I just heard my kid's heartbeat for the first time and honestly, it made me realize how loud mine was beating for you.

Football Dick

Copyright © Caitlin Stunich 2016

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 89365 Old Mohawk Rd, Springfield, OR 97478.

www.sarianroyal.com

ISBN-10: 1938623134 (eBook)

ISBN-13: 978-1-938623-13-4 (eBook)

Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll and Sarian Royal

"Libby" Font © Mathew Welch

"Caviar Dreams" Font © Lauren Thompson

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.

this book is dedicated to love and laughter.

it's almost impossible to find one without the other.

Greetings, Dear Readers! This is Violet Blaze stopping by to say thanks for picking up Della and Big Dick's … I mean, Rhoden's story. P.S. the guy's last name is Richards and he's a tall dude so … Big Dick is his nickname. Nothing dirty about it at all. Nope. Not a single thing. ;) Anyhow, this is a stand-alone novel meaning it's a complete story all in one book. It's a part of my new "Big Girls, Bad Boys, and Babies" line, a series of unrelated books that have three special things in common. Can you guess what those are? =D As usual, if you enjoy the book, could you take a moment to leave a review? I would absolutely love to read it! Now, off you go to enjoy the ridiculously silly and sexy world of Della Garland, loud and proud big girl (according to the newspaper article she just read about herself). As you're reading, feel free to Tweet and Instagram your favorite passages to me @IAmVioletBlaze #footballdick. I can also answer questions, hear compliments or complaints, or just chat!

Kisses, loves, and happy reading (psst … go get a cocktail!).

~Au revoir, Violet Blaze

www.violetblazebooks.com

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“That arrogant son of a …”

I trail off and run my fingers through my hair, risking a glance at my father's face before I refocus my attention on the game. The outside air is like a sauna, turning the chiseled arms and faces of the players into shiny masks of sweat. Of course, I can't exactly see any of that from up here. In my father's skybox, all the brightly uniformed men on the field look like ants.

“He's definitely a bit of a showboater,” Walter Virgil says as he laughs a throaty, husky laugh that used to get me all twisted up in a knot. Lately, it's just not doing it for me. Maybe it's because my dad is trying to marry me off to the guy like I'm some sort of medieval princess? I glance back at him, taking in the crisp, tailored lines of his suit and the perfectly metrosexual sculpting of his five o'clock shadow.

Suddenly, I'm desperate to get out of that air-conditioned cage.

“He's not just a showboater in the dictionary sense of the word,” I interject, causing the numerous suited individuals to squirm in their chairs. See, I don't have a penis, so anything I might have to think or say on the subject of football is pretty much null and void. Okay, so anything I might have to think or say period seems to be null and void in this company.

Being the daughter of a man who owns the Arcata Adders used to seem like a dream to me. Now, it feels more like a nightmare.

“Celebration or taunting of any kind are actual offenses in the NFL, subject to suspensions or large fines.” I hold up a manicured fingernail and continue before any of the good ol' boys enjoying the food, drink, and scantily clad waitresses in my father's skybox can object. “And a player who leaves his feet,” I glare out the window at the tiny ant-sized shape that is Rhoden Richards, “or uses a prop is actually liable for a fifteen yard penalty for excessive celebration.”

I take a deep breath and smile briefly at the men before glancing over at one of five large ultra HD screens that grace the corners of the room. There he is, Mr. Showboater himself, the guy everyone refers to as Big Dick. Like that's clever. Whatever happened to subtlety? Yes, his last name is Richards and well … I've heard from some of the team cheerleaders that the other part, the Big part, is actually true.

Which kind of makes it even worse.

That arrogant son of a bitch is so not screwing up my season, I think as I spin on my heel and reach for the handle of the door. I can practically feel my father's eyes boring into my back, can almost swear I can still hear his voice from last night.

“People act like the world's changed in the last few centuries, Della. But it hasn't. There are only two ways to get ahead: marriage and money. Sometimes it takes the former to bring more of the latter.”

Yeah. My dad wants me to go all Kate Winslet from Titanic and marry for money. Business hasn't been great and my father's afraid a fall from fortune is imminent.

I don't have time to worry about that right now though. Football is sort of my thing, and the fact that my favorite team is now my actual team—okay, my dad's actual team—is just icing on the cake. And I'm not going to let Big Dick ruin it just because he has a monstrously sized penis.

The sun beats down on the warm auburn glaze of my hair as I breeze down the cement aisles, fingers grazing the warm metal railings at my sides as I hit the steps two at a time. Dad doesn't know it, but I always make sure to purchase a front row ticket before the game, just in case I start to get claustrophobic.

Glancing up at the cloudless California sky, all I can say is there's a hell of a lot more of it out here than in the cloistering confines of the so called skybox.

I sigh and flick some hair from my face, pushing my silver Dior shades down to cover my blue eyes. Ten more steps down and the staircase curves into the inner portion of the stadium. To get to my specific seat, I'll have to hurry past the concession stand and show my ID badge to one of the security guards.

Five minutes later, I'm settling onto the sun warmed surface, a cool breeze kissing my cheeks as I watch Rhoden Richards throw yet another touchdown pass. An unbidden smile takes over the red curves of my mouth as I smile and cheer, rising from my seat to pump my fist, wishing I had a flag or a pom-pom or something to wave.

Ever since I was a little girl, I've been an Arcata Adder's fan, sitting glued to the flickering surface of the TV to watch them play. When I was eight and Dad finally made his fortune, I got to see my first game in person, a container of popcorn on my lap and a soda in my hand. It was heaven, pure heaven.

I didn't think things could get any better … until my dad actually bought the team.

I'm on the edge of my seat as I watch our quarterback, Rhoden Richards, jog across the green of the FieldTurf, sweat glistening on the corded muscles in his arms, shining on the hard-set line of his jaw, the generous curve of his lower lip. He might be a showboating a-hole, but I'm still human and the guy is hot.

I lean back in my chair and get ready for the half-time show, enjoying the feel of the warm sun on my skin as I watch the players—mostly Rhoden Richards—move to the sidelines and talk amongst themselves, sip water. I keep watching them, waiting for them to head into the locker room, while I adjust the white jersey Armani tank top that my little sister forced me to wear today. She said it would impress Walter, make him think I was fun and sporty but also fashionable. And of course, like an idiot I listened to her. The top keeps riding up and the jersey feels cloistering and tight in the hot sun. I should've just worn my own clothes. Nothing against my sister, but she's a size zero and I'm … not.

Oh well. It's not like there's anyone here that I'm trying to impress. Walter seems like a nice guy, but I'm pretty sure he isn't my guy. No, Walter is definitely my father's guy.

I sit up and put my elbows on my knees, aware that a typical half-time is all of twelve minutes. But the guys are just standing there in their red, black and purple uniforms. On the other side of the arena, there's a sea of rippling color like the silver-blue of the Caribbean Sea.

And then I see Rhoden Richards striding to the center of the field with a satisfied smirk plastered to his perfect lips. His coach—a friend of my father's, a man named Odell Hollis—joins him with a mic in hand and a little wave for the crowd. In an instant, his face is displayed on the Jumbotron screen on the far left of the field, white smile beaming as he introduces himself.

“As y'all might be aware,” he begins, his southern accent thick and heavy and pleasant on the ears. My little sister thinks the coach is twice as hot as Rhoden Richards, despite the fact that he's the same age as our dad. I think she has some serious complexes she should work on in therapy. “October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.” There's a subdued cheer from the crowd, like they're solemn about the idea of cancer but happy to fight against it. “Instead of our usual half-time show, we've got something special for you today.”

There's another pause and the cheering gets louder, like the whole crowd is in on a joke that I'm somehow missing. I've been crazy busy lately, so I haven't been keeping up with much more than the scores. Who has time to get into all the NFL gossip anyway? As far as I can tell, it's mostly about Big Dick and his numerous celebrity conquests and party scandals.

“During each NFL game for the month of October, we'd like to offer you—” Coach Odell points out at the crowd and flashes that blindingly brilliant smile of his “—a chance to Win a Date with an NFL Player.”

The crowd goes nuts, people rising to their feet and waving banners with Rhoden's name on them. Some of them even say Big Dick in outrageously large capital letters. I do my best not to roll my eyes and push my sunglasses up on top of my head.

Hmm.

How nuts is it that I missed something like this? My best friend, Ariana, is a huuuge Rhoden Richards fan, so I'm surprised she wasn't all over this. Then again, she's been a little busy planning her actual wedding to give much of a crap about football.

I stare down at the field as Rhoden removes his helmet and shakes out a sweaty head full of perfectly mussy dark hair. His five o'clock shadow is refreshingly real, not all groomed and plucked up like Walter's. It highlights the generous shape of his mouth and that frustratingly enigmatic smile that promises everything and says nothing. It draws me in, forces me to scoot to the edge of my seat to watch.

“One player from each team has volunteered for the honor of spending an entire day with a fan. It's your date, your choice,” he continues as he spins in a slow circle and the fans of the opposing team pretend to boo at him. Coach just keeps smiling. “You can hang out and play fantasy football,” the crowd snickers, “or ask our eligible bachelor over here out on a romantic candlelit dinner date.”

Rhoden raises his muscular arms up and squeezes his black gloved hands into fists as the women—and some of the dudes—in the crowd start going insane.

“I'm already looking forward to it,” Rhoden purrs as he leans into the mic, his deep voice gliding over my skin and bringing up goose bumps as he flashes that cocksure grin to the crowd. Even from here, I swear I can see the swoony darkness of his eyes. Ariana calls them her dark chocolate almonds and promises that if she ever meets Rhoden in person, she's going to gobble them up.

I can't help myself; I roll my eyes.

Coach laughs and pulls the mic back from his star player.

“As you already know, just by being here today you have a chance to win. For extra chances, we've been selling raffle tickets online and in person at all the concession stands. One hundred percent of the proceeds will go to the Dr. Susan Love Research Foundation.” A massive wave of euphoria ripples over the crowd as people stand up and clap, and I feel a small twinge of guilt at missing out on this promotion. I mean, it's not like I actually want to go on a date with Rhoden, but it would've been nice to donate.

I promise myself I'll pledge some money when I get home.

“The winner's name has been chosen at random,” Coach continues as one of the refs steps up to him in crisp black and white and passes over a red envelope. “And I've got it right here in my hand.”

With a sigh, I lean back and brush some hair off my sticky forehead. For a second there, I almost regret leaving the air-conditioning of the skybox. Not to mention the food, the drink … the company.

Never mind.

I'm good down here.

I watch as Coach Odell starts to open the envelope in his hand, the crackling sound of the paper echoing through the mic and into the stadium. Meanwhile, Rhoden Richards stands next to him in his skintight black football pants and pads, the tight firm shape of his butt almost criminal. The man is shaped like a god, all sculpted and chiseled muscular perfection. The uniform emphasizes the width of his shoulders, exaggerating an already prominent feature. And underneath it all, there's the tantalizing promise of his tattoos, like the ones on his upper arm and back. I can't see any of them now, but I know all about them—courtesy of Ariana and her addiction to Rhoden Richards' Instagram account.

I raise my gaze to his face and the masculine cut of his chin. I feel an overwhelming urge to press my lips to the sharp right angle where his jawline meets his ear. It's impossible not to think that when he's standing there with a self-assured smile, his lips the only soft looking part of his whole body. The rest of the man is hard lines, hard muscles, maybe hard … other things.

I smile and shake my head, leaning back to watch the action unfold before me as I resign myself to admiring Big Dick from afar. He's pretty to look at it, but based on all the stories I've heard, the man seems like a royal asshole.

As he waits for Coach to finish opening and reading the envelope, Rhoden scans the crowd with that cocky smile of his, running his hand over his sweaty face. I've seen the man in interviews, heard the confidence in his voice, seen the way he practically pours himself into chairs. There's this swagger to him—on and off the field—that I think most people have a hard time resisting.

Even me … and even if I refuse to admit it.

“Alright,” Coach Odell begins, his smile getting wider as he looks up and glances around the packed stadium. All around me, I can hear the fans taking in a collective breath, can hear the whisper of clothing as people lean forward in anticipation. “Our winner …” A strange pause and a raised eyebrow as he scans the white card in his hand. “Our winner is Della Garland in seat 15C.”

His gaze follows the swing of the camera as suddenly it becomes my shocked face up on the Jumbotron. My red lips parted in surprise, my sunglasses sliding off my forehead and bouncing against the cement at my feet.

All around me, the crowd goes nuts, strangers clapping their hands on my shoulders and congratulating me for something I can't have won, shouldn't have won. If it'd been my sister sitting here, people would've recognized her as Reuben Garland's daughter, would've known she was the child of the man who owned the team.

Instead, there's her older sister, a person not many would recognize, her last name a possible coincidence linking her to the team's owner.

I'm still sitting there with the cameras zooming in on my face when Rhoden Richards looks up at me and somehow, even across the field from me, manages to catch my eye.

Our gazes lock and I can feel my heart slamming against the inside of my rib cage.

He winks at me and that cocky smile of his turns sensual, like an invitation.

Like a promise.

“There's nothing in the official rules that says you can't accept the prize,” Ariana says, planting one hand on her hip and waving the raffle ticket in my face. She looks like she's wearing a sexy librarian costume only … it's not a costume. This look—the thick rimmed glasses, red hair in twin braids, the Kat Von D Hexagram lipstick—it's authentic Ariana Ohlin. Her clothes are prim and proper, consisting mostly of skirt suits and white button-ups, but that face and the slim, lithe body underneath it have been drawing attention for years. “Trust me. I read literally all of the fine print on the website. Twice.”

“I can't accept this, Ariana,” I say from the edge of her plastic wrapped white couch. Her husband-to-be, Scottie Chadha, is a bit of a germaphobe. Since he moved in, he's transformed Ariana's pigsty into a hospital clinic. Is that iodine I smell? I wrinkle my nose. “And I really can't believe you bought me four dozen raffle tickets.” I pause and my mouth twitches. “With my credit card. That's practically identity theft, Ariana.”

She rolls her green eyes at me and flicks the winning raffle ticket stub in my direction. It falls to the floor in lazy circles, like an autumn leaf. Not nearly as dramatic as I think she was hoping for.

“This is a good thing for you, Della,” she tells me, coming to sit next to me and wrinkling her nose at my ensemble. Ariana, like my sister, Hal, is practically obsessed with trying to dress me up. They're a size six and a size zero respectively; they have no idea what it's like to dress me. I'm a size fourteen, and I don't exactly feel comfortable in a midriff top and Daisy Dukes. It's not that I'm ashamed of my body or anything because I'm not. I just … want to dress comfortably. Why is that a crime? “You need more adventure in your life.”

I raise a red brow.

“Adventure? Winning a date with an NFL player is an adventure?”

“Noooo, going out on a date with an NFL player is an adventure.”

I shake my head at her and adjust the baggy black hoodie I'm wearing. I'm swimming in it, but it makes me feel good. I have this thing about my arms and whenever possible, I prefer to cover them up. Again, not ashamed, just … I don't wear Herve Leger bandage dresses like my little sister. I caved and wore the tank top that Hal picked out to the game and look where that got me: my shocked expression and bare arms plastered across the Jumbotron and trending on social media.

At least my dad had done little more than raise a brow when I walked my embarrassed butt back to the skybox. Walter had gone on and on about how altruistic I was and how he hadn't bought a single raffle ticket. I wonder what he wanted me to make of that?

“One date with …” And here she literally swoons, swaying back and forth and making the plastic of the couch crinkle beneath her Brazil Butt Lift cheeks. Ariana is obsessed with at-home workout routines and has tried everything from old 80's Jazzercise tapes to whatever the newest streaming Beachbody video is. “Rhoden Richards,” she continues, patting my leg, “won't kill you.”

“It's wrong for me to accept. My father owns the team,” I tell her, but she isn't listening. And nobody else seems to care either. My phone blew up with about a million notifications this morning about how Loud and Proud Big Girl Della Garland Wins Date With Big Dick.

Yeah, I thought it was crass and tasteless, too.

The Huffington Post article is being shared everywhere; I can't seem to get away from it. Apparently, I'm a Loud and Proud Big Girl because I'm not a size two (not that there's anything wrong with that) and I run a blog about body positivity—at any size.

Oh, and apparently not everyone is aware of why people call Rhoden Richards Big Dick. Hint: it's not just that he's two hundred and twenty-five pounds of muscle operating under the last name Richards.

One of Ariana's model friends texted me out of the blue last night to tell me all about her one and only date with Rhoden Richards. Let's just say she'd insinuated that the nickname was nothing but pure truth.

I sigh and drop my face into the palm of my hand.

“I appreciate the fact that they donated all the raffle ticket proceeds to charity, but this is all just a big publicity stunt for Rhoden,” I say without looking up. “His image is in the trash and everyone knows it, including my father. Hell, he was probably the one that came up with this whole stunt. Not that he'd ever tell me that,” I mutter under my breath.

“Stop whining and start wondering what you're going to wear. We need to figure out how to get some sort of secret cam planted on you, so I can watch the whole thing from here.”

I finally raise my head, strands of red-brown sliding against my cheeks, to give Ariana a look.

“I'm turning this whole thing down,” I tell her firmly, even as her rouged red lips turn down at the corners. Since I'm a serious sucker for Ariana's puppy dog face, I almost change my mind. But then I remember the way Rhoden looked up at me, his full mouth curving into a satisfied smile, his liquid brown eyes drowning me as our gazes met from across the field.

I shiver.

“I have a terrible feeling about this,” I say firmly as I rise to my feet and sweep my hair into a ponytail as I ready myself to head over to my dad's house for dinner. The whole family's going to be there which, unfortunately, also means that Walter Virgil is going to be there. I'm not sure if the terrible feeling is for the date or the dinner.

“Is he going to propose tonight?” Ariana asks, like she's inquiring about a newly discovered STD or a moon sized meteor that's hours away from decimating the entire planet.

“I know you don't like him,” I begin, my mind flickering to Walter's slicked back hair and the cloud of outrageously expensive cologne that he drowns himself in.

“And you don't like him either,” Ariana says, crossing her red heels at the ankle. The shiny patent red shoes do nothing to dispel the 'sexy librarian' fantasy. “Go out with Rhoden. If you're going to marry Mr. GMO, then you might as well have one last night of fun.”

I purse my lips at her, but I don't really have a comeback for that. Walter, aka Mr. GMO, is the CEO of Donsanto, a powerhouse of a corporation that makes my dad's company look like small potatoes. They call themselves a sustainable agriculture company, but for the life of me, I've never been able to figure out what that means. Ariana says they make pesticides that kill honeybees and manufacture genetically modified corn, but who knows if that's true?

“I have to go,” I tell her as she leans back into the cushions with a sigh and the dramatic unfolding of a fitness magazine. “If he proposes, I'll text you.”

“Girl, you better come and pick my butt up,” she growls as I wave good-bye and head to the front door of her apartment. “And that ring better be the size of Alaska!”

She throws the magazine at my back as I beat a hasty retreat.

The ring is not the size of Alaska. It's like a Canada sized ring. Or a North America sized ring. But definitely bigger than Alaska. So, so, so much bigger than Alaska.

My heart gets stuck in my throat as I stare down at the massive rock cradled in my palm. I almost choked on it and died when Walter decided it would be romantic to hide it in my dessert.

“That is one hell of a rock!” my sister, Halcy, whistles from beside me, snatching the diamond engagement ring from my hand with a cackle and trying it on. It's beyond rude to try someone's ring on before they've even said yes, but I'm hyperventilating too much to chastise her right now.

“Halcy! Language,” my stepmother says because she's this old WASP socialite who thinks crap is akin to the F-word, and Ariana's interracial engagement should be the subject of national outrage.

I've hated her since I was ten.

“Well, Della,” she urges, smiling bright from across the impressive width of the dining room table. “Say yes.”

I look at my sister, brandishing the massive rock on her finger and feel my mind start to fall to pieces. How many carats is that? I wonder as I blink back stars and try to get a hold of myself. I knew this was coming. In fact, I was practically forced into it by my dad.

He introduced me to Walt about a year ago. Within an hour, he was telling me that this was our chance to combine two great American families and start a legacy. Within a week, he was discussing Walt's observations of me like we were talking business. He likes a bigger woman, Della, he told me, like I was prized horseflesh in need of inspection. He wants a down-to-earth girl, someone with a rags to riches story that grew up in polite society.

I feel like I'm about to throw up.

“Here,” Hal says, thrusting the ring at me as I blink back oddly disturbing images of Rhoden Richards, all sweaty in his uniform, his facial hair kempt but not groomed like he's some sort of fancy show dog. Like a poodle. That's what Walter looks like to me right now in his twenty thousand dollar suit and gleaming white smile—like a poodle. “Say yes, Della,” she parrots after her mother.

I look around the table—at my stepsiblings, at Walter's sister, at his parents, at my dad. They're all waiting expectantly, staring at me like they're prepared for the next line in their favorite play, one they've all seen a million times.

Because, I mean, who wouldn't just say yes to Walter Virgil? He's young and handsome and ridiculously filthy rich. Even if I don't love him, I should do this for the family, to keep my sister and my dad in the lifestyle they've grown accustomed to.

I seriously consider standing up and sprinting out the front door, fleeing to Ariana's house and never making contact with my family again.

Sweat starts to bead on my forehead and my temples. At this point, Walter's starting to frown and my dad's blue eyes have grown to monstrous proportions, the skin on his neck turning red, jaw tightening.

I look between him and Walter, my mind galloping along at a frantic pace. My lips feel suddenly dry, and I lick them, clearing my throat and trying to catch my breath. I hate being put on the spot like this. It's like the football game all over again, the cameras zooming in on my face. To be quite honest, I'm ten times as nervous now as I was then and for the life of me, I can't figure out why that is.

“Sure.”

The single syllable falls from my mouth and hangs heavy in the quiet room.

“Sure?” Walt asks, like he's also having trouble believing what he's just heard. Sure?! Did you just say sure to the richest bachelor on the planet? What is wrong with you, you crazy person?

“Yes,” I correct, and force myself to smile through the collective release of breath that travels around the room. “I mean, yes.” I stand up and move over to Walter, letting him put his arms on my hips to pull me in for a kiss. It's nothing to write home about—I've had better—but it's not completely god-awful.

“May I propose a toast?” Hal asks, lifting up her champagne glass while her mother glares at her from across the table. My little sister just turned twenty last week, and her mother is basically a hostile militant force in her life. Any chance she can get to drink alcohol—even just a sip during a toast—she latches onto it. “To the future Mr. and Mrs. Walter Virgil!”

I feel my entire body go stiff as Walt lifts up a glass to hand to me. Mr. and Mrs. Walter Virgil? We've been engaged all of two seconds and I don't have a name anymore? I glance over at the man in question, at his perfect white smile, his square jaw, his stately nose and all the rest of that blue blood breeding.

“Excuse me,” I say, setting the champagne back down and flashing a winning smile for Walter. I try really, really hard not to look at my father. “I'll be just one minute. One minute.”

Without making eye contact with anyone in the room, I walk slowly and carefully to the front door, and then let myself outside.

By the time my dad comes out to look for me, my car's already peeling out of the driveway and down the street.

Twenty minutes after I leave my dad's house, I'm pulling into a parking space at Ariana's. Before I climb out of the car, I risk a glance at my phone.

Holy crap.

My notifications are so blown up I'm starting to worry about the fallout. The only one I actually look at is a text from Hal. I always use her if I need to test the waters at home.

Covered for you. Said Ariana got in a wreck and you only had time to text me. P.S. If you're looking to hide out tonight, there's a party at Rochelle's. A MASQUERADE party. Should be fun and kinky. I'll climb out my bedroom window in about an hour. Pick me up around the corner.

I roll my eyes and turn the screen off, shoving the phone in my back pocket as I race up the stairs to Ariana's apartment and slam my fist against the door like it owes me money. It's only as I'm banging away at the wood that I realize I'm still wearing the engagement ring.

“Crap,” I mutter, reaching down to pull it off. The damn thing is stuck. I twist and pull, suddenly terrified at the prospect of revealing the ring to my best friend. It feels like if she sees it, it becomes real. I desperately don't want this to be real right now. Don't judge me. I know how ridiculous this all seems. Poor little rich girl, right? And anyway, didn't that terrible Y-word come pouring out of my mouth? My dad didn't say yes; that was me.

I drop my purse to the cement floor of the porch as I hear Ariana call out an I'm coming from inside. Meanwhile, I twist and wiggle that ring against the suddenly swollen flesh of my finger. I think I'm making things worse with my frantic struggling, but it doesn't matter. If it's the last thing I do, I'm getting this damn ring off.

“This better be a serious emotional crisis,” Ariana says as she swings the door wide and the ring pops off my finger and flies into the air. It spins there like some sort of million dollar snowflake before it plunges off the edge of the balcony and disappears into the bushes. “What the hell was that?” Ariana asks as I feel the blood drain from my face.

“Mr. and Mrs. Walter Virgil,” I blurt and she tweaks a red brow.

“What?”

“I cannot believe this is happening,” I mumble as I clomp down the stairs in the brown suede boots I put on for dinner. This time, I didn't let Hal help dress me, and I felt good. Strong. Confident. Now I almost wish I'd worn a plastic garbage sack, so Walt might've changed his mind about proposing. I am so blogging about this when I get home tonight. “Ariana, help me,” I tell her as I drag my phone from my pocket and hit the flashlight app.

“Help you? With what?” she asks, but Ariana's too loyal not to at least follow after me. She comes down the steps and kneels in the dirt near the overgrown clusters of fountain grass. This was where I saw it fall, I swear.

“Mr. GMO gave me a ring, and it probably costs like, a million dollars, and I said sure but not yes, and I really, really don't want to lose this goddamn thing.”

Ariana pauses and narrows her eyes at me while I scan the ground with my cell phone.

“Is it Alaska sized?”

“North America sized,” I say and Ariana squeals. She might hate Walter, but she loves rings. Especially big, fancy engagement rings like the one on her finger that her fiancé, Scottie, put on credit and totally can't afford. “I swear, if you help me find this ring, I will seriously do anything.”

“Like take me to that masquerade party thing tonight?”

I pause in my frantic search through freshly sprayed bark mulch, the fingers of my left hand already dotted with splinters.

“Did she text you again?” I ask, trying not to feel betrayed. Hal's been trying to steal Ariana from me for years with promises of fancy parties and her too-stubborn-for-her-own-good personality.

“About five minutes ago. But she didn't say anything about the proposal. How did he ask? And what the hell does I said sure but not yes mean?”

“It means,” I continue as I insert myself between a pair of manicured hedges. I bet there are spiders in here. Most definitely spiders. I think I can feel one in my hair. “That I froze up. That I saw everyone looking at me and talking all at once and I didn't know what to say.”

