Setting down the phone, I look up, expecting Daren to give me that judgmental sneer I got so accustomed to seeing from my ex. Jacob hated that I’d drop everything for work, which is a total double standard. Men do it all the time without a second thought, but if a woman does it, she’s cold, heartless, or worse.

Daren frowns for a moment and then sighs. “I get it. Work calls.” He motions toward my cell with a smirk. “Eminem, huh?”

I smile back, distracted by his sexy charm as he runs his hands through his already disheveled hair.

The relief in me is palpable. I didn’t realize how much that bothered me about Jacob. How his judgment weighed on me.

But it’s still early. Wait until you’re half naked in Daren’s bed and the phone rings.

I shake my head, wanting to clear my thoughts of the negativity. “I swear they call at the worst times.”

The words just come out, like I’m testing him. Maybe I am. Why, I’m not sure. He said it himself. We’re just fuck buddies, which is a new frontier for me. It should bother me, taking something as serious as a sexual relationship so casually. But it doesn’t. A part of me feels liberated, like I’m taking charge of my life and getting what I want. Because I want to have sex with him again. He made me come so hard I half wondered if I had blacked out. I’ve never come more than once with a man, and I’d probably light on fire and go straight to hell if I tried denying I’ve thought about little else this week.

He’s marking new territory for me left and right. Can I still consider him my first one night stand if we plan to sleep together again?

What a stupid thing to be mulling over right now when I have to get back to the office.

After listening to the message on my cell, I mutter, “I… I need to go,” as I try my best to ignore the throb between my legs. He felt huge against my belly a few minutes ago. I take a deep breath, trying to find a sense of balance. Being around Daren is disorienting, like I’m on a non-stop carnival ride.

He nods, a resigned smile on his lips, like he understands the demands of my job.

I should be racing out of here, but I can’t help but study Daren, who showed up on my door wearing a worn, long-sleeved Henley and jeans. He’s rich. Loaded. But nothing about him screams obnoxious wealth aside from his address. Even his condo, although decked out with lots of big boy toys, isn’t flashy.

He glances down at his watch, a beautiful Patek Philippe, a luxury watch without the flash of a Rolex. That frown returns. “It’s late. Can I drive you?”

I can’t help the shock in my voice when I ask, “Didn’t you just have a ten hour practice?”

He tilts his head, unsure of where this is headed. “We watched film and had meetings in between the scrimmages and workouts, but yeah, it lasted about ten hours. Why?”

Who knew Daren Sloan was such a sweetheart? My heart melts a little, and I resist the urge to stroke his handsome face.

That’s when this sinks in. How this is a bad idea. The worst. I may want to experience some casual fun, and sure, “hanging out” with Daren might help me be more relaxed when I interview him, but this man is all kinds of sexy and he’s thoughtful.

When my phone buzzes again, I know I don’t have time to think about this any longer. I decline Daren’s offer because I’ll need my car to get home later. He makes me promise not to walk out in the middle of the night alone, and my heart thuds a little faster.

“I’ll get security to escort me.”

He grabs his phone and looks up at me as though he’s waiting. “Well, are you gonna give me your number or do I have to wait on your doorstep like a lost puppy whenever I want to see you?”

“I don’t know.” I look him over, unable to resist messing with him. “Are you housebroken?”

“Hmm. I’m not gonna pee on your leg if that’s what you’re worried about, but I can’t guarantee I won’t bite.”

And then he gives me that look, the one that makes me want to incinerate. Would it be strange to hand him my panties right now and beg him to find hidden places on me to leave his mark?

I give him a weak smile because it’s all I can do to focus. Reaching for a pad of paper, I scribble down my number, jamming it in his outstretched hand a little too hard. But then those bear paws grab my elbow as I head for the door, and he leans down to whisper, “Let me walk you to your car.”

Of course he wants to walk me to my car. He isn’t the cad that Jacob was. Why did I even date Jacob? The reasons, which I could rattle off a few weeks ago, seem fuzzy all of a sudden.

Daren soothes back a stray hair behind my ear and says, “By the way, I’ll be thinking of you later.” I glance up at him and he gives me a devilish grin. “In the shower.” And then he nips my earlobe.

What was I doing? It takes me a long moment of shuddering breaths to remember I have somewhere to go. Something to do. Even though I can barely stand upright.

I close my eyes, struggling to focus.

Work.

