Two hours.

That’s how long it’d taken Ally to decide on her official first date outfit—a tasteful yet sexy black dress that dipped low in the back, paired with dangly silver-and-turquoise earrings and black peep toe heels.

She’d spent another two hours on makeup and hair, and now, staring at herself in the mirror, she was this close to scrapping the whole ensemble and starting over.

How was one supposed to dress for a night out with a professional athlete? Was black too morbid? Too formal? Was her short wavy hair too messy? She’d skipped the bra and gone a little bold on the lipstick… Was all that sending the wrong message?

Did she even have a message?

“Clearly I have no idea what I’m doing,” she said. “There’s my message.”

She should’ve called Clarissa for fashion help, but she couldn’t—Clarissa was out with Reggie, supposedly to give Ally some uninterrupted time to unpack the rest of the boxes in the kitchen. It’s not that Ally had lied to them; Clarissa had called in the morning, offering to scoop Reggie up for a girls’ day and a sleepover. Clarissa had assumed Ally could use a night off, and—well—that much was true.

Ally would come clean eventually, but she wasn’t quite ready to admit to her best friend or her kid that she was going on an actual date. With an actual man. Especially since Clarissa and that man had a professional relationship that Ally did not want to interfere with, and Reggie was playing hockey for him. Besides, this wasn’t a thing. It was just a date. Guys like Roscoe weren’t into things. If she needed a reminder, all she had to do was click over to YouTube and search out that video—something she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do, despite her curiosity. She didn’t need to sift through his past. This was just a simple little date.

So why was Ally getting so worked up about how she looked?

“This is insane.” She stuck her eyebrow brush into the cup on her dresser and went back to fiddling with her hair. Fifteen minutes until Roscoe LeGrand was due on her doorstep, and she had no idea what to do.

Was she supposed to keep him waiting? Or respect his time? Should she meet him outside, or invite him in for a drink and some chit-chat? Should she have made appetizers? Was there some text or app thingy she was supposed to know about, some new dating-in-the-internet-age ritual she had yet to discover? The idea of figuring out this complicated dance filled her with the same kind of dread she’d felt seeing Reggie zoom around on the ice that first day.

It was too much, and all her doubts rushed in again. She never should’ve accepted his invitation, never should’ve allowed herself to be charmed by those hazel eyes. Who was she trying to fool? She’d been married for most of her adult life—she didn’t know how to date casually, let alone date a man like Roscoe.

Do something that scares you? No thanks, Savannah.

Ally didn’t need to explore the depths of her courage. For her, courage only went as far as the shallow end of the pool, and that’s just the way it was.

Ally grabbed her phone. She was about to call the whole thing off, when she spotted the black SUV rolling into the driveway, gleaming like it had just been washed and waxed.

For me?

Her heart skipped, sending a bolt of nervous energy straight to her stomach.

From her bedroom window, Ally watched Roscoe climb out of the SUV, all muscle and grace, even as he ducked down to check his reflection in the car window. He spent a few seconds running a hand through his hair, flipping it around several times before finally settling on a look. He did the same thing with his tie, loosening the knot, then tightening it, then changing his mind altogether and tugging it free from his shirt, ditching it in the car. When he shut the driver’s side door again, Ally noticed a bouquet of bright yellow flowers in his hand.

Ally smiled. He looked so sweet, so earnest. So… normal. She couldn’t turn him down now. Besides, it was just a casual night out. It didn’t have to—couldn’t—turn into anything serious. Assuming she could keep her crazy nerves in check, maybe it would even be—what was that phrase Reggie had used? Fun. Actual fun.

By the time she opened the front door and saw him standing there with those flowers, the nerves in her stomach had turned to butterflies. The good kind.

“Hi,” she said, smiling so big her cheeks hurt. He smelled like spices and fresh cut wood and endless summer nights and holy hell he was delicious. He was dressed in dark jeans and a silvery blue dress shirt that made his eyes look even more intense. The top buttons were undone from when he’d ditched the tie, and now his sleeves were rolled up a bit, showing off his muscled forearms.

Ally wondered how she’d feel with those strong arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Or maybe pinning her to the bed, his mouth covering hers, both of them panting and gasping for air…

Stop it. That’s not happening.

A kiss was one thing, but for Ally, that’s where she had to draw the line. Anything more meant getting attached, and that was not part of the deal.

“Hi,” Roscoe said. She felt her cheeks warming under his gaze, but she didn’t break eye contact. She was more certain than ever that the connection she’d felt with him was real; it was even more intense now than it had been at the restaurant.

You’re still not getting into these panties, Roscoe LeGrand…

After a moment, he finally handed her the flowers and leaned in to kiss her cheek. His lips brushed her skin, breath warm as he lingered a few extra seconds. In a low growl that made her thighs clench, he said, “God, you’re beautiful.”

“I… Thank you.” Again Ally felt the uncertainty creeping in, but she dismissed it. Doubt was for serious things, for commitments, for emotional entanglements. Not for a casual, no-strings date. Not for this.

So after a quick trip to the kitchen to put her flowers in water, she grabbed her purse, and they were off.