Dax and I head toward the rear of the small, local coffee shop to the room reserved for his meeting with the owner of Ditched. In it are four chairs, two on either side of a narrow, rectangular table.

I check the time. “Just about five minutes to spare.”

Dax shifts nervously in his seat. “She said she’d see me at four p.m. sharp.”

He barely finishes his sentence when we catch the sound of clicking heels approaching.

Nothing, however, could have prepared me for the sight of the woman entering the small room.

She strides in confidently, and both my and Dax’s jaws hit the floor. A motorcycle helmet is in one hand, and she’s clad in sleek, black pants, which disappear into heeled boots of the same color. She sets the helmet at the far corner of the table, and when her eyes flit between us, we scramble to our feet.

He reaches out a hand to her. “Miss Hayes, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Dax Kendrick.”

She smiles and shakes his hand. “It’s a pleasure.” Her gaze flickers briefly to me as if silently questioning my presence. Luckily, my friend picks up on this.

“I hope you don’t mind that my friend Becket’s here with me. I was a little nervous about today.” I swear he practically guffaws, and a hint of a blush spreads across his cheeks.

I can’t say I blame him one damn bit.

Miss Hayes’s long hair is perfectly straight, hanging down her back in a gorgeous chestnut-colored curtain. Her eyes, though, are what give me pause. The moment they clash with mine, it’s like I’ve been sacked by an out-for-blood lineman. The color is unique; a gorgeous swirl of stormy blue with a golden hue directly around the pupil. I’ve never been a guy to wax poetic over a woman’s eyes, but man, hers could definitely change that.

It takes a moment for me to realize she’s waiting expectantly with an outstretched hand in my direction. “Oh! Sorry. Becket Jones.” I grasp her hand and shake it briefly. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

That’s it. No fanfare. No furtive glances from beneath her eyelashes. No gawking. Nothing.

And hell if I don’t love every ounce of it.

This woman barely glances at me. Instead, she centers her attention on her client. It’s as though I’ve been dunked in a bucket of ice-cold water rather than treated like a celebrity.

I’m not being cocky because I like it. I like that she’s not simpering or batting her eyelashes at me. The opportunity to meet people who don’t already have some preconceived notion about me simply from my career or the endorsement ads I’ve done is refreshing.

She reaches for a clasp just beneath her breasts and releases the bag secured to her back. Sliding the straps from her shoulders, she places it on the table and withdraws a notepad, file, pen, and laptop. Then she unzips the sleek riding jacket to reveal a simple but elegant sleeveless blouse that accentuates her toned arms.

Once she settles into the chair on the opposite side of the table, Dax and I follow suit. She gets right down to business.

Her motions are confident, and the movement causes her hair to shift over one shoulder. She slides it back before tucking it behind one ear.

As she and Dax begin their discussion, I shift in my chair, attempting to stretch my long legs and cross them at the ankles. Might as well get relaxed while they go over the finer details concerning his “situation.”

I don’t mind because this gives me the opportunity to peruse the woman before me. As bizarre as it is, I feel an odd connection to her. Like there’s a familiarity. Which is crazy since we’ve just met. Maybe it’s because her voice sounds similar to Ivy’s.

With Ivy edging into my thoughts, I wonder again what she looks like. I wonder what she’d say if I told her about this meeting with Dax.

I allow my eyes to skim over Miss Hayes, taking in her simple yet businesslike attire. It could easily be classified as business casual.

They pause so Dax can look something up on his cell phone. As soon as he supplies the information, she withdraws a few forms from the file folder. Sliding the paperwork over to him, she explains the policy for payment and the strict privacy clause that could give HIPAA a run for its money.

As my friend reads over the form, she turns to her laptop, and her slim fingers fly across the keyboard doing God only knows what.

“And, Mr. Jones, I’ll also need you to sign these forms when he’s finished, as I wasn’t expecting him to bring anyone else to our meeting today.”

I’m legitimately getting a slight mental hard-on from this woman and her über-confident all-about-business persona.

She addresses Dax. “Our ultimate goal is for a respectable exchange and to avoid any heated arguments.”

