“Are you watching SportsCenter?”

My finger clicks the mouse frantically to close the internet window when Darcy enters my office. Of course, it chooses now to lock up, and my MacBook gives me the freaking color wheel of death that spins and spins.

And spins.

Dammit! I thought I had the volume down low enough. Time to try to save face or I’ll never hear the end of it.

My sister stares at me like I’ve grown an extra head.

I wrinkle my nose in distaste. “You know how those stupid click-bait things are everywhere. So annoying.” Finally, I manage to close the window on my internet browser.

“Riiight.” She’s not convinced.

“Okay, so I’m meeting with a potential new client on—”

“Ah-ah.” Darcy wags her finger at me. “Not so fast.” She settles in the chair across from me. “Fill me in on what I’ve missed.”

My brows pinch together because I’m confused. “What you’ve missed?” I pose the question slowly. “I wasn’t aware that you missed anything.”

She rolls her eyes. “You and Becket. Fill me in.”

“Oh.” I avert my gaze to my laptop. “Nothing to fill you in on.”

“Is that why you’re avoiding eye contact and why I caught you checking SportsCenter online?”

I toss up my hands in exasperation. “Fine! I was checking to see how the Jags were doing.”

Darcy stares at me for a beat before her mouth stretches into a wide, pleased smile. “Oh, really?”

In my best let’s get to business tone, I say, “We should go over our potential—”

“We should talk about Becket and his magical voodoo over you.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Darce. Don’t.”

Her lips press thin in irritation. “Why not? This is the first time this has happened. I’m excited about it.” She stabs a finger in my direction. “You should be excited, too.”

I am…sort of. I’m also scared as hell.

That night at Becket’s, when I fell asleep with his arm wrapped snugly around me, I’d never felt safer. What’s worse, I’ve never done that before. I’ve never spent the night with a guy, let alone wrapped in his arms.

The wonderful and unpredictable thing is, Becket never brought it up the next morning. He had a prime opportunity to harass me about it, to poke fun, but didn’t. Instead, he made me sweet potato pancakes and entertained me with stories about his “girls”—Emilia and Violet.

Our breakfast didn’t last long since he’d had to head to work for a team meeting. When he walked me to my bike, the kiss he’d given me had been tender, sweet, and left me yearning for more.

Due to his schedule and mine, we hadn’t been able to have more than a few phone conversations and text messages over the past six weeks.

Darcy’s features soften. “Look, Ivy. I’m just…I just want you to be happy. And be able to leave behind what happened once and for all.”

I jerk my eyes away and stare out my office window. “You really think that’s possible?” I ask quietly.

“I do.” Her response is spoken gently, yet there’s an underlying fervency to her tone.

I wish I was as confident.

She must recognize the need to change subjects because she comes around my desk to stop beside my chair. “Pull up SportsCenter again and show me those updates.”

I twist my lips. “Um…okay.” Shit.

The instant I click on the link with the snippet of video footage of the Jacksonville Jaguars practicing for their game against the New Orleans Saints, the camera pans to show the team’s quarterback warming up on the field.

His sleeveless shirt is darkened with sweat and openly displaying his thick, muscular biceps as he throws the football down the field. The look of utter concentration on his face elicits the urge to run my thumb along that crease between his brows and smooth it out. His lips part slightly, and I recall exactly how decadent they felt on mine. The perspiration beading his forehead attests to the current heat and humidity still plaguing New Orleans.

“Oh, wow,” Darcy breathes. “The gods sure smiled upon Becket Jones when he was made.”

I whip my head around to glare at her. “Watch it.”

As soon as the words spill from my lips, I avert my eyes with a gasp, horrified, and cover my mouth. My eyes grow wide.

Holyshitholyshit. What’s wrong with me?

“Noted.” Laughter is threaded in her tone, but I don’t have it in me to meet her gaze yet. “Do not admire Becket Jones.” She heads to the door and pauses. “Maybe you can get us tickets to a home game, though? Box seats, even?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” A thought hits me. “Ooh! Maybe I’ll get to experience what you told me about with the”—I snap my fingers, trying to think of the name—“stretch where everyone sings that Neil Diamond song.”

Darcy lets out a choked laugh. “Oh, Ivy.” She backs away. “You, uh, might want to ask Becket about that.” Then she disappears, her heels clicking as she heads to her office, and her laughter lingers in her wake.

Confused, I shake it off and get back to work.

* * *

I’m eating my veggie sandwich from the local Jimmy John’s sandwich shop during lunch, attempting to catch up on emails, when the text message comes in.

Becket: How’s Miss Ditched doing today?

Me: Checking my copious emails is beginning to stultify me.

My phone lights up with an incoming call. I smile as I answer. “Hey there.”

“Dammit. I was trying to figure out how to impress you with my use of the Word of the Day, and you beat me to it.”

“Ah, but there’s always tomorrow, Jones.”

