Bailey is dancing in my kitchen. She’s in her Wonder Woman pajamas with the bright red top and the skimpy star-spangled booty shorts. She sways her hips to a Chainsmokers song and mimes singing into a wooden spoon.

I just walked in the door and have a list I need to tackle before leaving for training camp on Sunday, but all I want to do is stand here and watch her toss her blond hair and be silly.

She spins, and freezes when she spots me. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” I grin, and hell, this is good. I like her here. I like her dancing in my kitchen in her ridiculous pajamas. I like that just in this moment, my house feels like home. “Nice moves.”

She turns up her palms. “What can I say? Years as a”—she mimes air quotes—“‘professional dancer.’”

“Did you ever use the wooden spoon on stage?”

She smacks it into her open palm. “Only on customers’ birthdays.” She wriggles her brows and steps closer. “Want to bend over for a demonstration?”

I laugh. “I’ll pass.” But then I catch the glint of the gold band on her ring finger and my laughter falls away. She’s wearing the ring. I rub my thumb over my own gold wedding band. I pulled them both out this morning and held my breath as I put mine on my finger. I swallow the lump in my throat and decide it’s better not to make a big deal out of her wearing it. But fuck. It feels like a big deal. I look at the timer counting down on the oven. “What’s cooking?”

“A frozen pepperoni pizza. My personal specialty.”

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Not that I’m complaining. I love seeing her smile.

She shrugs. “I had a good day.” After a beat, she screws up her face and shakes her head. “I just came from seeing my sister and niece.”

“Your sister is Sarah, right?” I vaguely remember Bailey talking about her once or twice. I’ve never met her. “What’s she doing down here?”

She nods. “She lives a half-hour from here.” She turns off the timer and grabs a potholder from the drawer. “She never comes home, so I visit a couple of times a year to see her and Faith.”

She was down here twice last year? Thirty minutes from me and didn’t bother to come see me? That burns. Last year was tough—rookie year always is, and even with Keegan at my side, I felt isolated. I missed Blackhawk Valley and seeing my friends every day. I missed having people I could share my triumphs with and people I could bitch to when things didn’t go my way. I missed Bailey most of all. “How old is your niece?”

She freezes with the oven half open, and I wonder what it is about my question that makes her uncomfortable. “Faith will be six in September. I’m hoping I can spend a little more time with her when I come back to town.”

“Is that why you agreed to stay?”

She pulls out the pizza and puts the pan on the stove. “It doesn’t hurt.”

There are those walls she holds so dear. She doesn’t want to talk about her family. Fine. “I have to pack and then run a few errands. We’re supposed to check in for training camp Sunday night.”

She puts the potholder back in the drawer before turning to me. “No problem. I fly home in the morning, but I’ll be back in August to play the part of Mrs. Dahl.”

I swallow, but it does nothing to fill the nervous emptiness in the pit of my gut. “Why don’t you come sooner? You could get settled while I’m gone, enjoy the house and the beach.”

She shakes her head. “No thanks. I’ll just meet you here when you’re back. I need to get things in order if I’m going to be away for four months.”

“The house is here if you change your mind.” I’m half afraid she will change her mind over the next three weeks—but about the marriage, not about coming down early. What if she has too much time to think and decides to stay in Blackhawk Valley with all the memories? I don’t just want her to move in because it benefits me. I want to get her away from the creeps of Blackhawk Valley who see her as a stripper and nothing more. I want to save her from the past.

Nic Mendez is dead and buried, and I’m still trying to protect her from him.

Four years ago . . .

Arrow looks up from his biology textbook and watches me pace. When I stop, he arches a brow. “I’ve honestly never seen you this screwed up over a girl,” he says.

“Why do you think this is about a girl?”

He grunts and shakes his head, putting his attention back on his textbook. “Forget I said anything.”

It’s been a shit day. My dad showed up in town unannounced, which is never a welcome surprise, and I was distracted and fumbled three times at practice. To top it all off, I heard that Bailey’s drug-dealing ex is being released from prison on parole. Now, Bailey is late getting back from work, and I have a sick feeling in my gut that I’ve lost her.

