AC in her car, but she insisted she had to get home. I tried to rein in my irritation, tried not to give away the fact that I hate the idea of her leaving me. Even more, I hate the idea of her leaving me to go home to another man. Fuck him. It’s not that I’m jealous of his money or his

status or that I envy his perfect un-fucked-up face. Everything he has means shit to me. It’s who he has that makes me downright homicidal. My jaw aches as I imagine her running into his arms, curled up in his bed, smiling at him the way she used to smile at me. He’s her hero now. I run my hand along my disfigured jaw, reminding myself of what I am. I can’t compete with a man like him. In comparison . . . I’m nothing. The sound of soft footsteps comes from the hallway, and I watch a tired Layla stumble into the kitchen. “You’re up early.” She screeches and scrambles away from me to grasp wildly at the butcher block. She rips out a utensil sword-in-the-stone style and waves it toward me. “What are you going to do, spread me to death?” “Braeden?” She eyes the metal spatula for a second and then flips on the light. “What are you doing?” I tilt my chin to my coffee. “Isn’t it obvious?” “You’re sitting in the dark, having coffee like a weirdo!” “I didn’t want to turn the lights on and wake anyone up.” She slides the cheese spreader back into the wood block. “Is everything okay? Why are you up

so early?” I’d like to say because I’m a morning person, but Layla knows me better than that. “Not drinking as much, fighting off the DTs. The combo is far from a sleep aid.” She pours herself a cup of coffee and joins me at the breakfast table. Her hair is hanging long and messy around her shoulders, and her lips are a little swollen, which makes me think my brother had a sweet wake-up call. “Did the VA give you anything to help you sleep?” “Yeah, but I can’t take that shit. I hate the way it makes me feel.” I slump back in my seat and watch her sip her coffee. “Listen. I’m sorry about yesterday.” She smiles as if it was nothing more than a game we were playing that she obviously won. “I noticed you guys didn’t get home until after seven last night.” “You’re spying on me now? I need to get my own place.” “Don’t you dare.” “I asked her out; we had dinner. It was nice, but then . . . I don’t know what happened. She closed up on me.” “Why didn’t you just ask her?” “Why do you always make things sound so easy? ‘Why didn’t you just ask her?’” I say in my best Layla girl-sass voice.

“You laugh, but you’d be surprised how much information you can get from a woman by just asking.” “AJ’s not like most women. I can’t put my finger on it, but . . . she’s changed. It always feels like she’s holding back. She’s locked up tighter than a vault.” “She’ll open up when she’s ready.” She checks the time on the microwave. “What time will she be here today?” I flip my phone over in my hand a few times, wanting to read the text again but refusing myself permission. “She’s got plans today, probably with Mr. Hotel Casino.” The bitterness in my voice would be embarrassing in front of anyone else, but Layla seems to get it. “Are you sure he’s who she’ll be with? I mean, did she say that?” “No, but where else would she be? She lives with the guy for crying out loud. I’m sure they’re doing . . . ya know . . . whatever rich people do on a Thursday. Maybe it’s clean-your-toilets-withhundred-dollar-bills day.” “I wouldn’t make assumptions, not yet.” “I asked her to come to the wedding with me.” Her face lights up. “You did? And she said yes, right?” “I didn’t know if she was going to at first, so I made clear it’s a friends-only type thing and she

agreed.” “It’s a start.” She drums her fingers on her coffee mug. “So, no AJ, what will you do with yourself all day?” I flip my phone around again, again, one more time, then think of Zach. “I’m going to hit the gym with a friend.” “That should be fun.” Pulling up his contact info, I fire off a quick text asking if he’s down to workout at the UFL gym. He gets right back to me. I’ll be there by 10.

“How about you?” I sip my coffee. “Mom said you guys have some last-minute things to do for the wedding—why are you staring at me like that?” Her eyes drop to my coffee cup and then dart between it and my mouth. “What?” I look down to see what she’s seeing, and the visual smacks me upside the head so hard that if I didn’t have my ass planted firmly in my seat I’d have fallen to the floor. “Whoa.” “Yeah, whoa.” The excitement in Layla’s voice is contagious. “How did you do that?” I hold up the coffee then bring it to my lips, sip, and put it back down. I repeat that a few times before Layla slams her palms on the table, saying, “Tell me!” “I don’t know. I just . . . did.” I put the cup

down and flex my fingers. “Huh . . . crazy.” I look to Layla for confirmation and see tears brewing in her eyes. “Oh no, don’t start that shit.” She sniffs and a single tear falls from her eye, but she quickly swipes at it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She turns away and moves to the opposite side of the kitchen. “Dude, why is it every time I walk into a room you two are at each other’s throats?” My brother comes in to see his wife sniffling while pretending to fuck with the coffee maker. “What did you do to make her cry, asshole?” “Blake!” My mom comes shuffling in all dressed and coiffed for the day. “Don’t call your brother an asshole.” “Mom!” My jaw drops open. I have never in my entire twenty-five years of life heard my mother cuss. She shrugs and leans around my brother to check on Layla. “Honey? Are you okay?” Layla nods, still sniffing. Blake glares at me. “Stop it. I didn’t do anything.” “Yes, you did!” Layla’s facing me now. My eyes pop wide open. “Are you trying to get him to kick my ass?” “Someone talk,” Blake growls while rubbing his wife’s back, “right fucking now.” “Oh, stop it.” Layla wipes her eyes. “They’re

happy tears.” “Huh?” I lift my coffee cup to my lips with my right hand in over exaggerated ways until both my mom and Blake catch on. “No shit,” Blake mumbles. “No shit,” my mom whispers. “Mom, what is wrong with you? You’re starting to sound like him.” I jerk my chin toward my brother. They both ignore me. “How did you do that?” “I don’t know. I’ve just been using it more and trying not to baby it. Guess my brain and arm reconnected.” I lift my arm, extend it, and yeah . . . it’s a lot more flexible. “Have you tried to write with it?” My brother crosses to me, his eyes on my hand. “No. Small things are hard to get my hand around.” “Huh,” he says thoughtfully. “So, no jerkin’ off then.” “Ew,” Layla sounds bored. “Blake!” Mom sounds offended. I just shake my head and smile. “Dickhead.” “You know what this means, right?” There’s mischief in my brother’s eyes, the kind he used to get when we were little and he’d suggest we sneak in to play with Dad’s knives. “If you can hold a

coffee mug, a ten-pound weight . . .” Excitement explodes in my chest, and my eyes dart to the back door. “You think?” “Think? No, I know.” “Meet me out back in five.” I jump from the table, race to the kitchen to put my cup in the sink, kissing both Layla and my mom on the cheek. I almost slam into Blake as he runs back to his room while I dart out the back door to my place. If only AJ were here to see this. ~*~

AJ I’m dragging ass when I scoot off the elevator into the penthouse. I don’t know if it’s from a day filled with changing up contracts, sifting through every tiny detail of menu options, or if it’s because I plain ole hate my job. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for the work, the income, and I get to set my own hours, but this kind of life just isn’t for me. My back aches, my neck sore, and I haven’t even used my muscles for more than holding my body up to stare at a computer screen while warming a leather desk chair. Andre’s back to his old schedule since the night of the charity event and doesn’t get home until well after I’m asleep. Whereas before he’d take nights off so we could hang out or at the very least take a

dinner break so we could share a meal, now I hardly see him. Not that it matters. I don’t have any new information for him, and I know that’s what he’s waiting for: my final verdict on whatever it is that’s happening between Braeden and me. He’s not the only one. Every time I think I’ve made progress, that Brae and I are on the road to connecting again, something happens and he pushes me away. I thought the more time we spent together the more he’d realize, as I have, that we belong together. So far? Nothing. I slip my heels off at the door and head to the kitchen to grab a snack. My feet slap against the cold marble floor, and I freeze at the sound of voices from the patio. I check the time on the oven. It’s almost seven o’clock at night. I grab an apple and move to check it out but freeze solid. A woman is standing at the railing, her long blond hair blowing in the breeze and her face alight with excitement as she takes in the view. I’d guess she’s around my age, but the innocence in her face makes her seem younger somehow. And Andre is standing right next to her. He doesn’t follow her line of sight to the multitude of Vegas lights below, but rather keeps his

eyes on her. He’s not smiling, but he’s not wearing his usual scowl either. He looks . . . content. I brace for the slap of jealousy or the weight of betrayal, but it never comes. He must feel me watching because soon Andre spots me. He meets my eyes through the glass door, studies me for a calculated second, and his brows drop low. His lips move, and when the girl nods, he heads my way. I don’t run or try and hide. After all, he wouldn’t bring a woman to the penthouse at the same time I get off work if he didn’t want to get caught. Stepping inside, he closes the door behind him and moves to me. “You’re home.” “I am. Same time I get home every night.” His expression remains stoic, but his cheeks flush. “What are you doing, Andre?” I nod to the young woman outside. “This is clearly for my benefit.” “I never said I’d fight fair.” “I didn’t realize we were at war.” His eyes search mine, and whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t seem to find. “You’re not jealous.” No, I’m not. I imagine for a moment that it was Braeden out there on the balcony with another woman, and before I can even conjure the image in my head,

my blood roars with envy. The thought of his hands on someone else, or worse someone else’s hands on him, makes me grit my teeth and . . . no. “I’m sorry, Andre.” His hands are tucked in his suit pockets, and he drops his chin. Defeated. It’s an odd look for him, one I haven’t seen before, and I hate that I’m the one who’s made him look this way. “I suppose I have my answer.” Realization of exactly what’s happening in this moment makes my eyes burn. Andre has forced me into a choice. And without even trying, I’ve made it. Whether Braeden wants me, whether he’ll consider something more between us, I choose him. I choose Braeden. I force back my tears, afraid Andre will misinterpret their meaning. When he brings his eyes back to mine, my back stiffens. His gaze is cold and hard, his lips in a tight line. This isn’t the Andre I’ve come to know; this is the GM of the Kairos, Mr. Monroe. “You have three days to secure a place to live and move out. Give Tyler your new address, and he’ll arrange a mover to bring your things.” Before I’m even able to nod or say okay, he’s turned his back on me and is headed back outside. With his hand on the glass door, he stops but doesn’t face me. “Adeline.”

“Yeah.” “I suggest you start searching for a new job. Consider this your two-weeks’ notice.” And with that, he’s out. I scurry to the kitchen, and not wanting to take advantage of Andre’s things, I set the apple back into the fruit bowl. Once to the spare bedroom, I strip out of my dress shirt and slacks, feeling like I’m shedding old skin. I dig through a box in my closet that’s filled with the clothes from my old life and slide on a worn pair of cut-off shorts and a tank top. My blood thrums with excitement as I slip into a pair of flip-flops and grab my keys. My mind whirls with all I have to do, but even in the fear and confusion, my excitement takes the lead. I snag my purse and head for the elevator, only to run face first into Andre and the blonde. The three of us share an awkward stare-down before I break the tension by introducing myself. “Hi, I’m AJ, Andre’s temporary roommate.” “Nicole.” She slides her beautiful blue eyes from Andre to me then back to him. I hit the elevator button. “I assume you’re going down?” I cringe at how bad that sounds. “I mean since we’re on the top floor.” She looks at Andre, who simply nods while taking in my clothes with a fair amount of disgust. And God, it feels good to be back where we were

—him hating my clothes while being short and cryptic, me feeling good in my own skin. The elevator pings and the double doors open. I head in and press my back to the corner while Andre puts his hand on Nicole’s lower back to guide her in after me. The doors close, and the uncomfortable silence is stifling. “So, Nicole, is this your first time at the Kairos?” Her eyes dance with excitement. “Yeah, I just moved here from Michigan.” I look at Andre, who has his eyes forward as if he’s pretending I don’t even exist. “Have you tried Escalante yet? They have a killer chocolate soufflé. And their wine list is a mile long.” “Not long enough,” Andre says in almost a mumble. “There’s no Strawberry Hill.” Nicole claps her hands and bounces. “I love Strawberry Hill.” I’m smiling to myself just as the elevator carriage pings. I shove out and catch Andre’s eyes. They’re soft again, and just as I’m about to turn away, the corner of his mouth turns up flashing a hint of dimple. “I’ll see you around.” And with that, I’m gone.

