The beer on my nightstand is warm to the touch, but I finish the can anyway, cringing as it goes down like hot piss. The aluminum bites into my hand as the sides buckle, and then I toss it into the overflowing garbage.

A message from my lawyer blinks on my phone. He’ll want to discuss the next steps, but today’s our anniversary, and I can’t face it.

Fuck it all.

I wade through the shit in my room and dress in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Then I walk into the hall. Avoiding Henry should be easy in a house like this, except the marble floor carries his voice everywhere. I should’ve gone to Cabo for the summer instead of wasting my time here. I made sure the paparazzi knew about every stupid fucking party and blasted my name all over them, but it still wasn’t enough.

What will it fucking take?

I gaze at the blank walls as though a solution will write itself on the surface. Restless, I walk down the hall. And then it comes to me like a lightning bolt to the brain.

Saffie.

The petite beauty with a high, black ponytail, a heart-shaped face, and a smart mouth. Henry’s sister. She’s the key to getting out of this. In the years I've known him, Henry never talked about her. Not once. I’m sure they’re wrapped up in family drama, and I hate myself for wanting to know what it is.

I was prepared to loathe the sight of her, but she's the right combination of dirty and sweet with just enough intrigue to make me pause. Any reminder of him digs under my skin, but that girl’s story about falling on hard times raised too many questions. She’s a Pardini same as her brother. They belong to one of the richest families in this country. Why isn’t she crashing luxury vehicles and spending her inheritance on designer bags like the vapid moron I expected her to be? Why is she destitute? And why do I care?

I don’t give a shit about her. She’s an anomaly, that’s all. A babe who could be the answer to my prayers.

I head toward the living room. Taylor Swift blares from the television, and I’m about to mock the Chris for listening to “Shake It Off” when I see Saffie on a yoga mat.

Saffie wears ridiculously tight workout pants that look like Lululemon knock-offs. I’m grateful for that brand. They’ve made showing every inch of a woman’s ass fashionable. The blue pants glide up slim legs to a perfectly round bubble. The sports bra wraps around her back in an X, leaving little to the imagination. She changes position, watching the TV screen as she crawls, sticking her chest and ass out. I glance at the screen.

Cow pose. More like doggy style.

Good God.

She notices me in the reflection. Her head turns. I’m mesmerized by the thought of pulling those ultra-tight pants down an inch or two and sliding into her.

"Yoga," I say, grinning. "Really?"

She pays me no mind, switching into cat. "I try to do it every morning. Keeps my butt from becoming cottage cheese."

"If you want a tighter ass, you should do squats. Lunges with free weights." I sink into the couch next to her. "Not that you need it."

Saffie’s head whips around. "Are you hitting on me?"

Of course I am. "Just giving you friendly advice. Yoga won’t do shit."

"That’s where you’re wrong."

Normally I don’t tolerate people claiming they know better than me about athletics, but I’m distracted by her curves. Every pose she attempts looks like a page from the Kama Sutra. Saffie lies flat; ass raised as her hands extend in front of her. Her thick ponytail sits high on her head, begging to be yanked.

I want her.

I want to throw her over my shoulder and teach her a better way to work out her ass. If she’d let me, I’d toss her on my bed, tear her clothes off, and fuck her until my legs stop working.

"Are you joining me or staring at my ass?"

Busted. "I’ll just watch. Yoga’s not my thing."

She peers at me. "Too hard?"

I give the TV screen a disdainful look. "Hell no."

"I bet you can’t even do it."

"Yes, I fucking can."

"Then man up," she says, wetting her pink lips. "Do the sun salutation with me."

Her eyes gleam with the challenge, and I feel an answering rush of blood. What a spitfire. It’s fucking hot. The women I’m used to never talk back because they’re afraid I’ll dump them. I’d rather have a girl with a working brain than a pretty pet trained to suck my cock, and Saffie is not the latter. I would love to punish that smart mouth.

The coffee table groans as I move it out of the way and stand next to her. A cocky grin spreads across her face as she restarts the YouTube video.

"So what do I get if I win?" I ask her.

"I’ll make you lunch."

Bo-ring. "The stakes are too fucking high. I don’t know if I’m up for this."

She rolls her eyes. "What do you suggest?"

Something kinky. "If you lose, you have to do a polar bear swim in the pool. Naked."

The average girl would say no. Actually, she'd strip her clothes because of who I am.

Saffie raises her head, accepting the challenge. "And you’ll do the same if I win? I don’t know. Aren’t you guys naked all the time?"