Right. Because I put work first.

* * *

I run my thumbnail back and forth across my bottom lip as the sports producer edits the footage. Admittedly, my life is easier when I don’t have to shoot, edit and write my own segment, but it’s also nerve-racking to have other people obsess over my video. I’ve always been pretty thick-skinned when it comes to criticism, but covering something so high profile has been harder than I thought.

Hearing my voice in the otherwise silent room makes me cringe. “Today, Daren is going to show me how to throw the perfect pass. He says it starts with lining up your fingers in just the right spot.”

Even as those words left my mouth, I could see the look in Daren’s eyes, and I knew he was fighting the urge to turn that into a dirty joke. What I didn’t expect was for him to wrap his arms around me to show me how to reach back and throw it.

“Nice job, McDermott,” Spencer says behind me, making me flinch.

“Uh, thanks.” I feel tempted to look outside to see if hell has frozen over.

Spencer stands by me, and I get one step closer to biting my nail. Please tell me I only imagined blushing when Daren got up in my space.

“He obviously likes you more than Nicole.”

“Maybe he was just enthralled with those ridiculous shorts you had me wear.”

At least you can’t see the shorts from this angle. Wait. Now you can see my short shorts with the team’s name emblazoned on my ass. Thank you, Douchebag Spencer, for making me wear them.

He clicks his tongue at me, and I fight the urge to knee him in the groin. “Those shorts were genius. I’m glad I have a pair in three other colors.”

“Good thing.” Asshole.

Deciding I’d better get away from him before I commit a homicide, I try to duck out of the editing suite, but Spencer calls my name.

When I turn around, he doesn’t bother looking up from his tablet. “Don’t get too busy with news. I’m going to need you to do a few sports promos.”

At this rate, I’m never going to cover real news. I fight to keep a scowl off my face.

“What about the bachelor contest? Doesn’t she need to do that voice over too?” the other producer asks.

“What bachelor contest?” And while we’re at it, why don’t we do a cute puppy contest? Or a most adorable baby contest? When the hell am I ever going to do real news? Since starting this job, I’ve barely done anything of substance. Although my golden-winged warbler story finally aired, producers made me trim it down so much that if you blinked, you would have missed it. The Rebels are already breaking ground on the new parking facility, and no one seems to care about the endangered birds but me. Typical.

On the inside, I’m stomping my feet, but outwardly, I haven’t budged a muscle.

Spencer waves me off. “Something we’re reviving. I’m still working out the details. I’ll call you if I need you. I might use Nicole.”

A bachelor contest? Please, God, let Nicole cover that.

Once I’m safely back in my cubicle, the sweet solitude doesn’t last long. Nicole strides in looking as snarky as ever. The thin thread of friendship we developed Friday night died the moment she found out I was back on the football segment.

After forty-five minutes of total silence from my cubicle mate, I brave the waters.

“Do you know anything about a bachelor contest?”

She laughs, but the look in her eyes when she turns around is anything but humorous. “Don’t you know anything?” She blows her hair out of her face. “It’s Boston’s Number One Bachelor Contest, featuring four of the top local athletes. The money raised at the November gala goes to charity, and everyone pats themselves on the back at Thanksgiving when a few more turkeys get handed out.”

I don’t have time to be insulted. I’m too worried about what this contest means.

“And those bachelors would be…”

Rolling her eyes, she counts on her fingers. “Daren, of course. That hottie on the Bruins, the new Red Sox Pitcher, and some boxer.”

Letting out a breath, I thank God she didn’t name my ex. Not that he’s as widely known as the athletes she just named, but it would be my dumb luck he’d get picked.

She spins back to her desk, and I can’t take this unspoken standoff we’ve been having any longer. “Listen, Nicole, I’m sorry about all of this. Please know I didn’t mean to steal your segment or step on your toes. It has to suck that I got reassigned to something that should have been yours. I’m sure I’d be livid if the roles were reversed.”

Her shoulders relax a bit, and she nods. She’s silent for so long I think she’s tuned me out, but then she sighs. “I would have done the same thing, put you back on. My vibe with Daren just didn’t happen.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I feel like an ass every time I have to do it. Especially in those stupid outfits Spencer is always forcing me to wear.”

When she faces me this time, her smile is genuine. “Okay, that actually does make me feel better.” She nods, and it seems like we’ve called some kind of truce. For now, at least.