Thirty-one AJ I haven’t seen Braeden in days, and yet it feels like weeks. I stayed busy searching for a place to live and updating all my files for whomever takes my place at the Kairos. Since it’s Friday and it’s not like Andre can fire me twice, I popped out of bed before the sun came up and decided to take the day off. When I found out the weather was going to be unusually cool for this time of year, it gave me an idea. I fired off a quick text to Braeden, figuring he wasn’t up yet. His addiction to alcohol seems to keep him awake at night and forces him to sleep in, so I was surprised to see him reply immediately. He agreed to jogging at our spot, the park we went to the morning after what was supposed to be a weekend fling. If I’d only known then what I do now, I would’ve ended things before they began— closed myself up tight to the sexy Marine so he couldn’t crawl up under my skin and straight to my

heart. The AC in my car is still broken, but it’s a balmy seventy degrees, and I’m not complaining. I pull into the parking lot at the park, and I’m thankful to find a spot right under a big Palo Verde tree. If the sun manages to peek through the clouds, the shade will keep my little car from turning into a Dutch oven. Grabbing my water, I push out from the car, lock it, and head to the grassy area we agreed to meet. I tug at my shorts, wishing they had a couple of extra inches of length, but hopefully the coverage will be enough— “Hey.” “Holy shit!” I jerk away from the voice with my hand on my chest. Braeden laughs, his smile so big it makes my pulse kick harder than the scare did. I haven’t seen him smile like that since before he left on deployment. “You scared the shit out of me!” The scarring that runs up the side of his right cheek makes his grin more lopsided than it used to be but no less effective. God, he’s so beautiful. “Sorry.” But he doesn’t look sorry. “I saw you pull in.” We continue to walk to the grassy area near the running path. “I didn’t realize I was late.” He tugs on the bill of his hat, lowering it more

over his face, and I wonder if he’s doing that to try to hide some of the damage. “I got here early. I was waiting for you over there.” He points to a tree. “People watching.” “That’s not creepy.” I flash him a smile, and he smiles right back. What’s put him in such a good mood? Our sneakers hit the grass, and I set down my water bottle and tuck my car key into my sports bra. Last time we jogged this trail, I didn’t wear a tank top, but I was in a lot better shape back then. My Soffes and tank are a stark contrast to the spandex combo I used to wear. As Braeden stretches his quads, I notice he, too, is wearing clothes with a bit more coverage: a long-sleeved tee and athletic shorts that hit his knees. The only scarring that’s visible is on his neck and cheek. “I should warn you I’ve been working on my cardio since our last run.” “Good.” I bend over to reach my toes and stretch my hammies. “I wasn’t looking forward to holding your hair back while you puked again.” “I’m not saying I won’t spew chunks. I’m just saying I might actually get a couple of laps in before I do.” “You ready to put that confidence to the test?” I shake out my legs and move to the concrete path. He follows. “No. But something tells me you aren’t giving me a choice.” He sidles up next to me.

“I’m not exactly in top athletic shape myself, so . . .” I start at a slow jog, and he mimics my pace, staying right at my shoulder. “We make the perfect team.” I see his head jerk around from the corner of my eye, but I keep my eyes forward. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I guess we do.” His eyes return to the path in front of him, and we remain silent as we jog side by side around the perimeter of the park. It’s impossible not to get a weird sense of déjà vu as the memories flood in of our first morning together. And along with the memories come the feelings. Why do I feel like a completely different person than I was only one year ago? The naïve girl from Dallas who believed in dreams has been replaced with someone I don’t even recognize. Our feet hit the pavement in almost soundless scuffs. Upon our second pass, we pick up the pace a bit. We’re both breathing a lot heavier than we were the first time we ran this park, but neither of us give up. Sweat drips from my hairline, and my hip and pelvis begin to ache. I internally curse the screws and pins that hold the bones together and push through the pain. On our fourth pass, it becomes too much, and I slow to a jog. Braeden slows right along with me

until we’re both walking and wiping the sweat from our foreheads. “Damn, I’m glad you gave in first. I wasn’t sure I had another lap in me.” I’m sure he’s just saying that to make me feel better, but that’s okay. I’ll take the mulligan. I lift my hands to lock them on top of my head and catch my breath while continuing to walk. “Yeah . . . I think . . . four is my max.” “You cramping up?” “No, actually, I feel really loose.” He stops walking and narrows his eyes on me. “You’re limping.” Shit. I am? I can’t not limp because the pain in my hip is bad, so I just stop walking. “No, I’m not.” “AJ.” I drop to my butt in the grass on a slight hill, legs bent trying to keep my head from falling between my knees. “I’m fine. I just need to—” “What the fuck is that?” I follow his piercing glare to my hip where my shorts have ridden up to expose an angry red scar. I shuffle back, tugging my shorts down in a frantic attempt to cover what little he saw. “Nothing.” He’s down in a squat at my side, and before I’m able to stop him, he wrenches the side of my shorts up. “Fuckin’ hell . . . what the fuck—?” I smack his hand off the fabric and push through a little discomfort as I stand back to my feet.

His eyes follow me up, but he stays in a crouch, his jaw hard and his gaze glistening with a mix between worry and anger. “What happened to you?” It doesn’t sound like a question as much as a demand. I smooth my shorts with sweaty palms and carefully but quickly scoop my water bottle up from the grass. “It’s no big deal.” “No big deal? AJ, that’s some Frankensteinlooking shit right there.” “If you don’t like it, then don’t look at it!” I swig from my water bottle, feeling the burn of tears on the backs of my eyes. With his elbows propped on his crouched thighs, he studies our surroundings as if he’s trying to regain his composure. “You didn’t quit Eros,” he says to the empty space in front of him. “I told you I didn’t quit.” Pushing to stand, he closes the space between us until my head is tipped back to see his eyes. “You got hurt.” I nod, but it’s quick and jerky. “Fuck.” He blows out a long breath and rubs the back of his thick, sweaty neck with his good hand. “I’m sorry I accused you. I was a dick.” “It’s in the past. And, uh . . .” I tug at the hems of my shorts. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not go back there.” “What happened?”

“I fell. Broke some bones that needed surgery to repair.” He pulls his hat off, tucks it under his bad arm, and runs a hand over his sweaty hair, back and forth and back and forth until it’s standing straight up. “When?” “Months ago.” I’m purposefully vague. “I tried to go back to performing . . .” I shake my head rather than finish my thought. How can I talk about pain and suffering with a man who has been through so much of both? His green eyes are like laser beams on me. “You’re in pain now?” I shrug. “It’s not too bad.” He shakes his head, pops his hat back on, and seems to collapse with his ass to the ground. “But you loved performing; you were taking care of your parents.” He tilts his head back to look up at me. “How did you manage . . .?” He huffs out a humorless laugh. “Oh, right. Moneybags.” He drops his chin to stare at the grass between his feet. After a few long and very silent seconds, I sit down next to him, biting back a groan as my hip protests the movement. “Ya know he’s not a bad guy.” I could never bring myself to say anything bad about Andre. I have no idea what would’ve happened to me, to my parents, if it weren’t for him. If only I could’ve convinced myself to fall in

love with him. Life, this—whatever this is between Braeden and me—would all be so much easier if I could walk away. “Yeah.” He tilts his head to meet my eyes. “I think I’m starting to see that.” Whatever levity there was in Braeden all morning has disappeared, and although he doesn’t seem as angry as he usually is, he seems more detached. “So.” I lean back on my hands. “Tomorrow night. Do you want me to meet you at the chapel?” “Yeah, that’s probably best.” He picks a few blades of dried grass from his Nikes. “The wedding party has to be there early. You don’t need to hang around for all that—” “What time?” “Three o’clock. The ceremony isn’t until five.” I shrug and tilt my face up toward the sun. “I can come early. I’m sure Layla will need an extra set of hands, what with her daughter getting married and Jack running around.” “You’d do that?” I turn and consider his handsome face, scars and all. “You know I would.” His lips tick up into a smile. “Would it be alright if I pick you up then?” “Layla’s car has better AC, so I’d be grateful if you could.” “Layla’s car . . .” he says almost absently as he

gazes just past me at nothing. “I want to show you something.” He hops to his feet and offers me his good hand. I take hold, and he pulls me up like I weigh nothing. Our hands stay linked together for a second too long until he clears his throat and releases his grip. “Come on.” I trail along behind him toward the far side of the park. “Where are we going?” “You’ll see.” ~*~

Braeden God, I feel sick to my stomach. First with the news that AJ had been injured. Second with the realization that I’d been a complete fuckface for accusing her of quitting. The final blow was realizing that, when she needed someone most, it was Richie Rich who saved her ass. Not me. He really is the hero, and I’m the sad fucking scarred-up prick who couldn’t do more than what one hand required to take care of her. I don’t have much to give her, but I can give her this. AJ deserves to know how much her stubborn obnoxious ass really did bring me back, even if only

just a little. My gut flutters when my feet move from grass to pavement then to asphalt. I stop, spin on her, and watch as she looks from me to around the parking lot in confusion. “I don’t understand.” She scans our surroundings. Strands of her chestnut hair blow in the breeze, and I resist the urge to tuck them back behind her shoulder. I watch in fascination as she figures it out. Her jaw falls loose on its hinges; her eyes widen and slide to me. “Oh my God . . . you did it.” She takes a few steps toward the GTO that’s still at least five yards away. “You did it!” “Actually . . .” I shrug. “You did it.” Without warning, she rushes and, in two long strides, hurls herself into my chest. I wrap both my arms around her waist, and even though it hurts, I squeeze her tight. It feels so good to have her body pressed to mine, so familiar, and although it seems like it’s been forever since I’ve held her like this, it somehow feels like it was just yesterday. If I’m not imagining it, she’s holding onto me just as tight. “I knew you could do it, Braeden.” She presses her face into the scarred side of my neck as though it’s not a gory monstrosity but rather the safest hiding spot. “I never stopped believing in you.” Her breath on my skin, her sweet scent swirling my senses, and her warm body pressed in close

short circuit my brain. I release her enough to slide her down my body but not enough to put any distance between us. Watery hazel eyes blink up at me, and the high of having her like this is better than any liquor buzz. Without thinking of the consequences or the possible fallout, I follow the unbreakable pull between us and lower my mouth to hers. Fuck me, it’s like coming home. I expect her to turn away, to slam her lips closed and deny my intrusion. But she shocks the shit out of me by tilting her head. She softens her lips so much so that they open, and her tongue tentatively brushes against mine. The trigger is instant. I fist her shirt, digging my fingers into the flesh of her lower back. She pushes up on her tiptoes, her hands crawling over my shoulders to lock behind my neck. Our tongues lash against each other in a desperate attempt to make up for all the months they went without. The salt of our combined sweat is a primal aphrodisiac, and a growl claws its way up my throat. I nip at her upper lip only to swallow her answering moan. We’re like animals who’ve been given fresh meat for the first time in months, ravenous, starving for what the other is offering. It’s only when I hear a car door slam nearby that

