Chance and I are in the same SUV that he let me borrow this morning. It’s the kind wealthy suburban soccer moms shuttle their kids around in. I’ve seen dozens of them at the dance studio over the years. Other than it being bigger than what I’m used to driving, nothing about it was imposing until Chance and I slid into the back seat and Smith got behind the wheel.

My eyes roam over the side of Smiths large body. His wide shoulders and bulky arms spill over the side of the leather, protruding halfway across the center console. Maybe it’s his size that’s so off-putting or the way he looked at me tonight when he walked into Chance’s house. It’s like his dark eyes see me, but don’t give me a second of his attention at the same time. He and Chance have such an easy friendship, so I know there’s a human side there, but if I hadn’t witnessed it through their relationship, I’d swear on my life it didn’t exist.

I still haven’t figured out why Chance needs a bodyguard. Surely someone who fights for a living could defend himself as well or better than someone who doesn’t.

“You okay?”

I pull my eyes from Smith and turn toward Chance, our eyes connecting through the dim glow of the dash lights.

I smile. “Hungry,” I lie, not wanting to ruin Chance’s mood. Today is a good day for him and I want to share that with him, but the monstrous presence of a third wheel has me realizing, I’m better at being myself when we’re inside our protective bubble.

“You’re going to love this place. It’s Smith’s favorite.” He reaches forward and claps the big guy on the shoulder. Smith throws a genuine smile over his shoulder as Chance laughs. There’s that human again. Smith stops in the valet lane. The back door opens and a young man in a vest and bow tie helps me from the warm leather.

“Mr. McKnight, nice to see you,” an older man says, stepping up to meet us. The young man that opened my door stands, awestruck by Chance’s presence and it’s the first time I’m remembering, he’s famous. I hardly register his black SUV driving away, and Smith nowhere to be seen, before a bright flash blinds me. Chance catches my hand, tucking me protectively under his arm.

“Okay man, you got us. Are we good?” Chance directs sarcastically to the side of the circular driveway. It takes a minute for my eyes to focus on the man standing near the hedges wearing a dark coat and beanie over his head, holding a camera. He raises his camera again and snaps a series of others and Chance tries to release his grip, but I tighten mine.

“Don’t. Let’s just go inside,” I say, pushing my shoulder against him. My efforts are lost in moving him, but when he looks down into my eyes, I watch as his rigid expression goes soft and I know I’ve convinced him. He turns, opening the restaurant door for me to lead the way and leaving the photographer in the cold.

“I hate those scumbags. Always in everyone’s business.”

“Please don’t let them ruin your night. It’s a good day,” I remind him and he smiles down at me.

“You’re right. Sorry about that. It doesn’t happen that much. I’m no movie star, and paparazzi aren’t known for combing the streets of St. Louis, but every once in a while, they realize who I am and get me.”

Chance is famous. I force a weak smile as that rolls around my head. “Where’s Smith?” I ask, changing the subject as we check our coats.

Chance hands the woman his coat and turns, his eyes narrowing with question. “Did you want him to stay?”

“Not at all,” I say too eagerly before thinking better of it. “You said this was his favorite place,” I add, trying to cover my unease.

He leans toward me, a grin now covering his face. “He used to date the owners only daughter. He wasn’t well liked after he broke her heart,” he whispers.

“Oh.” The same grey-haired man that greeted us outside returns from the dining room and leads us to our table.

“Will this do, sir?” Chance’s eyes flash to mine, seeking approval and I smile shyly with a nod. We could sit in the alley and I’d still consider it okay if I could have a bite of what’s filling the air. Chance said he wanted carbs, pasta to be specific, and when I told him how much I loved Italian, he beamed, saying he knew the best Italian place in St. Louis. I think he may be right. The delicious scents that waft through the room are hearty enough that I can almost taste them from the air.

The older man steps away and Chance smiles thoughtfully across the table at me.

“What are you thinking, Chance McKnight?”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

“You don’t have to sweet talk me.” I laugh, nervously as I look around. It’s busy for a Monday night and people are looking our way. “Do you think they recognize you?”

“Probably,” he says indifferently. “I hope that doesn’t bother you. It’ll be bad when we go to Vegas for my fight. Just about everyone will know who I am.”

“Does that get old?”

“Nah. In St. Louis, it’s not a big deal. Most people just look at me, but they’re usually not sure of who I am.”

“Is that why you live here…in St. Louis?”

