THEY SAY THERE’S A first time for everything... and judging by the way I’ve been agonizing over what the hell I should wear to dinner with Layton, I’d say whoever they are, they’re right on the money.

“Hey, it’s me. I lost my key,” Sam says as he pounds on the door.

Wrapping the towel around my waist, I stride to the door and yank it open. “You’re not rooming with me...” The words die on my lips when I find Layton standing on the other side.

“Thanks, Sam,” she says with a friendly smile.

“Anytime, cutie.” He winks at her, then tips up his chin at me before walking to the room across the hall and putting his key in the door. “Enjoy dinner, McHugh.”

“Nice outfit.” Her gaze turns hot as it slides down.

While she’s never thought of me as anything more than her brother’s best friend, she sure as shit doesn’t mind letting me know that she’s attracted to me.

“Why are you here?”

Her smile doesn’t falter, but her eyes... her eyes go from blazing hot to lukewarm. “Dinner? Dallas informed me that eating at Kingston’s was a no-go because unless you have special permission, y’all are expected to eat at the hotel even when there’s a home game.”

Note to self, don’t throw a single fucking ball Drake’s way tomorrow. “Wasn’t that thoughtful of him?” My towel starts to slide, and I grab it.

“Don’t get modest on my account,” she says as a mouthwatering smell drifts to me. “Brought your favorite...”

“Lasagna.” Automatically, I rub my hands together. “Garlic bread, Caesar salad, and dessert—doesn’t matter what, but I always have something sweet at the end.”

She gives me a puzzled look. “Dallas said you always ate skinless grilled chicken, unseasoned veggies, and a plain baked potato the night before the game. He also said you eat a fruit salad as your dessert.”

“That’s what he eats.”

“Not tonight. I made—I mean, Paige cooked the most amazing meal and planned everything to perfection. Y’all’s coach and his wife will be there. Along with the owners of the Renegades. Not sure if Finley or Kingston will be there.”

I eye her, taking in the spots of flour on her dark jeans and the faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon. “You made snickerdoodle cake, didn’t you?”

She grins sheepishly. “I might have, just to help out Paige a little.”

Knowing her, she took over the entire thing. “Uh-huh.”

“I might have brought you one, too.” She shakes a large bag covered in a floral print at me. “If you let me inside, I’ll feed it to you.”

Against my better judgment, I step back from the door. “Come on in. I’ll get dressed and then we can go to the—” The door closes with a distinctive sound, almost like it’s sealing my fate with her. “As I was saying, we can take this over to—”

“We’ll stay right here.” She points to the table and two chairs by the windows. “The view’s nice.”

The suite is set up like a home away from home since some of the guys like to have their families come eat with them the night before. Our coach isn’t too strict about that part, but room curfew is another thing. He’ll bench our asses if we’re not where we’re supposed to be.

“This is the perfect spot for our dinner,” she says.

And the bed that’s exactly fifteen steps away is the perfect spot to fuck you in. “It’s your dinner.” I grab a pair of sweats and a Renegade t-shirt with my name and number emblazoned on the back, then move to the bathroom. Keeping the door mostly closed, because based on last night, I wouldn’t put it past Layton to try to get a sneak peek of the goods.

She’d enjoy the view and whatnot, but so would I, and therein lies the problem.

“Dinner and send her sweet ass packing,” I remind myself as I pull the shirt over my head. “You can do this. Dinner and home. Dinner and home on three.”

“Do you need some help?” Layton calls, her lilting accent and enticing question making my non-listening dick harden.

Fuck me. She hasn’t given up.

I’m turned on and freaked the fuck out. I’d rather face my old coach, bare ass naked while I screw his daughter in the locker room—which never happened because I’m not a fucking idiot led around by my dick—than go out there with Layton.

Hell, the thought of her feeding me cake is more erotic than riding pine while a chick rides me because instead of a fantasy, I’d have the real thing.

The real Layton.

Only in the past few years, the woman in my fantasies is Layton.

Only Layton.

“Nah. I’m good.” I join her at the table before she can get me alone in the bathroom. Not that this is any better because my eyes keep going to the bed. The huge king bed that’s the perfect size for the two of us. We could have a lot of fun on that mattress.

I imagine her on top of me, her perfect tits out, dusky pink nipples hard while I grip her tiny waist and suck on them until she screams my name. She’d be hot, welcoming, and so fucking wet.

Desire rushes over me, hitting with the force of a linebacker on a steroid-induced rage. Not the prettiest of images, but thinking of one of my teammates tackling me right now does the job of making my dick deflate to a more manageable size.