“Because you hate Walter,” Ariana interjects and then, “aha!” I jerk back through the hedges, getting sticks caught in my hair as I scramble around and find Ariana with the ring in her palm. “Holy crap, Del. This is … this ring probably costs more than my entire apartment complex.”

“I know,” I say, and I don't like the way my voice falls flat, like a popped tire. What kind of girl gets proposed to by the richest, sexiest bachelor in the world and says no? And then proceeds to act like it's some kind of burden, like having a million dollar ring is so awful. “And I don't hate Walter.”

“You certainly don't like him,” she tells me as she passes the ring back and watches as I slip it on my finger. It feels weird to wear it, so I take it off and make sure it's safely tucked away in a zippered pocket in my purse. “You haven't even had sex with the guy.”

“I'm not into casual hookups,” I say. Lie. I'm definitely into that, but they just never seem to happen. Maybe because I don't let them happen. There's always one excuse or another that manages to convince me why a guy isn't datable, screwable, marriageable material. With Walter, there really is no excuse. “Guess I'm saving myself for marriage,” I joke which is funny since I'm not actually a virgin.

“Guess I was right, and he did propose, and you just really don't want to marry him.” There's a long pause as Ariana leans back on her hands and looks up at the streetlamps above our heads. “That's okay, you know. To not want to marry the perfect guy.” A slight smile crawls across her mouth and I know she's thinking about her fiancé. Tall, gangly, nerdy, financially destitute Scottie. Definitely not Cosmo cover material, but … to her he is perfect.

Walter might be the perfect man to the rest of the world, but for me … well, I guess I'll just have to wait and see.

“Are you sure you don't want to dress up?” Ariana asks me from the passenger seat as I sit in my SUV and pick sticks out of my hair. I'm still wearing my conservative purple silk blouse, white pencil skirt and suede booties.

I look like … my stepmom.

A shiver travels down my spine.

“On second thought …”

I shoot my sister a text that we're on our way and swing by to pick her up before heading over to my place. If I'm going to this stupid party—it's the 21st century, who does masquerade balls anyway?—then I might as well comb the sticks out of my hair and put on some shoes that don't look like they belong to a senator from New Hampshire.

“This party tonight is gonna be swag,” Hal says and I roll my eyes. She's wearing … basically nothing: a tiny white dress that I can totally see her bra and thong through, and red high heels. Ariana is typical Ariana—sweater vest over a white blouse (which is, of course, unbuttoned down to her lacy red bra), red skirt, black suede boots, hipster glasses and braids.

I have no idea what I'm going to wear. I don't really buy clothes for parties which is funny since my sister drags me to so damn many of them.

“What kind of party is this?” I ask as we pull up to the security gate of my apartment complex. “Because the last time you said a party was going to be swag, it involved people in leather and latex doing it in the living room.”

“It's not a sex party this time, you prude,” Hal says, applying her lipstick in the rearview mirror. “So get over yourself and try to have some fun. Dad says Walt's eager to get married to prove to his stockholders what a responsible family man he is. You don't have long left to be a bachelorette, Del.”

I ignore her and pull into the parking garage, trying not to let my mind stray back to matters of Dad and Walt. The only reason I agreed to come out to this party in the first place was to get my mind off of them.

“Wait right here,” I tell them as I put the car in park and unbuckle my seat belt. “Give me five minutes.”

“Oh h-to-the-ell, no,” Hal says as she scrambles out after me. “If I let you dress yourself, you'll put on some ugly Target funeral gown.”

“Just because it's black doesn't make it a funeral gown, Halcy.” I walk faster when Ariana cranks up Katy Perry on my stereo so loud it vibrates the windows around me. I pretend not to know her. “And not everything from Target is ugly.”

“I think you should wear that sheer leopard print top I picked up from Neiman Marcus for you. Pair that with a pair of black leggings, some sexy heels. I'm thinking those Louboutins you wore to Dad's birthday party.”

I try not to make a face as I step inside the lobby and nod my chin at the security guard. I'm tempted to take the stairs just so I don't have to be trapped in the elevator with my little sister, but then I figure she'll end up following me. The idea of her voice echoing in the stairwell is just … no.

“I'm wearing the Target dress,” I say and her face gets this funny pinched look to it. Hal is naturally thin and kind of horsey looking in the face, so when she gets that expression, it's gruesomely exaggerated. She looks like she's about to have a tantrum. “Fine. Compromise? How about that cream colored dress with the V-neckline?”

Hal raises one of her blond brows at me.

“And I'll pair it with those black lace Sophia Webster heels?”

Now I get a smile.

“Done and done,” Hal tells me, a smirk blossoming on her face. Now if I can just manage to avoid having her pick out my underwear, we'll be in good shape.

I should know better than to dream so big.

The dress I'm wearing is cute and it fits great, but it's so short and I find myself constantly checking my butt to make sure nothing's falling out. It falls several inches above my knee, leaving my legs completely exposed. Oh, and my arms? Those are entirely out in the open, too, the single heart tattoo on my wrist invisible beneath the cluster of bracelets I slipped on.

“Please, come in and take your pick,” a man at the front door says after he checks the guest list and, unsurprisingly, finds my sister on it. She's used our family connections to her advantage her entire life and knows everybody.

I stare at the guy in his glittering green snake mask. I hate to admit it, but it's beautiful, chic, not at all like I'd imagined in my head. In fact, the array of masks on the silver trays in the attendants' hands are all works of art, probably designed by some famous artist or something. I bet each one's worth a fortune.

I move into the front hallway of the massive house, unsure as to who it actually belongs to. Hal said some woman named Rochelle lives here, but as far as I know, I'm not acquainted with any Rochelles. What I've come to realize through all my sister's meddling and dragging me around is that while lots of models and celebrities come to these things, it's usually the super-super rich who pay for them—people like Walter's twin sister, Anise. People with money from oil drilling, banking, diamond mining … or growing GMO corn crops apparently.

I blink those thoughts away as I move down the row of men and women in black and white tuxes, their silver serving trays positioned in front of them, held still as statues. Each one has several masks arranged on it. They range from exotic gold and black tiger masks all the way to deathly gorgeous skulls and couture zombie masks.

Each one is heavy, inlaid with jewels and attached to heavy duty leather straps. As each guest selects a mask, the attendant places it around their face and escorts them through the double doors at the end of the room. It's all very mysterious.

“Have I ever mentioned I love knowing you?” Ariana asks as she picks up a gray and white mouse mask with tiny ruby eyes and lets a woman in white gloves put it on for her. Hal goes for the most ostentatious thing she can find, slipping on a rainbow mask with fluffy white sequined clouds on the cheeks.

Me, I go for simple and easy, selecting a pale cream and white butterfly mask. But as I'm hefting it into my hands, I realize what I'm actually doing here. I'm settling. Again. Although marrying a rich, handsome guy like Walt isn't settling, is it? Is it?

Without a second thought, I drop the mask back in place and start my search from the beginning. Stag, elephant, spider, sun, moon. None of the masks seem right, not until I get to a golden lion in the back. It's fur is comprised of tiny polished stones, each sewn securely into place. The whiskers are long and curled at the ends, the eyes a brilliant blue that will blend in with my own.

“The lioness,” I say as I pick it up and rub my thumbs along the sides of the mask. As soon as the attendant secures it in place, I take a look at myself in one of the mirrors that line the hall. I'm completely unrecognizable. Everyone is, even Hal and Ariana. If it wasn't for their clothes and hair, I might not know it was them.

Wow.

The rush of freedom is overwhelming as I reach up and feel the mask covering my face. Tonight, I can be anybody I want. I can be a lioness.

I feel myself grinning as we're shown to the end of the hall and into a foyer where another masked attendant—an elegant designer giraffe this time—is taking coats.

“Ah, see, look. You're smiling already,” Hal says with a smirk that's only slightly less annoying with the bright colors of the rainbow mask. “Mission accomplished. Told you this would be swag.”

The doors of the foyer open and the hopping, writhing pulse of the room comes into stark focus. This might be like a masquerade ball, but I was more thinking glasses of wine and ballroom dancing and lords in suits. Maybe I'm the old-fashioned one.

The room is lit with gold and white stars, flickering across the crowd from projectors attached to the ceiling. In one corner, a DJ blasts Skrillex while people grind and gyrate all over each other. I head straight to the bar for a drink.

“Best part about these things,” Ariana shouts in my ear. “All the drinks are free.”

“What can I get you, pussycat?” the bartender asks as I raise my eyebrows at her, the expression hidden behind my mask.

“Two rum and cokes,” I say and the woman laughs, like she's trying really hard to match up to her hyena mask.

“Two rum and cokes. Okay, you got it.”

The bartender grinds and dances as she lifts up two bottles of rum and does a free hand pour in time with the grinding rasp of the music. When she hands us our drinks, they're far more rum than coke, but that's okay because I'm determined to have a good time tonight.

“Dance with me?” Ariana asks with a pout. “I'd feel guilty getting down and dirty with some of these shirtless boys weeks before my wedding.”

I grin at her and abandon my drink, letting her take me by the wrist and pull me into the center of the crowd, underneath a glittering rainbow chandelier.

We move and sway together, Ariana taking the occasional gulp off her drink until it's empty and a masked waiter appears like magic to whisk it away. Minutes later he appears with a new one. Ariana's shouts and laughter relax me, getting me into the moment, helping me let go and meld with the sweaty warm bodies around me, people pressed up on all sides.

Part of me tries to hate this, to tell myself I'm too old or too curvy or too crappy of a dancer to be here. Should I be playing the high bred wife like my stepmother? Melting into my role as Walt's other half? This doesn't really seem like a place or an activity he'd approve of.

When a guy in a German shepherd mask appears and invites me to dance, I jump in headfirst.

We follow the motions of the crowd, like waves in an ocean, stirred up by the wild storm of the music. My hands slide up the guy's glossy midsection as he puts his on my hips and pulls me close. In the corner of my eye I can see Hal surrounded by men (and a few women), the center of attention as always. Doesn't bother me though. I am so in this moment.

The song changes to “Purple Lamborghini” and my dog masked partner spins me around, dancing with my back to his front. I can see the whole crowd like this, a glittering sea of jewels and designer dresses. But the masks are so big and so fancy, it's like the playing field is leveled. We are all actresses and heiresses and dancers and lionesses in here.

It's fantastic.

As soon as that song ends, “Bonfire” by Knife Party starts playing. I'm still enjoying dancing with my new guy friend, but as the crowd shifts, I spot a gleaming golden mask not ten feet away from me.

Oh my God.

There's my lion.

A man with abs twice as sculpted and perfect as the guy behind me grinds on a blond girl in a cheetah mask, the mane of his own mask a brilliant spray of red and orange and gold around his dark hair. His pants are black, his midsection bare and golden with a delicious sprinkle of dark hair trailing over his belly button. His right arm is wrapped in a white bandage but the dips and swells of his biceps are mesmerizing.

“Excuse me,” I shout at the German Shepherd Guy. Whether he hears me or not doesn't seem to matter; he moves onto a group nearby and joins in their dance. I swim through the crowd, edging between couples who look like they're fused together, working my way carefully through the throng until I'm mask to mask with the lion. “Hey.”

That's all I have to say before he's abandoning his cheetah friend in the pink dress and moving over to stand next to me. His fingertips trail up my sides and I shiver, a wicked electric spark darting through the dress and into my skin. Oh. So much better than German Shepherd Guy.

Lion takes my hips and urges me into his rhythm, his pelvis moving in a suggestive way that gets my blood thumping hot and my pulse surging. I feel dizzy and excited suddenly, in a way I haven't felt in ages. Maybe this silly party is exactly what I needed. Lion Man traces his palms over my arms, his skin barely brushing the fine hairs on my biceps. Goose bumps spring up everywhere as I sway to the song and imitate the movement over his bare chest, grazing the hard points of his nipples.

A waiter moves by and I grab another drink; Lion does, too. We both down the liquid, one of his hands on my lower back, our hips moving sinfully close. Even through the salty smell of the crowd, I'm breathing this guy in. He smells like bourbon and vanilla and oak, this heady warm male scent that pushes all my buttons.

Part of me wants to ask him his name; the rest of me doesn't care.

I try to examine his face through the mask, but all I can see are the dark liquid spots of his eyes and the generous curve of his mouth. His stubble is thick and dark and reminiscent of someone … the alcohol is buzzing in my veins and I'm not thinking as clearly. My movements get a little more … forward.

And so do his.

Hands cup my ass, kneading the flesh as my dress rides up and I dig my fingers under the waistband of Lion's pants. When he leans in and breathes hot against my neck, I tilt my head to give him better access. Warm lips, tongue, a scalding whisper of promise that I can't resist.

Lion reaches down and takes my hand, pulling me towards the edge of the crowd.

I can still see Halcy in a circle of admirers, being worshipped like a goddess, but Ariana is nowhere to be seen. I figure she's probably at the bar again and decide that for right now, I need to do me. I always try to do everybody else, make everybody else happy.

This is my night.

Lion leads me down a hallway, past couples kissing, their backs pressed against walls, their masks still in place. When we get to a door near the end and Lion opens it, I follow him inside. My body feels warm and my heart is racing in my chest, making me feel alive and electrified. Music pumps into the bedroom from a speaker in the corner.

I watch as Lion locks the door behind him and pulls me close, the velvety front of my dress brushing up against his sweaty nakedness. He's tall, but so am I, so it doesn't take much to lean close, to feel his breath against my mouth.

I wonder briefly if the masks will get in the way, but then decide I don't care; I'm not taking mine off.

Lion lifts his fingers up and smoothes his knuckles along my jaw, drawing my mouth against his. The soft skin of our lips meets in a blazing inferno, one that makes my knees feel weak and quite literally stops the racing of my heart. I'm so shocked by the feeling of his mouth pressing into mine that I don't think I breathe or beat for a whole minute.

When that tongue of his slides expertly into my mouth, I melt, my hands coming up to his chest. He stops me an inch away, wrapping his fingers around my wrists and holding us apart. He urges my tongue to move against his, to dance the way our bodies were dancing only minutes ago.

Is this cheating on Walt? I wonder as the man makes love to my mouth with his slick, hot tongue. His smell is even stronger in here away from the crowd. It's deep and welcoming, strong and steady. I want to wrap it around my shoulders like a blanket.

A small moan escapes my mouth, blends into a masculine roar that growls from his in response. The masks don't touch at all, like they were designed to be worn while kissing. Hell, maybe they were?

Lion Man kisses me through three whole songs, pausing at the next and drawing away. When he lets go of me and starts walking backwards toward the bed, I follow.

The room is swathed in reds and golds and creams, an opulent palace of sin that my alcohol addled brain really likes. It feels luxurious and joyously sinful, like it was made for moments like this. Again, probably was.

Lion Man pauses with his thighs pressing into the bed, still facing me, and starts to undo his tight black jeans, the small black tattoos on his hips revealing themselves as he peels the fabric down his body, kicks off his boots and rises up to stand there in nothing but a pair of silver boxer briefs. They look lush and sexy stretched over the hard bulge beneath them. I want my hands all over that. Did I just think that?! This mask is making me crazy, the lioness taking over as I reach down and grab two velvety handfuls of my dress, drawing it over my head and tossing it aside.

Normally, I have a thing about getting naked in front of people. I'd rather do it in the dark with most of my clothes still on. But this … I feel okay right now. Better even when Lion's gaze rakes my body from head to toe, a slow easy smile bleeding across his mouth.

Oh.

I glance down and remember that I'm wearing that stupid lingerie that Hal ordered me from Frederick's. This is the one place she approves of black, in a fancy scalloped bra and matching panties. Personally, I prefer easy cotton and smooth t-shirt bras but right now, I'm ridiculously grateful to my bratty little sister.

I let my curves show as I move towards Lion Man in my heels, pausing as he reaches over to the table and slides open a drawer. Inside of it is a mountain of condoms. So that is what this room is for.

There's a second there where I almost pull back and grab my dress, sprint out of there and let my doubts and fears ruin another night. But then Lion Man settles those big hands of his on my hips and that strange fiery tingle starts up in all the places his fingers press. His touch urges my body forward until the softness of my breasts are pressed up against his solid chest. He leans down again, brown eyes sparkling and kisses me, tasting me with his delicious mouth. Maybe he was drinking bourbon tonight because his smell matches his taste.

Lion Man takes the lead, pulling me onto the bed and settling himself on top of me. His body is a solid weight as he kisses his way across my collarbone, his hands and mouth moving in time with the bass beat of the blaring dubstep. I can feel his touch vibrating in my bones like a good song, like an anthem.

His golden mask glitters as he drops his lips to my belly, drawing a slick hot trail down to my belly button and over my lacy panties. The stubble on his face scratches over my smooth skin in an intriguing way, making me shiver and writhe, my back arching off the bed like I'm dancing. When he goes to remove my panties though, I grab his stubbled chin and pull him back to my mouth.

We kiss again, mouths moving along jawlines, masks bumping as we navigate the unfamiliar shape and taste and smell of each other's bodies. My hands sneak down between us, rub across the silky texture of his boxer briefs, over the hard warmth hidden inside them. When I dip my fingers under the waistband, he doesn't stop me.

Holy crap!

This guy is … huge. Way bigger than I thought at first glance—and I thought big. My fingers curl around his shaft as he growls another lion's roar and thrusts into my hand. The thin hair on his chest and belly rubs against my nearly hairless smoothness, my naked legs tangling with his rough ones. I can feel the chorus of muscles in his body sing and stretch and bunch as one. This guy is far more athletic than anyone I've ever been with. He feels like a tank.

Our bodies rub together as I jerk him off, sliding my hand along the sweaty warm velvet texture of his cock. It's so big, I'm a little intimidated. As if he can read my thoughts, Lion Man takes one of my breasts in his hands, using his other arm to hold himself half-propped, half-laying across me. He works the tender flesh with his hand, the touch like a string attached to my core. My thighs clench and my hips rock with want against his bulge as he draws the lace down and drops his hot mouth to my nipple.

Teeth graze across the pebbled flesh as he tastes me, savors me like I'm dessert.

It's the hottest thing I've ever been a part of.

When he draws back and pulls away, my hand slips from his boxers and moves to my clit, touching the hardened point through my panties. Lion Man watches me as he shoves his gray boxer briefs down his hips and slides them off his muscular legs. When he adjusts himself and I see the full glory of his erection, I gasp.

He's big and thick with a gentle upwards curve and a proud, slick head.

I want him inside of me now.

A new song starts up, pinging and pounding through the speakers as Lion Man opens the condom and slides the latex over his shaft. I'm afraid it's not going to fit, but whoever stocked these rooms must've planned well because the condom works, wrapping that thick proud shaft nearly to the base.

This time, when he reaches for my panties, I let them go, lifting my hips so he can pull them down and off, tossing them aside as he positions himself above me and tests my wet core with his fingers. It's slick and ready and pulsing in anticipation as he eases two fingers in to the knuckle and draws them slowly back out. My eyes water as I stare up at the burgundy canopy above our heads, feeling the vibrations of the crowd and the music through the floor.

My hands slide around his neck, lifting up to dig through the thick darkness of his hair as he withdraws his hand and positions the head of his cock at my opening.

We exchange a long, lingering look, my blue eyes staring into his.

With one long thrust he enters me, fills me up, makes me gasp.

My body stretches to accommodate him and for a full second there, I find it hard to breathe. Lion Man waits for me to adjust, his body fully propped up, giving me some room to catch my breath. But I can't. I feel so full, my tummy muscles tightening and my thighs pressing up against the sweaty, muscular sides of this man's body.

I don't know his name, but when he starts to move inside of me, I wish I did.

That electrifying trickle between us intensifies into a blinding ache, each place that he touches me alive with energy and life, need, want, desperation. I groan and bury my face into the hollow of his shoulder, breathing deep with each thrust. His pelvis presses into my clitoris, grinding it in just the right way to get me off.

My hips feel stretched but I spread my thighs wider anyway, encourage Lion Man to press his warm, hard body into mine. His golden skin covers my paleness, drapes across me as he thrusts, each movement drawing his belly muscles up tight and then releasing them again.

My orgasm builds more quickly than I want it to; I don't want this moment to end.

We kiss again, mouths tangling as his movements get less practiced, more animalistic, more frantic. Our moans are lost in the music as we join together in a wild coupling, pleasure spiraling up through my spine and into my head. My mouth drops open as I raise my hips and cry out, coming around this mystery guy like he belongs to me, like I'll never let him go.

I'm still thrashing and panting when he grabs hold of my right hip and drives himself into me, so hard that I feel like I'm being ground into the mattress. The pleasure is so intense that I can't seem to make a single sound, a second orgasm wrapping over me as he comes in a violent, splendorous frenzy.

When he pulls back and slides out of me, I feel empty and stretched and satisfied all at the same time. Lion Man rolls over next to me and slides his arm under my waist, pulling me tight against him as the music changes again, mellows out a little.

I try to think of something clever to say, but no words will come out.

I must be feeling pretty good because before I know it, the sex and the alcohol and the warmth of this man's body come together until I'm too tired to keep my eyes open.

I fall asleep in the arms of a stranger.

My cheek is pressed into an unfamiliar pillow. When I try to raise my head, it feels like it weighs a million pounds. At first I think it's because I'm suffering from a major hangover, but then I realize that I'm still wearing my lioness mask.

“Ouch.” The heavy jeweled mask has been digging into my skin for hours, leaving deep grooves in the side of my face that feel tender when I press my fingers to them—and that's not the only part of my body that feels tender.

I curl my legs up to my chest and lean against the headboard, dropping the mask onto the pillow next to me, right next to the maned lion.

“Oh shit,” I say as the gravity of last night sweeps over me. I danced with a stranger; I had a one-night stand with a stranger. My tummy and hips feel sore, like I've been stretched, but in a good way. I feel satiated and womanly and possessive.

And I don't even know the guy.

That, and it looks like he split at first light. I sit up and notice a small piece of paper sitting on the nightstand next to me.

Good-bye, My Beautiful Lioness, it says and I smile. There's no number or name or anything attached to it, but then, that wasn't what last night was all about, was it? I sit up with a moan, the tender ache between my legs warring for attention with the soreness of the hickeys on my neck. I slap a hand against them and groan.

Guess it's turtlenecks for the next however many days.

Forcing my body up, I gather my clothes from the floor and tiptoe to the attached bathroom, giving myself a quick rinse before I get dressed, grab the masks, and head out the door. Disturbingly enough, I emerge at about the same time as Hal.

“I'll call you,” she whispers as she blows a kiss and closes a door behind her. Poor guy. Whoever's in there has no idea; Hal never calls. “Della,” she gasps when she turns around and sees me standing there in last night's clothes. “What are you … did you just come to pick me up?” Her head tilts to the side like she can't make sense of the situation, like there's no way I could actually be a normal, sexual human being.

“Let's go, Hal,” I say because I definitely don't want to get into the dirty details of whatever it was she did last night. I shiver as I remember the hot touch of Lion Man's hands on my hips, trailing down my belly, the shape of his mouth as he leaned down to press it to mine. My hand lifts unconsciously to my tummy. God, that felt good. “Where's Ariana?” I ask, suddenly ashamed of myself. I abandoned my soon-to-be-married friend to have sex with some dude whose face I never even saw.

“She left right after you disappeared, had Scottie pick her up.”

I cringe.

“Was she upset?” I ask as we head towards the front door and past a security guard who nods his chin at us. I try to hand him back the masks but he just shakes his head at me and mumbles, “keep 'em.”

“No,” Hal says, gesturing at the lion masks in my hand. Her rainbow mask is nowhere to be seen. “She was just happy she got to keep the mask.” I smile. Sounds like Ariana.

I hand the valet the ticket I pinned to the inside of my dress and wait for him to bring my car around.

“So … what are you doing here?” Hal asks again, studying me like she can see the after sex glow etched into the half-smile on my face. “Did you … hook up with somebody last night?” I pretend not to hear her as my Range Rover pulls up in front of us.

Hal at least has the decency to climb in before she starts grilling me, shoving perfectly shiny and tangle-free blond hair over her shoulder. Despite all the effort I just put into combing mine with the disposable black comb I found with the toiletries, mine looks like a tangled bird's nest, the reddish-brown curls twisting and bouncing in a single mass.

“Della?” Hal croons, grabbing my wrist as I reach to turn on some music. “You have to tell me what happened last night. Did you cheat on Walter?”

“I didn't … I can't cheat on someone I'm not with,” I say, but it sounds kind of lame even to me. I did say … sure last night, didn't I? Does that mean he thinks we're together? It must if he gave me that zillion dollar ring, huh? I moan and snatch a pair of sunglasses from a compartment on the roof, jamming them onto my face.

I feel awful.

But yet … the way that man's hands felt as they roamed my body, the way we melted together when he slid into me, I don't think I've ever felt anything so right before.

“Am I really a cheater?”

“Nah,” Hal says, but her words don't really comfort me. Hal is … let's just say she has very different ideas on monogamy and relationships than I do. “You've never screwed him, right?”

“Hal,” I warn, but she waves away my words as I squint through the early morning sunshine. Even with the sunglasses on, it is blinding.

“You're still a bachelorette in my opinion. After the wedding, if you guys haven't talked about exploring and open relationships and all that, then yeah, I'd say you were cheating.”

“I'm a cheater,” I repeat, but it's hard to actually feel like that's true. Walter doesn't feel like my fiancé or even my boyfriend. He's definitely not my lover. Not like Lion Man. God. I could've sworn that I belonged in that man's arms, that I really was the lioness to his lion. Oh well. It's probably best he skipped out of there before I was awake. It would've just been another awkward morning after to be suffered in half-sentences and silence. Best to remember it as the magical experience that's now ingrained in my mind.

“Don't think too hard about it,” Hal says as she takes off her seat belt and climbs into the back seat, giving me heart palpitations. When I hear the zipper on the duffel she stashed in here last night, I know she's changing to hide what happened last night from my stepmom. “Can you tell Mom that we went out to breakfast or something?”

I sigh and merge onto the highway, heading towards my dad's place. Maybe if I hurry, I can drop Hal off without anyone noticing me?

Best I start praying for a miracle.

I let Hal out around the corner and wish her luck, heading straight home for a proper change of clothes and what's certain to be a brutal fight with my hairbrush. When I get there, I immediately spot Walter's slick black Ferrari in the visitor parking.

Shit.

I park in my usual spot and grab my purse, digging frantically into the zippered pouch for the ring. Without stopping to analyze what I'm doing, I tug the diamond studded loop down my finger and crawl out of the car.

