Cassidy stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. No words could describe how surprised she’d been when Henry Wilks had called her and told her James Knight wanted her to do an exclusive on Anthony over the course of the next two weeks. Even stranger, she found herself agreeing to it.

There had been backlash from the article that had gone out today, and she’d been monitoring the comments online most of the day. It was interesting how many fans were concerned about Anthony’s injury and how it would potentially impact the team.

Nervous butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She’d been doing some minor research on him for the past two hours. She never imagined she’d be writing a sports exclusive on him. Mr. Wilks had told her all of her focus was to be on this exclusive, no more side articles. Which she found preferable.

Rushing, she put a comb through the hair she’d pulled out of a ponytail and surveyed her outfit: skinny jeans, white boots, a red silk shirt that hugged in the right places, and a white hat to match. She felt ridiculous. Her friend, Samantha Chase, a girl from the paper who wrote the Dear Abby article, had talked her into blowing off steam and going out country dancing tonight. It’d been so long since she’d been out dancing and she didn’t really want to go, but she wanted normalcy. Wanted a life. Wanted to quit feeling sad all the time.

“You look great,” her father said as he heavily walked past the bathroom and glanced in. “It’s good for you to go out and have fun.” Lately, he’d been harassing her about getting to know more people and having friends.

Glancing at her father, she asked, “Are you sure you’re going to be okay tonight?” She wondered if she should leave him alone; he’d had a treatment yesterday and it’d worn him out.

Striding down the hall, he waved a hand in dismissal. “Of course.”

She followed him into the living room.

He sat in his La-Z-Boy recliner and popped it back. “Got me some John Wayne movies ready to go, and frankly, it’ll be nice not to be henpecked for a change.” The side of his lip turned up in defiance at her.

Glaring at the old man, she hated how he could be so prickly, even while fighting for his life. She marched into the kitchen, picked up a bottle of water and some popcorn she’d made, and put on the table next to him. “Fine.”

He smirked and took some popcorn. “You’re too good to me. Go have fun.”

Hesitating briefly, she let out a breath. “Okay.” She went to the key ring on the wall to pull her keys off.

Her phone buzzed and she saw a text from Samantha. ‘You’re gonna love tonight. See you at seven.’

A distraction. Yes, this was good. She needed it after agreeing to do that article on the myth, the man, the legend who had come back from a career-ending injury, Anthony Kincaid. A thrill of anticipation rippled through her as she thought about going out dancing. “See you later, Dad.”

“I want to be in bed before you get home, so make it midnight,” he called after her.

It made her smile. She walked through the door and thought about how they had one more treatment next week, then they would do a scan the following week and check to see if the cancer had shrunk or not.

Opening the garage, she went to her Honda Civic. A sensible, good-gas-mileage car. Endlessly, her father had teased her about how it was un-American to drive anything but a Ford.

She got into her vehicle, only to be blinded by headlights. She squinted at the approaching vehicle. A Ford, no less. She recognized Anthony’s truck from a couple of weeks ago when he’d brought the flowers, and swore. He had to be here about the article. Watching in the rearview mirror as he got out of the truck, she noticed he wore jeans and a tight blue Texas Titans shirt.

She got out of the car.

He let out a low whistle. “Dang, you’re looking good.”

Instantly, she was self-conscious of the boots and hat. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, more sourly than she meant.

He wandered over, looking her up and down. “Obviously, you have plans tonight.”

She got a whiff of some cologne, different from the cologne he’d worn in high school. She regretted even thinking that. It’d been hard to scrub Anthony Kincaid from her brain, and she didn’t need him back in it. “What can I do for you, Mr. Kincaid?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Mr. Kincaid, she says. I guess you weren’t feeling that kind of respect when you tore me to pieces in that article?”

She hated the twinge of satisfaction that he was here to confront her. Hated that she’d written the article hoping for this reaction. Hated how much her heart raced and how all she could think about was kissing him again. “I just wrote the truth,” she said coolly.

His face screwed up into a humorous look. “Right, Cass.” He pointed to her boots. “You gotta be going out dancing in those, ’cause they’re new. So who are you going with?”

