CHAPTER 1
Paige
“They’re still not coming off,” I mutter in the lowest voice possible. Handcuffs encircle my wrists, imprisoning me, and not in the good way either.
Oh, no. I’m cuffed in front of an audience of twenty preschoolers and their parents/caregivers.
Barney the Magnificent, a local magician invited to read from his first published book and perform magic tricks for this week’s preschool power-hour group, yanks on them harder, making the metal scrape my skin.
Holy poopballs, that hurts! I fight back a wince and the bubble of nervous laughter that threatens to burst out of my mouth.
“This has never happened before,” he replies in a faint voice, then raises it to address his audience. “I think I got the magic words wrong—it happens sometimes, and it’s okay to make a mistake.”
The group of preschoolers nod along with him.
My eyes widen as I realize I might have to work the rest of the day with these dang things on.
My first thought after the realization: That will go over well with the patrons.
My second: I’m going to tit punch Layton when I see her.
Layton is not only my coworker, but she’s also been my best friend since kindergarten. She’s the one responsible for Barney’s gig here today.
I smile wider, not wanting to spoil the magic for the kids or ruin Barney’s big moment. He is around eighty, wears bow ties, and stops by once a month with muffins for the staff—basically, he’s the absolute sweetest man in existence. He’s also blind as a bat because he refuses to wear bifocals on account of the ladies not being into them. His words, not mine.
“Do you have a magic key in your hat, Magnificent Barney?” I ask hopefully.
“Er… I left it in my other hat, at home.” He jiggles the handcuffs with more vigor. “Don’t worry, kids. There’s nothing magic can’t solve.”
Except how to unlock a pair of handcuffs.
Barney’s fingers, slick with nervous sweat, slip off, hitting a piece of metal slightly sticking out to one side. There’s an audible click.
“Pesto Chicken Pizza,” Barney announces with a flourish, waving his hands in an intricate pattern.
The preschoolers giggle. A few of them repeat his words. I love when they do that, but I like being free even more.
Like magic, the handcuffs fall to the floor.
“Ta-da!” I chirp, rubbing my wrists. This is the last time I will ever cover for Layton so she can run wedding errands. Okay, so it probably won’t be the last time, because I’m her maid of honor and covering for her is listed under my duties.
I’m totally serious. She had a list printed out and laminated for me. It’s the size of a credit card, so I can take it with me wherever I go.
Layton’s such a thoughtful friend.
Did I also mention I’m a sucker and I love her, because both are true?
“Let’s clap for Ms. Paige.” Barney bows and picks up the handcuffs, tossing them into his bag while the kids give me a round of applause.
“Thank you, Barney the Magnificent.” I gesture to him. “Wasn’t he amazing, y’all?” I start clapping. The kids copy me almost immediately, but it’s not forced. This kind of joy can’t be forced. Barney is a natural, which makes my job of subbing for Layton a heck of a lot easier.
I nod at the moms, dads, and nannies sitting along the perimeter of the ginormous rug Layton purchased for the kids’ area. They start to gather their children, the chatter in the room rising to almost normal levels.
“Be sure to pick up a signed copy of Magic Me before you leave, compliments of the library. Barney the Magnificent will be around for pictures and personalization as well. Next Thursday, we’ll have Leonardo the Lizard Charmer and his Komodo dragons, Pete and Jane,” I call out.
A round of oohs and ahs from the crowd let me know that Layton has picked another winner. She’s pretty good at that.
“You were a great assistant,” Barney says, his thin lips curving into a smile. “Reminded me of my wife. God rest her soul.”
“Oh?” I get misty-eyed every dang time Barney mentions his late wife. It’s the glow that appears on his face, the emotions that shine in his eyes, and the grin he can’t keep off his lips. That’s the kind of love I want—one that lasts beyond the grave.
I really need to stop reading paranormal romance novels. It won’t happen, of course, but I should probably stop wishing for love beyond the grave.
“You were ready to strangle me, but you didn’t let the kids know. That takes a lot of restraint, young lady.” His faded blue eyes twinkle.
My cheeks flush. “Actually, it wasn’t you I wanted to bodily harm. It was Layton.”
He chuckles and pats my shoulder. “Still proud of you.”
I preen at his compliment. “Thank you.” I wave at the line forming in front of the table we had set up for him. “Go on. Your adoring fans await!”
He touches the brim of his top hat and shuffles off in their direction. I turn back to the children’s area and start to clean up the glittery star stickers left behind from where the kids were pulling them off their shirts and affixing them to their faces.
I should have waited until the end to give them out, but Layton didn’t specify when.
A few stick to my fingers, and I try to shake them off into the trash can. A couple fall straight in while the others simply disappear. Maybe some of Barney’s magic rubbed off on me.
“Pesto Chicken Pizza,” I whisper, then snort a little when the missing stickers don’t appear. This also might be why I can’t find a man to seriously date. Generally, normal people don’t laugh at their own jokes.
“Want some help?”
“No, thank you,” I automatically reply before looking up and nearly swallowing my tongue at the sight of sex on a stick walking toward me. Tousled, light brown hair, sexy green eyes, full lips, and shoulders that go on for days. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to reveal my one true weakness… forearms. The kind that are muscular, tan, and all bunched up with those veins…
Ahem.