“Your fiancé is here,” the security guard, Marquis, says with a small grin as I walk in the front door. “Congratulations. I let him up to your apartment.”

“Oh, thanks, Marq,” I say, resisting the urge to curse him out. Walter. In my apartment. It feels like an invasion of my space and I don't like it. Makes me want to growl like Lion Man did last night, get fierce and protective, mark my territory.

I take the elevator up and find Walt waiting on my couch.

“Della,” he says in a slow, sensual voice, checking me out as I let myself in and close the door behind me. His eyes take me in appreciatively, scanning the curves of my bare legs with a shiny eagerness that makes me squirm. “I take it your friend's alright?”

“What?” I ask as I blink at him. And then … ooooooh. “Yeah, yeah, she's fine. Just a little neck thing and … Ariana's a big baby.” Which is a lie that couldn't be further from the truth. But then, Walter wouldn't know that because he doesn't really know me at all. I set my purse on the counter and smile at him. “What are you doing here?” I try to make it sound cheerful, but I'm not sure if that's how it really comes out.

“Well,” he says as he saunters toward me in his expensive navy blue suit, his dark hair smooth and perfect, his face groomed and smooth as a baby's today. The manicured five o'clock shadow is gone and I find that I like this look even less. Walt's still handsome, but … his urban slickness doesn't match up to Lion Man's fierce, wild animal nature. “I have a little surprise for you.”

I stand still as he comes up to me and takes one of my hands in his. Oh God, I think as he stares down at me. He can probably smell the bourbon-oak-vanilla scent of Lion Man. I know I still can. I feel like I'm drenched in it, marked by it. I felt like … it's silly, but I feel like he was claiming me last night. In his arms, I felt good, warm, safe, not at all like I was betraying anyone. When Walt pulls my hand to his mouth for a cold kiss, that's when I start to feel like I'm cheating on someone.

How silly is that? Masked No-Name Stranger? Or the guy I have to marry to save my family's business? Their home? Their lifestyle? My lifestyle?

“Yeah?” I ask, hoping I sound cheerful. Walt steps back from me and gestures to a bottle of champagne on the counter.

“Do you know what this is?” he asks slyly, lifting his dark brows up as he moves over to wrap his hands around the bottle's neck.

“Um, booze?” I joke, but he doesn't laugh.

“This is a bottle of Armand de Brignac's Nebuchadnezzar. I'd love to share a glass with you.”

I try not to let my mouth hang open as I let the name of the champagne swirl around in my head. That stuff is thirty-five grand a bottle?! Suddenly, I feel like I might hate Walter a little bit. Thirty-five grand for a few glasses of bubbly alcohol? That money could change lives.

“Do you have glasses?” he asks and it takes me a second to realize I'm spacing out.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say quickly, turning to the off-white cabinets behind me. Inside one of the glass fronted doors I can see a pair of champagne flutes that I usually use for Ariana and me. “Here we go,” I say, presenting the crystal on the granite countertop with a flourish. I feel like I'm overacting here, but I don't know how else to act.

Last night should've meant nothing, but somehow it feels like everything.

You're letting a random hookup get to you, I scold. See? This is why I don't do one-night stands. They just never turn out well.

“What are we celebrating?” I ask and then realize how stupid I'm being. I hold up my left hand and wiggle my fingers. “Besides the engagement I mean.”

Walter laughs, his blue eyes oddly similar to my father's. Not dark and mysterious and coated in chocolate …

“I've got you an engagement present,” he says, opening the champagne with a pop and pouring a frothy gold glass for each of us. “Toast?” I lift my flute and raise my eyebrow as he smiles over at me with his too thin, too wide mouth.

“To …” I start and Walter's weird smile gets even wider. He looks like a shark or a gator or a piranha or something. Sunlight filters in the wall of floor to ceiling windows in the living room, flooding the place with gold fingers of warmth.

“To … the Arcata Adders,” he says, and I get a strange chill in the bottom of my stomach. Oh. That's right. I won a date with Rhoden Richards. I'd forgotten about that completely in last night's frenzy. Hmm. “May they win the Super Bowl this year.”

“May they,” I say with an actual smile. Football. I can talk football all day long, especially about the Adders. “Richards might be a … well, a Big Dick, but if he keeps his head in the game, we shouldn't have any problem riding to victory.”

“Good,” Walter says as he tips his glass to his lips. “Because I don't want to think I've just purchased a losing team.”

My stomach bottoms out and I feel woozy all of a sudden.

“What?”

“I know how much the team means to you so I convinced your father to sell the Adders to me. To us. As an engagement present.” Walter beams and I stand there stunned, my glass still full and bubbling in my hand. “What do you think?” he asks eagerly.

I know I'm supposed to be happy. Thrilled.

I feel like I'm going to be sick.

“That's … wonderful,” I say as I tilt my head back and down the entire flute of champagne, just to keep from having to say anything else. I knew my dad was tossing around the idea of selling the team. After all, we're technically going broke here. But … I didn't think he'd actually do it.

I feel betrayed.

“I took the day off work,” Walter says as he comes around the kitchen island and puts a hand on my hip. “I thought we could spend some alone time together.” My body tenses up as he traces a circle on my hip.

Alone time equals sex time.

I can see it written all over his face, but I just smile and giggle and spin away, praying for a miracle. Seeing as how I'm not all that lucky when it comes to these sorts of things, I make something up until I can decide what to do about … all of this. The party last night helped me forget, but it didn't help me come up with a solution.

“I'd loooove to, but I have an appointment today with …” My brain spins uselessly. “My gynecologist.”

Ouch.

That did not come out how I was expecting; Walter looks terrified.

“It's routine, yearly maintenance type stuff,” I say which sounds ridiculous, but which Walter has no interest in delving into. Thank God. “In fact, I'm actually running late. I just stopped in to check on the rabbit.”

My bunny sits in the corner, her black fur glossy and rippling, as I move over and pretend to check her cage. It's clean, water bottle's full, and she's got plenty of food. But Walter doesn't know anything about rabbits.

“I hate to run out on you,” I say, but I can see he's already on his phone, a slight frown creasing his mouth. “Dad says Walt's eager to get married to prove to his stockholders what a responsible family man he is.” My sister's words echo loudly in my head. “Maybe we could … have dinner or something?”

“I have a board meeting. It'll run late.” Walter moves down the step into the living room and wrinkles his nose at the bunny before pressing a lifeless kiss to my cheek. “I'll see you on Monday though? At the game?”

I nod, but suddenly I'm overwhelmed with flashes of a future life where Walter's always at board meetings and I'm sitting alone with nothing to look forward to but cold kisses from his baby smooth face.

He starts to turn away and then pauses, glancing over his shoulder at me.

“By the way, when do you go on that charity date thing?”

“Charity thing?” I ask and then realize he's talking about the Rhoden Richards date. “I'm not sure actually.” Which is true. “I'll find out today.”

“Wonderful,” Walt says as he smiles at me, his expression a little warmer. “That'll be great publicity for both of us. Let me know when you want to release the news about our engagement and I'll get in touch with the media, make sure we spread the announcement before the event.”

With that, Walter hops the step up to the kitchen/entryway area and disappears out the front door.

I glance down at Wisdom the Rabbit and decide that at this point, I think I'd rather marry the bunny.

Just what the hell am I supposed to do about that?

“Supposedly Rhoden Richards was at that party last night,” Ariana tells me as I sit on her couch and check my blog for comments. There's a good two thousand of them, half of them spam. This Win a Date with an NFL Player thing is really cranking up my views. I start scanning through and approving the good half of the comments. “It was all over the news this morning, pictures of him coming out of that house with no shirt.”

I pause and look up at her with pinched brows.

“No shirt?” I start to think about last night, if I'd seen the man anywhere in the crowd. But then, everyone was wearing masks and I'm not sure I'd even recognize him if I did see him. Ariana is the Big Dick fangirl, not me. But then … “Can I see those pictures?”

“Google them, girl. It takes all of five seconds.”

I sigh and decide to finish my blog comments first, pausing to smile up at Scottie as he walks in the door with two loaded bags of groceries.

“Oh, hey Della,” he says as he takes his shoes off at the door and carries the food into the kitchen. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“No, just stopping by to see if Ariana wants to go on that Rhoden Richards date for me.”

Scottie looks terrified.

“As much as I would love to go out on a date with that gorgeous, gorgeous man, I think it's best if you do. Della, I won't let you talk yourself into another stint of unhappiness just because you think it's what everyone wants you to do. I don't want you to do it. Hey.” She reaches out and snatches my phone from my hand, forcing me to look into the vibrant green of her eyes. “Are you listening to me?”

“Did you not …” I lean forward so Scottie can't hear, the plastic of his medical grade sterile couch crinkling beneath me. “Did you not hear about last night? If that's not letting go, I don't know what is.”

“Fucking some guy in a lion mask doesn't count as making a life change,” Ariana shouts purposely, making both Scottie and me blush.

“And going on one fixed date with an NFL player will rock my world?”

“Just go,” Ariana says as she passes the winning raffle stub to me. I must have accidentally left it last time I was here. “I have a feeling about this.” I narrow my eyes at her because Ariana swears she's psychic. Maybe she's just perceptive because an awful lot of her predictions seem to come true. “If nothing else, I think it'll be fun, give you some time to think. Della.”

“What?” I groan with a roll of my eyes. I should've known better than to come over here.

“Don't marry Walter.”

“You're marrying Walter?” Scottie asks from the kitchen, pushing his glasses up his nose and frowning over at me. “Do you understand what that man's company does? They grow genetically modified crops and douse them with pesticides—and then they sue smalltime farmers when their mutated crop blows seeds into neighboring fields. Is that the kind of person you want to spend the rest of your life with?”

“Scottie, you're preaching again,” Ariana warns, but once the man gets on one of his rants, there's no stopping him. Unfortunately, he usually makes a good point.

“Walter Virgil is a plague on this country, one of the super elite cockroaches that subjugates and subdues the American people.” I give Ariana a look, but she's still staring at me like her gaze alone will be enough to bend me to her will.

She's usually right.

“I'm getting a puppy,” I tell them as I stand up from the couch and start toward the front door. “Someone that will listen to me, but won't talk back.”

“Plus there's the whole unconditional love thing that you definitely won't be getting here,” Ariana jokes as Scottie starts chopping up vegetables for whatever vegan dish he's making tonight. I envy his conviction.

“I'm leaving. Good-bye. Love you guys.”

Somehow on my way home, I really do end up stopping at the animal shelter.

And head home with a squirmy puppy in my lap.

I am such a sucker for happy endings.

“You are killing me here,” I tell the dog as he frolics and plays in the grass like he doesn't have a care in the world. I guess he doesn't considering he's not the one that has to pick up little puppy doodles off the white carpet. “It's potty time,” I croon, knowing the other dog owners are giving me scathing looks. It's like when people try to tell other people how to discipline their kid in public, only worse because pretty much everyone at this park knows more about dogs than I do. “Come on, kid.”

I bend down and stroke my hand over the silky soft ears of the mixed whatever-the-hell-it-is that I adopted from the shelter last week. The woman at the adoption counter said he was an English Pointer/Red Heeler mix, but who knows? Maybe I'll order him a DNA test or something.

Standing up, I stretch my arms over my head and enjoy the cool breeze drifting through the trees above my head. I'm blessed to have a dog park directly across the street from me. It's quiet and mellow and usually filled with quasi-famous people trying to avoid the tourist heavy Plaza area.

“I like your dog.”

The words are innocuous enough, but the voice behind them sends chills down my spine. I know that voice?! I think, wondering for a moment if I'm going to turn around and find Lion Man standing behind me. But then I realize that Lion Man never actually spoke to me while we were having sex.

I spin around, a tad theatrically if I'm being honest, and spot not Lion Man but Rhoden Richards. Mr. Big Dick himself. He's leaning against the trunk of a large oak tree and smiling, a tennis ball clutched in his left hand, the dark tattoos on his right arm peeking out from under the sleeve of his Adders t-shirt.

“Fucking crap,” I say and then cringe when Rhoden laughs and pulls that muscular arm of his back, launching the bright green ball into the blueness of the sky. One of the dogs breaks off the pack milling in the center of the park and takes off like a shot. From here, it looks like a husky, but at this speed, it's nothing but a gray and white blur. Plus, I'm crap when it comes to identifying dog breeds.

Rhoden returns his attention back to my face, those dark eyes of his scanning me from head to toe. It's a smug-faced, masculine sort of once-over, nothing special or surprising about it until he blinks stupidly and does it again. And again. A spark of recognition lights his dark eyes, sending a chill down my spine.

“Big Dick,” I say and then feel the blood drain from my face when I realize I've used that terrible nickname of his. I meant to say Mr. Richards. Crap. I'm really heading for an epic fail today, aren't, I? “What are you doing here?”

“Doing here?” he echoes, still looking like he's seen the ghost of Bloody Mary emerge from his mirror. The way he's looking at me is … disturbing. “You … you're Della Garland, Reuben's daughter.” A pause as his dog drops the ball in the grass and slaps its white paws in excitement. “Didn't you win that charity thing, too?”

There's suspicion in his voice now, but I don't mind. He's justified in wondering why the daughter of the team's owner just happened to snag the prize that thousands of other people were clamoring for. Goddamn it, Ariana.

I study Rhoden's face for a long moment, the dark stubble on his chin and cheeks, the warm glow in his dark eyes, the square jaw and full ripe lips. I'm not a very observant person, but …

There's a really long moment there where I just stare at him. And stare. And stare.

And then I pull my phone from my pocket and finally remember to Google Rhoden Richards.

Dozens of pictures pop up from last Friday, pictures of Rhoden leaving the masquerade ball … in a pair of … black jeans and boots.

My pulse starts to thump in my throat and I glance up sharply.

“You—” he starts again, but I don't wait around to hear what he has to say, snatching my new dog up (at three months, he's already practically too big to carry) and making a run for it. “Della!” Rhoden calls, jogging up to me as easily as if I were crawling instead of sprinting for my life with a squirming puppy in my arms.

I get a whole lot of tongue in my panting mouth in that moment and let's just say, it's distinctly not Rhoden Richards'.

Although, apparently, that tongue the other night was.

I slept with Rhoden Richards.

I slept with Big Dick.

I slept with that football dick.

My comfy outdoor slippers scrape across the pavement as I wish suddenly that I'd worn heels, sauntered over to the dog park in four inch stilettos like some of the women around here. Maybe if I were wearing something other than a pair of Target jeans and a turtleneck, I'd feel more confident speaking to the man I just had wild, passionate sex with.

Rhoden Richards. How could I not see that it was Rhoden Richards?

Now that I try really hard to remember all the details, it feels like I should've recognized him. There was that stupid bandage covering his tattoo, a Roman numeral nine etched into the skin above his left hip, the Adonis-muscles, the five o'clock shadow, the mouth, the eyes … need I go on? No wonder he went to such careful lengths to hide his back; the tattoos there would've given him away.

“It was you, wasn't it?” he asks although he clearly already knows. His words flood with heat and desire, making me wish I was naked and in his bed instead of sprinting down the sidewalk with a giant dog smacking me in the crotch with his tail.

Rhoden's dog trots happily beside me, like this is some kind of game.

“Can you slow down, please?” he asks, reaching out and taking the dog from my arms. He sets the puppy down on the ground and hands the leash over to me, a smile taking over that cocksure mouth of his. “What's the big rush all of a sudden?” He leans in close, way too close, close enough that I can smell the bourbon-oak-vanilla scent.

My cheeks flame a brilliant red.

“I didn't know you lived around here,” I blurt instead, but that's a lie because I did actually know that Rhoden Richards had recently purchased a place nearby. Ariana told me, of course, because she follows the man on every social media platform and news outlet known to man. “I did live here first, you know,” I add, just in case he needs to know that I'm not, like, stalking him or something.

Oh my God, or maybe he's stalking me?

I take the dog's leash from his palm, our skin brushing together briefly. That touch alone is enough to bring back a sensory overload of heat and warmth, skin and mouth and cock. My breath catches and then Rhoden's grabbing me around the wrist with his fingers.

“What a fucking coincidence,” he says, putting words to something I'd just really rather not talk about. “Meeting like this. Did you know that was me?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” I tell him—another lie. How could I ever forget? But I decide it's best to play dumb, get the hell out of here, and hope I never see the man in person again. Despite my father owning the team, this is literally the first time I've actually met Rhoden. I've seen him on TVs and computers, the Jumbotron, the field, in the distance at press conferences. But never in person. Never like this. “Can you please let go of my wrist?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” he growls in that lion voice of his, pulling me a step closer. I try to resist but the man is a mountain of muscle and I'm wearing these stupid slippers that fall off my feet at every opportunity. “Why'd you pick the lioness?” he asks, confusing the hell out of me.

His gaze is whisky and honey, his mouth a generous swell of heat that I want on every inch of my body.

“Wh-what?” I ask, enthralled by his attention, by the way his eyes dart to my pulse and then back to my face again. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he whispers, pulling me even closer. “That was you, at the party. Me and you,” he corrects and I go hot from head to toe. The feel of him stretching me wide, melding his body into mine, fingertips grazing across my skin … it was ecstasy. Pure and simple. “So why did you pick the lioness?”

“I … I don't know.” I think for a long moment. “It just felt right. Strong, powerful, wild. All the things I want to be but aren't.”

“Oh,” Rhoden purrs—literally fucking purrs (WHO DOES THAT?!)—as he sweeps his gaze over me again. “You felt like all of those things to me.”

“I didn't know it was you, okay?” I mutter, getting defensive because I'm so completely out of my element here. “It just … you had the lion mask.”

“Mmm,” Rhoden croons, letting his thumb rub a hot circle on my wrist. When he lets go of me, a cold chill sweeps down my spine. “I don't believe in coincidences,” he tells me, and I have no clue what to make of that.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says, standing up tall. Thank God I'm five eight or he'd be a giant. Big Dick. Wow. The rumors really are true. Eight inches of hard, thick, velvety … no. No, no, no.

“I have to go,” I tell him, pulse thundering. But honestly? The last thing in the world I want right now is to go. I want to stay here with Rhoden, hear him purr at me like a cat. Does that make me crazy?

His dog barks at me and I jump.

Rhoden just lets that smile of his melt into a slash of liquid sex on his face.

“Now that I know it's you, I'm looking forward to that date.”

“I'm not going,” I tell him and turn away, taking … that puppy I really need to name already with me. “Sorry.”

Rhoden walks after me, his long strides putting him at my side in half a block. His scent wraps around me, threatening to strangle the hormones right out of me. And here I am, smelling like dog, my black turtleneck covered in white and orange hair from the puppy.

“Was I that awful?” he whispers, tucking his fingers into the pockets of his dark jeans. They look kind of like … Target jeans? And I know my Target jeans. “Because I don't usually get any complaints in that department.”

“The purpose of those masks was to leave our identities at the door. I don't know what you're getting at but … that wasn't Della Garland in that bed with you.” There I said it. Admitted it. But why did it sound so sad? Time to go home and write up a blog post, start mentally preparing myself for tomorrow's dinner with Dad. He's still pissed at me over the way I handled the proposal. Time for some serious damage control. Oh, and I need to talk to him about the Adders.

“Well, that was definitely Rhoden Richards in you,” he says as blatantly as possible. I almost faint, and not in a sexy swoony way, but in a totally embarrassed crash to the pavement kind of way. “What are the chances we'd see each other here? At a dog park? And how old is that dog? You can't have had him more than a few weeks; I've been coming here everyday for a year.”

“I got him last week,” I admit and Rhoden whistles, moving to stand in front of me. His shoulders are so wide and his arms are … criminal. There's something about the way he wrinkles his nose a little when he's looking sexy like that that gets me.

“Think about it, Della. You're the daughter of the man that owns my team; you win the charity giveaway; we meet and screw each other at a masquerade ball of all places. And then, then I meet you here. In the dog park. If I didn't already believe in fate, I would now.”

“I'm not sure what you're getting at,” I start as Rhoden takes me in like I'm some kind of supermodel. Clearly, he's had plenty of those. It's all over the news. “What do you want with me?”

“You're joking, right?” he asks, reaching out and touching my hair. He tangles it around his fingers like it's silk and not some frizzy mess. “Do you remember the same night I do? Della, you're amazing.”

“I don't remember doing any of the work,” I blurt before I can stop myself, and watch in horror as his gaze melts all over me, coating me a tingly layer of hormones. I feel like I'm on fire, like I need someone to put me out. Rhoden reaches over to me and rests his fingertips a scant millimeter from my skin, just like he did at the party. And then he drags them down, not touching me, but making me crazy all the same.

“Chemistry,” he tells me with that sickeningly sexy smile. “We have chemistry, Della Garland.”

As soon as Rhoden drops his hands by his sides, I see Walter exit the lobby of my building. He has flowers in his hand and a frown on his face. Shit. My entire body freezes and I swallow hard as Rhoden glances over his shoulder.

When he turns back to me, he raises an eyebrow.

“Friend of yours?” I pray to God that Walter won't see me, but luck of luck, he manages to look exactly my way, immediately starting towards us. Maybe Rhoden's right, maybe fate really does exist? If so he/she is an asshole.

“Della,” Walter says, sweeping in around Rhoden and pausing next to me. “I was afraid I'd missed you.” Another of those lifeless kisses on my cheek, and then Walter hands me a bouquet of roses which I'm allergic to. Hmm. I hold the flowers away from my body and try to smile. But then I remember that Rhoden Richards is standing in front of me, and that he's Lion Man and that we had ridiculously passionate and completely anonymous sex.

Aaaand … then I remember I'm not wearing my engagement ring.

“Walter,” I say, tucking the fingers of my left hand into my pocket before he notices. “This is—”

Walter interrupts me, which I hate.

“Rhoden Richards.” His voice is cold as hell. It scares the crap out of me. I've always thought of Walter as kind of … harmless. But in reality? I think I may have misjudged him terribly. “This is an interesting coincidence.”

Rhoden looks at me and then turns his attention to Walter.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asks, completely and utterly oblivious to the situation. Or maybe he really does know who Walter is and is playing dumb? I can't figure the man out.

“This is Walter Virgil,” I start and before I can stop him, hear the man blurt out, “Della's fiancé.”

There's a really, sticky awkward moment of silence.

“Fiancé?” Rhoden growls. And no, I'm not being romance-novel-chic here. The man growls. He lets noises tear from his throat like a possessive animal. “Wow. When did you become such a lucky man, Mr. Virgin?”

“Virgil,” Walter snaps, his lip curling a little. I feel like there's some history between these two that I'm missing out on. Walter gathers himself together like he always does and runs his hands down the front of his suit jacket. “We got engaged last Thursday, actually.” When he wraps an arm around my shoulders, I stiffen up.

Rhoden notices.

The look he gives me … it's almost like he feels sorry for me. And I hate that. I really, really hate it.

“Thursday, huh?” he asks and I panic when I think he's about to mention the party. “I was nailing some hot chick in a lion mask on Thursday.”

Walter gapes at Rhoden's blatant rudeness and then glares at his back as the man whistles and moves around us to head back to the dog park. When he passes by, his shoulder and arm brush mine quite intimately. I don't think that was a mistake.

“I can't wait for our date, Della,” he whispers in a racy purr, and I shiver, like he's somehow managed to find an erogenous zone on my ear with just his words. “Excuse me, Mr. Virgin.”

I stare at his retreating back for a moment before I turn back to Walter.

But he's not looking at me. Instead, he's staring down at the dog.

Who's shitting on his shoes.

Great.

What a morning.

I wish I could describe my week to you, but then this site would be rated with a big fat R for racy. Let's just say, I had a chance encounter with a stranger that made me feel good about myself, made me feel sexy, warm, wanted. It was a chance meeting, something that was never supposed to mean anything. But now I've met the man, now I know who he is and I'm not sure how to deal with that.

I lean back in my computer chair and eye the web browser with twitching fingers. Looking up pictures of Rhoden Richards on the internet is a really bad idea. I've already tried that and let me just say, the man hardly takes any photos with his clothes on. It's all abs and muscular thighs and sculpted backs. I've never even really given thought to a man's back before, but seeing these pictures in a new light, with the carnal knowledge of the way those muscles felt beneath my hands, has changed everything.

I click off of my blog and onto the Google search for Big Dick Richards which seems to bring up the best shots. The one I'm staring at is a full body shot of Rhoden's back, etched from neck to the tight curve of his ass in a black and gray tree, its branches stretching across his shoulder blades, the leaves so finely detailed they look like they could float off with a change in the weather.

My breath hitches and I close the window before I get too excited. The longer I look, the more rapid my breathing becomes. My hand starts tracing a path along my thigh towards the heated center of my core. With a massive amount of restraint, I refocus on my work.

I got engaged a few days ago. But not to the man that made me feel whole, warm, the man that smelled like vanilla and oak and bourbon. I got engaged to a different man, a more practical man, a man that makes sense.

I pause again and put my head in my hands. Clearly, I can't publish any of this. Although it's highly unlikely that anyone I know actually reads my blog, I can't take the chance that my dad or Walter or—God forbid—Rhoden could see this. My cursor highlights the words and obliterates them from existence.

I start the post over again.

Remember how I said I have a thing about my arms? Well, I wore a dress with no sleeves the other night and I felt fabulous! In fact, I felt prettier that night than I have in a long time, and it had nothing to do with my outfit and everything to do with the company I kept. The thing is, it felt good to dress up for once. Presently, I am still in the camp of comfy clothes, but I've decided to experiment with my wardrobe and not just my shoes (you know how much I love a good pair of heels, comfortable or not). So, starting tomorrow, I'm going to document my outfits and #lovemycurves with every single piece I wear. Because you know what? If a stranger could make me feel beautiful, then I should be able to make myself feel beautiful.

Goal of the Week: try on something that scares the crap out of me … and then wear it out.

I plug my phone in and upload the group selfie that Ariana, Hal, and I took when we first got out of the car. After typing in a quick description of the outfit and uploading it, I find myself staring at Rhoden Richards' naked backside again.

“I cannot believe I slept with you,” I groan and then jump when the front door opens suddenly, glancing over my shoulder to find Ariana in a blue pantsuit and towering black heels. Before she can see what I'm doing, I close my browser window and spin to face her.

“I brought Chinese. I know, I know, it's probably loaded with MSG, but I can't seem to think beyond kung pao chicken today. It's infiltrated my brain.”

“Ariana,” I start before I can lose my nerve.

“I brought chopsticks. I know you don't use them, but I figured it'd be fun to at least try. It's like the food tastes better somehow if you have to work for it, you know?”

“I slept with Rhoden Richards,” I blurt as Ariana freezes, one arm inside the paper bag on the counter. Her green eyes look like they're about to topple out of her face.