rational thoughts slam back in. I break the kiss and put inches of space between us. My eyes closed, I focus on my breath, needing to calm the fuck down before I drag her back to my car and fuck her until she’s branded on the interior. “Damn . . . that was an accident.” My voice is rough and so heavy with lust and want it shocks even me. “I’m sorry.” I need to step away, but I can’t seem to force myself to let her go. She rests her forehead between my pecs, her shoulders rising and falling at the same pace as my own. “I don’t know what just happened there.” I hear the guilt weighing down her voice, and it’s enough that I’m able to release my hand to rub her back before stepping away to give her some room. Not only am I not her hero, I just made her a cheater. “Don’t feel bad, AJ. That was my fault.” “I saw the car and I . . .” She sniffs and swipes at her eye. “I’m sorry.” I release her completely and take two steps back. “Hey, just forget about it, okay? Pretend it never happened.” Hurt flashes across her expression, and I imagine she’s thinking about how she’s going to tell what’s his face and how he’ll respond. I don’t want to mess things up for her. “It was just a kiss. Easily forgotten.” My chest cramps as the words continue to come from my

mouth. “Friends do it, maybe not like that, but— don’t make it a bigger deal than it needs to be.” The pain in her eyes intensifies. Shit. I’m so bad at this. “How ’bout a ride?” I motion to the GTO. “Let me show off all your hard work.” She sniffs again, nods, but doesn’t smile. “Okay, sure.” I walk to the car and make myself go to the driver’s side rather than the passenger to open her door. After all, friends don’t open car doors for friends. And that’s all we’ll ever be. I’ll make sure of it.

Thirty-two Braeden I’m staring at a condo building in a decent part of town, wondering where the hell I am. I check the address AJ gave me and match it to the one on the classy concrete and stone structure. It all lines up. Matches. And yet I still don’t know where I am. I understand why she wouldn’t want me picking her up at the Kairos. Not only have I been banned from the property, but us jumping in my car together dressed like we’re headed to a black-tie event would only incite rumors. The only explanation for my being here that makes sense is that she chose to have me pick her up from a friend’s house. I fold out of the GTO, and I’m grateful for the shaded pathway that leads me to the door. I was able to get myself mostly dressed, the only things I’ll need help with being the tie and those fucking cufflinks. Although the jacket to my tux is hanging in the back of my car, the long sleeves and black

slacks aren’t making the ninety degrees easy. As I get closer to the door, I notice a resort-style pool just beyond the two-story condo complete with padded loungers and a decorative waterfall. “Nice,” I whisper to myself and wonder briefly if they have any vacancies. I’ll eventually be needing a place to live that isn’t owned and paid for by my brother. This wouldn’t be a bad place to start. I approach the door and knock. Preparing for an unfamiliar face, I turn my scarred side away to avoid scaring the shit out of whomever answers. When the lock clicks and the door swings open, I’m hit with a cool blast of air conditioning and the gentle smell of cinnamon and apples. “Hi.” I turn to face AJ as she stands in the doorway, and it takes a few seconds to find my voice as I admire her. The dress she’s wearing is totally strapless, showcasing her smooth, tan shoulders and upper arms. The color of it is hard to describe, almost pink but also tan . . . like a rose that’s covered in dust. It’s form-fitting, hugging her curves in a lacey-type shit that makes me think of expensive lingerie. Her hair is pulled back, and she’s wearing a simple necklace and earrings, just enough that it doesn’t take away from her pretty face— “Braeden?”

“Huh?” I snap out of it and clear my throat of the thick desire that will surely coat my voice. “You . . . look. I mean . . .” Fuck, spit it out, asshole. “Really pretty.” I pull at my collar, and even with the top buttons open, I feel like I’m suffocating. She tilts her head and smiles, those hazel eyes lighting with humor. “You look really pretty too.” I laugh, and she steps back to let me inside. “I just have to grab my purse. Make yourself at home.” I watch her hips swing as she retreats to the staircase, and I’m unable to look away until she’s up the stairs and out of sight. I study the living space, and it seems new: fresh carpet, decent-sized kitchen with modern appliances, very little in the way of decoration. There’s nothing on the walls, and in the spot where a television should go, there’s only cable wires sticking out of the drywall. It’s when I head deeper into the condo that something familiar catches my eye: AJ’s couch. I’d recognize that thing anywhere. I step up to it and run my hand along the armrest as porno-worthy memories flash behind my eyes, from the first night we tumbled to the floor at the foot of this piece of furniture to the morning she straddled me on it wearing nothing but my T-shirt. All the blood in my head rushes to one place and strains the cotton of my boxer-briefs. “I’m all set.” With my hand still on the couch, I turn to see AJ

looking the same as she did when she opened the door, but now with a small purse tucked under her arm and what looks like a fresh coat of lip gloss on her kissable lips. “You live here.” I watch as she swallows hard as if my question makes her nervous. But why? “Yes.” I swing my gaze around the room, to the stairs, and back to her. “With him?” She rolls her lips together the way women do when they put on lipstick. Then she stares at the floor for a couple of seconds before looking back at me and shaking her head. Something big and hot detonates behind my ribs and seeps into my arms and legs, making them tingle. Is it . . . hope? “You’re gonna have to use your words, AJ,” I growl as my skin practically vibrates with a mix of excitement and dread. Her answer could break me in ways that I can’t even begin to count. “No, Andre doesn’t live here with me.” That single statement is like a shove backwards, and to cover my surprise, I simply sit on the couch. My elbows resting on my thighs, I tilt my head to look at her. “I thought you lived with him.” Now she crosses to me, not close enough to touch, but so close I can smell the delicate scent of her perfume. She never once takes her eyes off mine. “I did. Now, I don’t.” “So . . .” Piece it together, man. Put two and two

together. “You broke up?” She dips her chin. “Words, AJ. Please.” “Yes, Andre and I are no longer together.” “Since when?” To think I’ve been beating myself up, feeling guilty as shit for the kiss we shared yesterday, and they’re not even together. “Braeden, we should get going. You don’t want to be late—” “Since when, Adeline?” She blows out a big breath and pulls back her shoulders. “Since the charity event. But I officially moved out a few days ago.” “Fuck.” I put my head in my hands, wanting to pull my hair out, but feeling the stiffness of hair shit —thanks to Layla—I’m unable to. “This whole time I thought . . .” I was trying so hard, holding myself back, holding my feelings back, for the sake of not making things hard on her. “You should’ve told me.” “Why?” I glare, not at all appreciating her snarky tone. “Why?” I push to stand and cross to her, locking my arms to my sides to keep from taking her to the floor and covering her entire body in punishing kisses. “Because, AJ, I’m fucking in love with you.” Her hand flies to her chest and eyes wildly search mine.

“I see this is news to you, which makes me think I did a fine job hiding it, but dammit, you should’ve known.” “I . . .” Her eyes glisten with tears. “You never said anything.” “Yeah, well, I didn’t realize it until it was too late and—you know what? Fuck this.” I shove my hand into her hair and crush my mouth to hers. I’m not gentle, and there’s nothing sweet about this kiss. Her sticky lip gloss smears both our faces as I devour her mouth. Her hands fist into the sides of my shirt, nails biting against the damaged skin at my side. I hiss at the contact as it sends heat roaring through my veins. The kiss turns impossibly hungrier, and I bite her bottom lip, pulling the plump flesh between my teeth. She moans low and long and—fuck me—I need her naked. Now. I palm her breast possessively over her dress and squeeze. “I want you.” Her fingers fumble with the front of my pants, and I walk her back to the wall. Using my good arm, I wrench her dress up to her waist so hard I hear the pop of stitches. Without preamble, I dive my hand into the front of her panties and groan to find her hot and wet. “You want this.” Her breath hitches as I slide two fingers inside.

“I do.” With my face in her neck and my bad hand on her waist to steady her, I reacquaint myself with AJ’s body. I’m back where I belong after all these months of dreaming about it. She must realize I’m a little clumsy with my left hand, and she helps by rocking her hips against me. She tilts her head back and, with a quick maneuver, pops her breast from the bodice of her dress, offering it in invitation. I kiss a path down her throat and suck it deep into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the pebbled tip. “You’re so fucking hot.” Unable to stand another minute and fearing I might ruin my tux pants, I take AJ’s hand with my bad one and bring it to my belly. “Take me out.” In what seems like seconds, she has me rock hard, in her hand, and guiding me between her legs, just as eager for me as I am her. I tug her panties to the side. “I don’t have a condom.” “I don’t care.” “Fuck.” I lean my forehead against hers and try to find some scrap of sanity, search for clear thinking, but it’s impossible as she uses my dick to pleasure herself. “I want to take care of you, but I’m physically incapable of moving from this spot —don’t stop, that feels so good.” My phone buzzes in my pocket, but it’s merely a

background distraction, easily ignored. She continues to torture me, and my hips flex into her hand. “Please, Braeden.” “You sure? I’m clean. I haven’t been with anyone since you, baby.” “Me either . . .” Her words fade on a groan. But I freeze and look down at her. “You either what?” “You were my last.” Her eyes are closed as she continues to rub me against her. “AJ.” Her lids lift at my stern calling of her name. “Are you saying you never had sex with Moneybags?” “No. I couldn’t. I was still in love with you.” In love with me. With that, I thrust hard, past the grip of her hand and straight fucking home. She gasps as her body swallows me up in a tight grip. “Yes.” There’s no going slow as her words tumble through my head. She loves me. This girl fucking loves me! I reach down and grip her thigh, pulling up her leg to open her— She hisses in pain. “Oh fuck, I’m sorry.” The scar, her hip. Slow the hell down, prick! I cover her neck and jaw in apologetic kisses, forcing myself to an unhurried

pace. “This better? You okay?” She nods, and within seconds, it all becomes too much. Memories of our time together flood my vision: her smile when we first met, the sound of her laughter when we’d lie in bed for hours talking, the taste of her tears. All of it mixes with the new memories we’ve made—her stubborn refusal to give up on me. God, how did I not see it before? We are pathetically and completely in love. It’s on that thought that I hit deep within her, making us both detonate. She moans and falls limp into my hold as I continue to move, bringing her back slowly while emptying myself inside her. My phone buzzes again, but it could burst into flames for all I care. I run my lips along her throat to her jaw, long tendrils of her hair tickling my face. We’re both breathing heavily, and when I pull back, I can’t help but grin. I messed up her hair, smeared her makeup, but AJ looks sated as a slow smile curves her lips. “I, uh . . .” I use my good hand to try and tuck those silken locks back into place and wipe pink lip gloss from her chin. “I’m sorry I fucked up all your hard work.” She giggles and then gasps as I slide out of her and tuck myself back into my pants. “I don’t mind.” Her body falls heavily back against the wall, and I do my best to put her dress back together.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for that.” Her husky southern drawl brings me back to her mouth for another long kiss. “You said you love me,” I whisper against her lips. “You said it first.” I look her in the eyes and search for something, anything that might tell me this isn’t real, that she’s lying or that I misunderstood, but all that shines back is truth. “Are you sure, AJ? I’m far from perfect, and I’ll never be what you deserve.” I trace the shape of her bottom lip with my thumb. “Am I really who you want?” “More than anything. Since the first night we were together, you’ve been the one. I know I—” Her eyes dart down to my pocket. “Are you going to get that?” My motherfucking phone is jackhammering between us. “No.” “Braeden—” “You’re all I care about right now. I don’t give a fuck who—shit.” My phone buzzes again. “I think you should answer it,” she says through a small rumble of laughter. “Fine.” I rip the device from my pants and hit accept. “What!” “Uh . . . Uncle Brae?” I drop my head back and breathe at the sound of Axelle’s voice. “Yeah, kiddo. Sorry. What’s up?”