His husky laugh sends shivers down my spine. “We’re hanging out in the hotel lounge, watching some ESPN before we see some sights here in New Orleans. Dax wants to check out Café Du Monde and eat his weight in beignets.”

“Sounds like fun.”

There’s a beat of silence. When he speaks, his voice is low, gravelly. “I know it’s lame and not at all what I’m supposed to say as a guy, but, Ivy?”

“Yes?”

“I, uh…” He hesitates before finishing with, “I miss your face.”

I hear a collection of exaggerated awws and sounds of a whip cracking in the background.

“Hold on.” Becket covers the phone, causing his next words to sound a bit muffled, but I can still make them out. “Lay off or I won’t bring my famous pecan pie to the next Friendsgiving.” His tone is stern, and I can’t help the smile that overtakes my face.

Apologies roll in immediately, which is a testament to how much these guys must love this pie of his.

He comes back on the phone. “As I was saying…” He lowers his voice, and the heated affection is evident. “I miss your face, Ivy Hayes.”

“Same,” I say softly. An invisible fist clenches the center of my chest, and I absently rub at the spot. Clearing my throat, I add, “Be sure to hit this place called Vonda’s on Royal Street for all-you-can-eat-crawfish.” Darcy, Leif, and I would make pilgrimages there while attending LSU. Especially after final exams.

“I’ll be sure to do that.” He falls silent for a moment. “I swear it’s more humid down here. I pretty much sweat through my shirt during practice.”

“I know. It looked hot out there.”

I wince, knowing I’ve given him ammunition, and pray he won’t make this uncomfortable.

He lowers his voice. “Hold on. Let me head to where I can hear you a bit better.” The male voices fade a bit. “Did you watch me on ESPN?”

I lean my head back against my chair and let my eyes fall closed. “I might’ve seen something.”

His soft laugh greets my ears. “Oh, Ivy. I’ll make a football fan out of you yet.”

“Oh!” I remember what I mentioned to Darcy earlier. “Don’t feel obligated or anything, but if there’s a home game you’d recommend us seeing, I’d love to come with Darcy and watch you play. I was just telling her how I’ve heard about everyone stopping at whatever inning and singing that Neil Diamond song. It sounds like fun.”

When I’m greeted with nothing but silence, I check to see if the call was dropped. Confirming Becket’s still on the line, I prompt, “Becket?”

He lets out a groan. “Ivy, Ivy, Ivy. You wound me, woman.”

I wrinkle my brow. “How? Don’t you guys stop playing and take a break so the fans can sing?”

“You’re talking about the stadium singing ‘Sweet Caroline’ during the seventh-inning stretch.”

“Yes! That’s it. That sounds awesome.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s pretty fun. But that’s not us.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. That’s baseball. The Red Sox specifically.”

“Oh.” Disappointment is heavy in my voice. Then brightening, I ask, “So what do you guys sing?”

“We don’t sing.” He huffs out a little laugh. “At halftime, there’s usually a performance from a band or a singer.” Suddenly, there’s a shuffling sound, and I hear Dax pipe up. “We’ve had people like Justin Timberlake, Beyoncé, and Lady Gaga perform at the Super Bowl before. Still think Gaga’s better than Beyoncé.”

A deep male voice makes a dismissive sound. “Aw, hell no. You best not disrespect my Queen B. She’s the bomb.”

A few other guys complain, “Here we go again.”

Becket laughs. “One thing’s for sure. You keep me grounded, Ivy.”

In the background, someone calls out, “Guys! We’ve got rides scheduled in ten minutes.”

He sighs. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have to go grab my stuff from my hotel room.”

I hate the instant sense of disappointment that fills me. “Okay. Talk to you later. Have fun.”

“Bye, Ivy.”

Slowly, I set my phone down and stare at it with dismay. Not only did I screw up a major detail, but I find myself wishing we had more time to talk.

But right now, I have a bone to pick with my sister for not setting me straight.

“Darcy!” I call out.

She pops into view so fast she startles me. I narrow my eyes at her. “You were eavesdropping, weren’t you?”

Appearing chagrinned, she holds up her palms in surrender. “I couldn’t help it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She snickers. “You were so cute and excited. I couldn’t bear to do it.”

I bury my face in my hands. “Now I feel like an idiot.”

“Oh, stop.” Darcy plops down in the chair across from me. “I’m sure Becket didn’t treat you like an idiot.”

“No,” I mumble. “He was nice about it.” Then again, he’s always nice.

Darcy waves me off. “So don’t worry about it.” She checks the time on the wall clock and jumps from her seat. “I’ve got to go. I’m attending an online conference Stephanie Duran’s presenting.”

I tip my head to the side. “The self-proclaimed ‘Doctor of Love’?”

“Yes. I’m hoping it will help me fortify my business plan.” She winks as she exits.

Panicked, I call out after her, “Wait! What business plan?” This is news to me. But it’s also just like my sister to pull something like this. She’s been itching to contribute more to our business ever since we moved here.

“For our sister company.” Her response echoes down the hall. “Hitched!”