I was starting to think that my mother had hired someone to watch me; since she had the unpleasant talent of calling me at exactly the moment I did not need her specific brand of motherly advice. At least that morning I wasn’t hung over.

“Get a good handle on that cute butt?” was how she started the conversation.

“Mama,” I warned, half embarrassed that if Tim hadn’t interrupted us the other night, I would have gotten a rather good handle on Nathan’s cute butt. Just like he had gotten an exceptionally good handle on mine. Among other things. I could still feel his mouth against my breast, hot and wet, and his fingers, confident and capable, making me scream. The very thought of him touching me there again, or anywhere, really, made me shiver.

Since that night, however, contact with him had been scarce. The final game was tomorrow and I hadn’t heard much from him except the occasional text telling me he was thinking of me and he was sorry he was so busy. I was starting to worry that I been right to be so cautious—that this was just a fling to Nathan, nothing serious. That I had allowed myself to get distracted by a guy who was only looking for his own distraction. Mandy kept assuring me things would change after the game, and I wanted to believe her, but I was having a hard time believing in anything these days.

The only silver lining, of course, was that Tim had been having a tough time with his project as well. We had interviewed almost a dozen of Nathan’s old classmates, but none of them had anything negative to say about the star player. I knew Tim was getting frustrated.

“There’s no way this guy is as nice as everyone says he is,” he kept saying.

I kept my thoughts to myself, but remained pleased that there was no dirt to find on Nathan. I hoped Tim’s trail would go cold before the majors made any decisions about the draft. My own article about the animal shelter was coming together better than I had expected. It had everything—cute kids, adorable pets, all-American sports stars and of course, a community-run organization that needed help. People were going to love it. And with Mandy’s photos, well, it could definitely go viral. I knew that I’d definitely be saving some of those shots as my screensaver. On my computer and my phone. Maybe even keep a picture in my desk. Or two.

“Are you listening?” a voice in my ear asked, and I remembered that I was still on the phone with my mother.

“Uh-huh,” I said and she picked up right where she had apparently left off.

“You’re gonna lose your looks one of these days,” she chided. Oh, it was this lecture. I had heard this one for a few years now. Why she was so scared of me getting older, I couldn’t tell. I had her genes, there was no doubt about that, and she looked fantastic. I wasn’t worried, why was she?

“I’m twenty-three,” I reminded her, not sure why I was bothering. Anything over twenty-one was halfway to the grave according to her. If you were a woman, of course.

“Those tits won’t last forever,” she continued as if I hadn’t said anything. “And that boy has money to shower you with right now.”

I put my head in my hand, wishing, not for the first time, that I had a mother that could imagine a life for me that wasn’t dependent on me finding a rich husband. I’d rather have a Nathan, with or without his success. Just him. That was sugar enough for me.

On the other end of the line, my mother was still waxing poetic about the buoyancy of my boobs and butt. I finally interrupted her when she started in on the importance of good plastic surgery and how I should start saving my pennies to make sure I had the money when I needed it.

“Mama, I have to go.”

“When will you be back in Houston?” she asked.

As soon as they fire me, I thought, but didn’t want to admit out loud how scared I was of the possibility of losing my job if they didn’t like the piece on the animal shelter. It was going to be hard enough to ask to move back in with her when I got back, I didn’t need to add more fuel to the fire of her argument for landing a rich husband. And I really didn’t want to say anything about what had happened with Nathan. It was bad enough that I had gotten my hopes up, the last thing I wanted to do was give her the idea that a soon-to-be major league player was interested in me. Especially since I didn’t know if his interest extended beyond the bedroom. From what I knew about Nathan, he hardly seemed the type to sleep with someone and toss them aside, but what did I know? I had thought Nick was a decent boyfriend. Well, OK, I had had my doubts about him for a while. But still, I really couldn’t be trusted to make good decisions about guys.

“Soon, I’ll be back soon,” was what I finally ended up saying.

“Good,” she told me and then there was a slight pause. “I’m proud of you, hon. You know that, right?”

I was speechless. My mother had never acknowledged how hard I had worked to get where I was, let alone told me that she was proud of me. I felt my throat grow tight. Suddenly I missed her terribly. No matter what, she was always there for me. And she always gave the best hugs when I was upset. And I really could have used a hug at the moment.

“Thanks, Mama,” I told her, rushing through the words before I could start crying.

“Now go write that fancy-assed article,” she told me and hung up.

I looked at the phone in my hand and laughed. It wasn’t the kind of pep talk I would have given myself, but it certainly didn’t hurt.

There had been no texts or calls from Tim that day, which I could only assume meant that he had run out of sources. Either he would give up and head back to Houston after the game tomorrow—unlikely—or he was out hunting for more people to give him dirt on Nathan. I was grateful to have a break from him but the silence made me a little nervous.

At least it gave me time to work on my own article. I was really pleased with what I had so far and was starting to look forward to presenting it to Mike. I knew he was going to give me a lecture for not sticking with the original assignment, but I hoped that Tim’s article would give him enough on Nathan that he would be able to appreciate my forward thinking. I was also hoping that Tim’s article on Nathan would be so boring and lacking in drama that it would get pulled. I doubted I would be so lucky, but a girl could hope, couldn’t she?

I hadn’t heard from Nathan all morning, though, and I was starting to get a little bummed out when there was a knock at the door. A glance through the peephole showed the kid from the front desk, Greg.

“Hi.” I opened the door, curious as to what he needed. He had a huge box under his arm and a hand behind his back.

“Afternoon, Ms. Hall,” he said, his strong Texas drawl as adorable as ever.

“You can call me, Sophie,” I told him. “I’ve been here long enough for that, I think.”

He grinned at me. “Well, this was dropped off for you and I thought I’d bring it up.” From behind his back he pulled out a bundle of beautiful red roses and laid it on top of the box, which he then handed to me.

I was dumbstruck, but before I could ask who had sent them, or even reach into my pocket for a tip, he was already halfway down the hall.

“Thanks!” I called out to him.

“See you at the game tomorrow,” he responded with a big smile before disappearing into the elevator.

For a moment I wondered how he knew I was going to the game and then I remembered that it was Texas and everyone was going to the game. Besides, he had probably figured out I was a journalist. My mom had worked in a hotel for a while, she told me that people always ignored the staff, which was a dumb idea, because they saw everything. You couldn’t keep a secret from cleaning ladies and busboys that was for sure.

My face went hot at the realization that they had probably seen Nathan coming and going from my room a couple of times now and had made their own—fairly correct—assumptions that something was going on between the two of us. No doubt I was the subject of gossip downstairs. I thought of my last encounter with Nathan and grinned. If I had my way, I’d make sure to really give them something to talk about.

I realized that I was still standing in the hallway with a box and a huge bouquet of flowers, so I quickly ducked back into my room to examine my surprise gifts in peace. I didn’t have a vase, but I figured an ice bucket would do for the roses, though it hardly did them justice. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had sent me flowers. I had been lucky if Nick had saved me a cookie when we shared a box in front of the TV during our date nights.

There was no card with the flowers, so I figured the box was going to hold all the answers. Boxes usually did. They also usually held presents. I liked presents. I was human, after all. It was packed with orange tissue paper, and I had to dig to find anything, but once I did, I discovered the box held an envelope and a jersey. A Longhorns jersey with Nathan’s number on the back.

I opened the card.

Sophie,

Please come to the game tomorrow. Here’s a ticket so you can watch the game in my box with my family. They’re nice folk and I’m sure they’ll tell you plenty of embarrassing stories that they’ll be happy to share ‘on the record.’ I’ll be looking out for you during the game and hopefully afterwards as well.

Nathan