"Only in your fantasies, Saffie." I grin ear to ear. "Straight men don’t like to look at other men’s dicks. Scout’s honor."

"Whatever." She squares her shoulders. "Ready?"

I laugh at her. "You’re really agreeing to do this?"

"I know I’ll win."

Confidence blazes through her eyes. She stabs the remote, and the YouTube video begins on the floor. Downward-facing dog.

Easy enough. I get into position, wincing a little at my tight hamstrings. We run through a series of simple poses. "This is bullshit. I don’t feel anything."

"You’re not activating your core muscles," she says.

I roll my eyes, thinking of the three hundred and seventy pounds I squatted earlier today. This yoga shit doesn’t make a dent. It’s like a pebble hitting reinforced steel.

The position transitions into a standing one. Proud Warrior. Fucking easy. The tree pose. Balance has never been my strong suit, but I manage it.

"Hmm. Video’s almost over, and I haven’t messed up. Are you ready to concede defeat?"

"We’re not done yet," she says.

Smirking, I glance at the screen for the next one. Tripod.

Shit.

I know just by glancing that my thick legs and arms won’t bend that way, but Saffie manages it no problem. Her palms lay flat on the yoga mat as she lifts herself upside down, knees bent under her elbows.

"What’s wrong?" she sings. "Scared?"

"That’s right. I’m terrified of what the guys will think when they see you skinny-dipping. Not very classy."

"Hmm. Good thing they won’t, because you’ll be doing it. Stop stalling and do the pose."

It can’t be that hard.

I crawl and flatten my palms, wincing as my weight bears on my wrists. One leg hooks on an elbow, and then the other. Shit, I did it!

And then I lose it. My balance gives, and I fall to the side, Saffie’s laughter booming in the living room. "Two out of three!"

"No," she says, unfolding herself from the pose. "We made a deal. You lost. Take your clothes off."

A thrill runs down my spine before Saffie realizes what she said and covers her mouth.

"When you put it that way, sure."

I remove my shirt, watching her eyes. They linger on my chest and arms. I head toward the sliding glass doors. The sky is deceptively bright, but the water won’t heat for hours.

I leave the door open as I slide the shorts down my legs. She gapes at me in the kitchen, looking halfway between aroused and horrified. I let her drink me in. Soon enough I’ll have her to myself.

Then I test the pool with my toe. It’s ice-cold, so I fall back, preparing for a running jump. My feet crash into the water first. "Fuck!"

Freezing liquid surrounds me. I kick to the surface, breathing in the crisp air. A few strokes, and I’m across the pool. Saffie lingers inside, laughing hysterically.

"You should join!" I scream, teeth chattering. "It’s not that bad."

"You’re crazy!" she shouts. "I can’t believe you did that."

"Swim with me!"

"No way! You’re naked!"

She says it as though it’s the scandal of the century. If she knew the shit I’ve done.

I wade to the other side and grasp the ladder. She yells at me to wait and returns with a towel, her face bright red. Water drips over the concrete as I climb. Fuck, it’s cold. Saffie bursts into giggles as I clutch the cloth to my chest and wrap it around me.

"I can’t believe you did that. What else can I make you do?"

The purr in her voice makes my cock twitch. "Don’t get any dirty ideas."

She plants her hands on her hips. "You’re the filthy one, not me."

"Is that why you so quickly agreed to my challenge? I see through you, yoga master."

Her laughs echo around the backyard like wind chimes.

"You knew I’d lose and you’d have a golden opportunity to stare at my hot, naked body."

The red flush rises up her neck. "I thought you would chicken out."

"So it was a ruse." I wring my hair, watching how her smile fades and her eyes gaze at me with unmistakable longing.

The look flickers away, and she blushes deep, as though she realized her mistake. "All I’m going to say is you’re the one who chose this punishment. Not me."

She wants me.

Of course she does. I’m a soccer star. Built like I was made to fuck. And I have more cash than I know what to do with.

But Saffie doesn’t care about that.

The way she looks at me screams hopeless romantic. She's a girl who searches the stars for her Romeo.

If we were anywhere else, I’d grab her wrist before she pulled away and drop the towel. I’d tip her jaw to crush her bee-stung lips against mine. I’d fuck her and dump her because my heart was carved out by a cheating whore. If I were a good man, I would end this now. Save her the grief of heartache. Send her on her damn way. Muster a shred of decency to let her down gently.

I would if the bitch hadn’t stolen that, too.