I am so bored.

When I was a kid, sick days were paradise. I got to stay home from school while Mommy and the maids doted on me like the little prince I was. It’s not nearly as fun as an adult. Now, I’m way too old for Mommy’s beck and call and the maids don’t find my constant requests for snacks nearly as cute as they used to.

So, I suffer alone. I’m stuck in a suite on the 25th floor of the Botsford Plaza in Las Vegas, waiting around until some league doctor decides I’m well enough to get back to doing what I love.

But I’m not sick. I’m just a little broken.

I’ve spent nearly a decade as a professional baseball player. I’ve never missed a game. I’ve never taken a sick day or been too injured to play. But then, one fateful day, some kid on a motorbike brought it all crashing down. Nearly tore right through my left patellar tendon a month before baseball season began. Lovely.

I will heal. I will prevail. I will be back on that diamond before the season is over. But until then...

I’m so fucking bored.

It wasn’t so bad a few weeks ago. The annual Botsford Corp. stockholders convention was here in Vegas, bringing with it a mountain of interesting people to keep me busy; my three brothers included. But they all skedaddled as soon as the meetings and presentations and nightly mixers were over and done with. My older brother, Graham, flew off to Canada with his old/new wife, Jen, to oversee the new hotel location breaking ground in Toronto. My baby brother, Jonah, is still local somewhere (I think) but far too busy playing shows with his band, Criminal Records, to keep me company.

There’s always Ira, I suppose. He lives across the hall but takes his job seriously as the head of security for the hotel. Not one to play hooky, that one, so…

It’s just me, myself, and my bum knee.

I force myself to sit up in bed. My eyes wander the sterile suite, every surface masked in shadows thanks to the very thick blackout curtains obscuring the view outside.

The clock reads 12:30. I’m almost tempted to fall right back to sleep but the call of nature beckons me the rest of the way off the bed and I hobble toward the bathroom to relieve myself.

Once my bladder is good and satisfied, I splash a bit of cold water on my face to wake myself up. I eye my razor on the counter for a second but ultimately decide to keep the shadow steadily growing along my chin. I’m still the same handsome devil with or without it.

I need a drink.

I throw on a pair of jeans, making sure not to disturb the bandage wrapped loosely around my knee as I slowly pull them up my left leg. The bandage is mostly unnecessary at this point but I keep it on as a reminder to take it easy. I want back on that field as soon as possible and I can’t risk straining it any more than I have to.

I fish through the closet in the corner to find a semi-clean black t-shirt to throw on before grabbing my wallet and room key off the writing desk and heading for the door. I take a right turn in the hallway and walk on down to the golden elevators.

“Hey, Hayden.”

I glance up as a housekeeping cart comes to a stop beside me. The busty blonde in the white apron behind it flashes a wink at me as I tap the elevator call button.

“Hey, Carly,” I greet, giving her a salute.

She reaches into a green box on her cart and withdraws a pillow chocolate. “Rough night?” she asks, softly tossing the candy at me.

I easily catch it in my palm. “Why do you say that?” I ask.

“Because you look like shit,” she quips.

The elevator doors slide open and I step on. “Carly, Carly, Carly,” I tease, quickly tearing the blue and gold wrapper off my candy. “If you want to comfort me at night so badly, all you have to do is ask.”

Her head tilts in thought. “You know, I would…” she says, smirking, “but there’s just… a little something holding me back.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“Standards.”

“Oof!” I pop the bit of chocolate into my mouth. “Struck out again, eh? Well, there’s always tomorrow.”

She wags a manicured paw at me. “In your dreams, benchwarmer.”

“Give it time, Mrs. Doubtfire.”

She glowers as the doors close on her face.

The elevator descends toward the lobby. I lean my back to the wall, softly chewing my chocolate as I shake off the playful rejection. Carly and I have gotten so good at that, I’ve practically lost all desire I might have had to sleep with her in the first place. I don’t think it’d be nearly as fun as I imagine and I run the risk of losing my free daily piece of chocolate. A man has his priorities, after all.

The lobby is quiet. Friday afternoons usually are, from what I remember of my time spent working at this place as a teenager with my brothers. But this place will be completely ablaze until Monday afternoon as soon as night falls and the weekend tourists check-in. There should be some fun to be had then. But, for now…

It’s day-drinking solo time for Hayden Botsford.

I reach the hotel bar across the lobby and pause, squinting hard at the navy blue velvet rope blocking my path inside. I consider turning back and doing my day-drinking at the restaurant instead but I catch sight of Doc behind the bar across the room slicing a pile of limes. He’ll know what’s going on.

