For eight weeks, I lived and breathed my research paper. All in all, it was one hundred and forty single-spaced pages reflecting not only the conclusions from the semi-related research I found in various studies around the world – but also my own experience.

“This is substantial, Gracie. Much more than I ever expected – and I don’t mean that to slight you. There is just so much here, it’s a gold-mine, really,” my advisor tells me. “When you dropped the ball this past spring, I was worried. But you seem to have come through under pressure.”

Under pressure. If only she knew what sort of pressure I was under... Cooper and I are going to finish the list. In fact, I’m flying to Las Vegas tonight, after this meeting, to see him.

After sweeping the Red Sox, the Yankees are in first place. He’s been in Arizona for four away games--which I watched semi-obsessively. At this point all of NYC has Yankee-Fever.

Cooper will be playing in LA next week, but he penciled me in. We’re both flying in to the city of sin for a one-night rendezvous.

My panties have been soaked all day in anticipation.

“So, I’m all done?” I ask, relieved and proud and just so damn happy that I went all in and did this for myself. “Just wait to receive my degree in the mail and begin applying to doctoral programs?”

“Yes, and I have no doubt you’ll be accepted to whichever one you want. But I also had another suggestion, Gracie, about ways you could continue your research. I’m hoping you might be interested.”

I lean in, curious.

* * *

Seven hours later I land in Vegas, my carry-on suitcase rolling behind me, and my hopes high.

I’m going to see Cooper.

And we are going to... well, I don’t exactly know what. He texted and told me to bring pastries with me, so I’m assuming some fetish is involved... just not exactly sure what resolution a food fetish falls into?

I take a cab to the hotel, the Ace Royale, and holy hell it’s flipping hot outside.

Like beyond hot. It’s more correctly described as sweltering. And it’s seven at night. The heat wouldn’t be such an issue if I hadn’t traveled across the country with a to-go bag from my favorite bakery.

Pain Au Chocolat pastries are tucked in my giant tote purse, I look at them, confirming they aren’t smashed beyond reason.

I’ve never been to Vegas before, nightclubs and gambling have never been my thing, I thought it would be sort of a circus– and I was right. The Strip looks just like it does in the movies.

Stepping out of the taxi, I tip the driver and smile, taking my bag and texting Cooper as I walk.

Me: I’m here. What room number are we?

Cooper: I’m room 810 and you are 811. Come to mine for your key.

I push my lips forward. Separate rooms?

Not exactly what I expected, but okay.

Me: Be up in a sec.

In the elevator, I stare at my reflection in the glass, run my fingers under my eyes, it’s been a long day. And I know the night is going to be crazy... montages from the movie The Hangover cross my mind.

When he opens the door, I’m reminded that he’s a professional athlete. Mostly because he has a plush white towel wrapped around his waist, his hand holding it in place. My eyes are drawn to his six-pack, his defined arms, his pecs that are practically begging me to press myself against them.

So, I do.

Wrapping Cooper in a hug, I inhale his freshly showered skin, he still smells like himself. All man.

“Gracie, it’s so good to see you.” He shuts the door behind me and I step inside his suite.

“It feels like ages since that baseball game a month ago.” I set down my purse and suitcase and walk toward his window, with the shades pulled open, it offers an expansive view of the strip.

“You said you’ve never been here?” he asks, coming up behind me. He doesn’t touch me, but I know he is inches from my ear.

“Never. And oh my gosh, Cooper,” I say turning to face him – so very close to him – “It’s freaking hot here.”

“I know.” He shakes his head, rummaging through an open suitcase. “It’s been killer in Arizona. I thought Gabe was going to have a heatstroke last night.”

“That’s scary,” I say, watching him grab underwear, a white tee shirt. “Hey, did you know Bridget and Gabe have been talking?”

Cooper smirks. “Gabe mentioned it, but I didn’t know if they were just messing around. Especially after she hooked up with another teammate last year and it fizzled out so fast.”

“Right, Bridget has never had a long-term relationship. Not that I have either, I mean, not really.”

“Did you ever tell Bridget about us, about the list?”

I shake my head. Sometimes when you wait too long to say something, the moment has passed. That’s what happened with my best friend.

At this, Cooper frowns. “Right, because we’re just helping you achieve your goals?”

I laugh, because what the heck am I supposed to say? “Right.”

“Where did you tell her you were going tonight?”

“My parents’ place.”

Cooper drops it, just nods, and brings up my paper. “So, you’re all done, can I see it in writing?”

Pulling open my purse, I grab a signed note from my advisor, very official.

“Proof.” I hand him the paper with the final assignment printout – nothing missing.

“Congratulations, Gracie. I’m so proud of you.”

I feel heat rise to my cheeks at Cooper’s affirmation. “Thanks, I mean, I don’t know if I’d have finished so soon without your encouragement.”

“Is that what it’s called? I thought it was manipulation.”

“What can I say,” I laugh, shrugging. “I’ll do anything for a reward.”

“Speaking of, I have a gift for you.” Cooper walks back to his suitcase and pulls out a small black velvet box. “For you.”

I swallow, surprised at the gesture.

“You didn’t have to get me a gift.”

“I know.” Cooper runs his hand over his jaw. “Just open it.”

I pull back the lid, and a slim, gold-cuffed bracelet is inside. Lifting it out I move to put it on, but Cooper stops me.