“You … did you already have that date?” she asks, blinking confusedly at me, kind of like Rhoden did at the park today when he first realized I was his mystery date. His lioness. An all over shiver wracks my body, the good kind that makes the thighs clench tight. I can't believe how fiercely I want to see him again.

“No, Ariana. It was him. I slept with Rhoden at the masquerade party.”

There's a good thirty seconds of silence there. And then Ariana tosses her head back and laughs hysterically.

“This is so GREAT!” she screams and I cringe, crossing my arms over my midsection as I try to figure out exactly what makes this so amazing. Personally, I think it's kind of an epic disaster. When Ariana starts bouncing up and down like a schoolgirl, I lose all respect for her. Seriously. I'm having a crisis here.

“This is not helping.”

“Helping?” she asks as she pulls out a fortune cookie and shreds the plastic. Then she feeds the whole thing—fortune and all—to the dog. Great. Guess who's going to have to clean up a pile of poop with You Shall Fall in Love with a Mysterious Stranger written on a tiny piece of paper inside of it? That's right: me. “What are you talking about? This is exactly what you needed, Della. This is your wake-up call.”

“Finding out that the first man I've slept with in six months is a douche-y football dick is a wake-up call?”

Ariana sighs and comes over to kneel on the carpet in front of me, folding her legs underneath her and sitting back on her heels. Her red braids dangle loosely over her shoulders.

“You know how you told me that there was something magical in that man's touch? Like you were on fire?”

“It was sex, Ariana. Not a life altering revelation.”

“That's not what I'm talking about, Della. Shut up and listen. There are about a hundred things that come together to determine whether a relationship is meant to work or not. Sex is just one of them. Chemistry is just one of them. And guess what? You have both with this guy.”

“It doesn't mean he's my soul mate or anything,” I tell her as Wisdom taps her back feet in annoyance. She still isn't used to the dog yet. To be fair, the puppy sort of acts like he wants to tear the poor bunny's throat out, but I still think I can make this work. The three of us, we're going to be a family, damn it.

“Noooo, but it's at least one thing you have in common. One more thing than you have in common with Walter.”

I sigh. Here we go again.

“You don't like the man, don't have any shared interests, and his touch grosses you out. Look, I've been trying to be supportive here, but it's been like, a year since your dad started forcing him on you, and you haven't done anything about it. And you want to know what the really sad part about all this is? Your entire family thinks that this wedding is on. Hal texted and told me that your stepmom is interviewing wedding planners already.”

Well that's news to me.

“You hate Walter.”

“I don't hate him,” I respond automatically.

“You hate him,” Ariana repeats again.

A long pause.

“What do I do about Rhoden Richards?” I ask instead because oddly enough, this feels like the more pressing question.

“Do?” Ariana asks and then her face melts into a drooling smile. She clasps her hands by her chest. “Didn't you already do him?”

“Hilarious,” I say as I cross my legs and bounce my foot in frustration. “He lives around here, Ariana.”

“So?”

“And I won a date with the guy.”

She wrinkles her nose at me, like I'm some sort of crazy person.

“You are the only person I know who runs so hard and so fast from something they like. You won a date with him, yeah. So go on the date. Sleep with him again. It's not really that hard of a thing to figure out.” A long pause as she stares dreamily at the ceiling. “Tell me about the sex again, from start to finish. I need to vicariously sleep with him through you.”

“Do you know how gross that sounds?” I ask as I stand up and move into the kitchen to grab some food. “I'm not going on that date, Ariana. It just … I don't think I can handle it.”

“Suit yourself,” she says, but I can tell she's pissed at me. “Marry Walter then and make little GMO babies.”

“Maybe I will,” I shoot back at her, but admittedly, the thought kind of freaks me out. I decide how to best segue into the dog park story. “Did you know the puppy crapped on Walter's ten thousand dollar loafers this morning?”

Ariana's face breaks into a rictus grin, and I know I've started off on just the right foot—pun intended.

Dinner at Dad's.

Not exactly the highlight of my week. No, that would be when Rhoden Richards drove me into the mattress with his giant …

“Hi Dad,” I say cheerfully as I come into the house and find him already seated at the dinner table. My stepmom gives me an evil glare, like I've somehow destroyed her life by being six minutes late. It's not like she actually cooked anything on the table anyway. No, that was her chef, Uma, a woman who puts up with enough crap to fill the city's sewers ten times over.

“Hal, Reagan, Emery, Mom.” The word grinds out between my teeth from habit. Ever since they got engaged, both my father and my stepmom forced me to call her Mom. I used to get spankings or time-outs if I didn't. I might be a little beyond the belt and the grounding at this point, but it slips out without my meaning it to sometimes.

“You look hot,” Hal mouths at me as I pass by and take a seat across from her. I've got on a georgette button-front dress with a white cardigan over the top. Paired with some gold and cream winged heels, it's a winner of an outfit. I feel free and flirty and fun. It's part of my new dress for success mantra that I came up with for the blog yesterday. I usually just write about how I feel, how I want to feel, my plans for getting there. It's not like I'm famous or anything, but I make enough off ad revenue to support myself. Well, the fact that Dad paid off my car and condo helps immensely.

I feel like a complete asshole in that moment.

“Della,” Dad finally acknowledges when he feels like I've suffered enough. “How's Walter?” I have no idea what to say since the last time I saw the guy, my dog was shitting on his shoes. I make myself smile anyway as Hal makes gagging motions across the table. My stepmom slaps her on the thigh and she cringes.

“He's great. Really excited about the fact that you're selling the Adders to him.” I pause when I realize I've just blurted it all out. Oops. I'd meant to ease into it carefully, tactfully. Guess I'm not a very good public speaker. “Dad, you can't sell the team.”

“We've discussed this, Della,” he tells me as he reaches down and picks up his napkin. His gray hair makes him look fierce and patriarchal, like some kind of wiseman or something. The way he says everything makes it feel true, like he orders liquid confidence and injects it into his voice. It made it hard to defy him as a child; it feels impossible now. “You'll be married to Walter anyway, so what does it matter?”

“It matters because …” Because the Adders have always been my team. Not his. Not Walter's. “Look, if you have to sell, I understand, but could you maybe pick somebody else?”

There's a loud clinking of silverware as my stepsister, Reagan, drops her fork to her plate and fixes me with an evil stare. She's just like her mother, an East Coast bred blue blood who thinks the world owes her. Too bad her family's out of money, too. Reagan knows that her future also depends on my decision here.

It makes me sick to my stomach.

Why couldn't Walter have fallen for her? Or for Emery? Either one of them would have leapt at the chance to hang on Walt's arm for the rest of their life. But he chose me. He only wants me.

I swallow hard and fiddle with my napkin.

“What is going on here?” my dad asks as he folds his own napkin and sets it on his lap. “You're not acting like yourself.” Which is a funny thing to say since I'm pretty sure he doesn't know me at all anymore. My dad still refers to me as unemployed even though I make more from my blog in a month than Reagan has ever earned in her entire life. P.S. She's earned herself a net worth between negative one and one. Meaning zero. Meaning zilch.

“I just …” I look up and find everyone staring at me again, all of their eyes narrowed and critical (except for Hal's, of course). The heat of the spotlight glares down on me again, making me sweat. “I guess that date thing with Rhoden Richards is in November? Saturday, two days after the game against the Titans. It'll be good publicity.”

WHAT THE HELL AM I SAYING?!

There's a long, agonizing pause, punctuated only by my stepmother's careful sipping of her wine. She even fans her throat with a napkin.

“That's nice,” my dad says, like he's already forgotten my rare moment of defiance. “Although I can't fathom why anyone would want to go on a date with that man, for charity or otherwise.”

“He's the best quarterback this team has ever had,” I snap, suddenly enraged and desperate to protect Rhoden's honor. Um, overreacting much? “Without him, we'd be sopping up a last place ranking in the NFL and licking our wounds between games. The man's a goddamn prodigy.”

“Whoa, there,” Hal says with a snorting laugh. “Talk about defensive. You got a crush on Rhoden Richards or something?”

“Language, Della,” my stepmother says as I feel my skin getting hot and itchy. The urge to run is there, sneaking beneath my skin. I duck my head and force myself to eat Uma's admittedly delicious cooking. It's the only reason I make myself stay and be polite. If anyone else in this family had cooked the meal, I'd be out of here already.

After dinner, I make one last attempt to talk my father about the Adders. It feels imperative that I get him to listen to me.

“Please don't sell the team,” I beg when I find him sitting alone in his office. The room is massive, a towering conservatory of windows, wood and books. I've loved this place since the moment we bought the house, when I was eight years old and Mom was still alive. She didn't even get to enjoy all the luxuries her hard work and sacrifice had given us; she died about six months later. Less than two years after her death, my dad was moving the Wicked Witch of the East into my house.

Our relationship never did recover from that.

“Don't be ridiculous, Della,” my dad says as he shuffles some papers around on his desk. “You always fixate on the smallest things.”

My lips purse tight as the condescension rolls over me like water off a duck's back. I'm used to it. But I don't want to be. I want to get the hell out of here.

“Dad, the Adders are … that was mom's team,” I say, mentioning her aloud for the first time in what must be years. My dad stiffens in his expensive suit, a far cry from the man who used to scrub floors for a living. A lot of the time—most of the time—I miss that man with a fierceness that scares me. Doesn't money and success make everyone happy? Sometimes I feel like I was happier when we were poor. “If you sell to Walter, he'll probably fire Rhoden and we'll never make it to the Super Bowl.”

“What are you even talking about, Della?” he asks without bothering to look at me. I feel two inches tall in that moment, but I force myself to keep going. This is important to me.

“If we waited until the end of the season—” I start, but my dad interrupts me. Just like Walter did yesterday.

“It's done, Della. I've already had my lawyer draw up the papers. Walter Virgil is the proud new owner of the Arcata Adders.” He finally looks up at me, blue eyes flashing with frustration and then softening a little when he sees the expression on my face. In a rare moment of tenderness, my dad moves over to stand next to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Della, you'll marry Walter. The team will still be yours, honey.”

I feel tears prick my eyes, but I have no idea what they're for. Am I really crying because my daddy sold my NFL team? No, no, that's not it all. Not by a long shot.

“Dad, I … I don't think I … I don't love Walter.” The tears get more jiggly, beading on my eyes before they start to leak down my face in salty streaks. I'm twenty-nine years old, but I feel like a little girl right now.

My dad smiles softly, the wrinkled skin of his face crinkling with the motion.

“Walter is a solid businessman, Della. He has connections, money, family in all the right places. He can give you anything you want, anything. Della, you can have the world if you want it.”

I stare up at my dad and shake my head, trying to figure out how to put what I'm feeling into words. Can Walter really give me everything? Can he give me what Lion Man … er, Rhoden Richards gave me the other night? That warm tingly feeling in my skin, the vibrations of pleasure in my bones? Somehow I can't imagine it. Chemistry. Maybe you either have it or you don't?

My dad kisses me on the forehead and turns back to his desk, ignoring me as he gets to work on something on his computer.

Walter owns the Adders.

I'm his fiancé.

And I just fucked his star player.

I can't imagine any of this turning out well.

“Come on, Dickhead,” I plead, trying out a name for the dog. It seems to fit his stubborn personality as he sniffs around the grass and refuses to go to the bathroom. The second I take him home though, he'll go on my carpet. I know he will.

“Rough night?”

The sound makes me jump and I turn at the creak of the gate as Rhoden Richards lets himself into the dog park, his husky bounding and leaping and running circles around me and Little Dick.

“How could you tell?” I ask, too tired to argue. The scant hour and a half I spent at my dad's drained all of my energy.

“Tears usually give that kind of thing away,” Rhoden says, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb across my cheek. The touch scolds as I bite back a gasp. Wow. Whatever molecules make me up really seem to like Rhoden's molecules. There's some kind of weird charge between us, like we're sharing electrons or something.

“I hadn't even realized I was crying,” I say as I swipe my hands down my face. “I think they're tears of frustration.”

“Yeah, well, if I was engaged to that dildo, I'd be crying, too.”

I cringe at his crude language as I glance over and take in the sharp lines of Rhoden's face, limned silver-blue with moonlight. He's wearing a leather jacket over a brown button-up, his pants a dark denim that's nearly black. The man looks like he's either on his way to a party or on his way home from one.

I check my phone for the time.

Not even ten o'clock yet. Nope. He's on his way to a party.

“You want to tell me why you spent the night sleeping in my arms instead of his?”

“We've never had sex,” I blurt and then flush a crimson color that makes Rhoden laugh, this deep velvety chuckle that makes my lady parts pulse.

“I don't know what your standards are, Miss Della Garland, but what we did was definitely sex in my book.”

“Not me and you,” I groan as I try to cover the embarrassment on my face with my hands. “Walter and me.” Why are you telling secrets to some guy you barely know?! Stop it.

I keep my eyes covered as Rhoden whistles under his breath, super aware of his body heat and that heady masculine smell of his. Our thighs are less than an inch apart, the nearness bringing up memories better left forgotten. Hell, it's been like a week since the masquerade ball? He's probably slept with seven different girls already, the memory of me fading into nothing in his massive catalogue of sexual exploits.

“Now that's even more interesting,” he says as I drop my hands and look over at him. It's surreal, sitting so close to the guy like this. I've watched him on the field for so long, watched Ariana literally lick her phone screen when his picture pops up … had anonymous sex with him on a Thursday night. But sitting like this, all casual and friendly? It's weird. “Why not?”

That's a good question actually, one that I don't really have a clear answer to. I open my mouth to say something about Walter buying the team, but manage to stop myself. Once the sale is final, the players will be informed and a press conference will be held. Until then, I should probably keep that information to myself.

“I have no idea,” I whisper as the puppy tries to invite Rhoden's dog to play. The husky bares her teeth at him and trots off with my little orange and white nightmare on her heels. I glance over at Rhoden and find him staring at me with those bourbon brown eyes of his. The attraction between us crackles like embers in a fire. “I guess I'm not … really … attracted to him?” It comes out as a question.

Rhoden's expression shifts into something interesting as he sits back and hooks his hands together behind his head. Even a motion as simple as that shows off the sleek, graceful way he moves, like a panther or something, all rolling hips and padding paws.

My breath catches, but I pretend it's just a cough.

“Where do you want to go on our date?” he asks, momentarily distracting me from the whole Walter thing. I blink stupidly for a moment and look back out at the dog park. Even at this early hour, it's deserted. Except for Rhoden Richards and me, of course.

“How did … is this another coincidence?” I ask, pointing between him and me and avoiding the question. Stating confidently to Ariana that I'm not going on the date is one thing, but looking Rhoden in his eyes and telling him no is a whole different story. Sitting here so close to him, I don't want to say no. This is a heartache waiting to happen.

“Oh, hell no,” he says, completely and utterly unashamed of his own behavior. “I saw you on the sidewalk outside and followed you over here. I live in the building directly next yours, you know.”

“You're kidding?” I ask, aghast at the pile of coincidences that are starting to stack up. “That's crazy. How come I've never seen you before?”

Rhoden drops his arms and shrugs, the movement rustling the smooth lines of his leather jacket.

“I don't spend much time around here except for at the park. Basically I come home to change, take Billy out if I've been gone all night.” There's a pause there and a flicker of those dark eyes back to my face. “Like say, if I've spent all night holding a lioness in my arms.”

“You were not there all night,” I say and then cringe a little. Ouch. I did not mean for it to come out that way. I adjust myself, surreptitiously scooting a few careful inches away from Rhoden. “When I woke up, you were long gone. I mean, not that I care. Not to be rude or anything, but I was kind of hoping to never see you again.”

Rhoden relaxes his smile into a sinful curl of lips that's lazy and sexy and brimming over with self-confidence. If only he could bottle some of that and sell it to me …

“I almost stayed you know, or left my number. And I never do that. Now that I know who you are, I'm positive this is fate. I'm not sure what she wants from either of us, but I'm not one to let uncertainty get in my way.” Rhoden turns to me, leaning in so fast and so close that for a second there I think he's going to kiss me again. “Want to go to a party with me tonight? That's got to be better than sitting in the dog park by yourself, crying.”

“I wasn't really crying,” I assure him, but he's putting his hand on my knee and drawing it towards him, effectively opening my thighs. My breath hitches and I drop my own hand, curling it around his. “I'm engaged,” I say, but there's no weight to that statement. I don't feel engaged. Maybe I should just talk to Walter about all of this? I owe him at least that, don't I?

Rhoden licks his lips, but he doesn't pull his hand away. Neither do I.

“Just come to the party with me, that's it. Dance. Drink. Have a good time.” He smiles at me and my heart bounces around my chest. “I promise, I won't tell Mr. Virgin you were naughty.”

I smile back even though I know I shouldn't. Even if it wasn't for Walter, I can't have anything to do with Rhoden. The masquerade party is a perfect example of why. This is a guy who picks up random chicks, sleeps with them, and then bails. He's famous for it. In fact, he's gotten himself into trouble with the league more than once for his ostentatious behavior.

“Okay,” I hear myself saying before I can stop the syllables from falling out of my mouth.

Rhoden leans in even closer, his hand sliding up my thigh. His scent wraps around me and makes my spine curl involuntarily.

“Let's go.”

He hops off the table and holds a hand out for me, helping me down and then whistling for his dog. Both of them come running.

“Billy,” I say, remembering the name he gave the husky. I reach down and rub one of the dog's soft gray ears. “So it's a boy, I take it?”

“Nope. Girl. I just call her Billy the Kid because she's a little bit of a shit.” I laugh as I lean down and hook the leash to the puppy's harness. As I stand back up, I notice Rhoden watching me with a hungry gleam in his eyes, taking in all my curves with an appreciation that can't be faked. I find myself blushing again. “So, did you really rig that charity thing?” he asks as we start towards the gate that'll take us out of the park.

The question does nothing to dispel the redness in my cheeks.

“Actually, no. My friend is … well, let's just say that she's a huge fan of yours. She bought a bunch of raffle tickets with my credit card and didn't tell me. Trust me, the win came as a huge shock.”

“You never answered my question,” he says absently, his voice this intriguing promise of more, like everything we're doing right now is just a prelude for sex. Goose bumps break out across my skin. “About the date, I mean. What do you want to do?”

“Isn't this already a date?” I ask as Rhoden leads us down the sidewalk toward my apartment complex. I have no idea where we're going; I'm assuming we're dropping the dogs off at our respective places first. Oh, God, Rhoden's apartment. Half of me is desperate to see it and the other half wants to run screaming.

“This isn't a date,” he says casually, but the words sting anyway. I know I'm the one who just emphatically announced my engagement to another man, but still. “It doesn't count. On our real, official, NFL sanctioned date, where can I take you? And is Mr. Virgin going to throw a shit fit about it?”

“Do you and Walter know each other or something?” I ask as I look over at him, trying my best not to continuously catalogue and admire all of his beautiful features. “Because I sensed some hostility there.”

“No hostility. I just didn't like the arrogant fuck. I'm having a hard time imagining that you do either.”

“My family's broke,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. Something about this man makes me want to spill my guts and I'm not sure why. The vibe he gives off is the same one I lament when he's on the field: cocky, arrogant, completely full of himself. Yet … when those whisky-honey eyes swing over to me, I'm lost, floating in a sea of stars. “My dad's going to lose the company he built and …” When I say it all aloud, it sounds twice as pathetic.

“I see,” Rhoden says, but he doesn't sound like he's judging me at all. On the contrary, he sounds like he understands. “I grew up poor. It's fucking awful. My mom killed herself working three jobs. If somebody told me I might lose the chance to support her, I'd probably marry Mr. Virgin, too.”

I smile.

“We were poor, too,” I admit. “Right after I turned eight, my dad finally got his big break, found an investor who believed in what he was doing. He designs eco-friendly farming equipment,” I explain which is kind of funny since Walter's company, Donsanto, is sort of the complete opposite of that. “Anyway, I know it sounds stupid and shallow to say I could marry a guy for money …”

“It's not stupid or shallow at all,” Rhoden says with conviction. God, I like this guy already. He's the same a-hole I've seen in all the interviews, but … there's something genuine about the way he owns himself and his own faults. “We all do what we have to do to survive. It's okay to want to live without spending every second worrying about money. I've been there; it's hell. The world is skewed and twisted and unfair. There's nothing wrong with taking advantage of an opportunity.” He looks over at me like I'm that kind of opportunity.

“Should we … drop the dogs off?” I ask because this conversation is getting weirdly real and oddly personal. I'm not sure what to think about that.

“Nope,” Rhoden says as we come up to the intersection and turn left, taking the crosswalk to the other side. “This is a completely different kind of party from the mask thing.” He looks over at me and lets his mouth melt into a slash of sex across his face. Staring at him now, all dressed up like this, it's hard to match him up with the half-naked Lion Man that I slept with. “Not that I didn't enjoy myself,” he adds with a silken purr that drips down the back of my dress and makes my thighs clench tight.

“Where exactly are we going? Because Dickhead doesn't have a lot of training to fall back on.” Crap. Dickhead was sort of the dog's name-in-progress because he was driving me nuts. I never meant to say it out loud to another human being. “I'm not a crazy animal abuser person, I swear,” I say as Rhoden laughs and presses his hands together in a prayer position, putting them against the soft perfection of his lips. “He's just … well, an annoying puppy I guess.”

“Dickhead, huh? Not as good as Billy the Kid, but I suppose it could work.” Rhoden snaps his fingers and molds his mouth into a cocksure grin. “You can call him Little Dick for short.” He turns toward me and leans in close. “Little Dick … and Big Dick. It's a friendship destined to last.”

“You really condone that nickname?” I ask him with a raised brow, suddenly remembering that I'm on my way to a party with the hottest player in the NFL, no mask to protect me this time. I glance down at my floral print dress. It's flirty and fun, but it's not exactly a party dress. I've seen the pictures of the girls that Rhoden usually goes out with and I check off none of the normal requirements: skinny, model-pretty, designer cocktail dress, four inch heels.

“Why not?” he asks and this time his voice simmers when he speaks. “It's true enough, isn't it? I spend time in the locker room; I know where I stand.”

“And so modest about it, too,” I say as Rhoden continues down the sidewalk in that easy, confident stride of his. I can see why he chose the lion mask; that's what he reminds me of. A big, hulking beast with liquid muscles hiding just beneath his a skin, a mighty roar capable of tearing from that throat just as easily as a gentle purr.

I wrap my arms around myself.

“It's kind of … a terrible nickname,” I admit and it feels good to say it directly to the source. “Even if it is true.”

“Ah, there it is,” he whisper-purrs in my direction. “The admission. Doesn't it just feel good to say it? Rhoden, you have a massive cock. There it is. It's out there now.”

“Now, I never said that,” I tell him as his dog weaves figure eights around us while we walk.

“You kind of did,” Rhoden says as we come up to another intersection and then continue going west, towards the beach. Since the dogs are with us, I wonder if that's where we're headed. Party on the beach. A classic way to spend a California evening. “You know, my mom still thinks Big Dick is completely innocent, because of my last name and all, and the fact that I'm kind of a big guy. She even calls me that at Thanksgiving.”

“No,” I whisper in mock outrage. “Are you serious? That's so awful.”

Rhoden laughs and keeps walking, drawing me along in his wake. I'm still not a hundred percent sure what I'm doing here, but it feels good, and in the moment that's all that matters.

“Won't I cramp your style tonight?” I ask him as we pass by shuttered shops, their interiors dark, displays lit up in the front windows. It used to be marshland, this area. Things have changed so much around here in the last few decades.

“You? Nah. I figure we could be each other's wingmen, scope out the crowd together. If you picked me out at the masquerade party, you clearly have a good eye. Figured I could trust you to help me pick up women. And you know, if you need another night free from Mr. Virgin, I could understand that.”

“Well, I'm still trying to figure out if what I did the other night was technically cheating or not. I don't think I need to add another tick to the list of items on my guilty conscience.”

“Fair enough,” Rhoden says as we near the edge of the sidewalk. The developments stop here, the sidewalk shifting to sandy trails that weave through mounds of sea grass all the way down to the beach. It's a bit of a walk, but for October, the night is about as warm as it gets and the stars are bright and clear. Might as well take advantage of it.

As soon as we're away from the road, I let the puppy off his leash and enjoy the way he frolics through the sand, Billy reluctantly giving into a small amount of play. They chase each other in circles around us, tongues lolling happily. In the distance, I can hear music, see the flickering orange arms of a bonfire. A column of gray smoke cuts the night sky in half as wisps trail away to join the stars. There's a bit of a crowd out here, but it's not too crazy. At least not yet.

Before we're even halfway across the sand, I make out the vague shapes of naked bodies sprinting into the ocean waves with shrieks of delight. Personally, I feel like I owe those people at least a small amount of respect. Even of the hottest day of the year, the Northern Pacific Ocean is cold.

Rhoden and I don't talk as we make our way over to the fire, people nodding and greeting us with sly half-smiles. Nobody seems shocked to see him here, so I imagine the rest of these people are trying to avoid the press, too. Somebody must've worked really hard to keep this quiet.

“Can I get you a drink?” Rhoden asks as I settle myself onto a log near the fire and stretch my toes out to warm them. I wore flip-flops down to take the dog to the park which I suppose was actually a smart choice. They're not the sexiest shoes in this little gathering, but at least they're functional.

“Sure,” I say with a warm smile as Rhoden moves over to a small bar that's set up in the sand. It's just one guy with a small two by two counter, some coolers, and a collection of bottles, but it's still impressive. I watch Rhoden's movements, the casual easy grace that makes him so hard to catch on the field, like he's too slick to touch. Apparently, that's not true for everyone though because a girl with dark hair and a fierce purple painted smile moves up to him and slides her palm down the arm of his leather jacket.

My stomach clamps like I'm having really bad period cramps. It's a sick, nauseous feeling, like my insides are an unfortunate pumpkin on Halloween that somebody's taking a scraper to, digging out all the seeds.

My mind brings up images of Rhoden's golden body draped across me, clenched tight between my thighs, moving rhythmically until I fell off the precipice of pleasure. I really felt like we belonged there together, like we were animals claiming each other's bodies. His scent fills my memories as I close my eyes, imagining the rough graze of his legs against mine, the heat of his mouth.

Whoa. What the hell am I doing to myself? My Lion Man is just as mysterious, just as unobtainable as he was when I didn't know his name. In fact, he's worse now because he's a member of the team that my fiancé just bought. My very rich, very powerful fiancé. I imagine if Rhoden pissed Walter off, that he could not only fire him from the team, but make very certain he didn't participate in the NFL ever again.

Not that I think he'd do that, but … this is still a really bad idea. If there's anything that might trigger a man into going extreme, it'd be finding out his fiancée screwed another man on the night of their engagement—especially since she'd never actually had sex with him.

