“Hey, man. I need you to do me a favor.”

Eoin McGrath, my best friend and former roommate, set the kettlebell he’d been lifting to the mat and reached for a towel to wipe his hands. “The last time you asked me for a favor, I had to explain to the neighbors why there was a flock of sheep in our backyard.”

“Yeah, I still owe you for that one.”

“You do,” he agreed, dropping onto a bench and laying down under the bar, his hands gripped tight near the tape.

I stepped behind and rested my hands, palms up, just below the metal. I was still nursing my injury and hadn't been cleared for a full workout, but I could spot Eoin while he worked through his.

As soon as he completed his first set, I guided the weights back in place. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing involving animals.”

“No? Okay then, what do you need?”

The great thing about Eoin was even if I had asked him to help me herd a bunch of cows, he would have—all in, no questions asked. Except those days were behind us now that Aoife was pregnant.

“I need you to go on a date with me.”

He choked out a strained laugh as he lifted the bar and then brought it down to his chest. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m already taken.”

“Fuck you, asshole,” I shot back with a grin. “I met someone, and I really like her. I think you’ll approve.”

A couple of months ago, I’d broken down and told him the truth about my sex life—or lack thereof. Instead of calling me a freak or laughing at me for still being a virgin, he’d listened as I’d talked through the reasons why. And then he’d recommended I try dating someone I actually liked, the theory being I might find someone I trusted—a woman who could be my Aoife. Which was why I needed his help. I liked Lauren, but I didn’t have the first fucking clue how to date. Eoin had managed to figure that shit out, so I hoped he’d be able to help me now. After all, he was the only guy I knew—save Aoife’s older brother and my team captain Declan O’Shaughnessy—who had anything remotely resembling a healthy adult relationship.

“Oh yeah?” “Yeah. The thing is, she’s older and smart as fuck too. She went to Harvard for international relations, and I can’t even find Kosovo on a map. I need you to help a brother out.”

“The fact that you even know Kosovo is a place is probably a mark in your favor. What makes you think I’ll be any help?”

“She’s new in town, and I told her I’d show her around, but you know me—I’m not used to dating. Hook up, eat some pussy, and then say adios is more my speed. Fuck, I can’t remember the last time I actually hung out with a woman.”

“And you want me to tag along on your date and do what, exactly?” He grunted as he set the bar in its place and sat up to face me.

“I was hoping you, Aoife, my girl, and I could go to the museum or something,” I said, tossing him his towel. “This way, if she gets bored, there’s another chick for her to talk to.”

He stared at me for a couple of seconds, then shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You know nothing, Jon Snow.”

“I know I know nothing! That’s why I’m asking for your help,” I replied with an exasperated sigh.

Eoin rubbed his hands across his bulging pectoral muscles to ease some of the strain from his workout, and I could tell by his facial expression that he was giving my request serious thought. “Okay, fine. I’ll ask Aoife. When were you thinking?”

“Tomorrow night work? The museums are open late on Thursdays.” I knew it was last minute and they might already have plans, but I hadn’t spent any real time with Lauren in over a week and I was getting antsy. I’d seen her in passing, but there’d always been other people around, so all I could do was say hello or wave. It was torture not being able to see her smile or hear her try to kick me out of her kitchen.

“Should work. I don’t think Aoife has anything else lined up.”

“Cool,” I said, turning to walk away before Eoin called me back.

“Hey! You gonna tell me who the mystery woman is?”

Shit. I’d become so adept at keeping secrets and acting shady that it had never even occurred to me to tell Eoin who I was talking about. But if he and Aoife were going to meet up with us tomorrow night—assuming I could talk Lauren into it—he’d find out sooner rather than later. And like I’d already told her, there was no policy against dating coworkers at Dublin Rugby, so it wasn’t like we were doing anything wrong. Still, something about the way Lauren had been reluctant to start anything up with me had me pausing before answering. What if she didn’t want anyone to know about us?

“Maybe,” I answered. “Let me talk it over with her first. Text me tonight and let me know if you guys are in.”

Eoin immediately called me on my bullshit. “You haven’t asked her yet, have you?”

“Nope,” I answered, walking backward out of the gym. “On my way there.”

“Wait!” he called, running after me. “What do you mean you’re on your way there now?” He looked around and then lowered his voice. “Does she work here?”