Was she seeing jealousy on Anthony’s face? “So what if I am going out?” she countered, her heart still thudding in her chest. She couldn’t stop from smiling, noticing how his facial hair was just at that perfectly sexy stage. Not too long, not too short. She wanted to reach out and touch it.

He reached up and rubbed his hand against his face, as if he sensed her thoughts. “Checking out the facial hair? I guess you left before I could grow a beard properly, didn’t you?”

Frustrated, she waved the comment away. “Please don’t …” She felt mystified by this whole experience. How she could feel like it was then and now? It was giving her whiplash.

He crossed his arms, looking like the soldier her fiancé had been. Kyle hadn’t been as tall as Anthony or as well built. The Kincaids were built like army tanks themselves. Truly like the Greek gods Kade was compared to all the time. Briefly, she wondered what Greek god she would compare Anthony to.

He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Cass.”

She bristled, annoyed he’d pulled her from her thoughts yet hating that she’d been distracted by Greek god comparisons. “What?”

His mouth quirked up in a grin. “I’m flattered, really, that you’ve thought of me that much. I find it comforting, you sitting over your computer, pining for me, thinking about me—truly all that anger in the article and all that research just proves I’ve been on your mind.”

If she could throw daggers with her eyes, he’d be dead, because he was partly right.

“Are you going to slap me again?” he asked softly, then pointed to his right cheek. “You can. I would only ask that you smack this cheek this time.” He winked at her. “Just to even things out a bit better.”

Now she did itch to slap him. “You’re so … arrogant.”

He laughed, putting up his hands and surrendering. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll stop. Hey, I heard you agreed to do the exclusive on me. I’m excited.”

“Yet I’m regretting it at this moment.” She muttered.

He let out another laugh. “We’ll have fun.”

She rushed to get in her car. “Please move out of the way. I don’t want to be late.” She said over her shoulder.

He was fast, putting out an arm, preventing her from opening the car door. “So who is the guy you’re dating?”

The movement took her off guard and she stumbled. Of course he caught her, and they both paused upon noticing they were in each other’s arms. His breath warmed her face. The intensity of first love sprinted to catch up to them.

Tugging free, she righted herself. “I’m not dating anyone,” she said quickly, her heart rate surging. “Not that it’s any of your business.” She tried to push past him, but it was like moving a boulder. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Finally, he let her through, though not without holding the car door open. While she struggled to yank it from his powerful grip and slam it shut, he said, “Please, don’t leave. Just talk to me.”

The desperation in his voice stopped her. She glanced up at him, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes.

“Please, we could start the article tonight.” His voice was soft.

Their eyes held, and a cocktail of emotions swirled in her chest.

His eyebrows shot up. “If it’s not a date, can I come?”

She thought about all the times they’d danced together when his mother had insisted she learn. With a sigh, she relented. “I’m just going to a dance club with a couple of people.”

His face flashed into a smile. “The new one that just opened?”

She nodded.

He grinned. “A couple of my teammates are already there. C’mon, Cass, old times. We were good dance partners.”

She hesitated.

“Just let me come,” he said quietly. “Please.”

There would be no resisting him; she could tell already from the smoldering in his eyes.

He took a step back and motioned for her to get out. “C’mon, I’ll drive. It’ll be fun.”

She shook her head. No, this was a bad idea. She had to keep a professional distance.

He tilted his head to the side and gave her puppy dog eyes. “We could start the article on the way.”

As much as she wanted to say no again, it was a good idea. “Fine,” she agreed, getting out of her car.

He stepped back, a stupid grin washing over his face. “Great.”

Pointing at him, she clarified. “This is only research, nothing else. Not a date. Not a friend thing, even. We’re just …” Her words felt jumbled. “I’m only letting you come with me because of the article.” She marched toward his truck.

He got to the passenger side before her and swung open the passenger door. “Sounds good to me, Poe.” He dashed around the truck and got in. “Old times.”

“Not like old times. And don’t call me Poe.”

He got in and grinned. “Whatever you say, but you can still call me Boss. I always liked that nickname.”

She glared at him. “I’m not calling you that. No way.”