“Here,” Rhoden says, handing me a copper cup with a sprig of mint on the side. “Moscow mule. We're having vintage cocktails tonight apparently.” A slight twist of his mouth. “Our host is a bit eccentric.”

“And who might that be?” I ask, trying to pretend I didn't see that woman hitting on him. I have no idea what happened after I glanced away, but I don't see her anymore so I guess that's a good sign.

“Her.” Rhoden points past the bonfire to a woman with electric blue hair and leather pants. “That's Kierstin Bowlin. She's a clothing designer from New Jersey. She designs dresses for all the big names, red carpets and all that shit.” Rhoden grins at me and takes a long swig of his drink.

“You're like a party connoisseur, huh?” I ask, lifting the cold copper of the cup to my lips. It tastes like ginger and lime, not my favorite flavors in the world, but I promised I'd try new things. This whole evening, from Rhoden to the drink to the goddamn puppy, it's all new.

“What can I say? I like to have fun. Life is too damn short to screw around with bullshit.” He grins at me, dark eyes sparkling. “That's why I was so curious about you and that Walter guy. When he touched you, you froze up completely. It looked like you were about to pass out. But now that you've explained it, it makes sense.”

I take another drink, watching Rhoden as he watches me, half-loving the fact that he understands my position and half-wishing that he'd tell me it was complete crap, that I should make me happy, that I should run off and find my Leonardo DiCaprio à la Jack Dawson like Kate Winslet/Rose did in Titanic.

“I read your blog,” he interjects randomly, smiling at a girl as she passes by and waves to him. But then his attention rivets straight back to me. I like that. Too much. This is dangerous territory you're treading here, Della.

“Seriously? Why?” I ask with a laugh. “It's mostly like a diary for me. I just try to … extrapolate my feelings and experiences so other people know they're not alone. That, and I just … want everyone to learn to love themselves. It's a trick I still haven't mastered yet, but I'm working on it.”

“What's not to love about you?” Rhoden asks with a raised brow, shrugging out of his leather jacket and tossing it over the log we're sitting on. The tattoos on his right arm stand out sharply in the flickering light of the fire. Without having to lean closer, I know what they are. More branches from that tree, wrapping around his muscular bicep all the way to the elbow. Everything is in black, white, and gray, all of it in excruciatingly careful detail. I read online that it has some special meaning he's alluded to but refuses to outright admit. “Smart. Educated. Good with words.” A smile that melts my panties off. “You're gorgeous, by the way.”

I snort.

“Compared to the supermodels you usually date? I don't think so.”

Rhoden scoots in closer, putting us way too close again. And then he runs his knuckles down my arm, making me shiver.

“I'm not so into supermodels to be honest with you. Yeah, it's fun to take someone pretty and popular out on your arm, just for the fun of it, the publicity. But … I like a woman with curves.”

“Like I haven't heard that one before.” I try to make a joke of it, but Rhoden's eyes are half-lidded and he tilts his head to the side like a dog.

“Well, because it's true. I like my women soft.” He takes me in again like he did that first night at the party, a slow once-over that sizzles and burns, leaves me gasping for breath as I dig my nails into my thighs and resist leaning forward to kiss the spot where his jaw meets his ear. “You were like a breath of fresh air, Della. I want you underneath me again.”

I almost choke and the puppy barks a warning yip at me. I reach down and stroke his orange ear to comfort him.

“Are you trying to romance me?” I joke, but I kind of want it to be true. And I don't. I really can't do this, any of it.

“No,” he says, completely unashamed. “I don't do romance of any kind. But I do want to fuck you again.”

“Because of fate?” I ask, and I'm trying to make this friendly banter, but it's not working. My breath is husky and labored, and my skin sings where he touches it with his knuckles.

“Honestly? Yeah. That wasn't a line. I really do believe that things happen for a reason, that there's no such thing as coincidence.” Rhoden takes his hand away and sits back in that chocolate brown shirt of his, the color a perfect match for his eyes. “I guess there's always Walter Virgin to think about though.”

“It's Virgil by the way,” I say, but I'm pretty sure he already knows that.

“You know that guy's a fucking asshole, right?” Rhoden asks, like he has any room to talk. I mean, he's been pretty goddamn nice to me so far, but I've seen the headlines, the photos. I watch him on the field every single week. Whatever he's presenting right now, I know this man is as big a dick as his nickname suggests.

“So you do know Walter personally then?”

“I know his type,” Rhoden says, sitting his drink in the sand and then lifting his hands up to unbutton his shirt. I have no idea what he's doing, but it's enthralling the way he slips those buttons through the loops. “Rich, successful corporate trained fucktard. Money instead of blood in the veins, a bottom line instead of a heart. This isn't a man you marry for love—or sex.”

“You're saying he deserves to be cheated on then?”

“I'm saying your reasons for marrying him might not encompass all of your needs.” Rhoden slips his shirt off his golden shoulders, the fine dusting of hair on his arms and chest begging for me to run my fingers over it. “I'm saying you should fuck me tonight and worry about Virgin in the morning.”

Rhoden stands up and drops his shirt into the sand, kicking off his boots and peeling his black socks off.

“Swim with me?” he asks, reaching down for the button on his dark jeans. Oh God, he's getting naked?! I feel my resolve crumbling away into nothing. But then I remember I'm in a crowd of people, people with six pack abs and model-perfect bodies and there's no way in hell I'm stripping down nude in front of all of them for a skinny-dip in the ocean.

“I should probably go,” I say as Rhoden pushes his jeans down his hips, revealing the Roman numeral IX on his hip; it matches the number on his jersey. I swallow hard, my gaze drifting to the black sunburst tattoo on his lean, muscular pelvis. And then the pants are down and there he is, bare and rigid and thick in the middle of the beach.

Nobody seems to care. That woman with the blue hair, she seems to be stripping down, too.

How do I always seem to end up at parties where everyone's getting naked?

Rhoden steps out of his jeans and then digs a condom from his pocket. How that pertains to skinny-dipping in the ocean with a bunch of random strangers, I'm not at all sure. I keep sitting there, staring at him with my mouth gaping open. Behind me, somebody cranks up the music; I think it's reggae or something.

“You don't have to strip down if you don't want to. Wear the dress if you want. Put that lioness mask back on, Della.”

I stare at his extended hand for a long moment and then I do something so ridiculously stupid, and reach out to take it. Rhoden's warm fingers curl around mine, pulling me to my feet and sliding slowly, sensually beneath the white fabric of my cardigan. He looks me in the eyes and peels it slowly off my shoulders, down my arms, leaving me in the floral print dress.

I kick my flip-flops off into the sand and let him pull me down to a half-crumpled pier, nothing left but the support posts and a few random slats of wood.

“You might want to strip your panties off,” Rhoden tells me with a grin, catching me in the middle of checking out his tight, firm ass and the tattoo on his back I didn't get to see in person before. The tree is full and leafy and alive, draping over his muscles with an artist's careful touch. Each limb is designed to follow the shapes of his back, highlight that athletic build of his. “You know, so at least you have something that's dry when you get out.”

Without letting myself think about it, I reach up under my skirt and shove the black jersey panties down, wadding them up and tossing them back towards my shoes. When I turn back around, Rhoden's waiting for me, taking both my hands and curling his fingers around them. I can still feel the outline of the condom against his palm, but I don't much think about that either. I let go, let him drag me into the icy waters of the Pacific.

“Holy crap,” I groan as prickles of cold weave their way under my skin. “This is practically hypothermic.” But Rhoden isn't deterred, drawing me in, yanking me hard against his warm body. Even in the liquid arctic waters, he feels solid and hot and substantial beneath my hands. “This isn't exactly what I'd call swimming,” I whisper through chattering teeth as he presses my back into one of the support posts and brings our mouths crashing together in a kiss.

One of his hands slides along the side of my face, fingers tangling in my hair as he holds me against him, taking his time and savoring my mouth like he did at the masquerade party. It turns me on, the way he moves, slow and confident like he's got all the time in the world. Out here, in the gentle violence of the waves, my body shaking from the cold, it feels like we should rush our way through this—whatever this is. But we don't. Rhoden kisses me like we're in a black and white movie, all deep and romantic and sure, but also like he's hiding chili peppers under his tongue.

A hot tingling drags through me, warms me up and makes me forget all about the salty sting of the ocean. Behind the distant murmur and lap of water, the sound of the music drums out a steady, solid beat, relaxing my pounding heart to its rhythm.

I could get used to this, I think even as I know that's a literal impossibility. And that this is wrong. Even if I don't exactly … well, like Walter, I didn't tell him no. Maybe I can't? Maybe Ariana is right and I do maybe, sort of, kind of hate him a little. He's not a bad guy, he's just so obviously not my guy that … I let myself relax into Rhoden's arms until the electricity of his body against mine washes it all away. Some part of me knows that I'm using him to run from my problems, but I can't seem to make myself stop.

I don't want to stop.

When Rhoden drops his hands to the soggy fabric of my dress, I let him take two heavy handfuls and drag it up and over my head, squealing at the cold splatters of water that flick across my face and shoulders.

“This is absolutely insane,” I say, but I make no move to leave as he tosses the sopping heap of fabric onto the broken pier behind me. The only thing standing between me and complete nudity is my comfy t-shirt bra, the one that's so totally not meant for anybody to see. “Rhoden,” I start as he lifts the condom up and tucks into the left cup, like a promise.

“Oh, you have no idea how insane I can really get,” he purrs at me, stepping back and turning towards the dark horizon, heavy with stars and a low hanging moon. When he dives into the water, I follow after him, the shrieks and laughter of the other party guests echoing in the quiet night. I'm surprised there aren't more people collecting down at the bonfire. Guess even this party has a guest list. I bet there are security guards hidden around here somewhere.

Drawing my gaze away from the shore, I find Rhoden's golden form splitting the navy waves with an ease I can only envy. For the life of me, I still can't quite figure out his purpose in bringing me here. I do want to fuck you again.

I lift my hand up and touch the condom tucked into my bra.

I'm standing naked in the Pacific Ocean with a bunch of strangers who are probably high, most definitely drunk, and I just made out with the star quarterback of the NFL team my dad just sold to my fiancé.

Does that about sum it all up?

I almost bail right then, but I remember how I'm not wearing panties and decide to stay put for a second, hoping some of the swimmers around me will chicken out and flee the cool waters for the fire.

They don't.

More people strip down and leap into the ocean, kissing and screaming and laughing and tossing around a massive rainbow beach ball. The only light comes from the flickering flames onshore and the silver glow of the moon reflecting off the water's surface.

It's one of the weirdest things I've ever been a part of—and with Hal as a sister, I've been a part of some weird stuff. That latex/leather sex party I mentioned? Nowhere near the top of that list.

With a deep breath, I slide forward into the water with a gasp and swim over to where Rhoden's treading the waves, that cocksure grin splitting his face when he sees me. When the ball comes flying our way, he spikes it up into the air with a tight fist and sends it my way. I don't have much time to think about it, so I reach up and smack it back towards the other partygoers. Laughter bubbles up and out as I take a deep breath and turn onto my back, letting the salty waters buoy me.

Rhoden's there in an instant, putting his hands underneath me, helping me stay afloat as I close my eyes and relax into his touch. The man's a complete stranger yet here I am, swimming nude in the ocean with him and feeling pretty damn good about it. When he sweeps me out of my back float and into his arms, I find myself grinning.

“Let's go,” Rhoden tells me, gesturing with his head at the bend in the shore, the cluster of rocks and caves that glimmer with moonlight and white sea foam. Without waiting to see if I'll follow, he takes off and makes his way around the pier. I trail behind, my swimming nowhere near as strong as his and find him moving out of the water. With a whistle, he calls both our dogs over and then turns around to help me out, my body wracked with violent shivers. “Let me warm you up,” he whispers, pulling me up to the beach and laughing as I clamp a hand over my bare crotch. Rhoden doesn't bother, letting the gorgeous slick wetness of his muscles shine in the weak light.

When he tugs me over to a stack of towels and blankets, I raise my eyebrows.

“Did you plan this or something?” I ask and he shakes his head with a grin.

“I've been to Kierstin's parties before. She always thinks of everything.” With a slight gesture of his hand, he reveals other clusters of blankets and towels, each one with a flashlight beside it. None of it shocks me. You'd be surprised how rich people spend their money; this isn't even close to the extravagance or level of planning I've seen in some of Walter's friend's parties. But I like it better. Even though it's a little weird, it's fun, different. I make a mental note to look up Kierstin's clothing line when I get home.

Rhoden drapes a towel around my shoulders and I immediately drop it to my bare hips, hiding behind the black cotton as the puppy licks the salt from my ankles. He then proceeds to spread the checkered blanket out across the sand, sitting down and pulling me next to him.

“I really should get going,” I say, but he's smiling at me and pressing his mouth to mine, urging me to open up and let him in, kissing me like it's a contest he's determined to win. One big warm hand slides down my side as Rhoden leans his body into mine, easing me down to my back on the blanket. I get that we're entering dangerous territory here, but it feels so good to give in and relax, let him take control and soothe my worries away with his mouth.

Fingers dance up my spine, bringing a rush of heat that banishes my shivers. Seconds later, my bra comes off, the cold wet fabric disappearing as Rhoden cups and kneads the suddenly bare flesh, warming it up with just the right amount of force. His thumb swirls a lazy circle on my left breast, drawing my chest toward him as I arch into the pleasure.

When my eyelids flicker open, I find him staring down at me with that dark gaze, desire and need dripping from his expression. He studies my face, lets his attention drift down the pale curvy shape of my body. I should feel self-conscious, but I don't, not even wet and cold with my hair tangled and my skin decorated with goose bumps.

I let myself touch him, drawing my nails down his thick, muscular arms, his back, sliding them up his thighs and tracing the line of hair on his belly.

Kisses trail down each arm, straight to my fingertips and I know this man must have a ton of practice because he doesn't make any mistakes, doesn't fumble, seems to know exactly what he's doing. I've never had that before, never been with a guy like this. There's a reason for that, I tell myself as Rhoden cups my bare heat with his hand, dips a single finger into my warmth. Men like this do not play for keeps.

He works my body with a careful, aching slowness, working a slick wetness into existence between my thighs. When he withdraws his hand and reaches for the condom, my breath catches, my hips cradled in the sand, the cool air against my skin an intriguing contrast against the warmth of Rhoden's body.

He rolls the condom down the thick, hard sweep of his erection and settles between my thighs, his strangely comforting scent mixing with the salty tang of the sea. This time, when he enters me, he does it slow, easing in a single inch at a time as I raise my hips to meet him. Seeing his face instead of that mask, it changes everything. My fingers cup the sides of his stubbled face as he leans down into me and lets me kiss that spot where his jaw meets his ear. It feels just as good as I thought it would, nestling my lips against his skin.

“Someone could see us,” I whisper, suddenly terrified of being caught, but Rhoden doesn't stop until our hips meet up.

“This is a private beach,” he purrs into my ear, cupping the soft flesh of my hip with his right hand. His fingers knead and tease the sensitive spot over my hip bone. “Nice try though. Relax, Della.” Rhoden slides out slowly as I breathe through the feeling of fullness, the stretching sensation as he buries himself inside of me again. Rhoden's definitely the biggest guy I've ever been with, but I feel like we were made for each other. He's just long enough, just wide enough to make me gasp with each thrust, stimulating every inch of me in one movement.

Oh, and he also likes to kiss while he's having sex. I haven't had much luck with that in the past. It's usually a lot of thrusting and groping, but nothing as intimate as what Rhoden's giving me now, tracing my bottom lip with his tongue, thrusting it into me at the same time he moves his hips.

The night sky spins by behind his head as I let my eyes slide shut, arch my spine and press my breasts into his chest. The sand cups our bodies in a soft embrace as I run my foot up Rhoden's calf and reach down to dig my nails into his ass, pull him to me.

His face searches mine, eyes half-lidded, that full mouth gently parted when it's not pressed up tight against mine, stubble brushing up against my face. The way he looks at me, it's addicting. Clearly he wasn't lying when he said he found me attractive.

I drop my head back and moan, savoring the juxtaposition of Rhoden's hard body against mine, my soft body giving way to his, wrapping him tight. I want to make him come, want to see his expression as he loses himself completely. Lifting my head back up, I kiss the hard line of his neck, urge my hips to match his movements, and squeeze my muscles tight.

With a warm, hot sound against my throat, Rhoden orgasms, a shudder taking over his large form as I clamp my legs around him and hold him tight, refusing to let go until his breathing evens out. When he pulls back, I let him go, so wrapped up in the easy feeling of pleasure that I don't notice what he's doing until I feel a hot tongue against my opening.

My first response is to scream or maybe to slap him, but it feels so damn good … I groan and curl my fingers in his hair, shocked and excited at the feel of his mouth between my thighs. His stubble against my bare skin teases goose bumps on me, making me wonder why I've never done this before.

Yep, that's right. I've never let a guy go down on me. I've always felt so self-conscious of having him down there, his face buried in my pussy, seeing parts of me that even I don't get to look at.

Maybe that was a mistake though because this … this is great. Or maybe it's just Rhoden that's so damn good.

The orgasm comes up on me quick when Rhoden swirls his tongue over my already swollen clit, easing the ache he started when he first thrust into me. My hips buck up against his face and my back arches as I blink away a set of stars superimposed over the real night sky.

“Holy shit,” he says as he lifts up and props his chin on my tummy. I get a sudden urge to cover it up, or cast a magic spell that'll make it as flat and perfect as Ariana's, but … Rhoden doesn't look like he's judging me. Not by a long shot. Instead, he's staring up at me with this possessive male satisfaction etched into his features. “You're pent-up, Della Garland.”

“I am not!” I protest, but I don't move. I can't. Not yet. My body's shaking a little, and it has nothing to do with the cold wind coming off the sea. “Why would you say that?”

“Your muscles are tight,” he tells me in that deep, low voice of his, coming up to lay next to me. “And not just the ones that count.”

“Hah hah.”

“Seriously, your whole body is tense. You're carrying around a lot of stress. Have you ever thought about getting a massage? Maybe Mr. Virgin could pay for one with his billions of dollars?”

Mr. Virgin. Walter.

Craaaaaaap!

“I'm a cheater,” I groan, slapping my hands over my face and then sitting up suddenly and searching around for my discarded towel. I drape it across my naked front and squeeze my thighs shut against the wetness between them. I have no idea where Rhoden hid the used condom, but he better take it with him when we leave here. “This is … this is awful.”

When I look down at Rhoden, he's just laying there on his side, propped up on an elbow, head in his hand. A hip-hop song pounds away in the distance and he nods his head in time with the beat.

“I lied to you before,” he tells me as he opens those chocolate brown eyes of his and stares up at me. “I do know Walter.”

“You …” I start and then shake my head, auburn curls slapping against my skin. “Why would you lie about that?”

“I didn't think you needed to know any dirt about your fiancé. Seemed like you'd already made up your mind, so what good would that do?”

“I … what? You're a weird person, Mr. Richards.”

He flashes a slow, wicked smile at me.

“Please, Mr. Richards is my grandfather. Just call me Big Dick.”

“Not on my life,” I say as I turn toward him and try not to blush. But it's there, the embarrassment, peeking in from the background. Rhoden is still naked, and is cock is still big and glorious and already half-erect. His body is chiseled and lickable and perfect aaaaaand … we just had sex. That always leaves a strange sort of tension, of connection and intimacy. It's even weirder when I know for a fact that there is no intimacy or connection here. “So where do you know Walter from?”

Rhoden sits up and rubs a hand over his face.

“His company donated a lot of money to my university, built us a training center worth the GDP of a small country. He came to all the games, every single one, and sat in the skybox.” A quick flash of smile my way. “Kind of like the one you and your dad sit in during home games.”

“How do you … how do you know about that?”

“You think I don't know about you, Della? You own my team.”

“I did,” I say and then watch as Rhoden blinks quickly at me. Shit.

“What?” I lick my lips and shake my head, but he's reaching out and taking hold of my arm. His touch is gentle, but firm.

“What are you talking about?”

“My dad's selling the team to Walter,” I whisper and the words make the tears pop up again. It's so silly because really, this is nothing in the scheme of things. I can't figure out why it bothers me so much. Is it because my dad and Walter have been deciding things for me for a year? Or because my dad doesn't give a crap about what I think? What I want? I have no idea.

When I look up at Rhoden, I see his jaw is clenched tight, mouth set in a thin line.

“You can't tell anyone. Nobody's supposed to know yet.”

“Fuck.” That's all Rhoden says, and with that one sound, I know the mood is shattered. He's not smiling at me anymore, not throwing cute little looks my way, flirting with me. Now he's pissed.

“I didn't want him to,” I say, but the words sound like pleading and I hate it so I stop. “I had no idea until tonight. I tried to stop him.”

Rhoden nods his head and then runs his fingers through his hair, shaking his head like he's trying to clear it.

“Jesus.” When he stands up, I join him, tucking the towel tight around me.

“If Walter finds out about this, he'll fire my ass for sure,” Rhoden says and I feel my face fall. Oh. That's it. I've become a liability. I feel suddenly sick to my stomach. When Rhoden looks over at me, there's a very strange expression on his face; I can't read it at all. “I have to go,” he tells me, but the words sound rushed and frustrated. “I have practice at six in the morning.”

“O...okay.”

He's going to leave me here on this beach by myself? Naked and alone? Dear God.

He really is a fucking dick.

Rhoden grabs a towel from the stack on the rock and wraps it tight around his hips, just in time for another couple to appear around the corner, laughing and carrying beers in their hands. Both of them are naked, hanging on one another and kissing each other's necks.

“Come on,” he says to me, reaching out with a weird empty half-smile on his face. “I'll walk you home.”

“What did Walter do to you?” I ask when he pauses to whistle for his dog. Both Billy and the puppy come tearing around the corner in a spray of sand. “It must've been something, right, if you hate him so much?”

“It doesn't matter,” Rhoden says, his face completely guarded. I don't understand what just happened between us, why Walter owning the team would change anything about us. I mean, all we did was hookup, right? If anything, I should be the one who's scared. I'm the cheater, the one with something to answer for. I close my eyes briefly and then open them, reaching down for my discarded bra. It's still sopping wet, and now it's also covered in sand.

Fantastic.

Rhoden leads me back across the beach and over to the pier. Without looking back at me, he dives into the water and swims to the end of the broken pier, grabbing my dress and lifting it out of the waves as he swims one-handed back to the beach. The dress is still soaked, but it was a nice gesture. Still, when he hands it to me, he acts like he's in some big rush to get out of here.

“Here, take this,” he tells me, holding his shirt out for me to put on. It's big enough to hide my recovered (and fortunately still dry) panties. I slip my flip-flops on while Rhoden steps into his jeans and boots.

Our walk back to the apartment is far less fun than the one that got us here. Puppy yanks and pulls at his harness at every opportunity, and Rhoden will hardly even look at me.

“I'm sorry,” I say when we're about halfway there. “I shouldn't have said that.”

“Said what? That your fiancé is about to be my new boss? And that I just fucked his future wife?”

“I'm not exactly going to go home and tell him,” I snap, my gaze focused on the sidewalk beneath my feet. I can't look at Rhoden right now.

“Yeah, well, these things have a way of coming out,” he says, like this is somehow my fault. I stop walking, tears threatening suddenly. When Rhoden and I were having sex, I felt good, wanted, free. Now I just feel cheap and used.

“I can walk myself home from here,” I whisper, turning left and starting across the sidewalk. There's a shortcut this way through an alley. It's well lit, and I know Marquis walks it at least three times a night. Plus, I've got Puppy with me. “Thanks for a crappy evening.”

The words slip out before I can stop them.

I take off before Rhoden can respond, flip-flops slapping against the pavement.

As soon as I get into my apartment, I slide down the door and put my head in my hands.

What the hell just happened here?

I decide to keep the night at the beach to myself, hiding it even from Ariana. What's the point in talking about it anyway? It started off great, but it turned out awful. Even a week later, what happened that night still bothers me.

“Jesus Christ, Rhoden!” I scream at the TV, curling my hands into fists. “What the hell was that?” I gesture at the screen as I turn in a circle and then pause to watch the replay of him getting tackled hard by a linebacker twice his size. An injury from something like that could ruin his career. Why is he being so careless?

“Ooooookay,” Hal says as she leans back into the leather chair in my dad's media room. I watch all the away games here. Can't beat the giant 4K screen, the surround sound, the blackout curtains, and the comfy chairs with Adders logos embroidered on them. “You are even more crazed than normal, what gives?”

“I'm not crazed,” I say, used to this argument by now. It's practically a ritual: I freak out over something game related, Hal who hates football comments on it, we bicker back and forth for a while. “This … did you see that? Rhoden's really screwing up today.”

“Why don't you save all that passion for your charity date? When is that, anyway?”

I ignore Hal. The last thing I want to think about right now is the Win a Date thing. I haven't cancelled it yet. Whether that's because some part of me secretly wants to see Rhoden again or because I'm just avoiding thinking about him all together, I'm not sure. I haven't seen him at the dog park since that night, haven't glimpsed hide nor hair of him—and trust me, I've been looking.

“Maybe his game's off because of that picture that got leaked?”

“Picture?” I ask, still focused on the TV. The Adders are leading the Seahawks 31-13, but Rhoden is not his best today, that's for sure. “What picture?”

“Oh my God, Del. For somebody who runs a blog, you sure are ignorant of the internet.” Hal stands up from her seat, dressed in a pair of jeans that I couldn't fit my little pinky in let alone my legs. She passes me her iPhone and then crosses her arms over her flat chest.

I look down at the picture and then feel the blood drain out of my face.

“What … what is this?” I whisper as I stare at the shot of me and Rhoden, kissing against the pier's support post. My hair is wet and mussy, draped across my face like a shield, the telltale straps of my floral dress peeking up above the water. The shot is blurry, completely out of focus and taken from afar. The picture is dark as hell, too, so it's unlikely that anyone but me would notice that, well, that it is me.

I scroll down and read the article quickly.

Rhoden Richards Spotted with Mystery Girl at Private Beach Bonfire.

The title gives about as much information as the entire article. To everybody else, this is yet another shot of Rhoden Richards being, well, Rhoden Richards. Pictures of him with girls are nothing new; I've seen my fair share. But those girls have never been me.

I swallow hard and try to act nonchalant when I hand the phone back to Hal. Clearly, she hasn't made the connection. She doesn't know the real identity of Lion Mask man from the party either. If she did, she'd figure it out. She's smart like that.

“Why would what picture bother him? The press takes pictures of him like that all the time. Remember two weeks ago when they caught him stumbling drunk outside of a hotel with no memory of how he got there? That's way worse publicity than making out with some girl.”