“Blake said you were on your way, but that was thirty minutes ago.” I watch as AJ watches me. “I’m picking up AJ now. We’ll be there in ten.” Axelle breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay, no worries, I just wanted to make sure nothing happened.” “Ax, babe, you don’t need to worry about me. Nothing in the world would stop me from being there to stand up for you. See you soon.” “’Kay. Love you.” The phone line goes dead, and I shove the device back into my pocket while moving to the door. “That was Ax.” Her eyes widen, and she scurries off toward the stairs. “Give me a second. I just need to get cleaned up and um . . . change my panties.” I tilt my head and allow my gaze to follow her sexy ass up the stairs. Knowing I’m the reason she’ll need new panties makes my chest swell, and my mind immediately conjures up plans to dirty the next pair. While she’s gone, I find a small bathroom downstairs and put myself back together, wash my hands, and splash some cold water on my face. I hear AJ’s hurried footsteps coming down the stairs and meet her at the front door. Whatever she did up there makes her look even more beautiful than she did when she answered the

door. Maybe it’s her flushed cheeks or the sultry smile on her face that says she’s carrying a naughty secret; the combination is hot. “Hey.” I snag her elbow and pull her in for a soft peck on the lips. “We’re not finished talking.” She blinks up at me, and her eyes flare when I lick her gloss from my mouth. “I know.” “After my girl gets married off, you and I are gonna finish what we started.” She pushes up on her toes and kisses my jaw on my scarred side where she whispers, “Or are we going to start back up what we never had the chance to finish.” I’ve got no money. No future to offer a woman like AJ. But I did the selfless hero thing with her once. I’m not making that mistake again. I love her. I’m not giving her up. ~*~

AJ Sitting in Braeden’s car as he pulls out of my condo parking lot, I can’t help but wonder if this is what people mean when they talk about having emotional whiplash. My body still warm from having his pressed against me, inside me, my cheeks hold a permanent blush. It all happened so fast. He told me he loves

me. I told him I love him too, and BAM, seconds later I’m pinned to the wall by Braeden. I press my thighs together to squelch the hunger that lingers between them. He loves me. Braeden loves me— “You okay, muffin?” Muffin. My inner lovesick girl squeals with excitement. “Never better.” It’s hard to tell since his scarred side is facing me, but I’d swear he smiled. He adjusts in his seat, and my eyes are drawn to the crotch of his slacks, which seem a tad too tight. The last thing he needs is to embarrass himself walking into his niece’s wedding. “Are you?” He adjusts himself in his seat. “Great.” I clear my throat. “Where are we headed?” It’s a genuine question, and maybe talking will help diffuse the sexual tension growing between us. He checks his rearview mirror before merging onto the freeway. “A little chapel at Paris. Ax and Kill have history at the place, I guess.” He hits the gas, making the engine rumble. “Reception is there too.” My hands knot together in my lap as I consider being in a room with all of Braeden’s closest family and friends. What if they ask me questions about who I am or rather what I am to Brae. Do I say we’re just friends?

Even though we both know we’re so much more? “You over it now?” Confused, I look over to find Braeden darting his gaze between me and the road ahead. “Over what?” He nods to his left where the Las Vegas strip lined with bigger-than-life hotels and casinos looms in the distance. “The AJ I remember couldn’t peel her eyes off it. Now, seems like you can barely stand the sight of it.” I make myself look and he’s right. After a few seconds, I’m forced to turn away. I hate it. “It’s not real. The lights, the casinos, the grandeur, it’s all part of the illusion.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “You fell. Shit happens. Doesn’t mean this place isn’t still brimming with opportunity.” “Maybe.” “Are you, uh . . . still working for Señor Millionaire?” It sounds as if he’s speaking through clenched teeth. “No. Just before I moved out, he gave me my two weeks’.” His head whips around to scowl at me. “Wait. He fired you? Because you broke up with him? Is that legal?” “Do you want me to still work for Andre?” “Fuck no! But I don’t think it’s cool to fire you

just because he’s butt hurt.” I shrug. “He didn’t really fire me, but he quit for me. It’s not like I care. I hated sitting behind a desk all day. It hurt my hip.” “But I thought you said moving hurts.” I turn to look at him. “Now you understand my problem.” He doesn’t acknowledge that with more than a look of focus as he exits the freeway to take us to the strip. “How about you?” I pick at the lace of my dress. “Any big career plans?” “I’m still trying to figure that out. Hard to get a job when I have minimal use of my hand.” He down shifts, and even though he’s made such progress as to be able to drive, he winces a little at the movement. “But, thanks to you, I don’t think I’m ready to give up trying.” My chest swells with warmth. “You know a wise man once told me that, if you work hard enough at something, even failure is success.” The side of his mouth ticks up a little. “That man sounds like a stud.” Now it’s my turn to smile. “He’s alright.” “Bet he’s got a big dick, though.” Heat flashes over my body, my thighs tingle, and my cheeks burn. “Yeah, I was just reminded of its size quite recently.” I have to turn away to keep him from seeing the ridiculous smile and blush I’m

sporting. “For the sake of keeping up my reputation, you’re going to be reminded of that again real soon, muffin.” “Good thing I stashed spare panties in my purse.” His low and rumbling chuckle lightens a little of the tension just in time for him to pull the car up to the valet at Paris. With his chin down, he grabs his tuxedo coat and drapes the tie over his neck before tossing the valet his keys. I wait for him at the curb, and when he rounds the car to me, he grabs my hand. Startled by the contact, I stare at our connection. He acts like he doesn’t notice my pause and tugs me through the doors into the casino. “Come on, muff. Let’s go have some fun.”

Thirty-three Braeden “I don’t like it.” Layla smacks my bicep while I glare at the newlywed couple spinning circles around the dance floor as if they’re the only two people in the world. “Shut up. You love Kill.” “I do.” I lean back in my chair but keep my eyes on the groom and his grabby hands. “I think Kill’s a great guy. I just don’t like him with my niece.” Blake rubs a hand over his face and groans. “If he doesn’t take his hand off her ass in ten seconds, I swear to God—” “She’s his wife!” Layla’s stares at her husband in disbelief. I swirl my straw in my Coke. “I say we throw a pillowcase over his head, toss him in the trunk, and drop him off in the middle of the desert.” Blake crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s actually not a bad idea.” “I’m sorry.” AJ leans forward. “I know I’m new here, but what am I missing? Killian is so sweet! I

mean did you hear his vows?” She grips her neck, her eyes filling with tears. Layla nods, her lips turning down as she stifles the waterworks. “I know! And he wrote those himself. The part about her being the air in his lungs . . .” AJ nods and blinks, fighting off tears. “And when he said he knew from the moment he saw her that his life would never be the same again, ugh!” “I know; it was so romantic.” “Ladies, please.” I fold up my napkin and drop it on the table. “Those are just words. Deep down inside he’s a man who wants to . . .” I hold up my good hand. “I can’t even say it!” “Make love to his wife.” Layla says, wiping her eyes. Blake bristles. “Good Lord, Mouse! Don’t say that out loud.” I’m recovering from a wince. “No shit!” “You guys are horrible.” AJ puts her hand over mine, which has been placed possessively on her thigh for most of the night. I can’t help but touch her when she’s close. An irrational side of me wants to mark her neck with hickeys like some high-school hard-on so anyone who looks at her will know right away she’s mine. When I’m not close enough to touch, I can’t take my eyes off her. Standing at the head of the chapel listening to the JOP as she married Ax and

Kill, I was fixed on AJ. She wiped her eyes repeatedly, and I was blown away that she’d have that kind of emotion for people she hardly knows. It only made me love her more. “So now that we’re on the back nine of this shindig, I can call you a dick for being late.” My brother’s voice pulls me from thoughts of the sexy woman at my side, who tenses at Blake’s words. “I wasn’t that late.” I squeeze AJ’s thigh, hoping to reassure her. “Blake, stop it.” Layla hisses into her champagne while watching Jack who’s been playing with Jonah and Raven’s daughter, Sadie, all night. When we showed up a little late to the chapel, Layla’s smile lit up so bright I thought her jaw might snap. I can’t explain how I knew, but I did. I knew my sister-in-law was on to us. Whatever she saw in our faces gave us away. AJ was mortified and asked if she had her dress on straight. I reassured her it was only because we were holding hands that Layla seemed so happy, even though I knew better. That freshly sexed-up look was written all over us. AJ shivers, and I rub away her goosebumps. I lean in close, and my breath on her bare shoulder causes her to quake again. “You cold?” “A little.” “Want to dance?”

Her gaze tangles with mine. “Are you serious?” I trace the shell of her ear with my fingertip. “I was going to offer you my coat, but I’d rather keep you warm with my arms. Figure the best way to do that is on the dance floor.” “I’d love to.” There’s a soft sigh from across the table, and when I glance up, I find Layla curled into Blake’s side, smiling at us. I roll my eyes, earning a glare from her, then take AJ’s hand and guide her to the dance floor. Pulling her tiny body into mine, I rest my right hand on her hip and wrap the other around her back. I inwardly curse my bum arm, wondering if I’ll ever be able to hold AJ again the way I used to. She stares up at me. “This is a great song.” I tilt my head, listen, and groan. “Fucking Layla. She raised Axelle on this shit. Brainwashed the poor girl.” “Skid Row is not shit.” She sways to the song and sings along with the chorus. “I remember you . . . ya know, this song reminds me a lot of us.” I pull her closer. “Oh yeah?” “Yeah . . .” “I looo-oove you,” I sing softly along with Sebastian Bach. She laughs, and there’s a softness to her smile just like when she was talking about Kill’s vows. “You do know this song.”

