Thirty minutes later, his driver dropped him off in front of the Miami Beach Convention Center. He followed the signs that said things like Going for Broke? This way! and Find Lady Luck in Ballroom A and his personal favorite Are your chips down? Get more at the door! He loved to play poker for a cause.

But first things first—he had to find the bar.

The decorating committee had done one hell of a job setting up Casino night. When you closed the ballroom doors behind you, it actually looked like a small casino. There were even slot machines dinging away in the background. The dress code was supposed to be dinner party, but there were a few people dressed to the nines.

He suddenly regretted not pulling out his tuxedo—he did love an excuse to get pretty. But his black Hugo Boss suit, with black shirt and tie, suited the night, and his mood, just fine.

“Champagne, sir?” a familiar impish voice asked from behind.

He turned around and looked down to see his favorite Marauders cheerleader. He took the champagne flute from her hand and bent down to kiss her cheek. His six-four height gave him an entire foot over Stephanie when she was barefoot. Tonight, he only had to do a three-quarter bend, so he guessed her heels were about five inches tall.

And he also guessed he’d probably be carrying either her or her shoes before the night was over.

“Hey, beautiful. And may I just say, you are wearing that dress.” Her strapless dress was bright red and nothing but sparkles from tit to toe. With a slit up her right leg that pretty much served as an air conditioner for her lady bits. Add in silky blond hair falling in waves over her shoulders and big green eyes that telegraphed the right kind of trouble, and it was no wonder she was never hard up for a date. “Like damn and whoa. You look amazing.”

She preened, loving attention as much as he did. “Thank you, darlin’.”

Eric took a sip of the bubbly. “But I hope you’re wearing panties. Because if not, you might be putting on a one-vagina show for the entire room.”

She winked, linking her arm with his. “A lady never tells. Now, let’s go play some cards. I’m thinking blackjack to start.”

It took them a few minutes to find a blackjack table with a couple of open seats. They collected their chips and placed their bets. Eric lost three rounds in a row without even noticing.

“Not your best showing,” Stephanie said, squeezing his leg beneath the table. “Where is your head tonight, sexy?”

Tampa.

But of course, he couldn’t actually tell her that, so he just shrugged and muttered something lame about being tired from practice and needing more liquor.

“So I’m gonna grab another drink,” he said, sliding out of his chair. “You want another champagne?”

“Yes,” she said, glancing at her cards. “Maybe two.”

He touched light fingers to her back before moving away, making his way through the packed crowd.

“And something snacky,” she called after him. “Popcorn or something.”

Eric lifted his hand into the air in recognition of the request but didn’t turn around. He didn’t want Steph to see the grim set of his jaw. Not even casino night was enough to get his mind off Jordan fucking Barr and the old memories he’d dredged up.

Leaving that conversation with Jordan unfinished had haunted him since last week. But once he’d been alone on the balcony, he’d realized that he wasn’t ready to jump into the deep end of the pool.

And Jordan was the deep end. Nothing about the man was shallow. He was intense and mysterious and hot as hell, the kind of man who could own him without even trying. And he wasn’t ready for that. Not by a long shot.

When he thought of that kind of relationship, all he could think of was Tyler.

Tyler Franks had been his assistant Offensive Coordinator at FSU. He was the coach who made the call to put Eric in the National Championship Game when he was a sophomore. Scoring the touchdown had changed his life forever, but not only in the ways one would think. After all the celebrations were over, and the team and coaches were tucked away for the night, Eric and Tyler had continued their celebration—in bed.

And they had carried on a secret relationship for the next two years.

Coming out was never in the cards, though, and Tyler would panic if they were spotted together in public. Eric thought at the time that he was just worried about protecting his job. But after Tyler showed up with a fiancée, Eric realized it was just to protect Tyler. Period.

After he and Tyler had ended, Eric had been shattered. Wrecked. So fucked up he’d nearly ruined his draft chances.

Hearing the fear of being caught in Jordan’s voice when Eric had been feeling strangely close to the man had brought it all flooding back. He’d paced the balcony like a caged lion, his stomach tying itself in knots. He’d wanted to stay—and fuck that sexy mouth that talked just the right kind of dirty—but he couldn’t risk getting involved with someone like Tyler.

He wasn’t ready for a relationship. But if he were, he’d want to be with someone who wasn’t more worried about hiding who he was than caring about who he was with.

Eric didn’t regret jumping balconies and putting an early end to the night—it was the best call, the only call—but maybe he should have talked it out with Jordan and said goodbye. Maybe that way he would be enjoying himself now instead of being so distracted he couldn’t play a decent hand of blackjack.

Eric was third in line for the bar when the back of his neck began to prickle and a familiar, sexy smell drifted through the air. He turned, his eyes immediately finding Jordan across the room.

Apparently he was a fucking bloodhound where Barr was concerned.

Jordan’s dark blond hair was slicked back beneath a blue suede fedora. He wore a gangster-style suit from the 20s and blue suede shoes.

He was absolutely delicious and Eric immediately wanted a taste of his lips. He wanted his tongue in Jordan’s mouth and the other man’s hands gripping his ass, pulling his hips in until their cocks pressed together.

Jordan glanced up and caught Eric staring. Careful to keep his gaze cool, Eric nodded. Jordan turned away without even a tip of the hat.

“Drink, sir?” the bartender asked.