All in all, the guy is built like a brick house.
As he stops in front of me, the scent of his cologne hits and sweet baby Jesus, it’s made of manly things and evergreen… and something so mouthwatering that I want to climb him.
Lick his skin.
Taste his lips.
Down, girl. I’m in public, and more likely than not, he’s already got someone playing with his sexy stick every night.
Lucky woman.
His vibrant eyes drift down to my chest, staying there far longer than necessary to let me know he digs what he sees. It turns him into a Neanderthal.
Ugh. Why do the pretty ones always have to be major douches?
Fully recovered from my lapse of judgment when it comes to seriously attractive men, I cross my arms and say, “I can take care of this.”
An amused smile touches his lips before his gaze returns to my face. “I’m wondering if you could help me…” His gaze dips again to my boobs. Okay, so I do have a name tag on, but seriously… “Paige.”
My brows lift. “Are you ready to check out some books?”
“Ah, no.” His lips twitch. “I’m here for something else entirely.”
I bet you are, Mr. Boob Ogler. “The gaming section is to your right, toward the back. You can check out two at a time, for two weeks. Nolan will help you. He’s at the information desk.” Yes, it’s a little bitchy of me and normally, I’m not judgmental at all. I’m usually happy to see everyone in our library, checking out whatever the heck they want because it means we have patrons.
I love my job.
I adore people.
But this guy is hitting all the wrong buttons.
His gaze drops for a fourth time.
Unable to take it a second longer, I blurt, “Why do you keep looking at my boobs? I can see you staring at them. You’re not even trying to hide it.”
He bites down a little on his bottom lip, worrying it. “You have stickers on your…” He points at my chest and I look down, letting my arms fall to my sides. “There and there.”
My jaw almost drops to the floor. Sure enough, there are two pink glittery stars on my chest, each one perfectly placed.
An awkward laugh bubbles up and I peel them off, then check for more on my skirt. All I need is a clit sticker.
“I think you’re in the clear,” he says, his voice rumbly with amusement.
Risking a glance at him, I crumple up the stickers and make sure they go in the trash and not on me. “I’m sorry for accusing you of—”
“Ogling your… stickers?” he supplies.
I nod. “That.”
“Kinda was,” he admits without shame. “The stickers were an excuse to stare longer—although in my defense, I was trying to figure out what they were.”
“I knew it.” I’m not aggravated by him anymore. In fact, the entire situation is funny. I find him… charming.
“I’m Dallas, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, and I’m sorry for being so difficult.” With my free hand, I pinch my bottom lip between my thumb and forefinger, pulling slightly before I realize what I’m doing and let go. “I don’t usually work with the kids or the guest speakers Layton books, but I had to take one for the team today. Maid-of-honor duties.”
“Positional requirements, huh?”
I grab the list from my pocket and show it to him. “It’s number four, right after answer all calls from the bride and before makes out with best man.”
He studies it for a minute. “Have you met the best man?”
“No, but I think this is her attempt to set me up.” I have no idea why I’m telling him this, but I’m certainly enjoying it. “She’s a giver like that.”
“You’re single.” It’s not a question.
Oh, I like smart men who can put two and two together. “Only on date nights.”
“Damn shame for you. Stroke of luck for me.” He winks, and my tummy flips. There’s something about a confident man who can pull a wink like that off, without coming across as smarmy.
“Is it because you’re single on date nights, too?” I ask.
He runs his hand through his short hair. “Yeah, we should get together on our single date nights. At my place. Promise I won’t ogle your stickers… much.”
Did he really just ask me out? And am I really going to say no to a guy going out of his way not to be pervy? Except the date was to his house… and I know what that means. He wants to show me his sexy stick.
I inwardly groan.
“I don’t know you… so while I appreciate your effort, the conversation… and your help with my sticker situation, I’m going to have to say no, thank you.” I really want to say yes, but I’m not in the habit of going to stranger’s houses. Not even if that stranger is made from man candy.
This time, he fully smiles, dimples appearing in his cheeks. His grin reaches all the way to his eyes. I stare at him in confusion. Why would he be happy about me turning him down?
I glance at the line of kids, which is now down to a few stragglers, who are talking with Barney and my coworker Nolan. Two boys who are play fighting crash into the table, sending the remaining books, stickers, and handcuffs flying.
“That’s not good.” I take a step in their direction just as Nolan’s head jerks up. His eyes go wide and his mouth slackens. Oh, crap. Sometimes Nolan freaks out when people upset his displays. “I’ll be right there.”
I turn my attention briefly back to Dallas. “So nice talking to you. If you need help finding,” I scrunch my nose, “anything, let us know.”
“I’ll be sure to do that.” Once again, his dimples appear, making my heart thump soundly against my chest. Butterflies appear in my tummy—the good kind. “Maybe instead of coming to my house, we can—”
Another crash, followed by shrieks of laughter, makes me smile apologetically. “Hold that thought.” With one last lingering look at Dallas, I hurry to Nolan, but by the time I get there, the books are restacked and everything is put to rights again.