“I live here because of Matthew, Brandon, and Vic. They’re the family that keeps me glued here, but I could live anywhere.”

“If you could take them anywhere, would you leave?”

“Probably. When I travel for a fight, it gets more hectic than I care for, but I remind myself it’s only temporary. I’d like to come home to someplace quieter than St. Louis. Maybe a farm.” He shrugs, reaching for his glass of water.

I smile, mentally picturing Chance on a farm. My gaze quickly sweeps the room, this time ignoring any remaining curious glances, but taking in the white linens, fully suited waiters and dark wood bar before looking back to Chance. “I’ve never been to a place so nice. Growing up, we went out to dinner sometimes, but it was to places like Outback.”

“Outback is awesome. That onion…” He kisses his fingertips jokingly and I feel silly for mentioning it. I know Chance isn’t a fancy sort of guy. When Brittany mentioned him being rich, other than his house or fancy cars, it would go unnoticed.

“I’m sorry, Chance. I guess it’s just the entire night. Nice car, someone driving us, someone wanting a picture of you, fancy restaurant, people watching you, I’m not used to things like this. I’m a pretty plain girl.”

He leans closer. “I’m just Chance, Mia. You know I didn’t grow up coming to places like this. Hell, I wondered from day to day if I’d even eat. I brought you here because their food is the best and I wanted our first date to be special, but if places like this make you uncomfortable, I’ll go anywhere as long as you’re there with me.”

I swallow hard, still choked up on the idea of a little Chance not knowing where his next meal may come from. “Damn, Chance,” I whisper, reaching for my water glass and successfully swallowing the lump away. I set my glass back down. “Our first date was special. It was last night, remember?” I smile over at him.

He smirks as his head swings back and forth slowly. “Frozen pizza doesn’t count. This is our first date.”

“Nope, you’re not taking last night from me. That date was the best I’ve ever had.” Albeit frozen pizza, I’ve never had a guy cook for me before. Knowing it’s not something Chance is good at or even enjoys made it that much more special. He shakes his head, but the waiter comes over, preventing him from protesting further.

“Can I ask you a question?” I ask after the waiter walks away.

“Anything,” he says smoothly and I smile at his tone. He leans back in his chair, my eyes appreciatively following the outline of his thick arms and wide shoulders that strain against the thin dress shirt.

His light green eyes are watching me in that way that has me believing he can read my mind. I want to fuck you on this table, I think, testing to see if he can. A twinge of disappointment washes over me when his playful expression doesn’t change.

I straighten, forcing myself from the little fantasy of him pushing me over this fancy tablecloth, spreading my legs and burying himself so far inside me that I’m screaming his name. His eyebrow quirks and my breath catches. I lean in. “Do you know what I’m thinking?” I whisper.

He leans closer. “I know it’s dirty.” He winks, sitting back with a smug expression.

“How?”

He shakes his head, telling me he’ll never tell. I cross my arms, feigning a pout and he laughs. The waiter returns with our drinks and takes our order before quickly disappearing again.

“Why do you have a body guard?”

“He makes you nervous, doesn’t he?”

I nod and he smiles.

“He’s the best guy you’ll ever meet. He just doesn’t warm up to people very easily.”

“You can say that again,” I mutter and he chuckles softly.

“Smith works for me because I need someone like him around me. He’s honest. If he gives you his word, consider it done. That’s rare. I’d spent a lifetime around just the opposite. Plus, he’s calm under pressure. I have a temper.”

“So, Smith calms you?”

“When he needs to. Fighting has helped me with that.” I raise a skeptical brow. How can fighting help you to not fight? “I know that sounds crazy, but it teaches discipline, but sometimes, people see a big guy and want to throw out some stupid comment to piss me off and occasionally it does. Smith is there so that if push comes to shove, it’s him that’ll do the pushing and shoving, not me.”

“That makes sense. Now to my next question.” He smiles. “Why have you never taken a woman on a date?”

“Because when you grow up like I did, it wasn’t even an option. I was on my own at fifteen. My life has been about fighting to survive and then fighting to win.”

Tightness in my chest squeezes at my heart with the stark differences in our backgrounds. “Remember that first night in your bed when you said, if you could give me everything I lost that day back, you would?” He nods, knowing exactly what I’m talking about. “I would give that to you, Chance. I’d give you a home like the one I grew up in. Where your mother and father loved each other and loved you even more. That’s what I’d give you, if I could.”