Dax nods, continuing to scan the paperwork before him while I’m paying close attention and catch Miss Hayes’s barely audible whisper of, “donnybrook.”

Oh, hell. My mental hard-on’s about to get real. How does she know donnybrook is the definition of a heated argument?

I peer over Dax’s shoulder at the paperwork just as Miss Hayes’s cell phone vibrates. Her eyes flicker to the screen before she grabs it, flashes us an apologetic smile, and excuses herself, assuring us she’ll only be a moment.

The minute she steps out of the small room, my friend’s head snaps to me, and his annoyed glare catches me off guard.

“Get your shit together,” he grits out under his breath.

“What the hell?” I can’t help but gape at him in confusion. I’ve been sitting here quietly.

He lowers his chin with a scowl, and his eyes grow squinty. “You’re doing that thing you do,” he practically growls.

I rear back. “What thing?”

Dax rolls his eyes and scoffs. “You were staring at the poor woman.” He points the tip of his pen at me. “Stop being a damn creeper.”

I lean in close and quietly hiss, “I can’t help it that she’s attractive!” I pause for a beat. “Plus, there’s just something about her…”

He jabs an index finger in my direction. “Don’t be another distraction.”

Shit. I know what he’s referring to.

I let out an indignant huff and throw a hand up. “Dude! How was I supposed to know your housekeeper was obsessed with me?”

He just stares. “You went all Becket Jones on her. What did you expect?”

“Now you’re just talking crazy. I don’t even know what that means.”

“Really?” Dax arches an eyebrow. Then he shifts in his chair, puffing out his chest. His lips form an over-the-top grin, and he deepens his voice. “Hi there. I’m Becket. Aren’t you just the sweetest thing? I helped my alma mater with their campus expansion, and I did most of the work on my house when it was built. Maybe I could flex for you? Or show you my adorable dog, perhaps? But, oh, you have to be cool with my female best friend.”

I say nothing. Because, yeah. There’s really nothing I can say.

My friend’s a douche.

“I never offered to flex.”

Dax squints at me. I can’t help the wide smirk that forms in return.

I pause before emphatically adding, “And my dog is adorable. Daisy’s pretty damn lovable, and we have so many similarities.”

“You both scratch your crotch?” he deadpans.

I choose to ignore his negativity. “We both have sleek, dark hair and”—I dip my chin and look at him from beneath my eyelashes—“such expressive eyes.”

He throws his hands up, looks at the ceiling, and mutters, “Ay, Dios mío.”

I do my best to appear insulted. “It’s true!” Then, I toss out my hand, exasperated. “And you aren’t even Hispanic.”

His lips part to continue our verbal sparring, but we’re interrupted by Miss Hayes’s return.

“I apologize for the interruption, gentlemen.”

My gaze snaps up to lock with hers as she enters and reclaims her seat, and I feel transfixed. There’s just something about her eyes...

Dax nudges me in the ribs with his elbow. Hard. When I shoot him a What the hell? look, he nods at me and flashes a weird sappy-looking grin. Then he gives me a squinty-eyed look that screams, Get your shit under control.

Somehow, I manage to behave myself for the remainder of the meeting. She explains how the process will work; she and her associates will gather more information and develop a plan for Dax with specific guidelines on how to execute the conversation with Kayla, as well as the suggested location where the meeting will take place.

I never knew organization could be so hot.

She rises from her seat, sliding her laptop and other items into her bag. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Kendrick.” Her smile is all business when she holds out a hand to him.

He accepts it, and they shake briefly. “Thank you for your time, Miss Hayes.”

“My pleasure.” Her eyes rest on me, and she nods, holding out her hand to me. “Mr. Jones.”

I give her my best smile. The one Under Armour pays me a pretty penny for.

They pay for my abs, too, but since I’m clothed right now, my smile’s all I’ve got to work with here.

“Pleasure meeting you, Miss Hayes.” I kick up my smile another notch when I get zero response.

Still nothing.

Something’s wrong. Maybe I have spinach stuck in my teeth? If Dax let me out in public with food in my teeth, there’ll be hell to pay.