“Scotch, double, neat,” Eric answered, not able to tear his gaze away from Jordan. So it was like that, was it? Jordan was pissed. And why would he be pissed unless he’d felt the same crazy pull Eric had?

God damn him, but Eric liked the thought of Jordan being angry, the thought of Jordan wanting more of him.

He’d decided to throw common sense and self-preservation to the wind and go over to say hello, but the moment Eric took his drink, Jordan bolted.

Eric started after him, pulled by something he couldn’t resist. He didn’t know exactly what it was, he only knew that he couldn’t let Jordan go, not without at least saying hello and that he was sorry.

He hurried across the ballroom floor, threading his way through the crowd, following Jordan’s silhouette to an outside balcony. He stepped into the humid Miami evening, checking to make sure they were alone before he closed the doors behind him.

“Hey,” Eric said, pulse leaping as his eyes met Jordan’s sky-blue gaze. Fuck but he looked amazing. “I saw you come out and I thought maybe we could talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say.” Jordan was leaning against the railing, his hat cocked, his arms crossed, and his eyes full of anger.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Eric said, feeling like shit. “Listen, I’m sorry for bailing like that. I owe you an apology and I’m here to give it.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” Jordan smiled, a hard, humorless twist of his lips. “But how’s this, I’ll accept your apology and now you can move about the cabin freely. And by cabin, I mean anywhere else but here.”

Eric took a sip of his drink and stepped farther out onto the balcony. “Yeah, I get it. But what if the only moving I want to do right now is with you?”

Fuck, Eric. This is not a good call.

Eric pushed the voice in his head away. He didn’t care about good calls right now. He cared about the fact that, for the first time since he left Jordan, he wasn’t feeling like shit.

“Running away sure said otherwise,” Jordan said, arching a brow.

“I’m not running now.” Eric eased closer to Jordan, his dick hardening as he remembered what it had felt like to have Jordan’s hand wrapped around him, jerking him into losing his damned mind.

Jordan’s stance relaxed a bit and Eric moved to lean against the balcony railing beside him. He wanted to touch Jordan—to dip his fingers down and get a handful of that incomparable ass—but he held his scotch with both hands instead. He was going to show Jordan that he could be discreet when the situation called for it. And considering half of the most influential people in Miami were in the ballroom, tonight definitely called for it.

“Don’t you love the smell of the ocean air?” he asked, hoping to shift the conversation. “My favorite part about being back home.”

Jordan turned toward the glittering water. “I do. After my dad died, we couldn’t go to the beach as often anymore. Mom was always working weekends. But it’s one of the last places I remember our whole family being together and happy.”

Eric nodded. “I don’t remember your dad dying, but I remember my parents talking about your family. They were impressed with your mom, and her dedication to supporting you.”

“She never missed a game, no matter what,” Jordan said, turning toward Eric. “I know your parents sponsored kids like me and I appreciate it. Without people like them, I would never have been discovered.”

Eric’s chest tightened. “That’s why I’m involved with the inner-city camp program. Talent is talent. And I want to see talent win out.”

Jordan laughed softly, his mouth twisting in a wry smile.

“What?” Eric asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s just…when we were at the studio, I was hoping that the inner-city camp was just a publicity thing for you. Otherwise, you’d just be too fucking perfect.”

Jordan turned, meeting Eric’s gaze with a no-bullshit glint in his eyes. “I’m glad it’s not. And I’m grateful for the good your family brought to my life, but I’m not going to be played or fucked with. I don’t like it when people say they want more and then run away. I’m not into games unless they’re played on a field.”

Eric swallowed hard. “Anyone ever told you how hot you are when you’re bossy?”

“Yes,” Jordan said with a straight face. “And I could see things between us getting hotter, but only with someone I know I can trust not to run hot and cold.”

The blue-flame in Jordan’s eyes shifted from anger to hunger, and Eric found himself unable to hold back any longer. Jordan was just too fucking sexy to resist.

Whiskey sloshed onto the ground as Eric set his glass roughly on the balcony railing, but he barely noticed. He knew this wasn’t the time or the place, but he was powerless to stop himself. He’d never felt anything like this pull, this wild need to get closer, to get his hands on the man he craved.

His fingers dug into the back of Jordan’s neck as he crushed their mouths together, his tongue slipping between Jordan’s lips, discovering a hunger that matched his own. Jordan’s face was silky smooth now, no raspy-stubble, but still sexy as fuck. Eric greedily plunged and stroked, kissing the breath from Jordan’s body but still desperate for more.

Jordan responded in full, locking his powerful arms around Eric and hauling him closer until their bodies were fused in a tight embrace. Eric groaned as Jordan’s erection pressed against his stomach. Eric’s heart skittered as he realized how much he needed that cock in his mouth, needed Jordan’s come flooding down his throat. Being this close to Jordan was fucking heaven.

It was the perfect play at an imperfect time and reminded him of how vastly dangerous this fling could be. Eric threw up a flag, pulling back abruptly.

He needed to make sure he didn’t fuck this up even more. And if he didn’t stop now, he wouldn’t be able to.

Eric couldn’t risk being caught, for Jordan’s sake if not his own.

“I’m not running away,” he panted, seeing anger flash in Jordan’s eyes and wanting to head it off at the pass. “I promise. But I have to go or this is going to end badly for both of us.”

He took Jordan’s hand in his, clasping it tight. “I’m just removing temptation from our path, okay? I’m not running away.”

But maybe he was. Just a little bit.

Only because he hoped like hell that Jordan would come catch him.