“Read the inside.”

I turn it over, and inside he has inscribed, “.300”

“Cooper,” I say, looking into his eyes, my throat tight and my heart expanding.

“It’s okay to have bad games, you have to look at the season as a whole, that tells you more. And you Gracie, you had a good fucking season.”

“Thank you, Cooper,” I pull him into a hug, realizing we are straying far from the Kinky List and entering unchartered territory. “This is so thoughtful.”

“So, the professor, she liked your paper?”

“She loved it, actually.”

“Can I read it?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” I bite my bottom lip. “Can we talk about it over dinner?”

“Sure, speaking of, you need to go get ready. We have reservations at 8:30.”

“Where are we going?”

Cooper grins. “That’s a surprise.”

“Dressy though?”

“Gracie, this is Vegas. Go big or go home. Tonight, wear the skimpiest thing you own.”

* * *

An hour later I’m dressed in an outfit I, thank-you-god, bought on impulse. It’s tiny, turquoise and sparkly. I look like a mermaid, and I even braid my long hair in a reverse fishtail, letting tendrils loosely frame my face.

With bright red lips, lots of eyeliner, and black heels, I wait in the hall for Cooper, new bracelet on my wrist, and bakery bag in hand.

When he steps out his hotel door, my tummy flutters. He’s in a dark gray suit – the one he wore on Valentine’s Day... the suit he wore when he fucked me against a wall. The suit he wore when he pulled my breasts in his mouth, sucking my nipples, touching my pussy. The suit holds memories.

“You look insane,” he tells me.

I lower my chin, feeling the heat on my face. “You clean up pretty well yourself,” I say, looking back at him. “You even shaved for me? I’m impressed.”

Cooper’s hair is wavy and getting longer every time I see him, but he isn’t a typical burly catcher, he’s a bit more polished – it’s those friendly mid-west manners of his – and tonight he is shiny as all get out.

He seems as ready for this night as I am.

“So... these are for you, per your request.” I hand him the white to-go bag.

Cooper takes it, then looks inside confused. “What’s this for?”

“You told me to bring pastries.”

A broad smile crosses Cooper’s face, and he starts shaking his head. “No, Gracie, not pastries.”

My face falls. “What do you mean?”

“I asked you to bring pasties.”

I frown. “What?” I pull out my phone, scrolling through his texts. “No, I don’t get these sorts of things wrong, Coop. You said pastries.”

Sure, enough I’m right.

“Damn autocorrect, ruining strip teases, one text at a time.”

“Strip teases?” My eyes get wide. “No, no, no, the list said to go to a strip club... not strip... myself!”

Cooper pulls out a croissant, takes a bite, watching me squirm. “I’m in charge, remember?”

“I remember,” I say with a groan.

Cooper takes my hand, and it feels electric. We go to the bank of elevators and ride down, Cooper explains the night ahead as we walk into the opulent lobby.

“Tonight, we’re going to dinner, then we’re headed to a club, Heart Royale, and we’re going to see COCKPIT.”

“COCKPIT, seriously?” My eyes are wide as saucers. “That’s an all-male strip show, you know that, right, Cooper?”

Cooper shrugs, grinning. “This list isn’t about me Gracie. Remember?”

“Sometimes I wonder why you’re doing all this for me, Cooper?”

“I have other questions,” he says, evading mine. “Like how did you know what COCKPIT was?”

I snort as we walk deeper into the casino to a gorgeous mahogany enveloped steakhouse. I notice women pointing to Cooper as we move, but he doesn’t even pause at the women gawking over him.

“I know what COCKPIT is because the dancer in that show, McQueen is on half the memes on Facebook. He’s like a Magic Mike, Jason Mamoa smash up.”

“You’re gonna make me insecure,” Cooper says, as a hostess leads us to table in the back of the restaurant.

We’re ensconced in a private room, heavy curtains offering us privacy. Once seated across from one another, cocktails ordered, and food on the way, I raise an eye and circle back.

“Really, Cooper, me looking at memes of another guy makes you insecure? You’re a pro athlete who has women fawning over him left and right. Heck, I bet you’ve slept with more woman this year than Magic Mike and Mom combined.”

Cooper runs a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “You wanna talk about the women I’ve slept with Gracie? Seems like it could change the vibe....”

My shoulders tense. I want this evening to go perfectly. My pussy needs it to go perfectly. Which is why I am going to wait until tomorrow before bringing up the conversation I had earlier today with my advisor.

“No. Let’s talk about those pastries, I mean pasties. After we watch the all-male strip show, then what?”

“Then you are going to strip for me, and if you’re good, you might even get a tip.”

I blush because as he says this a waiter brings a basket of bread to the table.

“What sort of tip are we talking about?”

“Depends on how good a pole dancer you are.”

I shake my head, laughing at the absurdity. “And my stripper name, what should that be?”

“Well, you brought pastries ... how about we stick with the theme?

“Hmmm,” I say, sipping my champagne. “I got it. Cupcake.”

“And what kind of cupcake are you, Gracie?” Cooper asks, leaning forward.

I grin, loving this game I’m playing with the hottest man I have literally ever seen. Forget Momoa and freaking Magic Mike. I have Cooper Bentley across from me, inviting me to strip for him tonight.

“The kind that are filled with cream.”