I pass over the rope and walk on into the empty bar. The tables aren’t scattered around like usual; they’ve been arranged into one solid group, which usually means a private party of some sort.

And a major damper in my plans.

“Hey, Doc,” I say as I park it on the first bar stool.

Doc looks up from his cutting board. “Hayden,” he says, smiling beneath a head of rough black hair. “What’s up, man?”

I bob my head in the direction of the tables. “What’s going on over there?” I ask.

“Oh. Some family reunion or something,” he says. “They rented out the whole bar for a few hours.”

“Lovely.” I groan. “When does that start?”

“About now.” He smirks. “You may have noticed the barrier meant to keep people out.”

“Yeah, I stepped over it.” I glance over his head at the television on the wall, thankfully tuned-in to the baseball game. “Can I get a vodka tonic, please?”

He laughs. “Fine. But just one, then you gotta get out of here.”

I throw up a scout’s honor and he puts his knife down. As he makes my drink, I watch the game, cracking a smile as Home Run Hunter slams yet another homer over the center field wall. What a show-off.

“Isn’t that your team playing today?” Doc asks.

I nod. “That it is.”

“Why are you here instead?”

“Knee injury,” I answer. “They put me on leave for the next fourteen games, so I’m stuck here until then.”

He sympathy cringes as he sets my drink down in front of me. “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

“But, hey, there’s always a bright side.” I pick up the glass, raising it high to salute him. “I get to hang out with my actual doctor for a while. Cheers.”

Doc chuckles. “This one’s on me, pal. Get well soon.”

“Thanks, Doc.” I wince at the game as the next batter strikes out.

“But, seriously, get out of here before the event committee lady comes back and chews me out for serving undesirables. Her word, not mine.”

I raise a brow. “Laney?”

“Karen.”

I cringe. “Say no more. I’ll be out of your hair once I’m done.”

Doc stares at me for a few seconds, then chortles. “You slept with her and never called, didn’t you?”

I hold up two fingers. “Twice.”

“Well done.”

“Thank you.”

He picks up his knife and resumes slicing his limes. “Have you been benched since the season started?”

“Yes,” I answer.

“Heck of a knee injury then.”

“It’s not so bad. Could be worse. A lot worse. I’m just so bored. Nothing I can do except sit around and heal.”

“Why don’t you just call up housekeeping?” he jokes. “As you do.”

“Ehh...” I swirl my drink. “My regular go-to got back together with her boyfriend. I mean, I’m sure she’d still be DTF but I’m a dick, not an asshole, you know what I mean?”

He nods. “Noble.”

“I just need to find a hobby. Something to keep me occupied while I recoup...” I say, squinting at the television again. Someone on the other team slams a ball directly at our second baseman, who slips and falls right on his ass as he tries to scoop it off the dirt. “Come on, Hunter! Get it together, man...” I scoff.

“Hey, if you’re looking for something to do, you could join the poker game tonight,” Doc suggests. “We meet every Friday downstairs. Sub-level 2.”

I shake my head. Piece of shit got to third base. “More of a blackjack man, actually...”

He shrugs. “Let me know if you change your mind. Thousand-dollar buy-in.”

I bite my cheek. Tempting. “Who’s we?”

“Me. Rian.” He pauses to think. “Fred, sometimes. Carly. Faye.”

I blink. “Faye joins the poker game?”

He nods. “That she does.”

“Head of housekeeping Faye? That Faye?”

“She’s not bad, either. Cleaned me out plenty of times.”

“Damn. Let me think about it.”

Doc gives me a thumbs up.

“Hey, hot guy.”

I turn on my stool to find a young woman standing down the bar a few feet away wearing a tight, midnight blue sundress and strappy, black heels. She’s looking right at me with determined eyes and a panicked scowl beneath a halo of strawberry blonde hair.

I glance over my shoulder, feigning ignorance. “Moi?” I ask her.

“Yeah, you.” She steps closer and lays her purse down on the counter next to my drink. “You want to make twenty bucks?”

I look at Doc and he slinks to the side to pretend to slice more limes.

The woman leans closer, her impatient eyes bouncing from me to the doorway across the bar as her sizable chest heaves up and down.

I tilt my head with curiosity and nod. “Yes, I do,” I answer.

“Okay...” She exhales hard and bobs her head behind us. “You see those three people across the lobby by the entrance?”

I shift discreetly, following her eyeline toward the three people standing in the lobby. “The old couple and the young dude?” I ask, clarifying.