“Who doesn’t. It’s a classic.” “I love you too, Braeden Matthew Daniels.” I know I look like Michael Meyers—sans mask —but the way AJ stares up at me makes me forget how fucked up I look. My feet still, and my smile falls so that we’re standing motionless in the middle of the dance floor. “I think we’re done here.” She looks around at all the couples flooding the dance floor. “What do you mean? I think the party’s just getting started.” “Ax and Kill said their I-dos, we ate, had cake, first dance happened, and now I want to take you home.” She swallows hard. “Your home or my home? I lean down to whisper in her ear, giving her my undamaged side, but she ducks and pushes up to take my scarred cheek against hers. I stall for a breath and then graze her jaw with my own. She melts into my arms. Fuck if that doesn’t make me feel like a man again. “AJ . . .” I whisper, and so much need and hunger hang on those two simple letters. “Wherever you are will always be home to me.” She nuzzles my neck, breathing me in and pressing her lips there. “Then what are we waiting for?” ~*~

AJ

Leaving a big event like a wedding always takes about an hour. After hitting all the right tables and saying our good-byes, we managed to pull the bride and groom away from each other long enough for a quick hug and congratulations. Maybe it was just my paranoia, but I couldn’t help but feel like everyone knew we were running off to get naked. I suppose it could’ve been the way Braeden never took his hand off me unless it was to shake someone else’s. I got the sense that every time he had let me go, he got more and more frustrated, so I switched sides and looped my hand around his right arm. As we walk through the casino to the valet, he tugs me back to his left side and presses my body in close. With every step we take, the nervous excitement builds, and once we climb into his car, it skyrockets. We put on our seatbelts, and I scurry to fill the silence that swells between us. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” His thick brows pinch together when he looks at me briefly before aiming his eyes back to the road. “What is it?” “That night you came to the bar when I was working, how did you know my shoe size?” He chuckles and shakes his head, and if I’m not mistaken, he blows out a breath as if he’d been

holding it. “That’s the shit you want to know?” “It’s kind of been driving me crazy, so yeah.” He shrugs and keeps his eyes on the road. “Lucky guess.” My jaw falls open. “That’s it! Lucky guess? I thought you had some supernatural ability or something!” He laughs as he pulls the car onto the freeway. “Nope. I noticed a lot of things about you, AJ; your foot size was not one of them.” “Lucky guess,” I mumble. Very lucky, for me. If he’d guessed wrong, would we be sitting where we are today? Or would I be at the top of Andre’s hotel tower, looking down at the Las Vegas lights with a gaping hole in my chest? “This day has been a little nuts, huh?” He’s flying down the dark highway, his gaze wholly focused on the road. “Ya, think?” I slip my heels off and flex my toes. He slides his hand off the gearshift to rest it on my thigh but winces, unable to extend his arm that far. I scoot over and open my thighs until my knee hits the gearshift where he’s able to touch me easily. The corner of his mouth ticks up. “You feelin’ okay? About us? I want to make sure we’re not moving too fast after what happened this afternoon at your place.” “I told you I’ve been waiting forever to be with you again. If anything, I’d say we’re not moving

fast enough.” “I can fix that.” He lays heavily on the gas, throwing the GTO forward with such force my head presses into the seat. Thankfully, he slows back down almost immediately. “Easy there. That does nothing to calm my nerves.” I laugh. “You’re nervous?” “Mm . . . nervous? More like . . . excervous.” He coughs out a laugh. “Is that a word?” “Of course it is; it’s a mix between excited and —” “Nervous, yeah, I get it.” We fly by the exit that leads to my townhouse. “Where are we going?” “Blake and Layla are staying at the hotel tonight. Mom and Jack have a room too. I figured I’d take you back to my place”—he glances my way— “if that’s alright with you.” “Sure.” At this point I’d take the backseat of his car. A handful of minutes later, he’s pulling up to a spot behind the pool house. He’s out of the car and circles the hood to the passenger side while I gather my purse and shoes. Leading me to his door, he unlocks it, and when we walk in, he flicks on a light. I put my shoes by the door and my purse on the kitchen counter. There’s no garbage or empty beer bottles, the bed is

made, and it smells like Braeden’s spicy cologne. He tosses his jacket and tie on the back of a chair and toes off his dress shoes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you expected me to come home with you tonight.” I lift a brow in his direction. He shakes his head and chuckles while slowly working through the buttons of his dress shirt. “Good thing you know better then, huh?” Watching him slip off his dressy clothes, I stare down at my dress, wishing I could do the same, rid myself of the constraints of my less-thancomfortable formal wear. “Do you mind if I borrow a shirt?” He’s messing with his cufflinks but jerks his eyes toward me where they eat up my frame from my shoulders to toes. “You want that dress off?” “Um . . . is that a trick question?” Because I’d swear we both know exactly what is about to happen between us, and unless we do a repeat of this afternoon, the dress has got to go. He crosses to me, and his gaze grows hungrier with each step, but when he gets close, he holds out his left arm. Huh? I look at it and realize he can’t remove the cufflink. “You get this thing off me. I’ll get that dress off you.” “Your shirt for my dress?” I purse my lips. “I’m

not sure that’s a fair trade.” “If you let me take off that dress, I’ll more than make it up to you, muffin.” I quickly flick the cufflink and pull his dress shirt off his arm, draping it over his discarded coat and tie. “Turn around—” “Wait.” I move closer and hook the hem of his cotton undershirt. As I pull it up, he stills my hands. “AJ, I don’t think you want—” “I do.” I lean in and press my lips to his chest. “I want to see you, all of you.” His shoulders fall as my words seemed to deflate his earlier confidence. “You might change your mind.” “Never. Not about you.” “It’s not pretty—” “I want all of you, Braeden. Even the parts you consider not pretty.” He seems to waver a bit before he nods. “Okay.” I slide the fabric up, and because he’s a lot taller than I am, he has to help pull the shirt over his head. He’s about as big as he was before he left on deployment, but his body is far from the same. The skin of his right side is pink and puckered, spanning his pec, rib cage, and arm. I skate my hands softly over the damaged flesh, and his muscles tense at the contact. I press my lips to his chest, running delicate kisses over him. His

good hand comes to the back of my head, urging me to continue. Tears sting my eyes when I consider all he’s been through, and I hope I don’t ruin this by crying. He’s been so strong, so brave. The least I can do is be the same for him. I dip my fingers into the waistline of his pants and unhook the closure. He groans when I brush the tip of his erection as I slide his pants and boxerbriefs to the floor. His grip on the back of my head grows tighter, as if he’s trying to keep me close so I won’t look down, but I need to know. I have to see him in order to convince him he’s not ruined. “It’s okay,” I whisper as I reach up to where he’s holding tight. I rub his forearm until he releases me enough to put a little distance between us. When I look up at him, I find his eyes are cast to the floor at my side. “Braeden, I promise. It’s okay.” He makes a pained face but eventually lets me go enough to step back. I follow his scarred skin down to his hip. It’s not what I expected. I assumed the damage would fade out there, but it’s much worse. It almost looks as if he’d been cut on top of his burns, the skin a mangled patchwork of purple and pink slices. They span the entire surface of his hip from his groin to his ass and down his thigh. “My God . . . what did they do to you?”

He quickly pulls me close as if he’s trying to shield my eyes. “You don’t want to know.” A hot and heavy wave of emotion burns my nose, but I sniff it back and power on. “Braeden, I —” He grips my shoulders and whirls me around. The sound of fabric sliding on the wood floor lets me know he’s stepped out of his pants and kicked them aside. My core heats with the knowledge that this huge virile man is standing just inches behind me, gloriously naked. “My turn.” His fingers slide along my shoulders then back to the zipper of my dress. He doesn’t take it down slowly, but rips at it with impatience before pushing it off to pool at my ankles. I worry when I feel him fumbling with my bra that he might need help with the eye-hooks, but know my helping would only frustrate—My bra pops open and falls to the floor. I almost smile when I realize what I’ve done. A man like Braeden Daniels has probably been able to unhook a bra one-handed since he was sixteen years old. I’m about to say as much when he grips my left hip and pulls me back, pressing me into his hard and hot body. He leans to the side, and I recoil when his touch traces the thick red scar at my hip. His lips meet my neck, and his hand slides to my lower belly where he finds the other scar left from repairing my pelvis. “Baby . . .”

Instinctively, I try to wiggle free, but he doesn’t let me go. “Be still.” My lips roll between my teeth as he takes his time caressing my scars the way I did his. I turn my head as a tear escapes and slides down my cheek. I don’t know why I’m crying. The way Braeden touches me makes me feel like he doesn’t even see the marks, doesn’t think I’m any less beautiful, but I still feel like I’m mourning something we lost. The carefree and hopeful people we used to be. I suck in a breath as Braeden slides his hand into the front of my panties. My legs practically give out, and he chuckles in my ear. “I think this might be safer for both of us if we move it to the bed.” Turning toward him, I allow his hand to slide around my hip to my ass where he cups one round cheek. He dips down, and I push up on my toes until our lips meet. Our tongues slide together, coaxing a moan from my throat. We move together until we stumble onto the bed. I push him to his back and climb on top, straddling his hips and rubbing against him. His bad hand clenches my thigh as he stabs his fingers through my hair, pulling it from the rubber band so that it falls in a curtain over our faces. I break the kiss to move down his body, brushing my lips upon every single square inch of damaged

skin as I pour my love on what was caused by so much hate. Once at his hip, I pay special attention to the scars while scraping my nails up his inner thigh. He rolls his pelvis, seeking friction as I lavish his body with touch. Licking around his belly button, I grip his hard-on and guide it to my mouth. He buries his fingers in my hair, and his muscles shake as if he’s trying to hold back from thrusting deep into my throat. I peek up at him, only to find him staring down at me with an expression that can only be described as awe. I work him with my hand and mouth until his back arches off the bed. Fully prepared to finish him this way, I’m shocked when he jacks his right hip up and rolls me to my back. I grasp his hips as he braces over me, his knees wide, holding his weight up with his good arm as he pumps into my mouth. My legs fall open and my eyelids flutter closed, shocked at how much I love his dominance. My throat opens to take him deeper. “Fuck, AJ.” He slides in deep once, twice, then pulls out and kneels between my knees. He rips my panties down my legs, tossing them to the foot of the bed. I open my mouth to protest, but he shoves his tongue between my lips, cutting me off. And oh wow, what a kiss. He mimics the action his hips took earlier,

feeding me what I want. “I can taste myself on you.” “You like it?” “I fucking love it.” He slips between my legs. “I love you.” “I love you too—” One firm flex of his hips and I gasp into his mouth. “You do? You love what I’ve become?” His pace quickens. “Yes.” “Don’t fucking say it unless you mean it, Adeline.” I wince at the way he says my name, but melt at how his powerful body commands mine. “I mean it; you know I do.” “How?” His voice shakes. “How could you love this?” “You.” I cup his face and bring our lips together while his thrusts begin to slow. “I love you, Braeden.” He powers into me, rolling his hips in circles until I’m panting in his ear and crying out for more. I fist my hands in his hair as the first wave of release crashes over me. Teeth clamp onto my shoulder, and he groans long and hard as he throbs and finishes inside me. We’re pressed together, breathing hard, when he rests his forehead against mine. “I’m so fucked up. You have no idea.”

