“I finish in an hour,” Maude says, leaning over on the bar to give me a show. Her low-cut shirt is hanging down, showing off her amazing rack. “Are you still going to be here?”

Probably not.

“Yeah, probably,” I say as she grabs a maraschino cherry from the bowl in front of her and pops it into her mouth.

“Good,” she says with a smile as she crushes the cherry between her perfectly straight teeth. She turns with a bit of a spin, making her amber hair bounce over her sexy shoulders. Maude is one of the bartenders in the lobby bar, and I can see why they put her front and center of the resort. She’s got an athletic body with an abundance of curves and a beautiful smile that comes easy and often. She’s French Canadian, from Quebec, and she speaks English with the sexiest little accent.

Normally, I’d be all over her, securing the little French tart as my taste for the night, but I can’t seem to get into it no matter how many times she bends over in front of me to get beers on the bottom shelf of the fridge.

I glance around the bar past the musicians who are massacring a Bob Marley classic and look for her. I sigh when all I see is empty chairs and a handful of sweaty tourists. Where is she?

Riley doesn’t strike me as the type to hang out in her room all night watching TV when she’s on a beautiful resort like this. I figured she’d be here, or I would have gone to the Sports Bar to watch Thursday Night Football rather than sit here and have my eardrums assaulted by this horrible band.

I check my watch, and it’s getting late. Riley would already be here if she was planning on coming to the bar. She’s probably curled up in bed dreaming of me.

“Leaving so soon?” Maude asks when I stand up off the barstool. She looks disappointed. She’s even hotter when she’s pouting, so I’m extra shocked at what I’m about to do.

“Yeah,” I say, thanking her for the burger and drinks. I slide a tip across the bar for her. “Maybe we can hang out next time.”

She takes the twenty-dollar bill and tucks it into her bra while keeping her stunning eyes locked on me. “We won’t be hanging out,” she says, with a bite of her bottom lip. “I have better plans than that.”

I’m still shaking my head and wondering what the hell is wrong with me as I’m walking through the resort. Oh, my God. I’m broken.

It’s a sin to have turned down a willing and ready-to-go girl that hot, and the me from yesterday would have slapped today’s me upside the head and ordered me to go back in there. But I’m just not feeling it.

I keep thinking of Riley and wondering what she’s up to. Why do you keep thinking of that stuck-up girl? Yup. You’re definitely broken.

I stop by the Sports Bar to check the score of the football game, and I can’t help but smile when I see who is in the middle of a group of rabid Packers fans who are dressed up from their green socks to their cheesehead hats. They actually packed those?

Riley cheers and high-fives the Green Bay fans as the Packers defense stops the Lions on third down. She looks adorable wearing a jersey that one of her new friends must have lent her.

I hate the Detroit Lions, but I feel compelled to do it.

“Go Lions!” I yell as I walk into the bar. The table of Detroit fans cheer and bang on the table as they give me the thumbs up and wave me over.

Riley’s smile fades to a scowl as her eyes follow me through the bar. I high-five a few of the Lions fans as I sit down at their table, which is next to hers.

A bald guy with a Lions logo on his sweaty cheek pours me a beer from his pitcher. Sweat from the Caribbean heat has melted the face-painted lion into a blue mess. I just hope it didn’t drip into the beer.

“Thanks,” I say, clinking my beer mug with his. “Party in my room for all of the Lions fans after!” I say, loud enough for Riley to hear.

I can feel the heat from her eyes burning the back of my head. When I turn around, she’s moving her stool, dragging it beside me.

“You’re not inviting all of these people to our room,” she whispers, her voice racing. “I don’t want them there.”

I grin. “You want me all to yourself, don’t you?”

The table of Packers fans erupts in cheers, and Riley whips her head back around to the large TV. “You made me miss it!” she complains, turning back to me with a glare.

“Don’t worry,” I say, trying to get under her skin. “Your QB will blow it in the last quarter anyway.”

She laughs, sticking her adorable chin in the air. “The only QB that will be choking will be yours.”

I lean in nice and close. “The only person who will be choking will be you. Later. On my cock.”

“You mean more like gagging on your words.”

The table of cheeseheads starts hollering as their wide receiver breaks through the secondary and scores a touchdown.

“Damn it,” I curse under my breath. I can’t stand losing to her for anything, even in a game where I’m not a fan of either team.

“Choke on this,” she says, turning with a wide grin on her luscious lips. She yanks the cheesehead off of her neighbor and slams it onto my head.

