Over the next few weeks, we spend almost every evening together, except when he and the team are out of town for an away game. We get into kind of a routine, Mason and I. He gives me a key to his place, and when he’s at practice until late, I make dinner for the two of us and wait for him to get home. We talk about everything: favorite memories, embarrassing teenage moments, first loves. I spend every night wrapped in his arms, before I have to get up early to go to the station.

Speaking of which, Ethan ends up giving me a second promotion. I start being one of the main local correspondents for the prime hours of our morning show Sunrise Springville. It’s a huge leap for me in terms of visibility, even though it’s in a direction I wasn’t really planning to go. It seems like I’m slipping further and further away from sports reporting, and into higher profile positions that show off my pretty face and my celebrity status as Mason Robichaud’s fiancée. But I tell myself that I should be thankful, and that the more power and status I get now, the more leverage I’ll have to make my own decisions later.

Mackenzie seems a little less thrilled for me than I thought she’d be. She offers to take me out to lunch to celebrate my promotion. But instead of talking about my success, we spend more time talking about her boyfriend, his upcoming promotion, and that she thinks he might be getting ready to propose. Mackenzie reminds me reproachfully that the four of us still haven’t gone on a double date. But when I start suggesting days Mason and I might be free, her face clouds and she changes the subject.

One evening, three weeks after Mason’s first game of the season, there’s another home game, and the Rockets end up crushing the other team 21-3. Mason has some fantastic defensive plays that I know will be talked about in the sports sections of tomorrow’s papers. I find myself wishing I’d invited my dad to town this weekend for the game. He would have loved to see this. The fact is, I’ve been putting off inviting him here to Springville to meet Mason and see the game. I’m pretty sure he’s noticed, but my dad is too kind to say anything about it. I feel like a terrible daughter, but I just haven’t worked up the courage to bring him here. It was hard enough to lie to my own father on the phone about Mason and me. Doing it in person — for days at a time — will be even worse.

Especially because right now, I’m not sure what the truth about Mason and me is.

As soon after the game as Mason’s able to detach himself from the reporters and fans, we leave the stadium and come back to his place for our own private celebration.

We have sex, but lately when we’re together, it feels like more than that. Sometimes, when Mason looks at me, there’s something in his eyes that both terrifies and thrills me. I know whatever’s happening between us is more than our original business arrangement. I know that in private, he calls me his girlfriend. But beyond that, I don’t know what Mason thinks is happening between us at all.

As for me, I think I’m starting to fall for Mason Robichaud. Hard.

And I’m terrified I’m going to end up getting hurt.

Sometime after my second orgasm, we fall asleep for a time. Eventually, Mason’s stirring wakes me. I glance out the window: it’s dark out. I have no idea how long we’ve been sleeping.

I sit up on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and take a deep, yawning stretch. My movements wake up Mason, who stirs and opens his eyes.

“Hey, there, beautiful,” he murmurs, pulling me close and giving me a soft kiss.

I wrinkle my nose at him, not because I don’t appreciate the kiss, but because I’m pretty sure I have dog breath.

“What?” he asks.

“I need a hairbrush, and a toothbrush. I’m pretty sure ‘beautiful’ doesn’t begin to describe me.”

“You’re wrong,” he tells me, making a place in the crook of his arm for me to snuggle. “You’re gorgeous right now.”

“Really?” I’m kind of touched.

“Well, yeah,” he grins. “I mean, yeah, your mouth kinda stinks, and you look like you need a shower, but you’re fine.”

“Asshole,” I retort. Mason bursts into a deep rumbling laugh.

“I’m totally kidding,” he tells me. “I like the way you look in my bed. Especially with no clothes on.” His eyes rake over my body, and I pull the sheet up to cover more of me.

“What time is it?” I ask, yawning. Mason looks over at a small clock by his bed.

“It’s a little after nine-thirty,” he tells me. “Hey, are you up for making an appearance at a little party one of the Rockets is throwing? We don’t have to stay very long,” he continues, a look of apology on his face. “But I said we’d go, and it’ll be good for me to socialize with the guys. I haven’t done much of that since I got signed.”

To be honest, I’d much rather just stay here with Mason. But I have to remember that part of my role here is to appear as his fiancée whenever there’s a good public opportunity to do so.

“Sure, I’m down for that.” I run my tongue along my teeth in distaste. “You wouldn’t happen to have a toothbrush I could borrow, would you?”

Mason squeezes me and kisses my forehead. “I’m sure I can find one for you. I’m gonna hop in the shower. Want to join me?”

“Mason, if I join you, we’ll never get to the party,” I tease.

His hand reaches under the sheet to caress my bare breast. A wave of heat courses through me. “The party will go on for a while,” he murmurs, rolling my nipple between his thumb and finger. I gasp and arch my back. “I’m pretty sure we have time.”

After I’ve brushed my teeth and had a very interesting shower experience, we get dressed and head out to the party. I’m wearing casual clothes, but Mason tells me not to worry. “It’s just a few people getting together at my buddy Aaron’s house,” he assures me. “It’s no big deal.”

When we arrive at Aaron Brooks’s house, I quickly discover that Mason’s idea of ‘no big deal’ is not exactly accurate.

For one thing, the party is just about the opposite of small. Aaron’s house is almost twice as big as Mason’s, and from the moment we step inside, the entire ground floor seems to be jam packed full of people. Most of the men are guys I recognize from the team, but a few are total strangers to me.

