Are you both coming out afterward?” A small hand gripped my arm, and I stared down into the earnest, questioning gaze of Jamie Anderson, Caz Woods’ fiancé.

“Coming out where?” I was having trouble focusing on Jamie. I was on cloud nine and quite a few drinks in. This was my third super bowl ring, but the experience didn’t get any less intense. The Taj ballroom was full to bursting with enormous men in expensive suits, glittering, gorgeous women, and fantastic bourbon: I’d definitely had a few to get me through the droning speeches. The franchise players had been seated up toward the front, and I hadn’t needed to worry about boring Yvette – she’d spent most of the evening chatting animatedly with Becca Barnes.

Every so often, she’d reach over and touch my arm, brush her thigh against mine, or give me a long, considering look. But for the most part, she’d spoken to Becca and done her best to ignore Vic’s girlfriend, Karissa, who’d kept wandering over and trying to engage Becca in Spanish.

When they’d brought out the rings, the whole place had nearly come down around our heads, we were all cheering so loud. I must have taken three hundred pictures since then, so when Jamie had touched me and asked me a question, I barely registered her words.

“We’re going to the Sky Bar. Dash has rented up the upper floor. Are you coming?”

“Sauvage, who is this?” Yvette’s breath was warm against my ear. She must have come up behind me when I wasn’t paying attention. Her breasts brushed against my arm. Fuck. Fuck, she was hot.

“Yvette Delacroix, may I present Jamie Anderson? This is Caz’s fiancé. She’s a professional soccer player.”

“Oh, wow,” said Jamie, recognizing Yvette. “You used to date Luis Abasolo.”

I felt Yvette stiffen next to me and tilt her head at Jamie frostily. Fuck. Better get Jamie out of this one. “We might stop by for a while,” I said. “Are you leaving before the dancing?”

“Caz hates dancing. So does Dash, apparently. So, yah.”

“Let’s go,” said Yvette in my ear. “If Dash is hosting, then Becca is going, and she was telling me a story I want to hear the end of. Oh, hang on!” Yvette turned as someone called her name. And I was left alone with Jamie.

“She’s stunning,” said Jamie. “Did Becca set you both up?”

I smirked at her. “You don’t think I can get a girl like that myself?”

Jamie pursed her lips. “You want me to answer that?”

“No.”

Caz came up behind Jamie and reached down, snagging her hand. “Shall we?” he asked. I looked around for Yvette and saw her heading in my direction from across the room. As she passed, men turned to watch her walk, like the ballroom was her catwalk. Damn.

“I’ll be right behind you,” I said.

The Sky Bar might be my favorite club in Boston. It’s on the top of the Eliot tower, almost as high as my apartment, and has a killer view of the city. That night, it was full to the bursting with Patriots players pounding back thousands of dollars’ worth of booze. I think I might have been responsible for a good half of it.

It had taken me twenty minutes of coaxing, but I finally got Yvette out onto the dance floor.

“You’re laughing!” she declared angrily.

“No, I’m not!” I said, but I absolutely was. She was good at a lot of things, but the girl had no rhythm. I ended up pulling her close and guiding her with my hips, and she soon fell in with me, her arms snaking around my neck and her eyes finding mine and sizzling. “You’re drunk,” she said, but she sounded intoxicated herself.

“Not very.” Okay, that was a bit of a lie.

“I need another drink,” said Yvette, removing her arms.

“Baby,” I groaned. “Don’t let go.”

“Come on,” she said, taking my hand and tugging me toward the bar. “You’re buying me another drink.”

“Bartender!” I bellowed. There were three who were working, and one of them looked up, signaling he’d be over in a minute.

“Brute,” murmured Yvette, but she looked enthralled, and I smiled down at her, thinking about those long, lean legs wrapped around my waist.

Something caught Yvette’s attention, and she moved past me. I turned, not wanting to lose my spot at the bar, eyes my tracking her toward the staircase, where she approached another young woman.

This woman was shorter, her hair less of a dark brown and more of a honey brown; it hung about her shoulders in snaky waves. Her dress was turquoise and skin tight, revealing a figure almost as lithe as Yvette’s, but slightly more muscled. I realized I was checking out Yvette’s friend and tried to stop, but when Yvette turned, I caught a glimpse of the girl’s face. Sarah.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get a little hard. That dress, though. Fuck.

“I’ve got to take a phone call,” Yvette said. “Buy Sarah a drink!” And with that, she disappeared.

Oh. I was going to buy Sarah a drink so hard…

“Let me guess,” I said when Sarah approached. “You’re a vodka girl?”

Sarah smiled up at me, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She was wearing something shimmering on her cheeks, for they caught the light and looked almost angelic. She had the smallest of dimples in her right cheek.