“Wooooo!” she screams as she watches her player score on the replay. My table groans as I watch her, cheesehead hat and all, as she stands up on the bar of her stool and gives her new friends high-fives.

“Looks like your party is going to suck,” she says, sitting back down with a grin on her flushed face. “It’s going to be full of losers.”

“Do I look like a loser?” I ask, wishing that the cheesehead hat wasn’t still on my head. “We’re only down by three points.”

A guy at her table reaches over and plucks his cheesehead hat off of my head. I smooth my hair back in place as Riley laughs at me.

“Three points with only forty seconds left,” she says, shaking her head. “Good luck.”

The next few minutes are tense as the Lions offense takes the ball up the field. With five seconds left, the clock is stopped with the ball on the twenty-two-yard line. The Lions are out of timeouts, and their kicker is coming on the field about to try and tie the game.

“Here we go,” I say, leaning forward. Why am I actually nervous? I don’t even like the Lions.

“Look at this guy,” she says, snorting as she points at the kicker. “He couldn’t kick his shoes if they were on his feet.”

I’ve flown fighter jets in combat zones and my heart wasn’t pumping as hard as it is now. I rub my hands down the legs of my pants as the kicker lines up and the whistle blows.

The bar is silent as he steps forward and connects with the ball, trying to kick it through the goalposts.

Riley is holding her breath, staring at the screen with wide unblinking eyes. The balls sails through the air and slams into the goalpost with a loud echoing dong.

Damn it.

Riley and her green and yellow friends explode into cheers as the clock runs out and the Packers win the game.

“That’s what’s going to happen every time you try to compete with me,” she says, staring at me with a smug look on her face. “You’re going to lose.”

She doesn’t know who she’s playing with. I don’t lose.

I’m about to tell her that when I feel a tap on my shoulder. “What room is the party in?” someone behind me asks. It’s the guy with the sweaty man boobs.

“Four nineteen,” I answer, giving him the wrong room.

Riley laughs. “No afterparty?” she whispers, leaning in with a raised eyebrow.

“Not in our room,” I whisper back. I don’t want these strangers hanging out in my room. I’m still planning on having an afterparty, but only one person is invited. I want Riley all to myself.

“Let’s sneak out of here before they follow us,” I say, slipping off my stool.

I casually stroll to the bar and then take a quick turn to the exit. Riley is right on my heels. She’s still wearing the Packers jersey.

“I didn’t peg you for the stealing kind,” I say, glancing down at the green and yellow jersey. The thick numbers swallow her perky tits, but she still looks incredible in it. The color really makes her green eyes pop.

“I didn’t steal it,” she says, thrusting her chin in the air. “It’s mine.”

I do have to say that I’m impressed. I’ve never dated a girl who liked football before. Actually, I’ve never dated anyone long enough to find out.

We walk back to our room, still bickering about the game. I don’t really care. I just enjoy getting her all riled up.

“I figured you’d be a fan of the Redskins with the way your cheeks are always blushing around me,” I say as I open the door.

I hold it open for her, but she’s standing in the hallway, glaring at me with those same cheeks turning red. “And I thought you’d be a Giants fan,” she says, crossing her arms. “Because you’re a giant dick.”

“Come on in,” I say, motioning to the doorway with my head, “and we can talk more about my giant dick.”

Her jaw clenches shut as her arms fall to her sides. “You and your giant dick can sleep out on the balcony,” she says, walking past me with her chin in the air.

My eyes follow her in, dropping down to her ass that’s looking amazing in those tight jean shorts. On second thought, it’s fitting that she’s a Packers fan because she’s definitely packing a hot body under there.

It’s too bad her personality comes along with it.

“What are you doing?” I ask when I walk into the room. She has one of the many pillows in her hands and is opening the glass door of the balcony.

“Getting your bed ready,” she says, tossing the pillow into the hot tub. “Want me to fill it with water for you?”

“Why, so I can drown while sleeping?”

“I didn’t think of that,” she says with a grin on her face as she turns the water on, soaking my pillow. “Well, that’s just a risk we’re going to have to take.”

I pull off my shirt in one quick movement and toss it onto the desk. “You’re the one getting over half a million dollars for this,” I say, kicking off my flip flops. “You sleep outside.”

She storms back into the room, trying to keep her eyes off of my naked torso. “And what are you getting for this?” she asks, glaring at me. “Shits and giggles? You get to have fun tormenting me?”

Exactly. And all of my hard work is working out perfectly.

“So?” she asks, tapping her foot as she waits for my answer. “Why did you agree to this? What’s in it for you?”

