“I need advice,” I say in a voice barely above a whisper.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

“What’s wrong?” Blue’s tone is heavily laced with worry, and I rush to clarify. God knows I can’t have her going into premature labor because of me.

“It’s about Ivy.” I glance toward my closed bedroom door before I resume my pacing and give my best friend the concise rundown.

“You…got busted taking advantage of yourself in the shower?” Her voice is threaded with amusement.

I groan and drag a hand down my face with a wince. “Yep.” Then, I offer a melodramatic, “Why do I have to be such a gentleman? It’s so taxing.”

Her soft laughter greets my ears and brings an easy smile to my lips. “Becket Jones, tone down the libido.” She pauses, and her voice sobers. “You really like her, huh?”

There’s no mistaking the hint of smugness in her tone.

“I do.” Before she can say more, I press on. “But she told me she doesn’t do relationships.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and blow out a long, slow breath. “And we all know—”

“That’s not your MO.” Her comment isn’t spoken with recrimination. Only with understanding. “But you plan to try to change her mind.”

I huff out a small laugh at how well she knows me. “I do.”

“Beck…you know there’s a chance you might not succeed.”

“I can’t not try.”

There’s a beat of silence. “You’ve only known her for a few weeks now?”

“A month.”

“Okay…” She hesitates. “Look, I thought she’d be great for you because she was not only pretty but had the best shirt, and I honestly had a good feeling about her. I can’t explain it. I didn’t realize she was opposed to relationships. And, Beck”—she releases a long sigh—“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

My mouth tilts up in a hint of a smile at the affectionate concern in her tone. “I know, gorgeous,” I murmur softly. “That’s one of the many reasons I love you.” A thought hits me. “By the way, have you given any more thought to me being your stand-in birthing coach?”

“Hold on.” It sounds like she pulls the phone away and calls out, “Knox? Yes? Okay, I’ll be right there!” She returns the phone to her face, her voice sounding clearer and closer. “Gotta run, Beck.”

I roll my eyes at her faked conversation with her husband. “You’ll consider it. Trust me.”

Laughter lines her voice. “Talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Once I end the call, I collapse onto my bed to stare up at the ceiling while I fiddle with my cell phone and ponder Blue’s words.

A smart man wouldn’t pursue Ivy, a woman who blatantly declares her aversion to relationships.

I don’t take part in casual sex. I’m just not cut out for it. I discovered that after the shit hit the fan with my last relationship.

It was said I’d never be a good enough quarterback to win the Heisman Trophy.

I broke records at the University of Florida and won the Heisman twice.

It was said the Jags would never rise up the rankings to make it to the Super Bowl.

We proved them wrong. Twice now.

Ivy’s a challenge, sure. But I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t give it my best shot and show her relationships aren’t something to be avoided. Hell, some of my closest friends have relationships I can’t help but envy. Blue and Knox. Presley and Hendy. These couples have shown me what’s possible.

And I can see the potential of what Ivy and I could have. If she’d just…give it—give me—a chance.

A long, slow exhale spills past my lips, and I realize Daisy’s doggy bed in the corner of my bedroom is empty. Since she’s normally here by this time, doing her routine three circles before settling onto the cushioned pillow for the night, I find her absence odd.

I drag myself out of bed to go check on her, now concerned since it’s unlike her to break routine. I check downstairs and even out back, in case she used the automatic doggy door programmed to her collar.

No Daisy. I check every possible place in the house only to come up empty.

Now, I’m panicked, my heart racing. I return upstairs and notice the hint of light spilling from beneath Ivy’s bedroom door.

I knock gently, and after I hear her soft, “Come in,” I hurriedly speak. “Sorry, but have you seen—”

I stop short, not believing what I’m seeing.

My eyes flit between Ivy, curled up on her side in bed with the covers to her waist, and the small puppy currently snuggling her like her life depends on it. Ivy’s gently scratching right behind Daisy’s ear where she loves it.

Traitor.

“Daisy.”

Her ears perk up, and she tips her head to the side endearingly.

I quirk an eyebrow. “Did you bother Miss Ivy?”

“Tell him noooo,” Ivy coos to the pup.

I watch her, fascinated that this little four-legged ball of energy has managed to tap into the more nurturing, softer side of Ivy.

“Stop staring at me.” Her eyes rise to lock with mine.

“Just admiring two beautiful ladies.”

Ivy’s gaze travels down my body in a lingering caress, over my bare chest and simple pair of nylon shorts, to my feet. Her gaze meets mine again, and the sexual tension grows dense within the room.