“Don’t say that.” “I’ll never be good enough for you.” “No. That’s not true. You’re mine, Braeden. Forever. You’re mine and you’re perfect to me—” “How can you say that?” The first hot tear falls and hits my cheek. He’s crying. My big strong Marine is breaking down. With our bodies still intimately connected, I wrap my arms and legs around him. “Talk to me. Let me carry this burden with you.” His shoulders shake, and I close my eyes, praying he’ll finally let me in. ~*~

Braeden I never meant to let this happen. One minute I’m loving the woman beneath me with a fierceness I’ve never felt for another human being, and the next I’m overwhelmed with emotion. Helpless to stop it. “Your past is safe with me. Please let me in.” I shake my head, hoping like hell she’ll let it go, that she’ll back away and give me the space I need to pull my shit together and be the kind of man she needs. But no. Her arms and legs wrap tighter around me, as if

trying to squeeze the truth from my lips. My muscles fatigue from holding my weight off her. I shove away, and although she allows me to roll to my side, she hooks her thigh over mine. Seconds grow into more until I can no longer stand the static blaring in my head. “We were close to coming home.” She’s propped up on one elbow, but I keep my eyes to the ceiling. “So close.” My mind throws me back to sitting in that Humvee with the boys, laughing and joking. “We . . . maybe if we’d paid closer attention, we would’ve had some clue to what was coming.” It’s the first time I’ve put a voice to my guilt. “I was watching this little boy and—” I choke as the words swell up in my throat. AJ doesn’t speak, but the grip her thigh has on mine tightens, grounding me. “I don’t remember anything but the pain. In the beginning, I was aware, had some understanding of what I was being asked, but then nothing. Maybe it was the pain or the infection . . . I slipped in and out of consciousness for what felt like years. I was cold then sweating. I learned later it wasn’t our enemy that had me, but they weren’t friends of the US either. I was taken to a village. They must’ve thought I had some valuable information because they could’ve killed me. God . . . I wished they had. For some reason, they took care of me just enough

to keep me alive.” It’s strange. I always thought talking about it would be torture, but the more I do, the easier it becomes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers so softly I barely hear her. “At first, I thought I was the only survivor. I found out later it wasn’t just me. Deacon made it out too, but I haven’t spoken to him since the day we jumped into that Humvee. Her eyes grow wider. and she backs away a few inches. “The story . . . the one on the news, it was you guys. I had a feeling. They never gave your name, but I knew.” Tears form in her eyes. “I should’ve known. I could have been there for you!” “AJ.” I place my hand on her thigh and run my hand along it in soothing strokes. “It’s okay, baby. Our names weren’t released for security purposes. There’s no way you could’ve known. She falls back next to me and pinches her eyes closed. “I was so worried because I hadn’t heard from you. I didn’t know if you were dead or you’d just moved on. I was convinced I’d never hear from you again and that killed me.” “I’m so sorry.” Hoping to comfort her, I pull her close until her bare torso is pressed to my ribs. “I wasn’t thinking straight for so long.” “It was that night. My head was all over the place and I slipped. I wasn’t paying attention, and I fell.”

Realization of what she’s telling me slams into my chest. “Are you saying”—I sit up and twist to stare down at her— “you got injured because of me?” “No, I got injured because of me. Me worrying about you, but mostly me thinking you’d forgotten about me. Forgotten about us.” I stare across the room, seeing nothing but a blank wall. “Which made it easy to move on.” “Not easy. No, I was still holding out for you, even though I figured you’d forgotten about me.” “There’s something you should know, AJ.” Her smile falls and her big hazel eyes widen. “When I was behind enemy lines, writhing in pain, praying for death . . . it was your face that got me through. Whether I was asleep or awake, I’d dream of your smile. Your laughter would ring in my ears so clear I’d have bet my life you were in the room with me. I’d even feel you holding on to me. I know that’s some fucked-up shit, and you’re probably freakin’ way the hell out, but you need to know. I never forgot about you. I couldn’t if I’d tried. My soul wouldn’t give you up.” She launches into my arms, and I hold her as best I can with both arms. “I love you.” “I’m so sorry you got hurt thinking I didn’t care about you. Couldn’t be further from the truth.” I nuzzle her neck and breathe in her scent. “I love you, muffin. You became a part of me when you

saved my life.”

Thirty-four AJ I don’t know what time it is, but the way the sun pierces through the cracks in the blinds I’d guess late morning. I’ve been awake for a while, staring at the ceiling and sorting through my thoughts. With Braeden lying next to me, his good hand shoved up under the pillow and his bad hand resting on my belly, I’m relaxed by the sound of his gentle snoring. My mind is, for once, totally at ease. Which makes absolutely zero sense. I have no job, a nice townhouse that in three months, after I burn through what’s in my account, I won’t be able to afford, and I have not a single prospect for work. Yet, I’m more content than I’ve been in . . . well, ever. I didn’t think it was possible to be happy without a plan for success driving me forward. But what I feel now transcends any simple good feeling. What I feel now is a bone-deep joy born from a

possibility that no matter what life throws at me . . . I turn and stare at Braeden, his full lips slightly parted and his expression mirroring the peace I feel. . . . I won’t have to face it alone. Gently, to keep from waking him, I press a feather-soft kiss to his lips. He rolls them together, and his tongue slides out as if to taste what I left on his mouth. He uncurls his fist at my belly enough so his palm brushes the sensitive skin before his eyes flutter open. They’re a little puffy from sleep, making him look almost innocent, but the smile that follows is far from harmless. I roll to my side to face him. “Good morning.” “’Morning.” His gaze travels slowly around my face; his smile widens. “So, last night wasn’t a dream.” “Nope.” He moves his bad hand to my hip, hissing through his teeth when his arm doesn’t extend all the way. I scoot closer, straightening my legs to erase as much distance between us as possible. His hand grasps my hip. “You sleep alright?” “Yeah. You?” “Yeah.” A few seconds of silence pass between us. “Braeden? Are we gonna talk about last night or just keep bullshitting each other with small talk?” He barks with laughter and rolls to his back, taking me with him so that I’m lying with the upper

half of my body on his. “Not even coffee first, we’re jumping right into this, huh?” “If that’s alright, yeah.” His good hand sifts through my hair, which is probably a mess from all the rolling around we did. “I was going to make you pancakes.” “You still can.” My finger traces a pattern on his chest. “Unless you’re kicking me out.” My stomach tosses with unease. I know I shouldn’t assume that we’re officially together because of last night, but he did say he loves me and I love him too, so . . . He runs his teeth along his lower lip, studying me, and his expression hardens. “I’m never kicking you out, muffin. Not out of my bed. Not out of my house. Not out of my life.” “Does that mean . . .?” I fight the smile that’s forcing my lips. “Are you saying we’re a couple? Like, officially?” His dark eyebrows drop low over those molten green eyes. “Depends. What do you want, AJ? Where do you see yourself down the road? ’Cause I gotta tell you I’m an open-ended rollercoaster without a lot of prospects.” “That’s funny. I was about to say the same thing. I have no clue what I’m doing, what I’ll do with the rest of my life. I need to find a job. I have a little money saved up but nothing to brag about.” “Well, fuck. Aren’t we the perfect pair? Luckily, I have plenty of money saved thanks to the United

States Military, but I’ll need to hit the job market too and . . .” He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. I know he’s worried about his arm. He tucks my hair behind my ear and repeats the motion, smoothing the locks against my neck. “You want to take a leap of faith with me? As much as you’ve helped me in the last few weeks, I’m feeling pretty good about our odds.” “Yeah, well, you helped me too.” He tilts his head and glares. “No, I didn’t. That was Richie Rich, muffin. I didn’t do shit when you needed me. That’ll be something I’ll regret for the rest of my life.” I drop a kiss to his chest. “When I got promoted and ran myself into the ground, you didn’t swoop in and take care of me. You helped me help myself. You supported me so that I could accomplish my goals, Brae. That’s what I want. Andre isn’t a bad person, but he’s a fixer. He pulled me from my life, and because I thought I had nowhere else to go, I blindly followed him. But I never felt content, never felt at peace with where I was or what I was doing. I’ll always appreciate Andre for what he did for me, but he’s not who I want.” “What if you’re making a mistake? What if you chose wrong and—?” I press two fingers to his lips. “Shhh. Leap of faith, remember?” He kisses my fingers until I release him to speak.

“That’s it then. We’re in this together for the long haul.” “Yeah.” “And you won’t—?” The door to the pool house swings open. “Bro, wake the fuck up—whoa!” Blake covers his eyes and whirls around, slamming straight into a wall. “Ow, dammit to shit!” I scurry to cover my naked body with a sheet while Braeden chuckles. “You ever consider knockin’, asshole?” Blake holds up his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see AJ’s car out front, so I assumed—shit, sorry. I just wanted to tell you we’re home and Mom put out a mean spread if you two are hungry.” I’m neck deep in sheets when Blake moves out of the room with one arm fully extended forward to avoid another face plant into the drywall. The door closes and Braeden mumbles, “I need to get my own place,” before standing up and crossing to his dresser. I study the scarring on his right ass cheek, noting how it bleeds down to his upper thigh. God, that had to have been so painful. All too soon, he’s pulling on a pair of black workout shorts. I slide my eyes to the other side of the room before I get caught. “You could move in with me.” The second the words are out of my mouth I cringe. Too soon. Too

soon! He’s standing stock still, his gaze boring into mine. “You serious?” “I know, stupid.” I rub my forehead, trying to hide my embarrassment. “It’s too soon.” “No. I don’t think it is. I’m not in a hurry to get out of here, so let’s see where things go, but, babe, I’d love to know we’re coming home to the same place every night. I want to fall asleep with you at my side and know you’ll be there when I wake up in the morning.” “Really?” I’m grinning so wide it hurts. “Yeah.” “Okay, we’ll give it some time, but not too much time.” “Deal.” A few thick seconds stretch between us until he blinks rapidly and clears his throat. “Alright, muff, it’s your call. You want to eat with the Daniels clan or pancakes in bed here, just the two of us.” “I guess that depends.” I shimmy to sit up, keeping the sheet to my neck. “If we stay over here —why are you looking at me like that?” He looks angry or maybe concerned? He nods to the sheet. “What’re you doing?” My grip on the fabric tightens, but I play dumb. “What does it look like? I’m discussing our breakfast options with you.” “You know what I mean, AJ. Why are you

hiding from me?” I blow a wayward hair from my face. “I’m not as confident as I used to be. I guess . . . I might be afraid of what you see when you look at me.” His gaze goes to his right side, and he flexes his arm. “I think I know what that feels like.” I feel like an ass for saying anything, but I won’t lie to Braeden. If we’re really going to give us a shot, I won’t start off with dishonesty. He moves to me and drops a hip to the bed. Pushing my hair off my shoulder, he traces my collarbone. “I’m going to make it my life’s mission to remind you how sexy you are. Every fucking day. You’ll get so sick of hearing it, and before you know it, you’ll be parading that gorgeous ass around naked again.” “That’s, ah . . . an ambitious goal.” He drops his hand from me and smiles. “It’ll happen. Now, breakfast.” “I don’t have anything to wear.” He kisses my shoulder. “I’ll go get us two plates and bring it back here. Grab a tee and make yourself at home.” He snags a shirt off the dresser and pulls it on then slips a baseball hat on. “Wait.” He was on his way to the door but stops at the foot of the bed. Mustering up all the courage I can find, I allow the sheet to slip from my torso and

crawl completely naked toward him. It’s hard to tell under his cap, but I can see his eyes flare with what I assume is either shock or hunger. On my knees with my heart hammering in my chest, I push back my fears of what he’ll think of my softer belly, rounder hips, and worse, my scars. I snag his shirt and tug him forward then slide his hat off his head and push my hand up to lay my palm against his scarred ribs. “I’m not the only one who doesn’t need to cover up.” He shrugs one shoulder and his cheeks flush. “People are eating. I’m just being respectful.” My heart cracks at the thought that he feels he’s so repulsive he’d ruin someone’s appetite. “They are your family, Brae. They love you. And trust me when I say that the people who love you only see you, not the scars.” He nods, but doesn’t look at all convinced. I press a hot, wet kiss to his mouth and then pop the hat on his head. “In time, maybe we’ll both start seeing ourselves a little more clearly.” He tilts his head to keep from bopping me with the bill of his hat and kisses my neck. “I’ll be right back, muffin. And I changed my mind about the shirt. I want you bare when I get back.” I giggle and shove him away then grab the sheet. “Now you’re pushing your luck.” “Stay naked, woman!” He moves through the door.