“Mr. Jones?” She stares at me expectantly, eyebrows raised, and darts a meaningful glance at where I’m still shaking her hand.

“Oh, sorry.” With a wince, I immediately release her soft palm and offer an apologetic smile.

“Jesus,” Dax mutters beneath his breath.

I watch her leave the room. As soon as we hear the click of her heeled boots fade down the small hallway of the café, my friend whips around on me.

“What. The. Hell?” His eyes flash with a mixture of irritation and exasperation.

I drag my hands through my hair, jittery as hell. “I don’t fucking know,” I hiss quietly. Irritated with myself, I decide to go the safe route.

The route of insanely stupid excuses.

“What’s the deal with her showing up”—I gesture emphatically, almost angrily, to the door she exited through—“with that amazing hair? And eyes that blue?”

Dax slouches against the back of his chair and tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling. “The audacity of her.” His deadpanned response doesn’t faze me.

He rolls his head against the chair to peer at me. “What about Ivy?”

At the mention of the woman who’s been at the back of my mind the entire time, I shake my head. “She told me outright she doesn’t do relationships.”

His brow furrows. “Really?”

“Really.”

A thought strikes me, and I snap my fingers, shooting up from my seat. “I know!” I glance at my friend. “Be right back.”

I dart out of the room, barely registering Dax’s muttered response. Once I step out onto the sidewalk in front of the café in Midtown Jacksonville, I slide on my sunglasses to shield my eyes from the piercing rays of the June sun. Luckily, I spot her a few yards away, tugging her helmet over her head and arranging her long hair.

Jogging over, I call out to her. “Miss Hayes.”

There’s a nearly imperceptible stiffening of her spine before she slowly turns to face me. Her visor is up, affording me a slight view of her face.

“Mr. Jones?” Her smile is businesslike, and I find myself wishing I could make her really smile. I’ve no doubt it would be breathtaking. “What can I help you with?”

“I wanted to thank you for letting me tag along with my buddy to show him support today.” I slide my hands into the pockets of my gray slacks, nervousness suddenly coursing through me. “It’s an odd situation for him…”

She nods in understanding. “It is, but I can assure you we’re going to help your friend and ensure he not only comes out on the other side but also looks pristine doing so.”

I nod, but not like a normal person. Shit, I’m nodding like a damn bobblehead. What is it about her that rips me of every suave manner I possess?

Forcing myself to hurry up and get my words out before any further awkwardness can persist, I blurt out, “I’d like to offer you tickets to one of my upcoming games.” I wave a hand like fucking Vanna White. “Box seats and everything.”

Her lips part, as though I’ve caught her off guard, and then the next words that spill from her lips nearly send me collapsing to the cement sidewalk at our feet.

“Oh, that’s kind of you, but I’m not much of a baseball fan.” She takes a step toward the sleek motorcycle parallel parked at the curb and carefully slings a leg over it. Grabbing the handlebars, she uses her boot to adjust the kickstand and flip it up.

She offers a quick smile. “Thank you, though.”

Then she starts the engine and carefully looks for oncoming traffic before driving away.

I’m still standing here like a damn numbnuts after she’s long gone.

This is how Dax finds me.

He sidles up to me, adopting the same stance with hands in his pants pockets, staring out into the street.

“So…you know I love you, man, but we’re going to get some attention if we stand here and continue to stare at one spot on the street for the rest of the day.” He shrugs. “I mean, if that’s suddenly your thing, cool. I don’t pretend to know how the engineering part of your brain works and if you’re planning to go to the city council and tell them they need a steeper runoff on the road for when we have heavy rains, especially during hurricane season and—”

“She thinks I’m a baseball player.”

“The other inclement wea—” Dax’s head snaps around, and I feel the weight of his heavy stare. “What the…?”

“Baseball.” I repeat this, still in dazed disbelief, just as one of the city buses goes by.

One with me plastered on the side of it, holding a football and grinning. Sure, I’m in my underwear, but still. I’m holding a damn pigskin. It’s unmistakable.

“Baseball…” That’s all I hear. This word, on repeat, intermixed with raucous laughter from Dax the entire thirty-minute ride back home.