“I’m not saying a word until she tells me it’s okay.”

“She does work here!”

I mimed zipping my lips and throwing away the key, but just then Lauren crossed my field of vision as she made her way across the parking lot toward the kitchen, her bag slung over her shoulder and her head bowed against the wind. My eyes followed her hungrily as Eoin watched me watching her.

“The cook? Really?”

I nodded and rubbed my chin, dragging my eyes away from the window. “Yeah. Her name’s Lauren, and she’s not just a cook. She’s a full-blown chef, and talented as hell.”

“What’s she doing here then?” It was sort of an unspoken fact that while we were all thankful to the organization for feeding us, they weren’t exactly known for caring if what we ate tasted good. If Eoin had asked that question about anyone other than Lauren, I wouldn’t have cared, but she was talented. It wasn’t her fault she’d gotten fucked by her former boss.

“She was working with some celebrity chef back in L.A. who had a massive drug problem. He blew up at her on live television and the station ended up canceling the show. She’s technically still on contract for the production company, so no one back home can hire her. Everyone who actually worked in the kitchen is in limbo. And the shittiest part is they’re not getting paid either, so she took this contract to bring in some extra dough.”

“And you know all this because?”

I turned to my friend. “Because we fucking talk, okay. Because except for this week, I’ve hung out in her kitchen every other day for the past month. I told you, I really like her.”

Eoin looked back at me thoughtfully. “You said she’s still on contract?”

“Yeah.”

“So that means she’s going back to L.A. Not to mention, Harold should be back soon. When the season ends, time’s up.”

I sighed. Trust me, he didn’t need to tell me. I’d stared at the calendar on my iPhone this morning for 15 minutes counting down the time I had left with her. “Yeah, in a few weeks.”

Eoin set his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Are you sure you want to start something up with her, knowing it can’t last?”

“It’s already started, man.”

“Did you …” He let his question trail off. No need to speak the words aloud; I heard loud and clear what he was really asking.

I shook my head. “No, not yet. Almost though. And I wanted to—fucking bad, man—but it wasn’t the right place or time.”

“And you’re sure she’s the one?”

I laughed cynically. “I’m not fucking sure of anything except that I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s got me tied up in knots.”

Eoin laughed with me. “Shit. I know that feeling. You’re screwed.”

My eyes flicked to the window again, hoping to catch another glimpse of Lauren, but she’d already made her way inside the building. “Yeah, I think I am.”

* * *

I paused before entering the part of the building that housed the kitchen and dining room. I’d been waiting for this moment all week and now that it was finally here, I didn’t know whether to be excited or scared. I hadn’t lied to Eoin; I liked Lauren. A lot. But like he’d pointed out, she was also leaving soon so it’d be stupid to get too attached to her.

Unfortunately, my dick didn’t care about my heart; it just wanted to be inside her. I’d always been able to maintain tight control on my urges, but with Lauren, I was ready to throw 22 years of hard-fought celibacy straight out the window. I’d asked myself a thousand times what it was that made her different, and the only conclusion I’d been able to come up with was the fact that she didn’t give two shits who my dad was or what I did for a living. Hell, I was pretty sure she didn’t have the first fucking clue who my dad was or the money I came from. And I knew for a fact she barely cared that I was a professional rugby player. Having spent her time around celebrities with more name recognition than me, what I did for a living was completely inconsequential. Maybe someday I’d feel differently, but at this point in my life I needed to know the woman I was with wanted me for me—not for my last name or some sick bragging rights.

With that thought circling my brain, I made my way down the hall to the kitchen. Throwing open the double doors, I stepped into the room, delivering the same line I’d delivered every time I stepped foot in Lauren’s domain. It was cheesy, I knew, but it’s what had worked in getting her to notice me all those weeks ago, so I’d kept it up, the words becoming our inside joke. “Something smells good, chef.”

Except it didn’t. It smelled fucking horrible, like singed flesh and burning tar.

Which made sense given that flames nearly a meter tall were shooting out of the stove, black smoke billowing from a large roasting pan on top of the burners. Lauren stood in the midst of it all, swatting at the flames in an attempt to put them out. Watching the fire come perilously close to singeing her hair tightened my gut in fear, and I swung into action. Scanning the room, I found a bright red industrial grade fire extinguisher bolted to a wall and lunged for it, the back of my ankle popping painfully in the process. Ignoring the pain shooting up my calf, I ran to Lauren’s side and pushed her out of the way with my hip, while simultaneously dousing the flames in foamy white fire retardant.