“Sure,” Hal says, but she's not really listening, snatching the phone back from me as my heart pounds and I try to figure out what to do about this. If anything, right? If anything. I start to chew on my nails and Hal squeals. “Della, seriously? Do you want your hands to look gross? Stop that. Walter's coming back from his business trip today. You don't want him to think you're a Sasquatch.”

Oh.

The day after the bonfire, Walter called to tell me he had an emergency business trip and wouldn't be back until Monday. Well, it's Monday and he's due in at any minute.

My stomach feels like it's made of ice as I reach down and twist the engagement ring around my finger. I've really done it now, gone and screwed everything up. My throat gets tight as I slump into one of the dozen chairs in the room, arranged in rows of four that slope up the walkway like a movie theater.

“Wow, don't look so excited,” Hal says, turning in her seat to stare at me. Her blond hair is piled on top of her head in one of those messy-pretty buns that I can never seem to figure out how to pull off. “You're not excited to see him?”

I purse my lips.

Honestly? No. I'm not excited to see Walter. I'm not sure if I've ever been excited to see Walter. Okay, maybe at first, right after we met, I thought his laugh was sexy and he could definitely fill out a suit. But after Rhoden Richards? After lion masks and beach bonfires?

I just don't know.

I would talk to Ariana about it, but she'll just tell me I hate Walter and I should ditch his ass.

What I need to do is invite him out for dinner and tell him how I feel. Or rather, how I don't feel. It doesn't seem right to keep this engagement going without sitting down and talking this out.

“Reagan, Emery, and I are going shopping later. You want to go with us?”

The look I turn on Hal says she's crazy.

“You can't just buy everything from Target, you know. You're going to be a billionaire's wife. Time to class it up, sis.” I don't really want to tell Hal this, but honestly, the last thing I want to do right now is go shopping with her and my evil stepsisters. Reagan never misses a chance to call me fat and Emery has a strange klepto thing going on that I've never understood since she's been rich her whole life. “What are you planning to wear to that party thing on Saturday anyway?”

“Party thing?” I ask and Hal screams, picking up a purple pillow with the Adders logo on it and pressing her face into the fabric. When she lifts her blue eyes up to mine, one brow is cocked in a comical arch.

“You really are oblivious, aren't you? Have you been living in a fog all week? The press conference for the Adders sale is on Saturday and then there's a huge party after. Lots of hunky football players in suits,” Hal says with a squeal, making me feel sick to my stomach again.

Great.

I imagine Rhoden will be at the party, too?

I'm sure that'll be fun. I make the mistake of checking my text messages from Ariana.

You are in BIG trouble, girl. HUGE. And then there's that picture of Rhoden and me attached to the bottom. The next text I ignore because it's a video message and I'm pretty sure it'll just be Ariana screaming at me about how crazy I am to get caught cheating on the man who just bought my lover's team.

“Craparoni and cheese,” I grumble as I curl over and put my forehead in my heads.

“Good God, learn to curse like a grown-up please. Say fuck or something and spare me your weird euphemisms.”

“I'm going home to work on my blog,” I say, standing up and grabbing my hoodie off the adjacent seat. The game's not over yet, but I can't stand looking at Rhoden right now, dressed in his red, black and purple uniform, a walking, talking, football playing slice of sex that I never should've helped myself to a piece of. “Tell Walter that I turned my phone off, so I could work.”

“I'm starting to think I spend more time with your fiancé than you do.”

The sad part about that is … Hal's right.

And I'm not sure that I care.

I have a very important, very prominent party to attend on Saturday.

Have I mentioned how much I hate very important, very prominent parties? I have nothing appropriate to wear and my evil stepsisters (who never read this blog and therefore won't know if I talk crap about them) will be there in their finest, trying to impress rich suitors like they're from Pride and Prejudice or something.

The thing is, I promised I would try harder, step further out of my box, show my arms (maybe). But some of the new things I've tried recently have backfired, and I'm starting to second guess myself again. I feel like that same little girl who refused to go to school because her stepmother had told her that everyone would pick on her because she was fat. Even now, when my stepmom looks at me across the dinner table (she also does not read this blog), I can tell what she's thinking. Hell, I don't even have to guess because she's said all the things she hides behind her gaze out loud at one point or another.

It usually goes something like this:

1. Della, you are fat.

2. Della, you eat too much

3. Della, you don't exercise.

4. Della, nobody wants you.

5. Della, you are good for nothing.

It took me years to realize that a lot of my self-esteem issues stemmed from that woman. In exchange, I found myself seeking out unhealthy relationships with men who really did think some of those things (if you want to read about my past struggles, check out the entries from two years ago!). If you've been reading along all this time, you know that I've only recently started to separate my stepmother's issues from my own.

That's why, even if I've had a rough week, I can't let it get to me.

Yesterday was yesterday, but today … today is a new day.

So guess what? I'm going shopping … even if the idea of it makes me want to throw my laptop at the wall. Pictures to be posted soon. Stay tuned. And don't forget to remind yourself: #lovemycurves.

I close the lid of my computer and lean back in my chair, threading my hands behind my neck as I stare up at the ceiling of my apartment. Stupid Rhoden Richards. I'm letting him get to me. No, no, I'm letting a few stupid minutes of what was otherwise a great night get to me. That's pathetic. I can't do that. I won't do that.

I turn my phone back on, pretend not to notice the text from Walter, and text Hal instead.

Let's do this thing.

Designer clothes suck. No, seriously, they suck. Shopping with my sisters (I use the term loosely in Emery's and Reagan's cases) is basically me standing there holding things while they try clothes on and then ask me if they look fat in them.

The answer is no. No, you don't look fucking fat because you are a size TWO.

After about twenty minutes of this, I don't feel like I'm breaking down walls or trying new things or overcoming my self-esteem issues; I feel like a pack mule.

I drop the rest of the clothes that my sisters have hung off me like a rack and walk out of the store. I'm planning on leaving, taking an Uber home or something since I drove here with Hal, when I see a store across the street that I hadn't noticed before.

Kierstin Bowlin.

The designer's name is in the window, painted in white along the bottom of the glass with a few others I don't recognize. Hmm. What the hell. I decide to check it out. If it's on the Plaza, the chances of there actually being something in there that I can fit are slim to none. This area used to be hippie central for the city of Arcata, full of people in hemp pants listening to local bands and spending money at one of the local vegan cafés.

Not anymore.

Now it's the fashion capital of the city, overflowing with high-end shops that make clothing for toothpicks.

I cringe at my own inner dialogue and rub some fingers against my temple. It's not that I have anything against skinny people because I don't. I just … I want to matter, too. That's all.

“Welcome,” a woman says when I walk in the door and pause, trying to read her for any sign of hostility. I can usually tell when I enter a shop if they're going to have anything in my size. The employees will sometimes raise their eyebrows and give me a once-over that's the complete opposite of the ones Rhoden Richards gives me.

I sigh.

“Hi,” I say, weaving my way into the tightly packed aisles and pausing at the counter. “Can you show me all the stuff by Kierstin Bowlin?” With a small smile, the redheaded woman takes me over to a wall near the back of the store where clothing hangs on copper racks that reach all the way up three stories of bricks to the ceiling.

“Anything in particular that you're looking for?”

I lift my gaze up the massive wall of clothing, all of it in brilliant jewel tones and edgy silhouettes. Suddenly, the beach party makes a whole lot more sense. These clothes are as weird as the woman who pays a guy to make Moscow mules on a private beach.

“I need a cocktail dress,” I say and then take a deep breath. “One that shows my arms.”

I make sure to take a picture of each outfit that I try on, cycling through a good dozen dresses that I actually like. First time in forever that that's happened. Normally, trying on clothes makes me want to tear my hair out. It usually goes like this: grab my size, take it to dressing room, try it on and find out it's too tight, go back out, get bigger size, take it to dressing room, try it on and find out that it's too still too tight in one spot but saggy and loose in another. Select new clothing item. Rinse and repeat.

Today, that's not happening. Today, by some strange stroke of luck, Kierstin Bowlin is looking out for me.

I hold up the next dress on the rack and wrinkle my nose at it. It's tight and short and it has no straps. How on earth is that going to work? Have you ever tried a strapless anything with size 36G breasts? It's like gravity hates me or something.

I slip into the dress anyway, liking the idea of finally getting that perfect 'little black dress' that every girl's supposed to have. Well, newsflash, but I'm twenty-nine years old and I still haven't found it.

I wiggle into the dress, sliding it up and over what I refuse to call muffin tops (they didn't feel like freaking muffin tops when Rhoden Richards was holding them and driving into me). My face flares red as I manage to yank the fabric into place, the tight fit of the dress actually making my boobs stand tall and perky. Yes, I'm wearing a blue-gray t-shirt bra underneath and the straps are sticking out something fierce, but wow.

My body looks liquid, like a smooth S is being drawn from my breasts to my hips. That's when I notice the tree appliques on the sides, the dark design striking me as familiar. I turn to the side and study the cutouts, the way the insides are lined with lace so none of my skin is actually showing. It's a sexy trick to draw the eye to the waist. I run my hands down my sides and grin as I turn in a circle and feel a surge of elation shoot through my body.

Yes.

Yes, I've found it. Three decades of searching and I've found it!

Meghan Trainor's “All About That Bass” comes on over the speakers and although it's totally cliché for them to play that in a plus size store and yes, the song has so totally run its course … I start shaking my shit, mouthing the words as I snap a photo with my phone and decide not to post this one.

I'm saving this reveal for the party.

I'm still dancing and appreciating my find when a man slips inside the curtain of the dressing room and I let out a theatrical scream of shock.

It's Walter.

“W-what are you doing here?” I gasp as he pauses and gives me a strange look, brows pinched together as he examines the dress I'm wearing, the bra straps sticking out of the top, my gaping mouth. “How did you … know I was in here?”

Walter smiles and lifts up his phone. He's dressed in a sharp suit, his freshly grown facial hair carefully clipped and sculpted, eyebrows plucked and groom. Immediately, I start comparing him to Rhoden Richards in my head. Rhoden Richards. The man who sprinted off the beach to get away from me and then watched me walk into a dark alley by myself. Dickhead.

“As soon as you turned your phone on, I used the app I installed to follow your GPS signal.”

“You … stalked me?” I ask as I swipe my hands down the front of the dress and Walt's eyes follow the motion. He doesn't look as impressed as I'd thought he would. In fact, he doesn't look impressed at all. “You put an app on my phone? Without my knowing about it?”

“Works brilliantly, don't you think?” he asks, moving in toward me and lifting my left hand up to admire the ring. I've been wearing it since the beach night although I'm not sure why. Maybe it's a reminder of why I shouldn't be thinking about Rhoden Richards. “Now I can find you when you run away from me.”

I think Walt's trying to be cute with that statement, but it kind of freaks me out.

“Is this for the party?” he asks, looking absently at the price tag hanging from the top of the dress and frowning at it. It's a six hundred dollar dress which is a lot for most people, but he looks at that number like it's personally offensive to him. “You should get something nicer,” he says which really bothers me. “Maybe something a little more conservative?” Walter runs his long, thin finger across my collarbone and over my shoulder. I shiver and he misreads the motion, stepping closer and pinning me against the wall.

His mouth is so not as nice as Rhoden's, not as full and shapely and surrounded by rough, sexy stubble and a masculine jaw. I breathe in deep to try to get a hold of myself (I'm overreacting, I know) and get a whiff of cologne. It smells like vodka and money and stockholders. I don't know how it does, just that it does.

Walt does not smell spicy and wild and lion-like. He doesn't smell like he could purr in my ear or growl at me or swim naked in the Pacific Ocean.

“As much as I like what I see,” he says, dragging his hand down and cupping my right breast. The touch … it's the first sexual anything that he's done to me since we met. We've barely kissed, not gotten all wet and tongue crazy like I did with Rhoden. I have no idea if Walt is just a patient man or an asexual man or if he was just running analytics on me to see if I'd make the perfect bride, but this hasn't happened before.

Now that it has, I'm starting to get nervous.

His touch makes me go stiff, my skin rippling uncomfortably, like Little Dick the Puppy does when I press too hard with the wire brush.

“We should save a dress like this for our wedding night, hmm?” Walt smiles slowly and then bends down, pressing his mouth against mine as his hand kneads my breast through the fabric. I don't open my lips to him, so when his tongue comes out, there's this really awkward moment where I jerk my head away and laugh hysterically.

Walt must think I'm giggling girlishly because he licks my bottom lip like he thinks I find him sexy and steps back with a wink.

“Dinner next Wednesday at my place,” he says, not a question. I don't like that. “My entire family will be there. Make sure you get a dress for that, too.”

“Okay, Edward Lewis,” I say, but Walt doesn't stop, disappearing out the curtain without noticing my Pretty Woman reference. I wait until I hear the door close at the front of the shop and then drop to my knees on the white fluffy rug that covers the cement floor.

It's as dramatic a move as I'd hoped, but damn, it hurts.

I lean forward and grab my phone, pressing dial on Ariana's number.

“Finally. You seriously waited how long to tell me you got freaky with Rhoden Richards again?! If you have his babies, I get one. It's been a dream of mine for a while, but I don't think I can cheat on Scottie like that.”

“Ariana,” I say as my skin breaks out in goose bumps.

“Della,” she asks, suddenly worried at something she hears in my voice. “Are you okay?”

“I think …” I say as I struggle to pull in a full breath. “Ariana, I think I hate Walter.”

“Sweetheart,” Ariana says softly as she presents me with a cup of tea and lets me curl up pathetically on her couch. “This is news to nobody but you.”

I take the cup of tea, absolutely certain that it's certified organic (thanks to Scottie) and take a small sip. I think it's chamomile.

“But … he's the perfect guy,” I say as I try to make sense of my emotions. “I mean, he's good-looking, successful, rich. What's not to like?”

“He calls me Alana every time he sees me; he drives a Hummer in the city; his company kills honey bees and calls it progress.”

“Ariana, if I … if I call this off, my family will go nuts on me. My dad … he'll never speak to me again.” My gaze snaps up to find her watching me with narrowed green eyes.

“So? Your dad's been a complete ass since he married the Wicked Witch of the East. If calling off an engagement with a man you don't like stops him from speaking to his eldest daughter, well, then he wasn't worth it to begin with.”

Before I can add to the discussion, Scottie appears in the hallway, scruffy and yawning after getting off the late shift at the hospital. He shuffles into the kitchen and starts making a cup of fair trade certified coffee.

“Honey, she's just realized she hates Walter.”

Scottie spills coffee grounds across the counter as he jerks his head up and smiles at me, pushing his glasses up his nose as he beams bright.

“Oh, thank God. We were starting to wonder if you needed a lobotomy.”

“I never liked the guy, okay? I was just … I was trying to make a smart, logical decision.” Both Scottie and Ariana laugh, like I was actually trying to make a joke about this.

“She slept with Rhoden Richards again,” Ariana adds without asking for my permission to share the details of my sex life. She never does. “On a beach. A private beach.”

“Good,” Scottie says, but he's blushing a little which I appreciate. “I like Rhoden Richards. He donated fifty grand to that no-kill dog rescue last year.” Scottie pauses and gives Ariana a look. “Please don't say anything about his butt or I might have to retract that statement.”

“That's okay. I'm done with that. All I really wanted was a perfect little Rhoden Richards baby. Now that Della's going to marry him, she can just give us one.”

“Ariana, I haven't even dealt with this yet.” I hold up my hand and wiggle the engagement ring around. “Can we take things one step at a time? Besides, what do you think Walter will do if I break up with him and then officially start dating Rhoden? Can you imagine what that would do to his ego? I can't see that going well. Besides, you're assuming Rhoden's interested in having a relationship with me. He told me himself that he didn't do romance.”

“So that's a reason to marry Walter? Come on, Del. What do you like about him, if anything?”

“I …” There's a long pause where I stare into the swirling brown depths of my tea. “He makes my skin crawl and his kisses are like dry ash against my cheek and he never looks me in the eye when I'm talking.”

“Exactly.”

I glance up and look from Ariana to Scottie.

“So how do I break this off?” I ask as I clutch the tea to my chest and try not to look at the zillion dollar ring I'm still wearing. “How do you end it with someone that everyone else is practically forcing you to marry?”

“Well, first of all, you go to that press conference party and make sure everything goes smoothly. Since Walt owns the team now, you'll have to be certain he's not going to fire Rhoden after you break up with him.”

I think of Rhoden, of the way he talked about his mom, his childhood. If I got him fired … I wouldn't be able to live with that.

“That sounds fucking awful. Can I at least wait until Sunday, after the game? It's a home game this time.” Ariana rolls her eyes and gives in, but only because she knows football's sacred to me.

“Fine. But after the game, you tell your dad, the rest of your family. And then you arrange a quiet dinner out with Walt and tell him in public.”

The thought makes me sick but also strangely … elated. For the past year I've been thinking of marrying Walter as an inevitable possibility. But I am an adult, and I can make my own decisions and … holy crap. I really do hate the guy.

I really, really do.

My auburn curls are loose and bouncy, sleek and shiny, smelling like green apples and melon. My lips are painted with Whiskey, a red burgundy color by Bite Beauty, and I've got on a pair of false lashes that actually look real. My eyes are lined in black, the shadow on my lids a silver-blue that mimics the color of my eyes. I'm listening to “Woman Up” by Meghan Trainor (I know, again) and I feel great.

That little black dress that Walter hated? I bought it and it looks damn good on me. No, I'm not a size zero like my little sister, but I feel curvy and womanly and pretty tonight. I'm determined to get through this night without an incident, make a clean break from Walter without leaving anything to lead back to Rhoden. Not that I think there's a future for me and him either, but I don't want my crap bleeding into his life.

Part of me is curious about the press conference that happened this morning, when the official sale of the team was announced. Rhoden was there, I know, but I can't make myself look it up, see Walter take official control of the Adders. Isn't going to the party enough? I've been having to dodge the man all week. And by dodge, I mean literally do things like purposefully “forget” my phone at home, so he won't follow me to the store.

“How do I look, Little Dick?” I ask the puppy as he stares up at me and wags his orange and white spotted tail. “Good? Amazing? You can just say it. I can take a compliment.”

I smooth my hands down the front of the dress and check my red soled black pumps in the mirror, loving the way they emphasize the curve of my calf. The little heart tattoo on my wrist stands out like a piece of jewelry when I go bracelet free, so I decide to show it off tonight. Add in a pair of emerald earrings that make my hair look even redder, and I'm good to go.

I check my boobs in the mirror one last time, praying that this strapless bra I bought will do its job. I've never had luck with them before, but this one feels like it's choking the life out of me, so hopefully it'll come through.

I take a clutch and head out the front door, turning my phone on as I hit the elevator and find it opening up to reveal a smiling Walter.

As soon as he sees me, his expression shifts a little.

“Hey,” I say, trying to be pleasant. Just get through this and the game tomorrow. Dinner with Walt is planned for Monday, and then it'll all be over. I can stop feeling guilty about cheating on him because we're not going to be together, and he can find a nice girl who'll be faithful to him. “How was the press conference? I didn't get a chance to watch it.”

I step into the elevator before he can comment on my outfit, hitting the button for the lobby as Walter takes me in from head to toe. I can tell that he likes what he sees, just doesn't like that I'm going to meet a bunch of his colleagues dressed like this.

Well, screw him then.

I take a deep breath and feel myself smile.

“The conference was fine,” he says, gritting his teeth and then releasing a long breath. “Although I spent a good portion of that time listening to Richards talk about his twenty-four thousand dollar penalty for taking his helmet off during a touchdown celebration last week.”

My mouth tries to do this weird thing where it scowls and laughs at the same time. I'm not sure what ends up coming out. That showboating dickhead, trying to mess up the Adders first chance at the Super Bowl in years! And then … I must be crazy because I think, aww.

Definitely losing it.

“He's good at what he does though,” I say and Walter shrugs like he doesn't give a crap.

“You were right: he's not a good showman. In fact, I'm considering trading him in the next draft. He might not be the right fit for this team.” I feel chills slide down my spine.

“But his stats are off the charts. He scored forty-two touchdown passes in his second season with the NFL. That's a record.”

“He's a liability waiting to happen,” Walter says as the door slides open to the lobby and he leads me outside to a waiting Hummer fronted limo. Hmm. I decide not to be judgmental, smiling at the driver as he opens the door and I slip inside. As I do, my dress climbs up my thighs and I start to feel self-conscious. I'm showing a lot of skin today—including my arms. When Walter glances over at me and gives a disapproving crook to his brow, I start to fidget.

Breathe, Della. You'll be alright. Everything will be okay.

The comments on my blog were overwhelmingly positive when I posted an early shot of my dress this morning, so I take those to heart and hold them close, using them as a shield against Walter's facial expression.

Soft jazz music leaks in the speakers as Walter stares at me, and I realize this is one of the few times we've ever actually been alone together.

“So,” I begin, trying to start a pleasant conversation. “I haven't been able to come up with a name for my dog. Any ideas?”

“It's a mutt,” Walter says, like that's an explanation for anything. “I prefer Pharaoh Hounds myself. Good breeding can make a big difference in a dog's temperament.” I stare at the man and try not to let my mouth hang open in shock. I … entertained marrying this guy? I mean, I know my reasons had little to do with the actual man and his likes and dislikes, but …

“Um. Purebreds usually have a lot more health problems. Mutts are well-rounded, healthier, and don't you think there's a social responsibility to provide homes for the animals in the shelters?”

Walter ignores me, literally just glazes over everything I just said and answers an incoming call. I want to reach across that car and snatch it from his hand. Instead, I lean back and stare out the window as skyscrapers flash by, leading us into downtown, back to the Plaza again and over to the Virgil Family Theater. Yep. The multimillion dollar renovation on the hundred year old building was paid for by the Virgil family, their name stamped on the front door in copper colored cursive.

Old money.

That's what the Virgils are: indestructible, powerful, wealthy.

And I'm going to turn all of that down for what?

I glance back at Walter, his cell pressed to his ear, his thin mouth in a long line, a far cry from Rhoden's full, ripe lips and strong jawline. We may not have spent all that much time talking, but at least when we were together he actually listened to me.

I breathe a small sigh of relief when the front of the massive stone building comes into sight, lit up from below with spotlights buried in the hedges. There's a massive crowd on either side of the red carpet leading from the street up the stairs. Cameras flash as players and their dates arrive, climbing out into the spotlight in sharp tuxes and shimmering dresses.

Walter has his driver take us around the back and through a pair of electronic gates into a private parking lot. There are a few paparazzi camping out here, just in case somebody famous tries to make a break for it, but most of them are content to watch the action out front. Personally, I'm glad that Walter's a private person. The last thing I want to do tonight is brave the crowd on Walt's arm, see my face splashed across the news again, right up next to that blurry dark shot of me and Rhoden.

I reach down and adjust my boobs, garnering a strange look from Walter. But he can stare all he wants because I'm carrying a heavy load here, and I need to make sure it's sitting right. Walking into that glittering party full of NFL players, models, singers, and actors with a lopsided rack won't do anybody any favors.

“Thank you,” I say when the driver opens the door and lets me out. I wait for Walter and let him hook his arm through mine to lead me inside, past the security guards and a man in a tuxedo with a guest list. He doesn't even ask us our names though; everyone here knows who Walter Virgil is.

“Make my rounds with me. I want to introduce you to some people.” I swallow hard, glancing down at my left hand and the massive engagement ring gleaming traitorously there. My reasons for waiting to break up with Walter make sense, but tonight, everyone here will see me with him, with this ring on. Is he going to introduce me to people as his fiancé? Crap. I feel like an idiot for just now thinking of this.

“Walter,” I start, pausing in the doorway to the lobby where the party's being held. Just inside these doors, the crowd gleams and shines, a rich palette of color and wealth and station, favors being exchanged, connections being made. Somewhere in there is Rhoden Richards, the first and only guy I've slept with in months. “About this,” I lift up my hand and point at the ring. “I was hoping to wait … for an official announcement. Maybe I should take this off? Just for tonight, of course.”

Walter gives me a long, calculating look and then nods briskly.

“You're right. I'd hate for our news to be ruined with rumors. I want to arrange for a proper announcement, possibly something that we can relate back to that breast cancer thing.” I purse my lips a little at his imperious tone, but I don't say anything, taking the ring off and slipping it into the zippered section of my clutch. If Walter's as disturbed as I am about carrying a zillion dollar ring around in my purse, he doesn't show it.

I let him take my hand and lead me into the room, past the hulking forms of Adders, past Coach Odell Hollis who gives me a small wave, and over to a circle of men that I don't know very well. I've seen them a time or two in my father's—now Walter's—skybox I think. Walter introduces me as Rueben's daughter which is fine, but he keeps our arms linked, trapping me in the humdrum dull business talk they delve into.

I stand there as calmly as I can, trying not to fidget, pretending not to notice the way the men look at me, like I'm a show dog trotting around the ring for their viewing pleasure. If they got out score sheets and started to grade me, I wouldn't be surprised.

After a few minutes, we move on … to yet another group of businessmen. Meanwhile, I check out the fresco ceiling, painted with golds and creams. It looms above our heads, taking up the multi-story room with its grace and presence. From here, it's hard to tell exactly what it is, but I can definitely see the archangel Michael, brandishing his sword in battle.

“Can I steal you for a minute?”

I feel a small hand grip my arm and turn to find Hal watching me with raised brows. Walter smiles at her with tight lips, like he's annoyed at being interrupted, but at least he lets me go, allowing Hal to drag me through the thick of the crowd and towards the refreshments.

She parks a glass of wine in my hand and stands back and grins at me.

“I was totally pissed at you for skipping out on our shopping trip aaaand then for ignoring my phone calls, but wow, Della. You look amazing!” I smile and do a little twirl, noticing as I do that I get some snooty looks from some of the wafer thin women around me. They look at me like I don't belong here, like my too-small nose and my slightly different shaped eyebrows are grounds for immediate dismissal.

I do my best to ignore them and check out Hal's outfit. Since my stepmom's here tonight, she's dressed like an extra on Little House on the Prairie, in a floor length blue dress with cap sleeves and a cream floral print. Her hair is coiffed tight on top of her head and her makeup is minimal; she must be miserable. Hal's kind of like Rhoden, a bit of a showboater.

“Thanks. I tried,” I say with a shrug, although I can't help smiling a little. “My readers seemed to like it, so …” I shrug and tuck some hair behind an ear, pretending that I'm not searching the crowd for Rhoden.

“Looking for somebody?” Hal asks with a raised brow, moving over to stand next to me and lacing our arms together. “Reagan and Emery are making their single guy rounds, trying to pick up a suitor that's half as rich as yours.”

