“I don’t…know about this idea,” I hedge, uneasy.

Becket’s dark eyes are pleading. “I swear, it’ll be fine. Blue and Knox are coming, too.” He tugs me closer. “If I promise to let you walk in with them and I’ll enter alone for pictures, will that sway you?”

I hesitate because, well, he’s trying. He really is, and I recognize this. But I also know how happy it would make him if I agreed to go as his official date to the Mayo Clinic’s fundraising gala. He mentioned how much the hospital did for his mother when she battled ovarian cancer, and I want to support him. I just…don’t want the attention that goes along with it.

Yet I find myself giving in. Something that seems to occur more and more. It’s a dangerous trend.

With a sigh, I lean my forehead against his shoulder. “I’ll go with you.” With another deep breath serving as fortification, I add, “As your date.”

His entire body tenses beneath me, and I rear back in alarm, only to find his lips stretching into the widest smile. It’s a better one than any of those ads or commercials he’s in because this one is because of me.

God, maybe Darcy was on to something. Maybe Becket does have some crazy voodoo spell on me.

He frames my face with his hands and presses a perfunctory kiss to my lips, then backs away. Appearing jittery, he drags his hands over his hair and smiles down at me. “I’m not gonna pretend I’m not excited as hell about this.”

His smile’s infectious, and I can’t help but return it with a little laugh. “I wouldn’t get too excited. I mean”—I wave a hand, indicating my simple, businesslike attire—“I’m not exactly up to standards here.”

“I might be able to help with that.” His expression turns almost bashful. “If you’d be okay with it.”

“And by help, you mean…?”

“I could have people here to help you with hair and makeup.” He holds up an index finger, his features sober. “But the dress? Leave that to me. I promise, I won’t let you down there. Blue can vouch for me.”

Blue. God. Why does that little nickname he has for her get my hackles up? The woman’s married and has a baby on the way.

Still. There’s something about the way his tone softens when he says her name. A gentleness in his voice.

I avert my eyes, nodding with a soft, “Okay.” Attempting to calm my racing heart at the prospect of throwing more caution to the wind, I busy myself by studying the framed photos hanging on his living room wall. Which also serves the purpose of putting some distance between Becket and me.

“She’s my best friend.”

My head whips around, and I find him watching me. His thick, muscled forearms rest on the large counter of the kitchen island as he occasionally sips his shake. Those dark, mocha-brown eyes watch me with a fierce intensity.

I simply nod, a bit nervous beneath the weight of his appraisal, and turn my attention back to the photos. “How did you guys meet?”

He laughs, and I turn and discover him shaking his head as he swirls the contents of his shake, a tender smile toying at his lips. “We met in a bar.”

My face drops. I do not have any desire to hear about this. Bile rises in my throat as I anticipate him describing the typical story about how they hooked up only to realize they were better off friends.

I hold up a hand to stop him, but he simply eyes me oddly and continues with his story, ignoring my gesture.

“I discovered her sitting at the bar with red-rimmed eyes, wearing her wedding dress.” He shakes his head, his eyes taking on a faraway look as he appears to get lost in memories. “I’d just had a rough go of things, and there she was, a runaway bride. Neither of us could’ve predicted how strong our friendship would be, but we got each other through rough times.”

He pushes off the kitchen island and heads my way, sidling up beside me to focus on the assortment of photos adorning the wall. He points to one at the top. “See that? That was the first photo we ever took together. That’s the night we met.”

I peer closer and realize I’d overlooked the details of what she’d been wearing since it appears to have been a selfie of the two of them, taken by Becket. She is, in fact, wearing her wedding dress, and there’s a streak of her hair dyed blue.

“We got through a lot of shit together.” He releases a long exhale, and his tone is gentle, affectionate. “I was dealing with my mom’s passing and a relationship going down the tubes. Blue was dealing with being cut off by nearly all of her family and friends and a heartbreak to rival all heartbreaks.” Becket rests his sober gaze on me, warmth in it. “Friends like her don’t come around every day.” He turns his attention back to the photo. “Friends like that, they become family.”

“I get it.” And I do. Because Darcy and I will never be blood-related sisters, but the bond we formed years ago surpasses everything else. “Like Darcy and me,” I whisper aloud, without realizing it. At his curious expression, I continue. “We met during our freshman year when we were placed with the same foster family.”

“And you’ve stayed together ever since.”

I nod, without looking his way. “She was the first person who understood me. Who didn’t try to change me.” I force a smile and turn to him, eager to change the subject.

“So tell me more about this gala.”

* * *

“This was a mistake.”

“It was not a mistake,” Darcy scoffs. “You look freaking gorgeous.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” The makeup artist, Pennie, pauses and backs away to briefly admire her work before returning to her task of making me presentable.

“By the way”—my sister cranes her neck, taking in the large spare bedroom I’ve come to think of as mine—“this house is amazing.”