I look away with a thickness in my throat. If I do this, Riley gets fired, and Kara will thank me in the best possible way.

That’s what initially brought me on board, but now it’s evolving into something else. I enjoy getting under Riley’s skin, and I’m going to enjoy getting under her clothes even more.

“Not everyone blackmails their boss every time that he needs a favor,” I say, looking into her narrowed eyes. “I’m doing this because I’m a good employee, unlike you.”

She snorts out a laugh. “You?” she says, her shoulders shaking with laughter. “A good employee? You were drinking alcohol while flying an airplane! That not only disqualifies you from being a good employee, it disqualifies you from being a good person.”

“Does it disqualify me from getting in your pants?”

She laughs in my face. “The only way you’re getting in my pants is if I chop your little pecker off and stuff it into my pocket.”

I cringe, taking a reflexive step back from her. Her words still make my stomach drop even though I know she’s kidding. Hopefully, she’s kidding. That crazed look in her eyes has me wondering.

“You’re the one who blackmailed Marv,” I say, raising my chin as I stare down at her. “Does that make you a good person?”

“I’m getting money from my boss to do a job,” she says, glaring up at me. “That’s what bosses do. They give their employees money.”

“Especially when they get blackmailed by them.”

She swallows hard as she glares at me. “Oh look,” she says, turning to the open doors on the balcony. “Your bed-slash-bath is ready. I put it on freezing cold so your cold-blooded body can feel right at home.”

I slip off my shorts as she walks out and turns off the water. Her eyes widen and she freezes in the doorway when she sees my tight gray boxer briefs. She subtly shakes her head and looks away, but I can see that she’s breathing faster. Her skin is flushing that adorable pink as she suddenly takes an interest in the hotel pamphlet on the nightstand.

Her eyes dart to me as I walk to the side of the bed and pull back the sheets. “I’m not sleeping outside,” I say, slipping under the covers. “And I’m not sleeping on the floor, or in the bathroom, or in the hallway. I’m sleeping with you.”

I wonder what’s softer, the sheets on the bed or the skin that’s hiding under Riley’s green and yellow jersey? I hope I’m about to find out.

“I’d never sleep with you,” she says, glaring at me with disgust. She yanks one of the pillows off of the bed and stomps to the balcony door. “I’d rather sleep outside than be in your arrogant, cocky, vain, asshole presence for a second longer.”

“You’d rather sleep with the Caribbean insects?” I ask, leaning up on my elbow. She stops at the door but doesn’t turn, listening to me with her eyes trained on the square tiles. I’ve got her now. “Have fun with the giant mosquitoes, stinging hornets, deadly scorpions, snapping fire ants, and nasty spiders.”

“Spiders?” she whispers, cringing as she looks at me.

“Oh yeah,” I say, nodding. “Big hairy ones. They shouldn’t bother you too much,” I say, trying to hide my grin. “They only come out around the time the sun rises. Just tie your hair back in a ponytail because they like to crawl into open hair and lay their eggs.”

She shudders as she slams the door closed.

“Fine,” she says, throwing the pillow back onto the bed.

I give her a triumphant grin as I tap the sheets beside me.

“Spiders are the one thing that’s creepier than you,” she says, stomping across the room toward her luggage. “But not by much.”

I watch her curiously as she grabs her large bulky suitcase and slams it in the middle of the bed. It bounces on the mattress beside me. She’s all flared nostrils and angry grunts as she picks up my suitcase and throws it down behind hers, completing the barrier of cheap luggage. The great wall of made in China.

“That’s better,” she says, huffing out a breath as she storms back to her side of the bed. “No touching.”

“I couldn’t if I tried,” I say, staring at her huge suitcase wall. “You should go work with Donald Trump. He could use your wall building skills.”

The bed bounces slightly as she gets in. My view is blocked by a Samsonite logo.

“If I can use my position to get you deported,” she says, “then I’ll sign up first thing tomorrow morning.”

I shift in the bed, raising my head over the suitcase for a second to see her lying between the sheets. She still has her shorts and jersey on. She’s either a really dedicated fan or she really hates me.

I’m not sure if I want to know the answer to that one.

“Goodnight, wifey,” I say in a singsong voice.

“Don’t call me that,” she says with a shudder in her voice. “You’re going to give me nightmares.”

I smile as I tuck my arm under my pillow and rest my head down. She thinks she’s in a nightmare now. Wait until she meets the prince and has to pretend to be my adoring wife.

I’m going to make her earn every penny of that commission.

Then, she’ll know what a true nightmare is.