“Yeah, well, they're welcome to him,” I blurt before I can stop myself. Hal gives me a look, but doesn't comment, dragging me over to the food table and grabbing a plate. She makes me hold it while she loads up expensive little desserts, all in miniature. My sister has the best metabolism known to man; I kind of hate her a little for it.

“You want anything?” she asks, but I shake my head, trying my best to balance the plate and my wine glass at the same time. “Because I am taking serious advantage of some mom-free eating time.” Hal stacks the plate into a heaping mountain, garnering us looks from the nearby partygoers. Some of them look at me like I'm a serious fat ass, but I feel too good tonight to care.

“Let's go find a place to sit,” she tells me in her usual bossy way, grabbing a second and third glass of wine and tucking them in her tiny hands. I follow Hal through the crowd toward one of the few sitting areas in the room, pausing as I hear a small roar from outside.

Somebody special must've just arrived.

I let my sister secure us a seat while I stop for a moment to see who it is that's coming in the front doors.

When they open and let in Rhoden Richards, I feel my heart start to palpate.

Holy. Crap.

He's dressed in a black suit jacket over a black button-up and a white shirt. The fabric clings to the tightness of his belly and the jacket sits propped up on those wide shoulders like a mantle. When he saunters into the room with that casual, easy swagger, I feel weak in the knees.

Black denim clings to his muscular legs, emphasizing the rolling gait of his hips as he steps inside with a cocksure half-smile and a gorgeous woman on his left arm.

My heart crashes into my stomach and I almost drop the plate of food.

The woman he's with is absolutely stunning, just as tall as he is in the fabulous pair of gold heels she's wearing. I think they're Manolos, but I'm not sure. I can't stare at them long enough to tell, my gaze drawn up the shapely golden calves of her legs to the glittering micro-dress she's wearing. It wraps her thin frame like a glove, showing off the points of her narrow hip bones and emphasizing the concave nature of her chest and the swanlike length of her neck. Her mouth is full and ripe, her dark eyes wide and shining as she flips some smooth chocolate hair over one shoulder.

Vaguely, I realize that I recognize her from somewhere, but my brain's too scrambled to think of where. Instead, I stand there in the middle of the walkway while other people step back and give Rhoden and his date room to move.

When they first come in, Rhoden's looking over at her and grinning, so he doesn't see me until the two of them just about bowl me over.

“Holy fuck,” he snaps, coming to a halt so quick that his date stumbles in her sky high heels. When Rhoden makes eye contact with me, his brows raise up to his hairline. “Della.”

There's a long, tense moment there where we just stare at each other. I'm not sure what he's thinking, but I know what's going through my head. I can still feel you pressed against me, can still remember your warmth, your smell. I blink away the thoughts as Rhoden readjusts his gaze and takes me in from head to toe, just like his date is doing now. Unlike her, though, he isn't scowling. No, he tries to hide it, but when he looks me over like that, something sparks in his eyes—and his pants.

I pretend not to notice.

“Do you two know each other?” the woman asks, pointing between me and Rhoden and then looking at my towering plate of desserts like it's radioactive. When she lifts her gaze back up to my face, there's a judgment and a cool dismissal there.

“Uh,” Rhoden starts, blinking at me and running his fingers through his dark hair like he's suddenly frustrated. “Della Garland, this is Jasmine Spears.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say with a smile, trying to pretend this situation doesn't suck some serious popsicle. “I'd shake your hand, but my little sister stuck me with snack duty.” I lift the plate up with a small laugh, but Jasmine barely smiles with those Botox thick lips of hers.

“How do you two know each other?” She asks with a possessive edge, curling her fingers around Rhoden's sleeve. He doesn't seem to notice, still staring at me with that unreadable expression of his. When I look between the two of them, my mind conjures up images of them sweaty and tangled together in a mess of sheets and I start feeling sick again.

“Della's the daughter of Rueben Garland, the CEO of Garland Enterprises.” Jasmine just stares blankly at me like she has no idea what he's talking about. “The man who just sold the team today, at the press conference.”

“Ah.”

“How do you two know each other?” I ask suddenly, the question popping out before I can stop it. Jasmine smirks at me while Rhoden runs his tongue along his lower lip, examining my dress with a careful eye before smiling.

“Kierstin, huh?” he asks and I raise both my brows.

“How did you know?” I ask, unable to hold back a small smile.

“Rhoden and I met at a magazine shoot for Sports Illustrated a few weeks ago,” Jasmine blurts out, curling her long, thin body even closer to his. “And we just hit it off.”

I glance at her, but it's hard to hold her gaze when Rhoden's looking at me like that.

“We should probably go, introduce ourselves to Walter in an official capacity,” Rhoden says, and he doesn't sound at all happy about that. But that's basically the reason I'm here tonight, so I jump in before Jasmine can drag him away.

“Let me give this stuff to my sister and I'll take you. Wait right here.” I move over to Hal as fast as I can in my heels and slide her plate on the glass coffee table by her feet. She's already deep in conversation with Deshaun Green, the tight end for the Adders, batting her lashes and checking over her shoulder for stepmom sightings every few minutes.

I leave her to her flirting and practically skip back over to Rhoden who's having a fierce whispering contest with his date. When I approach them, they stop and look over at me. With their good looks and perfect hair, full lips, symmetrical faces, they look like the perfect fairy-tale couple.

My stomach does a nervous flip-flop.

“Right this way,” I say, trying to play the gracious hostess. I just want to make sure that everything is okay with Walter and Rhoden before I bow out of this engagement. I don't know why I care so much. I tell myself it's just because I want to win the Super Bowl this year, but … it might be something else, too, something that I don't care to admit.

Like maybe I have a little crush on Rhoden Richards?

“Walter,” I say as I step up beside him and take his arm, drawing his attention toward Rhoden and Jasmine. When I make eye contact with Rhoden again, he's got a slight frown tracing his full lips.

“Mr. Virgin,” he says, and I almost snort. Seriously, Rhoden?! Is he trying to get in trouble with his new boss on day one? “It's nice to see you again.”

“It's Virgil,” Walter says, clearly not amused, his gaze taking in Jasmine much the same way I did, only his is tinted with a flush of satisfaction and a slight quirk to his lips. It's annoying, but I guess I can't blame him. She's gorgeous and perfect and skinny, and I'm … just a cheater who's planning to break up with the guy on Monday. “I take it you're enjoying the party?” The way he says that, it sounds more like he's asking if Rhoden's enjoying Jasmine.

I feel myself stiffen up considerably. Rhoden notices, watching me carefully for a long moment before answering.

“I just got here,” he says, forcing a smile onto his face as he towers over Walter with his sheer force of presence. “But now that I'm here, I thought I might take some time with Della to brainstorm ideas for our date. It's going to get a lot of media coverage, so I want to get it right, put some spit polish on my image so to speak.”

“That wouldn't be a bad idea,” Walter says, his chin lifted, his face telling me he's clearly bored with the situation. Good. If he can't sense anything between Rhoden and me, then I have nothing to worry about. Walter pulls me close and turns me with a hand on my arm, drawing me forward for a kiss that makes my skin crawl.

He presses his mouth tightly against mine, tasting my bottom lip with his tongue. It's a quick, possessive kiss that makes me a little queasy. When he pulls back, I try to smile.

“Once you've got an idea, run it past me. I'll get my PR guy to set up something special, like a giant check to present to the foundation or something—in Della's name, of course. Now, if you'll excuse me.” Walter pulls away and moves into the crowd, leaving me behind to deal with Jasmine and her narrowed eyes and pursed lips. If I was actually planning on staying with the guy, I'd be offended.

“How's Little Dick?” Rhoden asks with a smirk, drawing Jasmine's attention flying over to his face with a frown on her painted lips.

“I can't get him to stop pulling on his leash. Oh, and he crapped on my favorite slippers yesterday. Other than that, he's great.” Rhoden chuckles, that warm, velvety sound that soothes the nervous cramp in my tummy. “How's Billy the Kid?”

“Who the hell is Billy?” Jasmine asks, like she's starting to get really pissed about being left out.

“My dog,” Rhoden says as he draws his arm away from her. “Do you mind if Della and I have a moment alone to discuss our date?”

“Sure. Kick your girlfriend out to talk about a date with another woman,” Jasmine says, trying to pretend she's joking, but sounding like a raging bitch anyway. “If it wasn't for charity,” she says with a false laugh as she saunters away, her gold dress riding up her thighs and threatening to show her ass. We both watch her go before Rhoden turns to me and leans back, tucking his fingers in his front pockets.

“She's cute,” I say. What I want to say is I fucking hate her. She's awful. I've known her for all of three seconds and I can already tell she's a shitty human being. “So you guys are dating?”

Rhoden shrugs, the movement loose and easy as he rustles the suit jacket in a stupid non-answer.

“How's Walter? I see you're not wearing your engagement ring.”

“Yeah, well,” I say, but there's nothing I really care to elaborate on right now. I don't want to tell Rhoden I'm breaking up with Walter after he just paraded his model Barbie girlfriend in front of me. “About the charity date, I think I'm going to have to pass on that.”

“That's a load of crap, Della,” Rhoden says, drawing his hands from his pockets and crossing them over his broad chest. He stares at me with his whisky-honey eyes, and I find myself unable to look away. “Is this because of the beach?”

“Because of … I just don't think it's that great of an idea for us to go out on a date, okay?” There's a long pause as Rhoden glances over his shoulder, drawing my attention along with him. Jasmine is standing in a cluster of women near the doors to the main part of the lobby, tossing her shiny hair around and laughing with a sound like tinkling chimes. Every so often, she glances our way. “You bailed on me,” I say without meaning to. “You took off like I was nuclear. I know we're not a couple or anything, but that was a shitty thing to do.”

Rhoden glances back at me and raises an eyebrow, dropping his arms to his sides. When he leans in and whispers in my ear, I get chills down my spine. The good kind. I am way too attracted to this guy.

“You'd just told me your asswad fiancé was buying my team—after we'd just fucked. That puts me in serious risk of losing everything, Della. If Walter Virgil wanted to destroy my whole life, he could, and he wouldn't have to try all that hard to do it.”

“What makes you think he would do something like that anyway?”

Rhoden's face gets dark as he turns away and runs his hand through his hair.

“Because he did it to my best friend in college, a buddy of mine that was on the team.” Rhoden turns back to me with a grim expression on his face. “Walter was dating this girl named Gigi, some big-time heiress or something. Well, guess what? My friend, Calvin, fell in love with her and six weeks later, a group of thugs cornered him in an alley and smashed his knees with a baseball bat.”

I feel my face pale, but I can't make that story line up with the Walter I know. He might be a little weird, kind of stalker-y, a little rude. But would he really hire someone to do that? Maybe it's just a coincidence?

“You can't know for sure it was him.”

“No, I guess I can't. But I also won't take the chance that something will happen to my career. I worked my ass off for this; I need it. It's everything to me. I don't want my mom to have to work ever again, and I sure as hell don't want to end up like Calvin, so depressed and broken that I end up blowing my own brains out.”

I shiver, but I keep my spine straight, my chin up.

“I'm sorry about your friend,” I tell Rhoden honestly. “And I'm sorry about the charity date. I'm sure they can find a runner-up to give it to.”

“If that's how you really feel, Della, then fine.” Rhoden looks pissed although for the life of me, I can't figure out why. In the background, soft jazz music plays, giving a relaxed, upscale vibe to everything.

“Maybe you can take Jasmine in my place? I bet she'd love to go out with you in an official capacity.” I pause. “I mean, in an official capacity other than tonight.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” he asks, recrossing his arms over his broad chest. “Are you jealous or something? I already told you, Della, I don't do romance.”

“So what's that supposed to mean? That I shouldn't hate on the skinny model you dragged to a party you knew I'd be at? Or that you don't do romance at all, with anyone, including her? Or maybe all of the above?”

Rhoden looks at me for a long minute and then shakes his head like he's frustrated.

“That's rich, coming from you,” he says as he gestures loosely at me and raises an eyebrow. “Since you're the one that's engaged. Why does it matter who I came here with? Do you think I give a crap about Jasmine? Because I don't. Just like you, I'm playing the game, and I'm playing it to win.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I whisper-yell at him, noticing as I lean in that his gaze drops low, as heavy and dripping as the warm purr of jazz music in the background. He takes me in again and breathes deep, like he's having trouble controlling himself. “You're the one that was talking about all kinds of weird stuff … about fate and … you followed me down to the dog park, practically dragged me to the beach with you.”

Rhoden gives me a loose, easy smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

“Forget about it. For a second, I thought there might be something here, but I was wrong.” He turns away, gaze getting caught on my body again as he pauses. “You look good in that dress by the way.” He leans into me a little, whispers low enough that the sound of the live saxophone in the main lobby area almost drowns his voice out. “So much prettier than Jasmine.”

Rhoden walks away with that smooth, rolling gait of his, and I watch with a strange twist in my tummy as Jasmine gloms onto his arm and leads him over to the dance floor. Hal's already there, swaying gently with the Adders' tight end. I watch her twirl and smile, her entire face lighting up as she revels in the moment.

Me, I stand there alone in the corner, unsure how to interpret what just happened with Rhoden. It was stupid, but I thought … I guess I really did think he liked me. How dumb was that? He made it very clear that there was nothing going on between us at the beach. And at the masquerade party? Well we both knew there was nothing to that either.

So why do I feel so let down?

I move back into the main room and snag a glass of champagne from a tray, crossing one arm under my breasts and watching as the glittering crowd relocates to the dance floor, laughing and shining in designer clothes and expensive jewelry as they move to the live music.

After a few minutes and three glasses of champagne, I'm just about done watching Jasmine cling to Rhoden like a leech. I'm about to walk away when Walter appears and actually gives me something that halfway resembles a warm smile. It might be the first I've ever gotten from him.

“Would it be too much to ask my future wife for a dance?” He holds out a hand as I try to hide my shocked face. Across the crowd, I notice Reagan glaring at me from narrowed blue eyes. She's dressed in a strapless baby pink gown that looks like it was made for a high school prom.

“Of course not,” I say with a smile as I let Walter take my hand, purposely meeting Rhoden's dark gaze as I move into the fray. Walt pulls me close and starts to sway in a surprisingly graceful manner. Surely he's been trained for this kind of thing since birth, so I shouldn't be too surprised. If there's one thing rich people know how to get right, it's parties of any kind. Whether it's a masquerade ball with dubstep, a beach bonfire with vintage cocktails and reggae, or a jazz infused old theater studded with stars, they usually turn out pretty damn amazing.

Walter's cologne surrounds me, that rich, uppity vodka-like smell that I usually hate. Right now, with the bubbles of champagne chasing around my tummy, I don't much care. He might be a socially awkward billionaire that grows GMO sugar beets, but at least he wants to dance with me. That's more than I can say for Rhoden Richards.

We spin and I notice that rich gaze of his, smooth as cognac. It drowns me when I stare into his eyes, my face propped at Walter's shoulder but my eyes on the Arcata Adders quarterback.

“I wasn't thrilled about this dress at first,” Walter admits, snapping me out of my Rhoden obsession. Oh my God! That's what this is: an obsession. I've turned into Ariana, only worse because I've had his big, thick … “But now that I'm holding you here, I've decided that I approve. Well-done, Della.”

“Um, thanks?” It comes out in question form because really? I approve. Well-done. Sit, stay, fetch, Della. Good girl. That's how the compliment feels. I make myself breathe, refusing to let myself get all defensive and ruin this evening. There's a reason I came here tonight and even if Rhoden's acting like a jerk who doesn't deserve my sympathy, I'm determined to ride this out.

“I can't wait to get you into bed, Della,” Walter whispers, putting his mouth at my ear. I can see Rhoden watching me still, Jasmine's lips all over his neck. I want to scream. Walt's touch is far from thrilling, but I don't move away. I don't want Rhoden to know that my soon-to-be-ex-fiancé's touch bothers me.

Fate.

What a load of crap. Guess that was just a line to get me to sleep with him again. I mean, I suspected it might, based on his reputation and all, but it still stings.

Forget about it. For a second, I thought there might be something here, but I was wrong.

Walter eases us around as the song comes to an end and another, more romantic tune starts to pour from the speakers, like a hot toddy on a cold night. A woman steps up to the old fashioned mic in the corner and starts to sing in a husky voice that makes me think of starlit evenings and candlelit dinners.

“May I steal a dance with my future brother-in-law?” Reagan asks, batting her blond lashes at Walter as she practically shoves me out of the way and falls into his arms. Walter looks annoyed, but he lets her step in, continuing to dance in his methodical, well practiced way, leaving me alone in the middle of the glittering granite floor.

When I look around, it's like the whole room's conspired to dance without me. Even my dad is dancing, spinning my stepmom around and smiling softly. Romance lights the air like incense, twirling into my nostrils and making me feel a million times lonelier than if I were standing on the top of Mt. Everest all alone.

I rub absently at the tiny heart tattoo on my wrist and try to figure out the most strategic exit through the thickening crowd.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” a deep, low voice asks from behind me. I turn to find Rhoden standing there alone. He holds his hand out and waits like he expects me to take it.

“Where's Jasmine?” I ask as the jazz curls around me and tickles my skin, the singer's voice this black and white movie dream that tricks people into believing in romance. Twenty-nine years old here, never had it before. Also, Santa Claus: zero sightings. See, those two things are both in the make believe boat for me.

“She went to the bathroom,” Rhoden says with an odd smile, shaking his head like he's in disbelief. “So now I have nobody to dance with and you,” he nods his chin at me, “also have nobody to dance with. What do you say?”

I look at him standing there in his suit jacket and button-up, his dark jeans against everyone else's finely pressed slacks. He's even got old fashioned wingtip loafers on underneath. It makes me feel weak towards him, even though he fumbled that pass on Sunday.

“As long as you get us to the Super Bowl,” I say as I take his hand and let him pull me close. Right away, I know that I've made a mistake. Rhoden's body is warm and hard beneath my hands. His fingers burn into my lower back, pressing harder than I think they ought to. Without meaning to, I rest my head in the warm place between his neck and shoulder and breathe him in deep. God, that smell. I can barely stand it, letting my eyes flutter closed as Rhoden spins us in a gentle circle. “No more penalties for touchdown celebrations either.”

“Ah, so that's how it is. This dance comes with strings attached.”

“Sorry. You might not do strings, but I do. I need you to win this year for me. I've been wanting a Super Bowl win for the Adders since I was eight years old.”

Rhoden chuckles and the sound works its way into my chest, making my fingers curl in his jacket of their own accord.

“That's odd. I've also been waiting for the Adders to win a Super Bowl since I was eight years old.” A pause as I smile. “Okay,” he says as I lift my head up and look into his face. “I'll make sure we take home a win if you agree to go on the charity date.”

“Why? I thought you just said you didn't care if I went or not.”

“Did I? I was lying again.”

I relax my body into Rhoden's, loving the way we fit together, like my soft gentle curves were designed to match up with the hard, lean lines of his body. Without meaning to, I lift my mouth up and kiss the side of his jaw, blushing bright as I pull back and realize what I've just done.

“Fuck, Della,” he says which is not the response I expected. When I look up, I find Jasmine standing at the edge of the dance floor with her arms crossed over her flat chest, eyes narrowed in a dark glare. I do a quick check for Walter, but he's nowhere to be seen, hidden away from my secret kiss by the crowd. What I do see is Hal though, staring at me with giant eyes. She mouths you are so busted at me as Rhoden spins me away. “Please don't do that again,” he tells me, his voice hard as he pushes me back a few inches and puts some space between us.

When I look into his eyes, I see his pupils are dilated, his nostrils flared like he's fighting an impossible urge.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper as Rhoden lifts my arm up and twirls me in a full circle. When I come back around, I feel dizzy. Dizzy with want. For Rhoden Richards.

Uh-oh.

“There's nothing to be sorry about,” he says, his voice rough and strained all of a sudden. “I just can't let you do that. If I do, I'm liable to screw everything up.” I crinkle my brow because I'm not a hundred percent certain what he's talking about, but I don't press the issue as Rhoden slowly pulls me forward, tucking me back against him.

On our next turn, I come face to face with Walter. When he sees me dancing with Rhoden, his eyebrows come together and he frowns deeply, lines etched into his chin on either side like a doll's.

Uh-oh again.

I pull away from Rhoden and look into his face with a small smile. I can feel my heart pounding away inside my chest as I realize how stupid this is. I came here tonight to keep Walter from fixating on Rhoden and now I'm slow dancing with the guy to a romantic jazz song that's half in French? Not a good idea.

“Excuse me,” I murmur as I duck my head and pull my arms up under my breasts, moving through the crowd like a linebacker. I don't let anyone stop me, pushing past couples as the song comes to an end and people start clapping. Another slow jazz tune starts up as I make my way through the lobby and towards the doors to the main level of the theater.

Slipping inside, I let the door snick shut softly behind me as I take a deep breath, leaning up against the wall to my right. There's nobody in here, the stage up front dark and shrouded with a heavy purple velvet curtain.

I put my hands up to my face and try to breathe through the rush of electric hormones running through me. I don't know Rhoden Richards all that well. Honestly, I don't really know him at all. But I wish I did.

My friend, Calvin, fell in love with her and six weeks later, a group of thugs cornered him in an alley and smashed his knees with a baseball bat.

Walter had nothing to do with that, I'm sure. So why are you here trying to make sure things are smooth as butter before you break up with him?

I sigh and stand up, planning to head over to the seats and slump down in one until I can catch my breath. When I hear the door open, I pause and smooth my hands down the front of my dress.

“Hello?”

Footsteps move around the corner and Rhoden Richards strides into view.

“What are you doing in here?” I ask as he looks at me with this impossible face, this raw expression that says nothing but sex, sex, sex.

Like that night at the masquerade, he says nothing, just walks up to me and puts his right hand on my cheek, leaning down and putting his mouth to mine. Heat sears through me, a molten explosion that makes my body tingle from my toes to my fingertips. It's a different kind of kiss than before, a much needier, more frenzied type of kiss.

When Rhoden pulls back, I take his hand and pull him over to one of the seats in the back of the room. There's plenty of space for him to stand in front of me as I sit down and open his jeans with deft, careful fingers, revealing the thick hard velvety perfection of his cock. I lift my eyes up and find him watching me, leaning forward to press my mouth to the side of his shaft. My tongue slides down to the base and then I kiss my way up the trail of hair to his belly button, kissing around it and then making my way back to the shiny head of his dick. It's already slick with pre-ejac, teasing my mouth with a salty taste when I slide my lips around it. Even down here, Rhoden smells like bourbon and oak, like an applewood fire crackling in a wood stove.

I take as much of him as I can into my mouth, but it's not nearly enough. He's too big for me to go deep with, so I settle for using my hands, caressing the smooth skin of his balls and teasing the dark hair around his shaft with my fingers.

In the hushed half-dark of the theater, piano and saxophone leaking in through the closed doors, I feel dirty in such a sexy way, like the energy between us is made of forbidden romance, aged Scotch, and cigar smoke. I was born several decades too late.

Rhoden moans low in his throat, that wicked animal growl-purr thing he does, massaging the sides of my scalp with his fingers. Yes, massaging. I've never had a guy massage me while I'm sucking him off. It's … well, I like it. A lot.

After a few songs, he stops me, his breath coming in pants and gasps as he zips up his fly and holds out a hand, lifting me up from the chair with warmth hot and slick between my thighs. Without speaking, Rhoden leads me over to a set of stairs and up to the mezzanine level, guiding me down the front row and pulling me in front of him.

“You're not afraid of heights, are you?” he asks me as I look down at the rows of burgundy seats below.

“A little,” I whisper as he unzips his pants again and slides a condom from his pocket, putting it on over the wetness of his gleaming shaft.

“Then can you trust me?”

I have no idea what he's planning, but I nod as he leans in toward me and slides his hands up and under my dress, taking hold of my panties as I gasp and lean against the metal railing behind me. The underwear comes off and he tucks it into his pocket, standing up and grabbing me by the hips. With effortless ease, Rhoden sits me on the center rail, my back leaning against the top, my body ridiculously aware of how high up I am.

“Here?” I whisper, but he's already kissing my neck and nudging between my folds, testing my readiness with the head of his cock. It's so big, I think he's gotten used to making double and triple sure a woman's ready before he enters her. But I'm slick and hot and so turned on. I'm not sure if it was the blow job or just … Rhoden. I think it's just Rhoden.

He pushes himself all the way into me and I gasp, my little black dress riding up my hips as we start to move together, his hands holding my ass firmly in place as he fucks me an entire story above the ground. The theater dances around me as I let him kiss my neck and forget to worry about hickeys. Old fashioned copper lights hang above my head as I relax into the motion of his body burrowing into mine, leaning my head back and letting my hair dangle over the railing. I can see the stage from here, can hear the music, can feel the old magic of this building leaking into me.

Rhoden stretches me wide and fills me up, burying himself in my center, so deep he makes my tummy ache in the best possible way, like the tip of his cock is just barely brushing the end of me.

“I fit just right inside of you, Della,” he purrs into my ear with his smooth as silk-sheets voice. “It's rare that I meet a woman who can take all of me.”

“Are you calling me loose?” I whisper, but the joke falls flat when I groan and squeeze my legs tight around him, locking my ankles together.

“Oh, fuck no,” Rhoden whispers, biting my ear. “You're so tight I can barely move.”

I groan and rock my hips against him, fully aware that this can't last but wishing it would go on forever. I can count the number of times I've enjoyed sex this much in my life on one hand. Well, no hands actually because I don't think I've ever felt like this before.

“Oh-yes-so-good,” I moan, the words mushing together into a single syllable as the music switches again and again. We move and slide together for six songs, my body half-suspended in the air, warm musty drafts from the theater teasing my bare ass. Rhoden has enough stamina to get me to that edge, to make me gasp and pant and curl my fingers around the lapels of his suit jacket.

My orgasm is mind-blowing, tearing out of me with a small scream. Rhoden puts his hand gently over my mouth and lets me go at it, holding my shuddering body as small tears prick the corners of my eyes. I don't mean them to. One minute, I'm coming apart at the seams and the next, I'm just crying.

I don't let him see, pressing my mouth against his neck and whispering, “keep going. I want to feel you come.” Rhoden takes my words to heart, thrusting and moaning as his shaft teases my suddenly-too-sensitive insides. It's so tender and sore, it almost hurts, but I make him keep going until he comes, squeezing my ass in tight fingers and then stepping back before we both go weak-kneed and fall over the railing.

There's a second there where we just look at each and then I turn and start walking away.

Because I know if I don't, he will. And I'm not sure if I can handle that again.