Second, it’s loud. Noise fills the space, from one end of the house to the other. I hear snippets of conversation as we pass through the crowds, but my mind can’t focus on anything. There’s just too much going on. Just as well, though. I doubt there’s anything interesting to listen to—it seems like everyone is here to see and be seen, anyway. The women, to a person, are dressed up like they’re out at a club. I’m just wearing a fitted cami under a simple cardigan, and worn jeans. The only makeup I’m wearing is some lipstick, eyeliner, and a little mascara. I stand out like a sore thumb, and feel frumpier than I’ve ever felt in my life.

Mason takes my hand and protectively leads me through the sea of people out to the back. It’s not as loud there, and people are gathered in a bunch of small groups around a large, kidney-shaped swimming pool. I breathe a quick sigh of relief that I can at least hear myself think.

“You want something to drink?” he asks me. “I can go grab you something.”

“I’ll just have what you’re having,” I reply, knowing that he’ll be getting himself a soda. The haze of alcohol is so thick, I’m pretty sure I could get drunk off the fumes alone. It doesn’t make me want to join in at all.

As I wait for Mason to return with my drink, I take a casual stroll around the back yard. I recognize more faces as I wander around. Some of the women cut me snotty looks because I’m not dressed up. The men mostly ignore me, either because my boobs aren’t hanging out of a tight dress or because they know I’m already taken.

Looking around at the women, very few of them are the girlfriends or the wives of the players around.

I move through the sliding doors back into the living room, my uneasiness growing.

Then, I see something that makes me stop in my tracks.

“Holy shit,” I mutter to myself.

Right there, sitting around Aaron’s coffee table, is a group of four football players. On the table some powder that I’m guessing must be coke. One person is lining up some of it, as two others go near with paper bills already rolled up. The last guy is picking up some of the powder with a small tea spoon, and mixing it into a drink. By the color, I know it’s beer, and I’m not sure mixing beer and coke is a good idea. But they’re doing their business before I can decide whether I should go and tell them to stop.

“The hell is Mason trying to get me into?” I mutter to myself, wrinkling my nose in disgust as I look away. My head pivots in a different direction, and lands on the window seat on the other side from the couch. I bite back a curse of surprise.

In full view of the whole room are a couple of football players with their pants bunched around their thighs, and half-naked women with their breasts showing, fucking in full view of the room. No one seems to think anything of it. A few of the guys are even standing by and watching, maybe waiting around themselves. I don’t recognize either of the women, though I know both of the players: Jackson Cole and Aiden Rausch. Both men are married, but these women are sure as hell not their wives.

I could seriously film this shit, and get millions from it.

Better yet, I could report on all of it, and all my career problems would be solved.

But all I can do is stand there, staring in horrified fascination.

Suddenly, there’s a wide chest in front of me, blocking my view. I blink at the black t-shirt stretched over a muscled chest. Then I look up, and meet Mason’s eyes.

“Come with me,” he says, raising his voice to be heard over the noise.

He moves to put an arm around me, and I gladly tuck into his side. Mason leads me through the room and back outside. I breathe a sigh of relief—not to mention clean air.

“Mason, what the fuck did I just see?” I demand, rounding on him.

“Yeah. A little wilder than I expected, to be honest,” he says. “I’m sorry, Anna. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?” I blurt out. “Uh, hell yes, I was uncomfortable! Weren’t you?”

Mason shrugs noncommittally. “These parties can get crazy,” he says, sounding reluctant, and looks unhappy. “I probably should have warned you before I brought you here.”

I stare at him, appalled. “What would you do if someone called the cops on those guys while you were here? Or hell, what if the word gets out publicly that this kind of shit was going on, and you were here for it?”

His face goes cold, stony. “How would that happen, Anna? There’s no one here that would talk about it. Is there?”

“How the hell would I know?” I begin, and then I realize what he’s implying. “Are you saying I would do that?” I ask incredulously.

But my face flushes crimson even as I speak, because the truth is I was thinking about it. Not seriously, of course. But hell, I am a reporter, and this would be a fucking amazing story to break.

“Mason, is this seriously the kind of partying you like to do?” I ask, my stomach plummeting as I wait for the answer.

“No! Anna, no.” He takes me by the shoulders, his eyes searching mine. “Look. I didn’t know it would be like this. I swear. It’s not really my scene. But you know as well as I do that I need to bond with my teammates. And shit, a private party like this, at one of the team members’ houses, it’s… not that unusual. It’s the only time ball players don’t have to keep up some sort of image.”

“Mason,” I begin, “as far as the rest of the world knows, you’re an alcoholic, remember? If you got caught at a party like this, even if you weren’t doing anything, people would assume the worst.”

He chuckles softly. “I’m here with you, though. You make me look like the all-American family man, remember?”

I sigh as I glance away. Mason reaches up and cups my chin.

“Look, Anna. I’m really sorry about this,” he murmurs, his eyes searching mine. “Give me an hour, okay? An hour of hanging out with my teammates. Then we’ll leave. Deal?”

One hour.

I can do this. One hour of ignoring what’s going on inside and trying to resist the impulse to film it and break the story later.

“All right,” I say with a decisive nod. “But I need a drink. I’m way too sober to be here right now.”

He stares at me for a moment, and then gives me that sexy, cocky grin I’m beginning to know so well. “Whatever the lady wants,” he says. “And thank you, Anna.”

He drops my hand, and goes inside to get me a beer.

I can definitely go a night without letting my job get in the way. Definitely.