“No!” And even after the door shuts I hear, “Naked!” ~*~

Braeden I hear the chatter in the kitchen when I slide open the back door of my brother’s house. The smell of cinnamon rolls, a variety of breakfast meats, and coffee has my stomach growling. When I turn the corner, the room falls silent and all eyes swing toward me. I halt movement and stare back. “What?” I pat my chest and thighs. “I’m not naked, am I?” I know exactly why they’re staring: my brother blabbed and now everyone’s waiting to see if I’ll fess up about AJ. Well, they’re going to have to keep on waiting because it’s none of their fucking business. “Good morning, Brae?” Layla says through a smile then sips her coffee to hide it. I grab two plates and start filling them with food. “One of the best, Layla. Thanks for asking. This all looks so good, who cooked?” No one answers because I know it was my mom; this spread is her typical holiday and/or special occasion set-up. “You want me to pour you two coffees and juices to-go?” My mom’s already pulling mugs and

glasses down from the cabinets. “That’s cool, Mom, thanks.” Layla slides over a tray and places napkins and silverware on it while my mom puts the drinks— “Oh, just tell us!!” Layla blows out a breath like she’d been holding it in for ten minutes. I pop a piece of bacon in my mouth. “What are you talkin’ about?” Blake groans, drops his chin, and shakes his head, mumbling, “He’ll never learn.” “Daddy said you have a girl in your house.” Jack doesn’t look up from the two cars he’s crashing together on the countertop. I fluff his morning bed head. “I do have a girl at my house, buddy.” “Daddy told Mom . . .” He uses his forearm to wipe his nose. “Daddy told her to stay out of it.” I lift a brow toward my brother. “Appreciate the effort, bro.” “You guys are serious, right?” Layla’s leaning across the kitchen island like she’ll pounce and pull the info from me if I don’t offer it up willingly. “I could tell last night you’re totally in love with her.” “Mouse,” Blake says in warning. “What?” She glares at her husband. “Mind your own business, baby.” My mom reaches over and helps me stack the dishes on the tray. “You’re going to marry her, aren’t you, Brae?”

“Mom!” I stare at the woman, stunned by her forwardness. “Seriously. Who are you?” She shrugs. “Just answer the question.” “Yeah.” Layla leans in further. “Answer the question.” I look to my brother for help, but he simply shakes his head, and Jack’s so involved in his car wreck he’s no help at all. “You guys are nosey.” I pull a couple of bottled waters from the fridge and slide them into the loose pockets of my shorts. “But yes, I plan on marrying AJ if she’ll have me.” I expect the room to erupt in girlie squeals, but instead my mom and Layla both hold their palms out to Blake. “Pay up.” “Hold the fudge on! You made a bet on whether I’d get my AJ back?” My AJ. I love the way that sounds. “Blake thought you’d scare her off.” Layla wiggles her fingers at Blake while he pulls bills from his pocket. “Your mom and I knew better.” I point at my brother. “Backstabber!” His wife shoves the cash in her pocket then rubs his back. “It’s not his fault. He’s not a natural charmer like you, Brae.” He looks down at her. “Managed to charm you just fine, Mouse.” “Right. After you accused me of being a stripper.” She laughs and looks at me. “Brae would

never say something so insulting to a woman.” I suppose this wouldn’t be the ideal time to tell them I assumed AJ was a hooker when we first met. Nah . . . I’ll keep that to myself. “She’s right. I’m pure effin’ class.” “You’re an effin ass is what you are.” Blake goes back to his coffee. “This family is sick.” I pick Jack’s car up from the floor and hand it to him. “Run before it’s too late, little man. You’re still cute; someone will adopt you.” I’m grabbing the last few items for my tray to get back to AJ when they go back to gabbing about whatever it was they were gabbing about when I walked in. “I still don’t see why he won’t ask Braeden,” my mom whispers to Blake. “Ask me what?” Steadying the tray in my hands, I marvel at how just weeks ago I would’ve never attempted something like this. Thanks to AJ, the possibility of regaining full use of my arm seems more likely. “After the success of the charity event, Cam wants to make helping the injured heroes an everyday-type thing. He was going to donate tickets and money, but he wants something hands on, something that’ll impact the community rather than just throwing money at an organization.” “Like what?”

Blake shrugs. “I don’t know. He wants to brainstorm ideas tomorrow. Mom thinks you should come along, but I know how you hate all that injured heroes—” “I’ll go.” He glares. “Really? ’Cause it’s cool if you don’t.” “No, I want to.” Have you ever had a moment in life where everything freezes? It’s as if the planets and stars align and a world of opportunity opens at your feet, daring you to jump in? This was one of those moments. I stare out the back door toward the pool house. “I think I might have an idea.”

Epilogue Four months later . . . Braeden It’s strange to think we’re in a whole different state. Parked in front of a humble two-story home in the suburbs of Albuquerque, it doesn’t feel all that different from Las Vegas. We spent the weekend in Dallas, visiting AJ’s parents, who’re doing well now that her dad got a job and her mom got a pay raise. It wasn’t easy, but I managed to get Mr. Pines alone yesterday, and over a beer, I asked if I could marry his daughter. He gave me his blessing, and I had about twelve hours to celebrate before we had to hop on a flight. This is our last stop before we head home to Vegas, whether by car or plane has yet to be determined. The midafternoon sun is warm, and a mild breeze blows through the windows of our rental car. My hands flex on the steering wheel as I stare at the modest-sized white house with yellow trim. AJ sits in the passenger seat, silent as always when I’m dealing with ghosts from my past, but

lending me her support still. “You think he’ll be pissed?” I ask the breeze. “Probably.” My AJ is never one to candy coat shit. “He may refuse to see me.” “Only one way to find out.” I turn to her then, finding comfort in her warm hazel eyes. She reaches out and holds my hand. My right hand. I grip hers back. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.” I push open the door and wait for her to meet me on the sidewalk. I grab her hand, and we walk up the paved pathway to the door together. I ring the doorbell, clear my throat, and swallow as my stomach does summersaults behind my ribs. A click of the lock and AJ squeezes my hand tighter, making me stand up straighter as her confidence feeds mine. The door opens to a woman I assume is Deacon’s mother. She’s wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, and her short hair is tucked behind her ears. Her eyes take me in and widen on the right side of my face. I realize too late that I should’ve given her my good side, but that’s something I’m forgetting to do more and more these days. “Hi, uh . . . I’m Braeden Daniels.” Her expression falls, and she continues to stare, saying nothing.

“I’m a friend of Deacon’s. I served with him in —” “Yes.” She smiles, but it’s small and shaky. “I know who you are. Please, come in.” AJ gives my hand another squeeze, propelling me forward. “This is my girlfriend, AJ.” “It’s nice to meet you,” AJ says. “You too.” She smiles warmly at AJ, and I wonder how long it’s been since she’s had visitors. “I’m sorry to drop in on you like this. We tried to call, but it said the line was disconnected.” “No, this is fine.” She straightens pillows on the couch and grabs some dirty dishes off the coffee table. “I’m sorry for the mess.” “No worries, is, uh . . . is Deacon here?” Her expression is etched with pain and worry, something I recognize immediately as I’ve seen it in the faces of my own family members. “Yes, he is.” She motions for us to follow her to the kitchen where she sets down the dishes and then to a hallway. “It’ll be so good for him to see you. I haven’t been able to get him to do much since he’s been home.” Sounds familiar. When she reaches the end of the hallway, the sound of heavy metal music filters from the other side of a closed door. She knocks. “Deacon, honey? You have visitors.”

The music turns down. “What?” “There’s someone here to see you.” “Unless it’s Mila Kunis here to give me a sponge bath with a happy ending, send ’em home.” I shake my head, trying really fucking hard not to laugh because Deek’s mom looks so embarrassed. AJ’s at my side, muffling her laughter. I knock on the door with a closed fist. “Deek! Open up!” Silence is followed by a rustling and a mumbled, “You’re shittin’ me.” Seconds later the door swings open. “Daniels, you son of a bitch!” I don’t know who moved first, but somehow, we end up just inside his room in a back-thumping man hug. “It’s good to see you, man.” He pulls back with a little struggle, and when I look down, I see it. He’s missing a leg. I quickly avert my eyes and motion for AJ to come inside while Deacon’s mom quietly slips away. “This is AJ. AJ, this is Deacon.” His blue eyes sparkle as he takes her in, and with his focus on her, I see some of the same scarring on his right side as well. “AJ, your Vegas girl?” Her eyebrows rise and she grins up at me. “You talked about me?” “Eh . . . maybe a little.” “A little.” Deacon laughs, and with the burst comes the smell of booze. “Honey, he wouldn’t

shut up.” He lumbers over to a chair where there’s a half empty bottle of tequila at his side. “Have a seat.” He groans as he sits. “Can I get you guys a drink?” I guide AJ through a maze of empty booze bottles, a walker, and crutches to sit with her on the corner of his bed. “Nah, man. We’re good.” “Braeden fucking Daniels . . .” His eyes gloss over with what I assume to be a permanent buzz. “It’s been a long time, brother.” He tilts his head to study my face and right arm. “You look like hammered dog shit. But, hey, you made it out in one piece. Good for you, man.” He frowns but quickly hides it behind the bottle as he swigs back a healthy mouthful. Fuckin’ Deek. He looks like shit: cheeks sunken in, lost whatever muscle he had, hair overgrown and kissing his shoulders. Not that I judge. I know what it feels like to be where he’s at: to stare at the same four walls and know you’ll never have any kind of life outside of them, to look down at your body and not recognize it, to wonder how the fuck you got here and where you’ll go from there. Yeah, I’m all too familiar with the blank stare my friend is sporting now. As much as I hate it for him, I know there’s hope beyond it. He sniffs, his already glossy eyes turning watery.

“Guess you heard about everyone else: Swizz, Sarge, Mitch—” He clears his throat and blinks in rapid fire. “Yeah, I know.” There’s a tug on my chest to follow into that dark hole Deacon’s leading me to, a draw to sink into depression and focus on all we lost—our men, our bodies, our minds—but AJ’s hand on my thigh slices the noose that tethers me there. “My shrink says we should be thankful we made it.” His lips tremble with the wave of emotion crashing over him. “You fucking thankful, Daniels? ’Cause I sure as shit am not.” I drop my head between my shoulders. “It hasn’t been a picnic.” A thick silence simmers between us while he sucks back booze like it’s water. “Something tells me you didn’t come all the way here to see me just to say hi.” He motions to me with his liquor bottle. “This part of one of those twelve-step programs? You here to tie up loose ends?” “No.” He stares between AJ and me, and I watch as the fire of fury builds in his eyes. The helplessness, anger, guilt, fuck . . . seeing it all on Deacon makes it seem so fresh. “I’ve got a business proposition for you.” He snorts and throws back two cheeks full of

booze. “If you’re not too busy burying yourself in bottles, I wondered if you’d be willing to come back to Vegas with us.” “Oh yeah?” He nods to AJ. “This a polygamy thing? Two halves of a man make a whole—” “Deek.” I get where he’s at; I remember how quickly the anger rises and spins out of control, bubbling up and pouring from the lips before you have the chance to bite it back. He can take that shit out on me all he wants. He disrespects AJ? We’re out of here. “Alright, alright.” He waves a hand around. “A man can hope.” “Come to Vegas.” “Why?” He motions around the room. “And leave this paradise behind? Do I look stupid to you?” He crosses his eyes, and I can’t help it. I bust up laughing. “I’m not going to Vegas, man. I got no business in a place like that.” “Come to Vegas. Give me a week to change your mind.” His eyes narrow. “No.” “Five days.” “Fuck no.” “God, you’re a stubborn prick.” He laughs, and I’d swear tears were forming in his eyes. “I got nothing, man. Whatever you want from me, I’ll only let you down.”