Nolan pulls me to the side. “Do you know who you were just talking to?”
“Dallas the sticker ogler?”
His head falls back a little as his shoulders drop. “How can you be so clueless? Do you own a television? Have Facebook or an Instagram account?”
“I have Instagram.” I attempt to look at Dallas again, hoping for some spark of recognition, but Nolan clamps a hand on my shoulder.
“Do not look. He’ll know we’re talking about him,” he hisses.
“I don’t know who him is,” I snap.
“Dallas Drake.” At my blank look, he sighs thickly. “Tight end for the Raleigh Renegades. All-American… Your sister reps him.”
I groan a little. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. Why are you so unhappy about that?” Understanding dawns. “He asked you out.”
“I said no.” I don’t mention Dallas was about to ask me out again… and that if it had been for a more public date, I would have said yes.
“Go say yes.” He shoves me toward him. “Tell him you changed your mind.”
I dig in my sensible heels. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t date employees of Owens PR Firm, that’s why.” Okay, so it’s not a policy in place for me because I don’t work there, but Finley would have my head if I dated an athlete.
“Don’t believe what they say about him in the press, honey. He’s a good guy.”
Intrigued, I play smart. “Yeah, but what about that time he—”
“Prank. A couple of teammates sent strippers to his hotel room for his birthday. There’s no actual evidence that he slept with all three of them.”
My eyes do that rapid blinky thing… because three in one night sounds like something my sister has complained to me about in the past. “How do you know this?”
Nolan flushes. “Because Dallas is Sarah’s number-one hall pass.”
“Her what?”
“You know—the three people you can sleep with if you ever have the chance because there’s no chance of ever meeting them.”
“But the Renegades are here. Your wife could actually meet Dallas,” I point out.
“Not if you date him.”
I make a noise of disbelief. “You want me to go out with him so Sarah takes him off her list, don’t you?”
“Sarah loves you, so any men you date would automatically be stricken from her list.”
“I can’t.”
Nolan gives me a pleading look. “Think about our children, Paige.”
“Y’all have dogs.”
“They’re our four-legged children.”
I shake my head and hold up my hands, palms facing out. “You’re insane, and this conversation is over. He’s off-limits and based on the crap you just shared, there’s no way I’d go out with him. Athletes are players and attention-seekers.” And a lot of other adjectives Finley uses to describe them when she has to clean up their images. Adjectives that aren’t nice at all. In fact, I’d call them pejoratives.
Nolan raises his brows. “All of them?”
He has me there. “Quite a few of them or my sister wouldn’t stay so busy putting out their fires.”
“Excuse me,” Dallas says, and my blood rushes from my face and then back to it.
Oh, no. Had he overheard our conversation? Should I apologize? Play it off or—
Nolan starts to sputter, and I start to wonder if in fact Nolan is the one with the crush, not Sarah. “Dallas Drake… how’s it hanging, man?” His voice breaks on the last word.
“Real good,” Dallas replies. Is that resignation in his tone? “Thanks for asking.”
Ever so slowly, I start to inch away.
“So, Paige, about that date—”
The main phone rings.
I freeze, then my brain kicks into gear. “Have to answer that. Nolan will take such good care of you,” I say in a rush as I power walk to the phone, answering it with a cheery hello.
No one replies, but I stay on the phone while Nolan and Dallas talk, feeling guilty but confident in my first response to his invitation. Finley would kill me if I went out with Dallas. Since I was thirteen, she’s been drilling it into my head that athletes—football players in particular—are a pain in the rear. Since she was the older and wiser, twenty and a college student, I took her advice to heart and avoided them at all cost. Easy enough to do as I was the nerdy girl, instead of the cheerleader, and I spent all my time studying rather than dating. That was something Finley would fuss at me for, too.
She still does, even though I’m twenty-six now and she’s thirty-three… and single herself. I love her anyway.
Dallas looks over Nolan’s head, his eyes roaming over me. My body heats in response. It sucks to be so attracted to a man who’s an automatic pass.
Worse, it’s going to suck even more when I ask Finley about him and learn that Mr. Charming is really Mr. Douche. Then again, maybe that will make it better.
I grip the phone tighter, mouthing the lyrics to Sam Hunt’s latest.
Nolan slaps Dallas on the shoulder, then walks away to help Barney collect his things.
Suddenly, Dallas’s eyes crinkle as the corner of his mouth lifts. Raising his brows, he silently sings along to the chorus.
Busted.
My cheeks heat, and I shrug apologetically. “I’m on hold.”
“Sure you are.” Dallas nods a little, but he knows I’m full of it. Then he strides to me, and my heart flips again. He’s like poetry in motion. Fluid and full of grace that no man his size should command. At the last second, he stoops down and picks up something off the floor.
“You dropped something.” Straightening, he holds out a piece of paper. Automatically, I take it from him.
My gaze drops. On the scrap of paper is a number. His number. “When did you write this?”
He gives me a cocky grin. “Barney isn’t the only one with magic hands.” Then he walks away, humming the song that’s now stuck in my head.