“Daisy, time for bed. Let Ivy get some sleep.” I whistle and wave, gesturing for her to follow me down the hall.

She doesn’t move.

Ivy laughs softly. “Looks like someone likes me better.” Her eyes shine with humor.

I try again, yet Daisy simply remains curled up beside Ivy. With a sheepish look, I look at Ivy. “Guess you have an overnight guest in your bed.”

“I know what we can do.” Ivy shifts, carefully scooping up Daisy in one arm while she shoves the covers back. “I’ll give you a lift to your dad’s room.”

Her words don’t immediately register as she rises from the bed. My cotton T-shirt drapes over her petite body, hiding her curves. The boxers, evidently rolled up a few times at the waist, grant me a better view, exposing her toned thighs and calves.

“Let’s get you in bed.”

At Ivy’s words, my eyes snap up, only to find she’s speaking to my dog.

Not me.

Dammit.

I spin around and follow her down the hall to my bedroom. When she bends over to set Daisy in her bed, the fabric of the briefs rides up the back of her thighs.

Look away. Look away. Look. Away.

Nylon shorts are not forgiving when it comes to hard-ons. Which means I need to get it together, so she doesn’t turn around and find me standing here, ogling her like a complete perv.

I focus on Daisy, relaxed on her bed. Ivy backs away, as if suddenly nervous, and nears the door. She takes one step through the doorway, and when Daisy scampers over, Ivy freezes.

Our eyes meet and I let out a sigh filled with mock disappointment. “Go ahead.” I toss a hand in gesture. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just sleep alone.”

Eyes sparkling with amusement, Ivy lowers her gaze to peer down at Daisy. “What do you think? Maybe we can stay for a bit?”

I tip my head to indicate my bed. “It’s large enough; you’ll have your own space. No risk of accidentally touching me.” I arch a brow and flash her an easy grin. “Unless you want to.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re just trying to get me into it.”

With a scoff, I watch her walk around to the other side of my California king to where the covers are unmussed. She pulls them back and slides in while Daisy settles in her spot for the night.

A beautiful woman is in my bed. One I’d love nothing more than to strip naked and explore her body with my hands and mouth.

I flip the light switch, blanketing the room in darkness with the exception of the faint slivers of light emerging through the slats of the venetian blinds.

I slide into bed and pull the covers up.

“Good night, Ivy.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“That’s it?” Her tone is hushed yet laced with humor.

“I didn’t realize you wanted to chat.”

“Maybe you can tell me a bedtime story,” she suggests, teasing.

“Ah, what story would you like?”

She hesitates. “Can you tell me about your tattoo on your chest?” Her voice turns gentler, softer. “It’s such a beautiful, elegant script.”

I smile in the darkened bedroom. “It’s actually something my mother used to say.” I relax as I lie on my back and slide a hand beneath my head. “It says ‘Only love.’”

“I’m assuming there’s a story behind it?” Ivy prompts gently.

“When my mom would get exasperated or upset with me or my brother, Brantley, she’d always close her eyes, take a deep breath, and murmur, ‘Only love.’ When I finally asked her about it, why she did that, she said, ‘Becket, when you feel like you’re on the edge—on the precipice of making the wrong choice—of saying something hurtful, it’s a reminder. Only love. Act in only love. Speak in only love. Otherwise, you’ll likely regret it.’”

I draw in a long breath before I exhale slowly. “It started after Mom had finally had enough. She’d put up with our father’s numerous indiscretions. She’d said enough was enough and refused to continue to be disrespected.” I pause for a beat. “I’ve always had zero tolerance for cheating, and I admire her for sticking to her guns.” My lips draw up into a half smile at the memory of my mother standing up for herself and, in turn, providing her sons with a valuable life lesson.

“Wow,” Ivy breathes. “That couldn’t have been easy for her.”

“No, it wasn’t. But she told us one day we’d understand. Love—the real, worthwhile kind—wasn’t like that. It didn’t leave you feeling like less of a person.” I close my eyes and recall her sitting us down to tell us we were going be a family of three. In her gaze, the unique combination of anguish and determination had shone, and I’d never been more in awe of her.

“She always was one hell of a smart lady. What she said stayed with me. I used it in relationships along the way, and when I got pissed as hell toward the end when she’d decided she didn’t have any more fight left in her to battle cancer, she still reminded me.