Layton looks up, a pretty smile on her face. “I got take out from 451. Hope you like... lasagna!” She pulls a napkin off my plate of food with a flourish. “I knew Dallas’s favorite food from Paige, so I thought it would be fun to tease you by saying I’d gotten that instead.”

“You got me all right.” My mouth waters at the sight of all that pasta. “Garlic bread and Caesar salad, too. Damn, girl, learn how to make this from scratch like my ma, and I’ll marry you.”

Her face falls.

“Shit. I didn’t mean... Fuck.” I grab her wrist, pulling her up to me. “Sorry, LT, I wasn’t thinking. Sometimes, my mouth gets in the way.”

She nods. “I know.”

Our lips are close, but thankfully far enough away that I can mostly resist her. This is where short-girl problems are tall-guy advantages. I don’t know what I would do if I could reach her mouth without bending my head down to hers.

“The cake’s homemade—what does that get me?” she says.

I could say me. I could give in and get everything carnal I’ve ever wanted from her, but it wouldn’t be enough. And she’s not looking for forever, just right now.

There’s no way I’ll allow myself to be just a revenge fuck to get back at her husband.

She’s worth more than that to me.

“My best behavior.”

Layton frowns, then her mouth kicks up at the corners. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

“You didn’t sample anything at Paige’s?” I hold out her chair so she can sit, then plop my ass in the empty one.

“Some of the things I cooked aren’t really what I like so I did taste tests only.” Her gaze flies to mine, and her cheeks flush the prettiest pink. “I mean, when Paige cooked, I was the guinea pig. A very picky guinea pig.”

“LT.”

“Fine. I cooked the entire meal, but you can’t tell anyone. I want Paige to get all the credit,” she insists, making me admire her even more than I already do.

“You’re a great friend.”

“The best,” she agrees, then her shoulders drop. “Well, once I got out of selfish mode, I am.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself. Life threw a one-two punch at ya, and you got back up.”

“Are you sure I’m talking to the same guy who told me to grow the fuck up?”

I wince a little. “That’s me all right, but I don’t regret what I said to you because I meant it. You can’t be naive forever, sweetheart.” Even if it’s one of the most endearing traits about her. “Not all men are like your brothers and dad.”

“I know, but it was really nice while it lasted.” She toys with the pasta. “However, I’m older and wiser now. I know that happily ever after doesn’t exist like I thought it did, and true love sucks.”

True love never changes it mind. I can hear her say it, clear as the bells of St. Paul’s ringing on St. Patrick’s Day.

“Don’t count true love out.”

She places her fork on the table, and gives me a skeptical look. “You believe in true love?”

“Anything is possible.”

“Really?”

“Yup.” I bite off a hunk of the garlic bread, waiting for her response. My blood starts to pound in anticipation of what she’ll say next. Layton doesn’t back down for anyone.

“Then why haven’t you fallen in love? You’re good looking. Rich. Smart. Your social cred is appealing to women who like that sort of thing.”

“You got someone in mind?”

“Not for love.” She grabs a breadstick and dips it in the marinara sauce, swirling it around and around. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I said it exists. What more you do want?”

“Proof.”

“Dallas looking in every mirror he passes isn’t good enough for ya?”

She snorts and giggles. “I wasn’t talking about self-love, you goober.”

“Goober, huh?

“Wicked goobah,” she says with a wink.

For once, I don’t mind her mimicking my accent. She doesn’t do it because she thinks she’s better than me, she does it because it’s in her nature to tease those she considers part of her inner circle. Hell, I’ve heard her do it with her brothers and best friend often enough.

“That doesn’t even go together.” I finish my pasta, and then fill my plate with salad. “Your brother said you had some job interviews last week.”

She blinks at the change in subject. “They didn’t go so well.”

“I can’t imagine you weren’t qualified.”

“My qualifications weren’t the problem... It was the perceived good ole boy system one thought was at work while the others...” She shakes her head. “The others only offered me a job so Kingston would owe them a favor, like one of the Renegades showing up for an event. When I said I didn’t work that way, the job offers were quickly rescinded.”

“You were punished for being honest.” I push back my plate and let my food settle before I start in on the snickerdoodle cake she’s got hiding in her bag. I concentrate on that and the direction I steered our conversation in because if I don’t, I’ll end up kissing her, or worse, breaking my vow of self-imposed celibacy by taking her to bed. “Isn’t that some shit?”

“Sometimes it doesn’t matter if you do everything right. Life still likes to make sure you’re paying attention or appreciating what you do have by taking it away from you.”