Stone

“Momma!” I call out when I walk into my mother’s house the following evening.

“In here!”

I love when she does that. I have no idea where she is, nor can I follow the sound of her voice, but it’s not like the house is that big. I’ll eventually find her.

I peek into her sewing room, but she’s not there, so I continue to the kitchen.

Yep. That’s where I find her.

“What are you doin’?” I ask, glancing around at the countertops which are covered with various types of cookies.

“Baking,” she replies in a tone that says I’m a moron. “What does it look like I’m doin’?”

Now, I love my mother. She’s the most important person in my world. I even come to visit her at least once a week, sometimes more. I talk to her almost every day and twice on game days. And although I think she’s the most perfect mother in the world, the woman cannot bake. At all.

“All right,” I say. “Who pissed you off this time?”

She chuckles. “No one. I thought I’d give it another shot.”

“Another shot? At what?”

My mother’s eyebrow lifts in that way that says, Watch it, buster.

I laugh.

“And you’re just in time to be my taste tester.”

“Oh, no,” I hurry to say. “I’ve got a game on Sunday and I’m travelin’ tomorrow. You remember what happened the last time I did that.”

She laughs.

I don’t.

I still remember. And let’s just say, it’s not something that I’m looking to relive again.

“What brings you by?” she asks, opening the oven and retrieving a baking sheet full of…I don’t even know what those are supposed to be.

She catches me eyeing the baking sheet.

“They’re supposed to be in the shape of the number seven.” She grins up at me. “You know, your number.”

I tilt my head, trying to see them from a different angle. Doesn’t help. They don’t look like the number seven. In fact, they look more like…penises. Not that I’m going to tell her that.

“It’s my first try at it,” she says with a hint of amused defensiveness. “It’ll get better. So, why are you here?”

“Just chillin’. Thought I’d stop by to check on you.”

“Shouldn’t you be out with your friends tonight?”

“Can’t I just come and see my mother?”

“Can’t you just bring home a girlfriend?” she counters. “Give me hope that I’ll eventually have more grandbabies. It took your brother long enough.”

I have nothing to say to that. My mother knows I have no intentions of settling down any time soon. If ever.

My thoughts drift back to dinner with Savannah last night. More specifically, kissing her in the parking lot. If I’d had my way, I would’ve taken her back to my place. This time, I would’ve tied her to the bed so she couldn’t disappear on me.

“Jason Daniel Stone.” Her tone is firm. “Is there a girlfriend I should know about?”

She looks hopeful, and I hate to burst her bubble, but I can’t lie to her. “No, there’s not.”

“You wouldn’t lie to your momma, would you?”

Laughing, I glance at the floor. “Of course not.”

“Who is she?” Her insistent tone makes me laugh.

“There’s no girlfriend. I’m just…” Shit. I really didn’t intend to tell my mother about Savannah. No matter how much I want to talk about her to someone.

“Just what?”

“Nothing. It’s just a business acquaintance.” There. That wasn’t a lie.

She studies me for a moment, and I resist the urge to squirm under the scrutiny. If something ever does happen between me and Savannah, if there’s even a remote chance things could go further than business or that one amazing night, my mother will be the first person I tell. Unfortunately, I don’t see that happening, so there’s no reason I should get her hopes up.

Or my own.

As for when I started thinking along those lines, I’m not sure. I like Savannah. A lot. She’s the complete opposite of any woman I’ve ever dated. Not that we’re dating. But I do like spending time with her.

“Sit,” my mother orders, pulling me from my thoughts. “I’ll get you some lemonade.”

“Did you make it yourself?” I ask.

She knows I won’t drink anything that doesn’t come from a store-bought carton. She tried that on me too, back when I was a kid. My mother is good at a lot of things, but her place is not in the kitchen. Hence the reason we ate out so much when I was a kid.

“Okay, Mr. Smarty-Pants. Then you can have water.”

“Deal.”

“With lemon in it.” She grins. “And a little sugar.”

I laugh.

How can I not?

Savannah

“I’m in so much trouble,” I tell Allison when she joins me at the bar.

She’s only twenty minutes late, but I’m used to that, so I don’t complain. And because she’s twenty minutes late, I’m already two drinks in. Two really strong drinks.

And that’s the very reason I’m about to confess my problems.

“Do tell,” she says, signaling the bartender over. “Cosmo, please.”

I take another fortifying drink from my green apple martini—one of my favorite cocktails—and wait until Allison gives me her full attention.

“I like him,” I admit.

Her eyes widen. “Who?”

“Jason Stone.”

“Oooh.” Her huge grin falls. “Wait. Who’s he?”

“The new quarterback,” I tell her.

Her brown eyes widen with interest, but still no recognition.

“Oh, well, that explains the green apple martini,” she says, nodding toward my glass. “If you drink somethin’ more than wine, I know you’ve got some inner turmoil.”

“That is so not true.” God, it’s true. She knows me too well.

“What position does this guy play?”

I honestly think this woman doesn’t hear a thing I say. Ever.

“Quarterback. He’s the guy you were makin’ fun of at the club.”

Her face is blank, proof that it isn’t registering.