“Right.” She nods, talking quickly. “The old people are my parents.”

“Okay...”

“The dude is Dylan McCoy.”

“Cool...”

“We hate Dylan McCoy,” she says. “A lot.”

“Why do we hate Dylan McCoy?”

“Because my mother is best friends with his mother and they’ve all been trying to set me up with him since junior high,” she answers, her voice dragging with annoyance.

I take another look at him. Slicked back brown hair. A pressed tan suit and shiny shoes. He’s dripping with wealth, as are her parents, yet this girl feels a tad more on the free-spirited side.

“He seems the tall, dark, and handsome sort,” I say with a shrug. “What’s the problem?”

“He’s boring!” Her face screws up. “Like, really, really boring. Discusses the friggin’ DOW at dinner parties boring.”

I wince. “You’re right. That is boring.”

“Thank you.”

“So, how do I get my twenty bucks?”

“Right.” She blinks, panic rising as her parents begin walking in our direction. “Every year, my mother drags Dylan along with her to our family reunion to try and coerce me into some creepy mating ritual.”

I frown. “Oh, so it’s your fault my day-drinking is about to come to an end.”

“It is. Sorry.” She holds up a hand. “But here’s the thing: I don’t want to spend the next few days dodging Dylan McCoy’s skeevy advances and the only way to do that is to pretend I have a serious boyfriend. He’s a bro code kind of guy. Won’t go near another man’s property. Quote-unquote, of course.”

I raise my glass, connecting the dots. “I see...”

“So... when they get over here, I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend,” she says. “I’ll introduce you guys, we’ll swoon over each other for a while—”

“Do I gotta stay all day?” I ask.

“No, you can excuse yourself at any time,” she says. “Say you’re happy to finally meet them but you’ve gotta get to work or some bullshit. You plant a goodbye kiss on my cheek and walk out of here with twenty extra bucks in your pocket. That should be enough to successfully get me through the next few days of my life. Sound good?”

I ponder silently, stretching the moment as her parents and beloved betrothed head in our direction.

She bounces with impatience. “Please.”

“I’ll let you know in a minute.”

“Help me, random hot guy,” she begs. “You’re my only hope.”

I grin. “The manipulation is strong with this one.”

Her head tilts; eyes big and wide like a damned lost puppy but I made up my mind the moment I saw those curves. She could have asked me to rub her feet for all I care.

“All right.” I nod. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you.” She flips her purse open. “Thank you, thank you—”

“Penelope!”

I throw on a smile and turn around as her parents stall behind us. Dylan McCoy hangs back, his eyes landing on me with a stiff, territorial sneer. I guess Penelope here wasn’t kidding about that mating ritual part...

“Hi, Mom! Dad!” she pauses. “Dylan.”

“Hey, Pen,” he says, still sneering.

Her mother looks her up and down as Penelope leans in for a quick hug. She lowers her voice and says into Penelope’s ear, “Penelope, honey, this is a nice hotel. Not a brothel.”

Penelope’s face falls as her mother steps back.

I laugh loudly to turn the spotlight away from her. “You know, I told her the same thing, but if my Penny wants to shine, then she’s gonna shine. Am I right?”

Their eyes land on me with confusion, somehow just now noticing I’m even here. A sharp scowl fills her mother’s face and she purses her lips, taking in my admittedly casual jeans and t-shirt.

Her father clears his throat. “And you are...?”

Penelope entwines her arm with mine and I take her hand, giving it a firm squeeze while she casually slips money into my palm like a trained magician.

“Mom, Dad...” she says, “I’d like you to meet my boyfriend...”

Her voice fades off as she realizes she has no idea what my name is.

“Hayden,” I say.

“Hayden,” she repeats. “This is my boyfriend, Hayden. Hayden, these are my parents, Trey and Mary Lou Warren.”

I extend my hand toward her father. “It’s nice to finally meet you two. Pen’s told me so much about you.”

Trey takes a half-step forward and gives my hand a firm shake. His expression never changes from its confused state as his eyes wander to the tattoos peeking out from under my sleeve.

“I wasn’t aware Penelope had a boyfriend,” he says.

“She doesn’t,” Mary Lou says.

“No, I do,” Penelope says. “For...” She looks at me. “Oh, gosh! I’d say it’s been two, three months?”

“Twelve weeks,” I answer, smiling. “Twelve weeks, three days, if we want to get pathetically specific.”

Penelope laughs and playfully slaps my arm. “Oh, stop. You’re counting?”