When the flames were extinguished, I dropped the empty canister and turned to her. “Are you okay?” I coughed, dragging Lauren away from the worst of the smoke.

“I’m fine,” she said, brushing her hands over her chef’s coat, once white but now smudged black in several places. “Thank you.”

“What happened?”

“I’m not actually sure. One minute I was stirring my glaze for the chicken, and the next thing I knew, fire was shooting out from the back of the stove. I pulled out the pan thinking that was the problem, but the flames just erupted.”

A spike of adrenaline-fueled anger surged through me. “Why didn’t you grab the fire extinguisher instead of trying to put the fucking thing out with your goddamn hands?” My eyes raked over her, taking in the singe marks on her coat. Reaching down, I grabbed her hands and flipped them over. “You burned yourself!” I cried, seeing red welts on her palms.

Lauren pulled her hands from my grip and took two steps back. She folded her arms over her chest, shoving her hands under her armpits to keep me from seeing more. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Lauren. And you didn’t answer me.”

She raised her chin defiantly. “Everything happened in the blink of an eye, okay? There wasn’t time,” she answered, her own temper flaring. “I thought it was just the goddamn bird on fire. I didn’t expect the whole fucking stove to go up in flames. ”

I stepped forward and fought the urge to fold her into my arms. Instead, I rested my hand on her shoulder. She’s safe, I told myself, letting my relief calm the raging beast inside of me. I’d never felt this way about anyone before; it was primal, calling to a part of me I’d never known existed. The deeply hidden alpha in me that said, “Lauren is yours. Claim her. Protect her.”

“Why didn’t the fire alarm go off?” she asked, her eyes flicking to the ceiling and the device. She shrugged out from under my grip and pulled over a stool. She climbed up and reached for it, but her hand fell several inches short of her goal.

Coming up behind her, I braced my hands around her waist. “Come down from there. I’ll get it.”

She hopped off and I stepped up, unscrewing the alarm from its anchor point. Pulling it down, I showed her the problem. “No fucking batteries.”

“Fucking eejits,” she growled, wrenching the empty alarm from my outstretched hand and then wincing.

Immediately, I hopped down from the stool with the intent of checking the extent of her injuries, but was stopped short by a searing pain that shot up from my Achilles. Sucking a gulp of air in through my teeth, I grimaced and limped to the prep table. Bracing my weight on one hand, I probed my injury with the other, Lauren rushing to my side.

“Are you okay?” she asked, echoing my earlier question. “Is it your ankle?”

“No, my Achilles. I felt something pop when I lunged for the fire extinguisher, but it didn’t hurt too bad until I hopped off the stool.”

“That’s the one you had surgery on?”

“Yeah, almost six months ago. It’s been taking longer to heal than I’d hoped … and now this.”

I didn’t want to say out loud what this new pain had me thinking. When I’d initially gone under the knife, the surgeon had been confident I’d be good as new in less than six months. But when it’d come time to begin physical therapy, things hadn’t felt the way they were supposed to. That’s why I’d been taking it easy these past several weeks, doing the bare minimum to keep my body in shape. But with the injury rearing its ugly head again, I was worried it’d be a long, long time before I’d be wearing my Dublin jersey again. I was the third team hooker—the back up to the back up—but before I’d gotten hurt, I’d seen enough time on the pitch to feel proud of the contribution I’d made to the team’s success. Unfortunately, I hadn’t played even one minute of the current season, and now it looked like I’d be out for the whole damn thing.

“Fuck,” she whispered, staring down at my foot.

“Yeah, fuck,” I agreed, testing to see if I could walk on it.

When it became clear that wasn’t happening any time soon, Lauren braced herself under my arm. “Come on. Let’s get you over to the doc.”

“You don’t have to come with me,” I argued, hopping away on one foot. “You need to take care of this mess.”

“This can wait.” She looked around the room. “Nothing to be done now. Let me help you.”

I stared at her for a few moments, feeling like something had shifted between us this afternoon. I’d come to her rescue with the fire, and now she was coming to mine. I found I didn’t hate the idea of accepting help from Lauren. Somehow, it seemed right. I flung my arm over her shoulder again. “Come on then.”