“Hottie McFootball Man,” I say, hoping that will clear some of the cobwebs.

“Did I meet him?” she asks, a small smile on her face.

“At the club,” I say with a huff. “The guy with Sugar Tits. You know, the redhead.”

Allison shakes her head.

“Lord, you’re ridiculous,” I tell her, laughing.

She smiles and the move makes her eyes scrunch up. “And you’re way too gullible. Of course I remember Hottie McFootball Man. You had sex with him.”

“Wait. I told you about that?”

Allison’s eyebrow arches dramatically. “Of course you did. You said he was the best sex you’ve ever had.”

I did not say that.

Her smile widens. “Like I said. Gullible.”

“Shut up.” Now I’m laughing. She might be my best friend, but it’s damn near impossible to have a serious conversation with her.

“But that’s unimportant,” she says sweetly. “What’s important is that you like him. Are you gonna sleep with him again?”

Of course my best friend asks me this when I’m taking a drink and it requires a lot of snorting and swallowing to keep from spewing my green drink all over her. I choke, but manage to keep it in my mouth. Unfortunately, it goes down my esophagus wrong, which earns me a pat on the back from Allison.

The bartender walks over to deliver her drink. Allison grins. “It’s okay. Just her first time drinking from a glass. You know how it is. She usually just puts a straw in the bottle.”

The man grins, then turns and heads to the other end of the bar.

When I manage to stop choking, I down more green liquid, holding my finger up so Allison knows not to speak.

She waits until my finger lowers, then she grins. “So, are you?”

I shake my head. “No. God, no. I’m…” I sigh. “I’m supposed to be workin’ with him.”

“On?” Allison’s brow furrows.

I shrug. “Working on some PR stuff.”

“What exactly does that entail?”

“It means I’m supposed to be getting him some face time with reporters and shielding him from the asshole ones.”

“Oooh.” Allison smiles, then takes a sip. “I see some role-play in your future.”

This time I’m not taking a drink and I snort a laugh, then glare at her. “Will you stop? I’m tryin’ to be serious.”

“Uh-oh. You’re dropping your Gs, honey. That means you’re nervous.”

“I am not. Nervous, that is. I just…He kissed me…again.”

“Were your clothes on or off this time?”

This woman. Sheesh.

Once again, I’m laughing. “On. Definitely on. We were in the parking lot.”

“Yeah.” She nods. “Probably a good thing to keep your clothes on in public. So, did you do it in the car?”

“We didn’t do it,” I declare. “He kissed me.”

“Last night,” she clarifies.

I glare at her.

“And now you wanna do it again.” It’s not a question. This woman knows me.

“Like I’ve never wanted anything before in my life,” I say in a hushed tone. “Seriously. If I wouldn’t look like a complete slut, I would go to his house tonight, knock on his door and…”

“Day-yum,” Allison croons. “You got it bad, slut.”

“You’re not helpin’.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” She looks anything but. “Hold on.” Allison takes a drink, then looks back at me, this time her face totally serious. “I say, you go for it.”

“What?” I exclaim. “You’re supposed to be my voice of reason.”

“Oh, honey, we’re beyond reason where you’re concerned. When was the last time you got laid? Before Hottie McFootball Man?”

Did I mention that Allison’s voice tends to carry? Well, it does and now half the bar is staring over at us and I can feel my face heating.

“Okay, for serious,” Allison says, smirking at her odd word choice. “Why can’t you just sleep with the guy?”

I shrug.

“Are you lookin’ to marry him?” Her eyebrows lift. “ ’Cause if you are, then sure, maybe you should hold off. Play hard to get for a little while.”

“No,” I say with my best get real face. “I’m not lookin’ to marry anyone.”

“Then I say have fun. Ride him like a world class bull rider and have as many orgasms as you possibly can. What could it hurt?”

Again, I don’t think this woman hears me, however, the rest of the bar probably hears her.

“I’ll be workin’ with him,” I stress.

“So what?” Allison uses the same tone I did. “It’ll make the time you spend together more interesting.”

“What if things go bad?”

She takes a long sip. “You mean, what if that first night was a fluke and you realize he sucks in bed?”

I roll my eyes. That night was not a fluke. Jason Stone does not suck in bed. Hell, I’m tempted to say he’s the best sex I’ve ever had, quite possibly better than any sex I’ll have in the future. You know, if it’s not with him and all.

Not that I’ve had a lot of great sex. And no, I’m not a virgin. Unless there’s a time period in which you can get that back. Considering it’d been quite some time since I’d had sex before that night, it’s possible my body doesn’t know the difference.

“No. I mean, what if one of us doesn’t want to do it anymore? How are we supposed to work together after that?”

“Cross that bridge when you get there.”

Dropping my mouth open, I stare at my best friend. “You are absolutely no help at all.”

“Sure I am. What’s the worst that could happen? You both have lots of orgasms for…” She waves her hand in a circle. “However long you have to work together. Then you both go your separate ways with all those memories.”

“In a perfect world,” I note.

“Maybe. But you know I’m right.”

No. What I know is that my best friend just told me to jump the man’s bones. What’s worse than that, I can’t think of any reason not to.

And here I was thinking she was the crazy one.