I fucking hate the idea of her spending her nights letting other men look at her. I knew who she was and what she did when I approached her, and at the time, it didn’t bother me. But then I realized she was more than a great pair of legs in a pair of tight white shorts. She was more than long blond hair and a pretty smile. I didn’t expect her to make me laugh or feel things. I didn’t expect to become so possessive. This is all new to me.

I sink into the chair. “Do you think she talks to Mia about me? Maybe I could ask Brogan . . .”

Arrow tenses then shrugs. “Sure. Ask Brogan what Mia says.”

Laughter rings through the hallway, and I recognize the sound. It makes me smile without thinking, and something funny happens in my chest.

Arrow’s gaze shifts to the door before coming back to me. “You don’t have to play it cool, you know. Sometimes it’s better to let them know how you really feel.”

That’s interesting advice coming from the guy who has it bad for his best friend’s girl, but I don’t say that. Instead, I hop off the couch and go down the hall to Bailey’s room.

Our dorm is made up of quads—two double dorm rooms that share a living space and bathroom. Bailey’s door is open. I step into her common area and get hit with the typical gut punch. When I first met her, the punch was pure lust. Now it’s evolved into longing. I want more. She’s talking to her roommate and has her shower caddy in her hand and a towel thrown over her shoulder. I’ve mentioned to her before that maybe a job that leaves you needing a hot shower isn’t the best, but I don’t think she appreciated it.

The laughter falls from Bailey’s face when she sees me. But her roommate misses it and bites back a smile. “I’ll get out of your way,” she says before scurrying off to her room.

“Need any help in that shower?” I ask Bailey.

Her lips part, and her gaze drops down my body and back up. “I’m good. Just want to wash the scum of the earth off me before I fall into bed.”

I step forward and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. She closes her eyes and draws back a few inches. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Her tone is hard and defensive and feels an awful lot like being stiff-armed on the field.

“I don’t know. When my girl flinches at my touch, I can’t help but wonder.” Can’t help but worry that you’re thinking about someone else.

She takes a step away and frowns. “Where’d you get the idea I was your girl?”

My abs tense as if she just landed a blow with her fist. This is about Nic Mendez. Fuck. I hate when my gut’s right. “Aren’t you? Do you belong to someone else?”

She shrugs. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

Okay then. “Well, have a good shower.” I tuck my hands into my pockets and back toward the door, my pride demanding that I get away as fast as possible. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

I head to my quad and force myself not to look back at her. Walking right by Arrow, who’s staring at me curiously, I head into our shared room and slam the door behind me before stripping down to my boxers. I hit the lights and climb into bed.

Thirty minutes later, I’m still wide awake when I hear the soft click of the door opening and closing. I see her, silhouetted from the streetlight from the window over my bed. She climbs in beside me without a word. Her hair’s still wet, and she smells like the flowery pink lotion she puts on after every shower. I slide a hand over her back. She’s in a tank and a pair of those fitted shorts that barely cover her ass and make me lose my mind.

I kiss her hard. She kisses me back—one hand behind my neck and the other roaming over my chest and across my stomach. My skin is on fire for her touch, my heart racing.

“You know you can do better than me, right?” she asks, breathless.

“What’s better than you?”

“Maybe a girl who’s looking for more than a good time?” She slides her hand into my boxers. Taking my dick into her palm, she wraps her fingers around me and strokes. “I can’t be your girl, Mason.”

Because you’re in love with him?

I don’t ask. Because she’s here. Because she’s in my bed, and whether she likes being called my girl or not, right now, she’s mine. I grab her hand and pull it up over her head as I flip her over to her back and climb on top of her. I’m going to change her mind. I’m going to get this crazy idea out of her head that we can’t be together or that she’s not good enough for me. I’ll do it by shutting up about the fact that she’s a stripper. I’ll do it by showing her just how fucking special she is. I’ll do it by being the better man.