“She said, ‘Honey, remember, only love. That’s the one thing more powerful than this—than cancer. Only love, Becket. That’s going to help you for years to come, when you have a family of your own.’” I press a hand over my chest where the emotions and memories have elicited a nagging ache.

“She sounds like an amazing woman.”

“She certainly was,” I say softly.

“Do you”—Ivy hesitates—“see your father?”

At the mention of the man who blatantly disrespected my mother and their vows, my jaw clenches. “No.” I press my lips thin before I go on. “Brantley and I were told he’d passed away a few years ago and left us something.” I shake my head against the pillow even though she can’t see me. “He’d been absent for most of our childhood and after the way he treated our mom…we sure as hell didn’t want anything from him.”

“And you and your brother, are you two close?”

“Absolutely.” Just thinking of my younger brother, my pseudo partner in crime, brings a smile to my lips. “He lives in Pensacola Beach with his boyfriend, Vonn, but we visit as much as we can.”

Comfortable silence falls over us and just when I think Ivy’s fallen asleep, she murmurs, “So, you’re not going to address the book on your bedside table?”

A laugh breaks free. “Ah. Caught sight of that, did you?” I shift to my side, facing her. “Thought the title would be explanatory.” A thick paperback copy of What To Expect When You’re Expecting sits beside my bed.

She draws in a gasp of exaggerated surprise. “Oh, Becket! Who knocked you up?”

I respond immediately with mock seriousness. “Dax.”

Her husky laugh washes over me in seductive waves. “Congratulations.”

I smile in the darkness. “I’m trying to convince Blue I’m suitable to be her stand-in birth partner.”

Ivy shifts, assuming the same position, and faces me. “Why would you want to do that?”

The humor has subsided in her voice, leaving only curiosity.

I move to rest on my back and fold one hand behind my head. I release a long, slow breath. “Honestly, one reason is it would be an honor to be a part of that moment—to be there for her, in case Knox’s schedule makes him run late.” I swallow hard, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want her to be alone and overwhelmed.”

“And the other reason?” she whispers back.

A husky laugh breaks free. “The other reason is if I’m her birth partner, I can really hang the whole baby naming thing over her head.”

“And what are you requesting she name the baby?”

“Oh, you know.” I chuckle softly. “Beckina, Becket Junior. Some variation.”

“Wow. Can’t imagine why she’s not on board with that,” Ivy deadpans.

The moonlight casts an ethereal glow on the room, and I reach out a hand between us on the mattress. “You opposed to holding hands?”

I sense her hesitation and immediately start to draw back my hand. “No wor—” My words halt when her soft hand grasps mine, stopping its retreat.

“No, I’m not.” Her response is laced with a tinge of breathlessness. She laces her fingers with mine, and we lie here in silence for a moment.

“Can I ask you a question?” Ivy’s words are barely a whisper, and I strain to hear them.

“Of course.”

She exhales slowly. “Why are you doing this?”

I frown, confused by her question. “This?”

“With me.” She pauses. “When you know it can’t go anywhere.”

Ah. That’s what she’s getting at.

I choose my words carefully. “You’re asking why I’m spending time with you?”

“Yes. Time that’s…hanging out and not sex.”

A smile tugs at my lips, and I’m grateful for the dark room. “Because that’s not all I want from you.” Our hands still joined, I stroke her smooth skin with the pad of my thumb. “I want to get to know you.”

Her hand tenses. “But I…”

I turn my head to the side and face her, speaking softly. “I don’t know what made you wary, and I’m not asking you to share that right now. All I know is, there’s something here, Ivy. I’ve never felt this before.”

She swallows audibly, and when she speaks, her voice sounds tiny. “I feel it, too.”

“So…” I draw in a breath, suddenly nervous. “Maybe we can see where things go. I just want to know you.”

She releases her hold on my hand. Then there’s a shuffling of the covers, and she leans over me, the ends of her long hair tickling my chest. I reach up and tuck it behind her ear, and she rests her cheek against my right pec. “I’ve never done this before, Becket,” she whispers.

I smooth her hair with my palm, relishing the sensation of the silky strands in contrast to my calloused hand. “The good part is,” I whisper back softly, “we’ll do it together. At our own pace.”

There’s a beat of silence before she nods against me. “Okay.”

As we lie in my bed, it’s not so much Ivy’s acquiescence to giving me—giving us—a chance that sends a surge of pleasure and excitement through my veins.

It’s the fact she’s doing what she claimed she couldn’t do. What she doesn’t do.

She’s snuggling with me.