“I hate Vodka,” she said. “If I’m getting a mixed drink, I go for whisky sours.”

“What are you? Fifty?” I asked.

“Are you going to order me a drink, or do I need to get it myself?” Sarah stepped past me and climbed up on the rail at the base of the bar. She was wearing lacy black heels that gave her a good four inches of extra height. Leaning over the bar, her cleavage on full display, she signaled a bartender.

“Cool it,” I said, reaching out and fitting my hands about her waist, then lifting her from the bar and setting her down. “I’m taking care of this.”

Sarah rolled her eyes but turned her back to the bar and leaned against it.

“So?” she asked.

“So what?” But before she could answer, the bartender came over and took our orders.

“So, let me see the ring.”

I stuck out my fist. I’d worn all three rings that evening, and they made my hand incredible heavy. They were each diamond-encrusted and platinum, with a different design boasting the year and the score.

Sarah sucked in a breath and ogled over each ring. The bartender came back with the drinks, and Sarah drank hers through a straw in all of thirty seconds.

“Slow down,” I told her. “The night is young.”

“Well,” she said. “I got here late, so I have a lot of catching up to do.”

“How’d you get in anyway?” I asked.

“I was out at Whisky Priest, not far away,” she said. “I got a call for Yvette. It was a personal one that I thought she might want to take care of.”

“So, you’re on all hours of the day?”

“Sometimes.”

“What else can I get you to drink? You do shots?”

“Sure.”

“Bartender!” I bellowed again. I indicated the group around me “Get me a round!”

The shots came, and we all did them, just in time for Yvette to come back. She gave the phone to Sarah, and before I could object, Sarah disappeared into the crowd.

“Is that mine?” asked Yvette, and I handed her the martini. She downed it in one impressive gulp, reached up, and gave me a small kiss on the cheekbone. “Lovely evening, Sauvage. I have to cut it short. My mother is in New York, and I’m leaving now.”

“Not now…”

“I’ve got a limo coming to take me to the airport. I’m leaving now. I’ll call you later.”

“Let me see you out…”

“No, no,” said Yvette, placing her hands on my chest. “You stay and enjoy everyone! I’m fine. I’ll be back in a few days.” And she hurried off.

I was still staring stupidly after her when a heavy hand clapped onto my shoulder. “So, how’s it going with the model, Bro?”

I turned and glared at Caz.

“Whoa, man! Whooaa. It can’t be that bad. She came here with you, didn’t she?”

I shrugged, irrationally irritated with how quickly she’d left. She’d been teasing me all evening, pressing close and then darting away. All night, I’d been imagining all the different ways we’d fuck. That she’d left had really messed with my equilibrium. I ran a hand over my face. “I just can’t get a read,” I said.

“You look keyed up, dude.” Caz was swaying slightly, and his dark brown hair had flopped forward into his eyes. “Do you know what helps? Scotch.” He waved at one of the bartenders. “Give us a bottle of Johnny Blue!” he bellowed.

“No, no,” I objected. “Your lady will kill you if you get that shit-faced.”

“Nah. She went home. She’s got practice tomorrow. Me? I’mma get housed. You joining?”

I thought about it for all of two seconds. Why not? “In.”

I can’t remember how far into the bottle we got. “I’m telling you,” I said, hanging on Caz’s shoulder. “I’m telling you. Sarah is so fucking gorgeous.”

“Who’s Sarah?” asked Caz, blinking at me heavily.

“What do you mean, ‘Who’s Sarah?’”

“You said, ‘Sarah is so fucking gorgeous.’ Who’s Sarah?”

I blinked. Shit. “Did I say Sarah?”

“Yah. You did.”

Fuck. Well, Sarah was fucking gorgeous. And really damn hot in that teal dress. “Dude,” I said. “She’s Yvette’s assistant…”

“The girl with the ass, the one who came into the restaurant?”

“That one…” I closed my eyes, recalling how passionately she’d kissed, recalling how her hips had ground into mine. Damn. There’d been no teasing with Sarah - no coyness whatsoever. Now that was sexy. I’d been out with Yvette three times now, and she hadn’t so much as kissed me. “Sarah’s here somewhere,” I murmured.

“Yah, I saw her,” said Caz, pointing a finger down the length of the bar to where I could see a flash of teal. “She’s talking to Mac.”

“Fucking Mcloughlin?” I said, straightening and grabbing the Johnny Blue bottle from Caz’s hands. “No fucking way. That guy’s a dick.”

“He’s not that bad…”

“He’s a fucking dick. I’mma go do something about it.” I said, and I stormed over to have a little chat with Ryan Dickhead Mcloughlin.