AJ shocks the shit out of me by crossing to him. She plants her feet and crosses her arms at her chest. His eyes roam her body, and I fight off the urge to jump up and stand between them, blocking her from his view. But I know my AJ; she can handle her shit. “Come with us, Deacon. Right now. We’ve got a car waiting, we’ll help you pack a bag, and you have a place a stay.” He looks up at her for a few seconds then blows out a breath and shakes his head. “What do you have to lose?” He shrugs, and his eyes roam the room as if he’s contemplating his situation. He frowns and his gaze meets hers again. “Eight hours in a car? Let me pick the music, and I’m there.” “As long as U2 isn’t on your playlist, I think we have a deal.” He gapes at her then me. “You’re dating a woman who doesn’t like Bono? What the fuck is wrong with you?” “Don’t look at me! I’ve tried. She likes Justin Bieber.” AJ whirls on me. “One song! I like one song and you won’t let me live it down.” “It’s cool, muffin. I Bieleb you.” Deacon barks out a laugh, and AJ squats, facing him head on. “So? What’ll it be? You want to stay here . . .” She looks around, punctuating her words. “Or are you game for possibilities?”

He seems to think about it for a second, and then he groans. “Fuck. Alright. Let me grab a bag.” ~*~

Six months later . . . AJ “I think this is stupid.” Braeden glares at the giant scissors in his hand. “Why can’t we use regular scissors? Or just rip the thing with our hands?” I finish with his necktie and make sure it’s straight. “It’s a ribbon-cutting ceremony. The ribbon is big. The scissors are big. It’s all publicity for the gym, so stop bitching and just do it.” I push up to my toes, and even with his eyes still on the scissors, he leans down, giving me the scarred side of his face. It took only a few weeks of me turning away the undamaged cheek he’d always offer before he finally caught on. I press a kiss to the puckered skin of his jaw. “You know what seeing you in a suit does to me, right?” He blinks down at me, and his eyes flash with hunger. “You say that shit to me now, right before I’m supposed to walk out there in front of God knows how many news cameras?” He looks down at his crotch. “I should’ve worn a coat.” “Oh, please, you’ll be fine. You have more selfcontrol than that.” I turn away, only to get snagged by the waist from behind and slammed back into

the wide, firm chest of my fiancé. His lips come to my ear where he growls, “We’re going home right after the ceremony, and I’m ruining this fucking dress, you hear me?” I shiver in his arms at the promise in his words. “Yeah . . .” He licks up my neck and nips at my ear while he pushes one spaghetti strap off my shoulder. “Now you know how it feels.” I tilt my head, and he kisses a path down my throat. “Jerk.” His low chuckle vibrates against my skin. “You love me.” “I do—” A knock on the door startles me and makes Braeden groan. “What?” “You two fuckin’ in there?” Deacon, the guy has the dirtiest mind and makes no apology for it. “’Cause there’s like a billion people out here waiting for you to finish.” I giggle, and Braeden heads to the door of his new and expansive office, adjusting the front of his pants on the way. “If you need help finding her G-spot, I’ve got long thick fingers—” Brae swings open the door. “Do not finish that sentence.” “Whoa! Cranky.” Deacon’s sparkling blue eyes come to mine, and he smiles. I thought Blake got the most enjoyment from messing with Braeden,

me being a close second, but since Deacon moved to Vegas, I’ve realized no one likes fucking with Braeden more than him. After Deacon decided to come to Vegas with us, Braeden told him about his idea. Deacon wasn’t sold until he met Zach. That’s when I noticed something stir in him. At first, it was subtle—he’d drink less, get up early with Braeden, and ask a lot of questions. Then after the preliminary week in Vegas was up, he started searching for a place to stay and moved out of our townhouse. It wasn’t long after that he agreed to be part of Braeden and Cameron Kyle’s vision. +IMPACT—a UFL-sponsored gym dedicated to people with disabilities. Vets. Amputees. People of all ages were welcome to come. Cameron even wanted me to be involved. “I know weights, and I know fighting, but this gym is for people from all walks of life. We’re gonna need a gymnast’s touch.” The facility offers everything one would expect from a UFL gym, but it also includes an Olympicsized pool, hot tub and sauna, all wheelchair accessible. Axelle will spend two days a week doing massage therapy, and I have my own wing complete with gymnastic equipment and a room where I can teach aerial silks classes. It took a month to find a warehouse big enough

to fit our dreams, but we did it, and now after five months of construction, it’s opening day. Deacon’s dressed similar to Brae: a dress shirt, tie, and slacks. He walks into Brae’s office with all the swagger you’d expect from a dude who looks just like Chris Hemsworth. If you didn’t know better, you’d never know he has a prosthetic right leg. He carries a scar like Braeden’s on the right side of his face; although it’s smaller, just like Braeden’s, it makes him look dangerously handsome. Edgy and sexy. “You’re really using those clown-ass scissors?” “You know what they say about the size of a man’s scissors . . .” Brae wiggles his eyebrows at me. You’d think after all this time he couldn’t make me blush, but I have to turn away and pretend to organize the nothing on his desk to keep from being caught. “You guys ready?” Blake comes into the room with Jonah and Killian following behind. Deacon props a hip on the desk. “Soon as Brae tucks his dick back into his pants.” Braeden smacks Deacon upside the head but checks his fly. Blake smacks Brae upside the head. “You horny bitch, can’t you keep your hands off the girl for more than five fucking minutes?” “I didn’t do anything!”

Blake offers me his elbow. “Come on, AJ. Let me walk you out or he may maul you.” “Thank you.” I hook my soon-to-be brother-inlaw’s arm. “He really cannot keep his hands off me.” “You started it!” Brae yells, following us out. “Whatever, dude!” Zach rolls up in his wheelchair, his eyes wide. “You guys, there are so many people out there.” Jonah walks next to Zach. “Good. Hopefully we’ll get some donations.” “You gonna tell them about the donor?” Killian whispers to Blake, and because we’re walking arm in arm, I hear it. “What donor?” Blake stops just outside the double doors, and Braeden comes to stand next to me, those big ass scissors in one hand, and his other wraps around my waist. “Turns out we got a high-roller who wrote a pretty hefty check to Cam recently. A one-time donation, half a mil,” Blake says. Deacon whistles. “Damn.” “Who is it?” I ask, but there’s a whispering in the back of my mind that tells me I might already know. Brae must sense it too as his grip on me tightens. Blake shrugs. “Don’t know. He asked to remain anonymous.”

“No shit,” Zach says. “Well . . .” Deacon peers out the glass doors to the waiting crowd. “If you get a chance, thank Mr. Moneybags for me, will ya?” Braeden and I look at each other. “Do you think . . .?” he asks. Maybe. “Nah . . .” “Let’s do this!” Cameron’s booming voice comes from the massive warehouse behind us where the entire UFL team and their families wait impatiently for the ribbon cutting and official door opening. The front doors swing open, and sunlight pours in while everyone huddles around the obnoxious red ribbon, but Braeden holds me back and pulls me aside. I stare up at him. “What is it? Are you okay?” He wraps his arms around my waist and smiles. “Never better, muffin. Listen. If I haven’t told you lately, thank you.” “You don’t need to—” He presses his lips to mine. “You never gave up on me. I don’t know how to properly show you how much that meant to me. Your love saved me.” “I always dreamed of being a performer—” “I know you did, and I hate that you had to give that up—” This time I press my lips to his to silence him. “That window closed, but it opened a huge door to

something better. I get to use what I love to do to help others. There’s nothing better than that. No amount of money, status, designer clothes, and expensive dinners, nothing could compare to what we have. I love you, Braeden. There are no more dreams outside of you.” He leans down and kisses me with all the love and passion of a man brought back from the dead. And I kiss him right back. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Deacon’s voice calls us from our kiss, and we both burst into laughter. He throws an arm over me and shoos Braeden to the doors. “Go! My God.” He drops one more kiss on my forehead. “Wish me luck, muffin.” “Break a leg.” Deacon leans down to talk softly as we head outside to face the crowd and cameras. “For what it’s worth, thanks for bringing my boy back.” “You’re welcome. And thank you for agreeing to do this with us.” The crowd cheers as Cameron takes the podium, Braeden at his side. My future husband turns back and winks at me. His scars, his smile, his life . . . it’s all mine. And my heart and soul are all his. From here, a new story begins.

Do you love a military hero? Check out JB Salsbury’s standalone military romance Wrecked. When you can’t trust yourself, how can you ask anyone else to? It’s been months since Aden Colt left the Army, and still the memories haunt him. When he moved into a boat off the California coast, he thought he’d found the perfect place to escape life. Then Sawyer shows up, and turns his simple life upside down. Beautiful and sophisticated, she seems out of place in this laidback beach town. Something is pushing her to experience everything she can—including Aden. But as much as he wants her, starting a relationship with Sawyer puts them both at risk. For Aden, the past doesn’t stay there; it shows up unexpectedly, uncontrollably, and doesn’t care whose life it wrecks. http://jbsalsbury.com/work/wrecked/

Acknowledgments There are so many people to thank it’s hard to know where to start. First, I thank God for the beautiful gift of storytelling. Thank you for blessing the world with incredible writers who inspire me daily. A huge thank you goes out to my husband, who has defined the term hero in my heart. His love and support have not only been great sources of inspiration, but also my greatest comforts. Thank you to my family, who has always stood by me as my biggest fans. Words of appreciation will never be enough. Always a big on-my-knees thank you to my editor, Theresa Wegand, who single-handedly combed over every word ever written in the Fighting Series. Since Fighting for Flight, she has not only cleaned my pages with her precision eyes but also taught me things that have helped me become a better writer. I am forever grateful. This book wouldn’t have been possible without the valuable insight of Amanda, my PIMA, who not only designed the Fighting Series covers, but also guided me through the military ins and outs. Not to get all gooey, but this series wouldn’t be what it is today if not for her. Thank you to the beautiful Fighting Girl Natalie Piper for

critiquing my chapters and offering feedback. Let it be known that she claimed Braeden at chapter one. There, I made the announcement. As always, a big thank you to my dear friend Claudia Connor, who has been a steady force and guidance from day one and a great help with all my books, this book being no exception. Love you, D. I always have to give a huge thank you to the amazing and talented Elizabeth Reyes, who encouraged me to start writing. If it weren’t for her support, I never would’ve finished my first book. To all the bloggers and readers who have stood by me through eight Fighting Series books, I cannot express my gratitude and appreciation enough. You have been the encouraging voice in my head, pushing me forward on days when I wanted to give up. Your support and love for these characters is what gave them life, and I am forever grateful. To all the Fighting Girls who aren’t ready for this series to end, thank you for wanting to keep the series alive. I promise you that although I have no plans to write another Fighting book, you will see your favorite characters pop up in future books. Even I am not fully ready to say good-bye.

About the Author J.B. Salsbury is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. She lives in Phoenix, Arizona with her husband and two kids. Her love of good storytelling led her to earn a degree in Media Communications. With her journalistic background, writing has always been at the forefront, and her love of romance propelled her career as an author. She spends the majority of her day behind the computer where a world of battling alphas, budding romance, and impossible obstacles claws away at her subconscious and begs to be released to the page. For more information about her books, or just to say hello, visit JB on her website, Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram. Web: http://www.jbsalsbury.com/ FB: https://www.facebook.com/JBSalsburybooks T: @jbsalsbury IG: @jbsalsbury