“I can’t help it. I’m a happy man.”

Mary Lou fakes some amusement. “Well, this is the first time we’ve heard of you,” she says, her eyes darting toward Dylan on her other side.

“I’m afraid that’s my fault, ma’am,” I say. “With my job, it’s often better to keep personal relationships quiet. At first.”

She glares at me past the tip of her nose. “And just what do you do, Mr...?”

“Botsford,” I answer, adding a smirk. “Hayden Botsford.”

Penelope’s jaw drops as her head jerks in my direction but she quickly snaps it shut again to hide her surprise.

“Botsford!” Her father stands taller as all confusion melts from his face and gets instantly replaced with keen interest. “As in the Botsfords?”

I nod, smug as fuck. “That’s right.”

He shoves his hand toward me again. “Well, in that case, I think I owe you another firm handshake!”

I laugh, taking his hand and letting him whip my arm as if he’s herding cattle. His wife, however, continues to stare at me with doubt while Dylan silently stews beside her with his hands in his tan pockets.

“What a surprise!” Trey says. “You know, we’ve been staying in these Plazas for years. Damn fine hotels. My wife and I even honeymooned at the Plaza in Rome just after it was built. First couple to christen the suite, as a matter of fact!”

Mary Lou flinches. “Trey, please...”

“It’s just a little humor, Mary Lou!” He laughs. “Anyway, the place was absolutely gorgeous! Wasn’t it, honey?”

Her face doesn’t budge an inch. “Yes.”

“Then, you’re related to Kingston Botsford?” he asks me.

“Yes, sir,” I answer. “He’s my father, as a matter of fact.”

“I once saw him give a speech at a business conference in Phoenix. Powerful man your old man. You should be very proud.”

“I’ll be sure to kiss his ring with a little extra tongue the next time I see him,” I quip.

Trey laughs loudly while Mary Lou continues feigning amusement.

“You could have warned us you were bringing a guest, Penelope,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Well, I...” Penelope stalls, her voice catching in her throat.

I chuckle as I lay a hand on her hip and softly jostle her a bit. “She didn’t tell me about your reunion today, either. Just sprung it on me at the last minute, as she does.”

Trey roars with laughter again. “That’s our Penelope, all right!”

Penelope looks to me, showing a smile so sweet it gives me cavities while she digs her thumbnail deep into the back of my hand.

“Anyway,” I say, clearing my throat, “I’m very sorry but I should be getting back to work.”

“You won’t stay?” Trey asks. “Have a drink?”

“I’m afraid I must be going. These hotels don’t run themselves.”

Mary Lou nods, happy to see me leave. Gee, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think she hated me or something.

“Yes, of course,” she says. “Don’t let us keep you, Mr. Botsford. I’m sure you’re a very busy man.”

“Yes, but...” I bring Penelope’s hand to my lips and give it a quick peck. “I always make some time for Penny here. She’s a lovely young woman. It truly is an honor to finally meet her family.”

Penelope lets out a loving sigh while Dylan continues his quiet sneer behind Mary Lou’s shoulder.

I keep smiling. “And do let the front desk know if there’s anything your party needs today. They have my private line. I’m just a phone call away.”

“That’s very kind of you, Hayden,” Trey says. “Thank you so much.”

“Believe me, it’s my pleasure, Mr. Warren.”

“Call me, Trey, young man,” he adds, making Mary Lou’s brow crinkle downward.

“Trey,” I repeat. “You got it, sir.”

I release my hold on Penelope and turn to face her. “I’ll catch up with you later, Pen.”

Her eyes lock on mine and she smiles. “All right.”

I lean closer and her back stiffens. My lips just barely graze her cheek and my nose twitches as I sense the gentlest perfume in my nostrils.

I kiss the edge of her closed mouth, purposefully missing the previously agreed upon location on her cheek but as her lips softly curl to touch mine, I get the feeling she doesn’t mind.

I pull back as a rush of warmth clenches my gut. “Bye,” I whisper.

“Bye,” she says, her voice just as low as mine.

I take my leave, quickly bolting for the entrance and doing my best to look very important in my jeans and t-shirt. I’m a very busy man, after all.

I wait until I pass over the velvet rope again before opening my palm and inspecting my payment. Twenty dollars, just as the young woman promised. She certainly got her money’s worth. For that performance, I easily could have charged an even fifty.

I stuff the bill into my back pocket and smile to myself as a keen realization takes hold of me.

That was the most fun I’ve had in weeks.

I think I just found my new hobby.

Penelope Warren.