“He helped design it.” Pennie carefully lines my lips. “Assisted the builders a bit, from what I’ve heard.” She pauses, and her eyes meet mine. “He’s a good guy.”

He’s a good guy. That appears to be the common consensus from most everyone. Even those who aren’t Jags fans. Becket Jones is well-loved by the city of Jacksonville but also appreciated by the fans for what he does to give back.

“All right, I think we’re done.” Pennie backs away after spritzing my face to set the makeup. I don’t think I’ve ever worn so much makeup in my life, and I’m a little nervous about the final product.

“Here you go. What do you think?” She thrusts a mirror in front of me, and the instant I’m faced with my reflection, I’m rendered speechless.

“Told ya you looked gorgeous,” Darcy says with a knowing look.

It’s not so much how I look—I can admit I look and feel pretty—as much as how startling it is to see myself like this. Because right now, it’s undeniable. I look so much like her.

And I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it.

Shaking it off, I flash a grateful smile at Pennie. “Thank you for this.”

She waves me off. “Girl, it was my pleasure.” She leans in conspiratorially to add, “His last girlfriend was a bitch.”

My lips part to inquire about this former girlfriend, but the knock on the open door interrupts.

Becket’s voice calls out. “Is my favorite girl just about ready?”

I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips merely at the sound of his voice. Unfortunately, my sister picks up on it as Pennie heads to the door to greet Becket.

“You really like him,” Darcy whispers.

“It’s nothing.” I try to wave it off casually.

Her eyes are knowing. “It’s not nothing. I know it.” She leans closer. “And so do you.”

“Please.” I flash her a pleading look. “Don’t.”

She releases a sigh and shakes her head. “Fine.” Then she perks up. “Tonight, I want you to have fun.”

“I will.” I’m not sure if I’m making this declaration more for my sister’s benefit or for my own in an attempt to settle my nerves.

I stand from the chair I’ve been perched on for more than an hour after having both my hair and makeup done.

Darcy places her hands on my bare shoulders. “You look amazing, Ivy.” Her smile is genuine, her words heartfelt. “Have fun and tell me all about it tomorrow.” Carefully, she hugs me and blows me a kiss before she exits the room, saying a quick goodbye to Becket, who appears in the doorway.

I turn to face him fully and nearly wobble in my three-inch heels at the mere sight of him in his tux.

“Oh, wow.” The words spill from my lips before I realize it, but they’re warranted. Becket looks nearly as delicious in a tux as he does without any clothes at all.

His dark eyes are watchful as I approach while Pennie excuses herself. I draw to a stop in front of him and run a hand down the smooth fabric covering his firm chest and grin up at him. “You clean up well.”

One edge of his lips quirks upward. “And you…” His eyes gloss over me from head to toe. He tilts his head to the side and grimaces, which increases my anxiety.

“What?” I glance down, smoothing out the dress Becket presented me with for tonight. God knows, it must’ve cost him a pretty penny judging by the label sewn on the inside: Stella McCartney. I’d insisted on something simple, nothing ostentatious, and he’d delivered. Though this dress is ridiculously beautiful yet a simplistic wine-colored column-style gown with a mesh overlay and exquisite, carefully sewn 3-D florals, black and white in color, on the outer layer. The high halter neckline bares my shoulders, and the gown’s hem stops just shy of the top of my toes. Becket included strappy black heels, which afford me enough height to be nearly eye to eye with him. “Is something wrong?”

He scrubs a hand over his freshly shaven jaw. “Can I be honest?”

Worried, I frown. “Of course.” What the heck? I thought my hair looked nice—great even, with how she styled it in loose, touchable waves—but now I’m not so certain.

“If it were up to me, I’d prefer you without fancy makeup and just wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top.” His hand flies up suddenly as if to stop me. “I’m not saying you don’t look so damn gorgeous I’ll have to scare off other men all night long. I just…” He falters, suddenly avoiding eye contact and…is that a blush spreading across his cheeks?

God, this man is something else.

I close the distance between us and wait for him to turn his gaze upon me. I reach up and lay a palm against his smooth cheek. “Becket Jones. Are you blushing?” I tease with a tiny smile.

His lips curve, and again, he offers me a smile others don’t receive. The one I’ve come to think of as my smile.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I screwed up what I was trying to say. What I meant was, you’re beautiful no matter what you’re wearing.”

His endearing expression and the earnestness of his features have me nearly swooning. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for coming with me tonight.” He plants a gentle kiss on my forehead. “If I forget to tell you later, I had a great time this evening.”

I grin up at him, nearly laughing, but sober when I realize he’s serious. “How do you…?”

He winks and reaches for my hand, linking our fingers together. “Because as long as I’m with you, Ivy, I always have a great time.” Guiding me out of the room and downstairs, he adds softly, “Always.”