Both my father and Walter leave town on an emergency business trip on Sunday, something about a possible salmonella scare at one of the plants my father's corporation runs to process Donsanto's food products.

I can't believe my bad luck. I'm finally ready to tell Walter that I want to call off the engagement and bam, he's gone again.

“This is a good thing,” Ariana says as she sits in the seat next to mine at the game, the sun shining on her red hair and turning it to spun rubies.

“A good thing that thousands of Americans might get salmonella from contaminated corn?” I ask and Ariana drops her shades down her nose so she can roll her eyes at me.

“So not funny, and no, that's not what I meant. I'm just saying that you look like shit and that I need you this week anyway, so it's best you don't have your head somewhere else. Forget about Walter until he gets back. It's not like an extra few days is going to change anything.”

I sigh and lean back into my seat, watching the Adders annihilate the competition on the field. Rhoden's in good form today, running a forty yard touchdown and putting the team ahead 22-7. When I watch him take his helmet off and grab a drink of water, I try not to let that possessive tingle spike through my veins. But wow. He looks so good with the dark smudges of black beneath his eyes, his hair soaked in sweat, his uniform bright under the afternoon sunshine.

“What do you need me for this week?” I ask her as she digs around in her purse and grabs a pair of white cards, passing one over to me. “The rehearsal dinner isn't until December, and I already straightened out that mess with the florist.”

“I know. You're the best bridesmaid ever. But this, this is really important to me.”

I look down at the card.

Alissa Norton, OB/GYN. Thanks! Your appointment time is 10:35 on Monday, October 31st.

“You made an OB/GYN appointment for Halloween?” I ask. Who does that?

Ariana taps the card with her fingernail.

“This is not for me, silly. This is for you.”

I look at the name scrawled in messy cursive across the printed line.

“Ariana,” I start as I swing my eyes up to her. “Making your best friend an appointment with your gynecologist is about as invasive as using her credit card to buy raffle tickets for an NFL contest. And it's twice as creepy. Why on earth would I ever go to the OB/GYN with you? You know I love you, girl, but this is … no. Absolutely not.”

“Della, listen,” Ariana says as she sucks in a deep breath and smiles at me. “I think I'm pregnant.”

I gape at her as the crowd goes wild and I realize I've missed a really big play. I turn back and watch Rhoden … dunk the football over the goal post like it's a basketball. Uh-oh. Penalty time. That fucking idiot! But then I remember that my best friend in the whole world just told me she might be pregnant.

“Are you … what do you mean?”

“Weeeeell,” she starts, getting all giddy and fidgety in her seat. Ariana grew up in a foster home, and since the first day we met, she's been telling me how much she wants a family of her own, wants to be a mother. She and Scottie have actually been trying for years. They decided to get married when they both realized they might have to adopt. “Scottie and I had this wicked, wicked night. Have you ever used a sex swing?”

“Um, that is not what I asked,” I say, trying to steer her back on topic. If given the opportunity, she will tell me all about her sex with Scottie, down to this “cute little quiver that his penis does right before he comes”. These are things I absolutely do not want to hear about.

“I took about twelve different at-home tests, and they all had faint positive lines. It could be nothing or it could just be really early. I want to go to the doctor and find out for sure—and I don't want Scottie to know yet, not until I'm sure.”

I smile at Ariana and reach over to squeeze her hand while she takes a deep, steadying breath.

“I'm really excited for you,” I say, and I hope she can tell how much I mean that. “But I'm not going to the OB/GYN with you.”

“Del, come on!” Ariana says, turning to me and taking both my hands. “I really don't want to go by myself. You know how much that place scares me. If I knew you were there, that you were in the exam room right next to mine, I'd feel a million times better.” She gives me the puppy dog face that I have a hard time resisting. “Don't do this to me,” she pleads as she bats her eyelashes at me and then pushes her shades up over her eyes, pretending to sniffle. “Don't abandon me in my time of need. This is the biggest thing that's ever happened to me. Don't you want to support that? Seeing as to how you're my maid of honor and everything … I'd hate to take Hal with me instead.”

I narrow my eyes at her.

“You did not just pull the Hal card,” I say, knowing she knows how jealous I get when it comes to my little sister.

“I just did,” Ariana says with a smirk, sitting back in her chair and then exploding up when Rhoden throws a perfect touchdown pass. I join her, pumping my arm in the air and shouting. After he does a little victory dance, I notice his gaze swing in this direction.

I can't be sure, but … it almost feels like he's looking right at me.

I have come to accept that the bridesmaid dress I will be wearing in December will have no sleeves. I have also accepted that my little sister who is a size zero will be wearing the exact same dress and will be standing next to me at said wedding.

But I am going to #lovemyself and not worry about it. What I have decided to do is make some easy changes in my life to get healthier. I don't know about you, but I've always struggled with my weight. Diet and exercise help, obviously, but even when I was on the girl's basketball team in high school, I was fifty pounds heavier than the next heaviest girl.

I'm making a vow to accept myself for who I am, even if that's being the two hundred and twenty pounds I've been for the last few years of my life. However, I have decided to take on the no-oil challenge and eliminate processed oils for the next few weeks. My sister's charged me with making the family's traditional chocolate chip pumpkin bread for Halloween, even though I've decided to skip out on the stuffy party to hang with Ariana and Scottie. I've been experimenting with my mother's recipe and made some modifications that still leave a tasty loaf at the end. Check out my food porn pictures and see what bread made with APPLESAUCE and MAPLE SYRUP instead of oil and sugar looks like.

Oh, and prepare to be amazed. This is only two hundred calories for a slice. Yum!

1 (15 ounce) can organic pumpkin puree

4 large free-range eggs

1 cup organic applesauce

3 cups maple syrup

3 1/2 cups organic whole wheat flour

2 teaspoons baking soda

1 1/2 teaspoons salt

2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

2 teaspoons ground nutmeg

1 teaspoon ground cloves

1 teaspoon ground allspice

1/4 teaspoon ground ginger

1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

Bake at 325 degrees for about an hour and ten minutes in small loaf pans. I lined mine with parchment paper so I didn't have to grease the sides. Enjoy!

I attach all the photos of my baking experiment and a picture of myself in Ariana's admittedly gorgeous bridesmaid dress pick. It's a soft peach color with small cap sleeves and a chiffon mermaid tail train on the bottom. Hal says she thinks it looks like a penis suit, but I don't see the reference.

I upload my blog post to Della's Random Ramblings and close my computer, standing up with a sigh and checking the time. I've got an hour before Ariana's awful idea of a girl's day out, and I'm jittery as hell. Who's ever excited to go see a gynecologist? Not this girl right here.

I turn around and find Little Dick with his front paws on the counter and the loaf of pumpkin bread disappearing between his jaws. Great.

“No, that's a bad dog,” I tell him, trying to pry the food from his mouth. Let's just say, I'm not very successful in my endeavor. Instead of getting the bread away from him, I end up chasing him around the living room in what he probably thinks is a game, and getting slobber and chewed up gooey bread stuck to my fingers and to the white couch.

Awesome.

Walter and my dad are due back tonight, but with this whole appointment thing today, our break up is going to have to wait for tomorrow. Each second that ticks by makes me feel a little sicker, a little guiltier. I am the cheater here, the one in the wrong. I owe this to Walter.

Aaaaaand, maybe part of me wonders if Rhoden … no. No. If he wants to see me, he knows where to find me. For the last week, I've been walking Little Dick up and down the sidewalk in front of the dog park and he hasn't once come out to visit us.

Don't be pathetic, Della, I tell myself as I wash the dog spit off my hands and grab my purse. I pause to fill up the bunny's water bottle on my way out and then get prepare myself for the coming misery.

A day at the OB/GYN's. How exciting.

“I'm not sure I want to be friends with you anymore,” I whisper as a woman comes out of the hallway in a pair of scrubs dotted with tiny pink hearts. “Girlfriends go shopping together, check out guys together, eat too much Chinese takeout together. They do not force their friends to get their vagina poked and prodded.

“Della Garland,” the woman calls out as Ariana digs her nails into my arm and starts to shake. She has a different doctor, same appointment time. It'll be her turn any minute now. I pry my friend's vise grip off my arm and head into an exam room with the nurse. My first response when she asks me to dress down into the gown thing-y is to make dirty jokes.

I manage to hold them all back.

She checks my vitals and asks me a couple of really embarrassing questions about my sex life. I answer them as honestly as I can. If I'm going to go through this whole charade, I may as well take it seriously.

“Wonderful. The doctor will be in with you in just a minute,” she tells me as she closes the door softly behind her and leaves me alone in a room with a plastic vagina model and pictures of women with babies plastered on the walls. God, I want a baby someday, I think as I stare at the pictures and wonder what kind of mother I'd make. I didn't exactly have one of my own for long—and my stepmother certainly doesn't count. I want to think I'd be a good one, but how could I stand up for a kid if I can't even stand up for myself?

I kick my ankles against the metal table and try not to hyperventilate. The only person I've had sex with in months is Rhoden, and we used condoms every time, so I'm sure I'm fine. Still, sitting in that sterile room is a scary thing, opening the box to all my worst fears.

“Della, hi,” a woman in a long white lab coat says as she steps into the room and smiles at me. She has a nice smile, big and wide, calming me down instantly. I breath a small sigh of relief. “You're here for a routine exam today?”

I nod and try to smile at her as she pauses in front of me and reads notes off her clipboard.

“Wonderful. Any questions or concerns?”

I think for a moment and then shake my head.

“Nope.”

“Good. This shouldn't take much time at all,” she says. “We'll do the exam and then run a general blood panel for you. How does that sound?”

“Sounds great,” I say as I prepare myself to lay back on this prehistoric looking table.

The doctor smiles at me and nods like she knows exactly how I feel.

“It's always good to be proactive when it comes to our reproductive health,” she says, and it's my turn to smile back. See, not so bad. Ariana was freaking out for nothing.

“Sure,” I say because why not? This is a good thing, I decide. I'm glad I came here. It goes along with the whole taking-control-of-my-life thing that I've been working on. Getting a clean bill of health here is a good place to begin, especially if I'm going to start officially dating again. I'll give Walt some time to cool down and then …

I do my absolute best not to think of Rhoden Richards, but there he is, right at the forefront of my thoughts.

“Are you ready?” the doctor asks, and I nod.

The exam goes well, much easier than I expected. Ariana looks like she's going to puke when she comes out of her room, but she's excited to get her test results back. Based on the pelvic exam, her doctor agrees that she might be pregnant, but it's too early to tell without getting the blood test. Ariana's excited, but I try not to get her hopes up. My doctor also said it looked like I might be pregnant.

Hilarious. Guess we'll wait for those test results to prove her wrong.

I ignore the tiny wiggle of worry in my gut and try to relax, spending an easy Halloween at Ariana's apartment passing out candy and watching horror movies, dry ice Halloween cocktails clutched in Scottie's and my hand. If he notices his wife-to-be isn't drinking, he doesn't say anything.

One week later when our test results come in, Ariana finally finds out that she's pregnant.

And so do I.

What. The. Hell. Am I going to do about that?

“Oh my God,” Ariana says as she bounces around the room and grins big at me, red braids flopping. “Can you believe this? Can you even … I've been trying to get pregnant since I was twenty-five and now look at this, look at it!”

I sit on her couch with a stiff spine and try to figure out how to bring this news up to Ariana without ruining her mood. I already cried and pleaded on the phone with the doctor today, but that didn't change anything. And then I bought some store tests and that didn't change anything either.

I don't understand. We used condoms. Every time. I just … I don't get it.

“Della,” Ariana asks, kneeling down next to me and poking me between the eyes with her nail. “What is up with you today? Aren't you excited? You're going to be an auntie.”

“I'm going to be a mother,” I say and I find suddenly that I can't breathe.

“What … what?” Ariana asks, blinking stupidly at me and sitting on the floor in her red hooker boots, black slacks and suit jacket. Interesting combination, that. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm pregnant, Ariana,” I say and then I start sobbing because I'm so goddamn confused.

“Wait, did you and Walter—”

“Not Walter,” I say and it comes out kind of like a wail, Ariana's green eyes exploding into circles.

“No,” she says and then she gets weirdly excited about it. “Rhoden?!”

“This is … Rhoden is never going to believe me,” I tell Ariana as I stand up and start to pace in front of her. She's still sitting with her mouth hanging open and staring up at me. “We've used condoms every time.”

“Condoms break,” Ariana says. “Have you been checking every single one to make sure there are no holes or rips? Even a micro-tear is all it takes if you have strong swimmers.”

“Ariana, this is serious!” I snap as I plop down on the couch again, putting my head in my hands. “According to the doctor, I'm five weeks from conception, putting the date as the night of the masquerade party. Rhoden and I were both drunk, but I know he had a condom on. If it did break though, I'm not sure either of us would've noticed. It wasn't like I examined it before he threw it out. What do I do?”

“That's up to you,” she says, reaching over and giving my hand a squeeze. “Whatever you want, I'm here for you.”

I squeeze her hand back.

“I know. Now all I have to do is figure out how to tell Rhoden.”

“If you should tell Rhoden,” Ariana says and my smile turns grim. Rhoden is an asshole and he certainly isn't father or boyfriend or anything material really. But I like him. A lot. Too much maybe.

Even though I don't really know him at all.

“What would you do?” I ask. “If you were me?”

Ariana shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head, trying not to smile but letting it happen anyway.

“Don't you think it'd be kind of fun to have babies at the same time?”

“Are you serious? This isn't a joke, Ariana. He already told me how he doesn't do romance.”

“He said that?” she asks with a crinkled nose. “Well, if he said that then he's definitely into you.”

“What? That doesn't make any sense.”

Ariana stands up and straightens her suit jacket out.

“I'll make us some tea. Listen, if a guy has to go out of his way to say he's definitely not interested in having a relationship, then he definitely is interested.”

“That's … that doesn't make any sense. I'm sorry, but I don't believe that.”

Ariana shrugs at me and moves into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

“So don't. Figure out what you want to do. I say first thing is to break up with Walter. With this little …” A crooked smile takes over her face as I glare, but at least my faux anger towards my friend is helping me not to freak-out here. “Technicality. You definitely need to mop that problem up. And then maybe things will get a little clearer?”

I groan and roll onto my side on the couch.

Now all I have to do is break up with my fiancé and tell the stranger I have a crush on that our safe sex wasn't so safe.

Not so hard, right?

Wrong.

My date with Walter is set for Wednesday, so I make sure that on Tuesday, I show up for dinner at my dad's house, suffering through the usual stuffy atmosphere until I can finally corner my father alone in his upstairs office. I feel like it's only right to let him know before I tell Walter. After all, this could change everything for him.

As I pace outside his door, I almost lose my nerve. If I do this, I'll be the bad guy, the one that cost my family everything. I can't do this! I think as I clamp a hand over my belly and make myself breathe deep. I'm pregnant with another man's baby after cheating on Walter not once, not twice, but three times. How awful is that? I … I never felt like we were a couple, and that's a problem.

This whole thing is just a hot mess.

“Dad?” I knock softly at the door as my heart thunders and I start to feel dizzy. I'm almost thirty years old and my daddy makes me quake in my boots. Not good. What right do I have to be a mother? “Is it okay if I come in?”

There's a long pause and a sigh. It hurts that my dad doesn't want to talk to me, but why should he? Things between us have been tense since he moved that woman into my mother's house. I don't think I'll ever get over that.

“Come in, but please, this needs to be quick, Della. This salmonella scare is blowing up in my face.” I move into the room slowly, like once my dad sees my expression, he might guess what I have to tell him. And right now, this is only about Walter. What happens when he finds out I'm pregnant? I try really hard not to think about Rhoden's story, about Walter possibly hiring thugs to beat up his friend.

This pregnancy is like a black mark on a calendar, telling Walter exactly when I started sleeping with Rhoden. What if he's right? What if Walter does something to him? Something worse than firing him?

“Dad, I …” I move over to the couch in the middle of the room and sit down, refusing to imagine my mother as she balanced on a stepping stool and placed all the little boat figurines that my dad collected over the years on the top shelf of that bookcase. They still sit there to this day, one of the few reminders that she was ever here. Wicked Witch of the East got rid of practically everything else she owned, without once stopping to consider if I might want any of it.

I squeeze my hands into fists, take a deep breath, and look up at my dad. He's on his computer, hardly giving me the time of day here.

“I have something important that I need to talk to you about,” I tell him, my tone grave, my words quavering a little as my mind puzzles out how best to say this. I close my eyes and search for strength. If it's this hard to do this in front of my dad, how am I going to look at Walter across a table and tell him the same? “Dad.” Deep breath. “I've decided that I'm not going to marry Walter.”

Okay, now he does look up, his wrinkled face turned down into a deep frown.

“Della, don't be ridiculous,” he says and then refocuses back on his computer screen. My mouth gapes open.

“Ridiculous? Dad, I don't love that man. In fact … I'm not even sure that I really like him. I'm sorry. I know how important this was to you, but I can't be happy in a marriage with Walter Virgil.”

“Della.” Uh-oh. That's my dad's no-nonsense voice, the one he usually only whips out in boardrooms or at press conferences. When he rises to his feet, I know I'm in trouble. “I just made a multimillion dollar deal with Walter's company. And we already sold the Adders to him.” Not my idea, I want to add. I keep my mouth closed instead. “I'm not sure if you're aware, but your stepmother and I have been looking for a new house, with a generous gift from Walter. We're in escrow; we close next week. Don't you see? This family is already married to the Virgils. I'm sorry, Della, but this is beyond you at this point.”

My mouth is practically dangling from the rest of my face as I stare at my dad in stunned disbelief. Did he … just tell me that I don't have a choice? Screw that.

“Um, how is any of that my fault? I didn't even want to date Walter, or marry him. That was all you.”

“What are you doing with your life, Della? Writing articles on the computer? You have yet to make a positive contribution to this family or the life I've blessed you with.”

“That you and mom blessed me with. Or have you forgotten how she worked two jobs to get you through school?!” Tears spring up in my eyes and I try not to sob, wrapping my arms around my tummy to hold back a wave of nausea. Maybe it's the pregnancy? Or maybe I'm just in shock that my dad would say those kinds of things to me. “I don't owe you anything,” I say, looking up at him and trying to keep my voice strong.

You can do this, Del!

“Walter Virgil is not a man that you say no to, Della,” my dad snaps at me, nostrils flaring with rage. There's a knock at the door and then my stepmom moves into the room, blond hair coiffed, a real fur robe wrapped around her shoulders. When I was little, I was convinced she'd personally murdered puppies to make that thing, just like Cruella de Vil. Honestly, I still believe that.

“What's going on? I heard shouting.”

Liar, I think as I narrow my eyes at her. You were eavesdropping at the door.

My stepmom tugs at her million dollar diamond earrings.

“Della's up and decided that Walter's not good enough for her,” my dad roars, finally losing that famous temper of his as he storms around the desk and gets in my face with a raised finger. “You will marry that man.”

“Says who?” I ask, feeling so sick I might throw up. “It's still a free country, isn't it?”

“Della, this is not up for debate. You will marry Walter Virgil in the spring.”

“The spring?!” I gasp because seriously? Not only can I not decide who I marry but also apparently not when. “That's ridiculous. I'm sorry, I don't know who you think you are, but you can't make me marry him.”

My dad moves over to me, looming large even though he's barely an inch taller. He pins me against the back of the couch with his presence. My stepmom is right behind him, eyes wide, hand clutching her robe across her chest like she's just discovered a scandal. If it's a scandal she wants …

“If you say a word about this to Walter, you'll be sorry. A man like that has the means to get what he wants, Della. There isn't a person in this world that says no to money like that.”

“I'm pregnant,” I whisper and my stepmother gasps dramatically while my father's eyes pop out of his head.

“With Walter's baby?” my stepmom asks. The quiver in her voice tells me she doesn't think it is.

“No,” I say and the room is suddenly so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

There's a long, quiet moment before Verna grabs my father's shoulder and squeezes it.

“Reuben, step outside for a minute and I'll handle this.” My dad nods as I blink confusedly up at the pair of them. My stepmom watches as my dad leaves the room and then turns a wicked glare down on me.

“Now, for the life of me, I can't figure out why Walter wanted you,” the way she says that, I can hear the venom dripping from her lips, “instead of Reagan or Emery. It's beyond me, but guess what? For some reason, Walter likes you. This is the only thing that can save this family, Della.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way,” I tell her, trying to gather my resolve around me. “But I won't marry a man I don't love just so you can have a bigger house and a nicer car.”

When her hand strikes out and slaps me across the face, I gasp and then gape up at her in shock. I'm not prone to violence, but there's nothing in that moment I want more than to stand up and pummel the shorter woman to the floor.

I rise to my feet and look down at her.

“I could have you arrested for that,” I say but Verna doesn't look afraid. Why should she be? I'm just the fat loser stepkid she's been bossing around her entire life.

“I have a doctor that's very discreet,” she says, like we're living in the year 1350 and being pregnant out of wedlock is worse than the bubonic plague. “We'll take care of that, and Walter never has to know.”

“If I wanted an abortion, I'd go to Planned Parenthood in the shimmering sunlight with my back straight and my chin up. But guess what?” I say, my heart slamming into my rib cage like a drum. “I don't. I want this baby, more than anything else I've ever wanted.” As soon as I say the words, I know they're true, and I'm shocked to my core. Completely and utterly shocked. “So you and Dad and your snotty little daughters can eat shit.”

I shove past her and storm out the door, tears streaming down my cheeks as I take the steps two at a time.

“Della!” My dad's shouting at me from the top of the staircase.

“Della, what's wrong?” Hal asks as I shoot past her and fly out the front door, down the porch steps, and over to the driver's side door of my Range Rover, slamming it shut hard before I peel out of the driveway.

I'll be damned if I keep letting my family make decisions for me—especially about my baby.

Mine and Rhoden's.

Now I just need to figure out how to tell him about this.

As soon as I get home, I strap Little Dick's leash on and take him down to the dog park. Just because I'm feeling like crap doesn't mean he should have to suffer. I cannot believe the nerve of that BITCH, I think as I reach up a hand and touch my fingers to the swollen redness of my cheek. Over the years that woman has perfected the art of slapping and it hurts.

I sigh as I walk through the thin dusting of white fog on the sidewalk like a zombie, my mind preoccupied with the million little things I have to do. In the span of an instant, my life has been turned on its head.

The suede boots I bought last week drag across the cement as I force myself to keep up with Little Dick as he makes a beeline for the gate and then explodes like a shot when I take the leash off. I drag my numb butt over to a picnic table and plop down on top of it when I realize that I'm not alone.

Billy the Kid comes sprinting through the mist with a yellow-green tennis ball clutched in her mouth. A few seconds later, Rhoden's emerging in a pair of what are definitely Target jeans, and a black button-up over a white tee. He looks sexy and mature and put together.

The complete opposite of what I'm feeling.

But then, I know he's not really all that mature and put together, is he? He's a party boy who dates a different model every week, who gets fined tens of thousands of dollars for showboating, and who … is going to be a dad.

A dad that's going to be shocked shitless when he finds out that I somehow magically got pregnant through a condom. It's that big dick of his, I think sourly, running my fingers through my curls. Probably broke the damn thing.

“Della,” he says, like he's genuinely surprised to see me here. Wow. Yet another chance meeting? We seem to have fate on our side in spades. “Forget about it. For a second, I thought there might be something here, but I was wrong.” His words echo in my head again and I shake them off. “Are you alright? You look like shit.” He tries to smile to soften the joke, but it doesn't work. All I can do is clutch my hand over my tummy and stare at him.

The words are desperate to come tumbling out of my mouth, but I hold them back. First, I break up with Walter. Then, I deal with this.

But then I realize that I literally have no way of getting in contact with Rhoden; I don't have his number and I don't know which apartment is his.

I'm pregnant with the guy's kid and I have no contact information for him?

I groan and drop my forehead to my knees, glad that I'm still pseudo dressed up from dinner.

“Rough day?” he asks, but I can't answer, can't force my lips to move without saying the P-word. “Is it Mr. Virgin again?”

I laugh, but the sound is bitter and distant.

“No, it's not. In fact, I'm planning on breaking up with him tomorrow.”

Rhoden stiffens in front of me, his entire body going rigid at the statement.

“What?”

I look up and find his dark gaze laser focused on my own. I stare at him for a long moment, the distant sound of cars echoing in the background. Our street, though, is fairly quiet at this time of night.

“Is it because of what I said at the party?” he asks, but I'm already shaking my head.

“I decided before that, actually. To tell you the truth, I just kind of … I actually hate the guy a little bit.”

Rhoden stares at me for a long time and takes a breath, looking away suddenly like the sight of me is too much for him to handle. This, the same guy who lifted me up and had sex with me while I was balanced precariously on a metal railing. Fine. Great. Whatever.

“This isn't about us, is it?” I look up at him and try to read into the strange tone he's using. What the hell? I glance over at the dogs as they bow and leap at each other with faux growls, wrestling in a wiggling pile of fur and tails.

“Actually, yeah, a little bit.” Rhoden cringes and I purse my lips tight. “I cheated on Walter three times with a guy I barely know. How does that bode well for a future marriage? He deserves better, especially since I find his company kind of … deplorable. I feel bad for my dad and my sisters, but it's not my job to sacrifice my happiness to keep them rich.”

Rhoden sucks in a long sharp breath and digs his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Me and you,” he says and my heart skips a beat. “We can't be together. You know that, right?” I stare at him in shock, a sharp pain dancing through my chest. I didn't … I wasn't at all thinking that Rhoden and I would be together, but for him to just say it like that …

“You're a fucking dick,” I snap at him, putting my fingers to my lips and whistling hard. Surprisingly, Little Dick comes running.

“If you're breaking up with Walter because of me, you should reconsider.”

“Go to hell,” I tell him with a mean half-smile on my face. Once again, I consider telling him about the pregnancy, but I decide against it. I don't want to tell him in anger; I'll wait till our charity date and tell him there, give him some options. He can be a part of this kid's life or not, his choice.

“I'm sorry, Della,” he tells me as I turn and he reaches out and grabs my upper arm, his fingers warm against my bicep. I jerk myself from his grip and storm off toward the gate, taking the puppy with me.

Oh, and I'm so totally changing the dog's name.

I dress up for my date with Walter. I feel like if I'm comfortable in what I'm wearing, if I feel good about myself, it'll make this easier.

I sit down and type up a quick blog post before I go. Like I said, I've been using this site as my diary for years. It's been beyond helpful getting me to open up.

Tonight, I'm dressing to the nines, folks. I've got to do something hard, really hard. One of the hardest things I've ever done to be honest with you. But I decided I would take my life into my own hands, make my own decisions.

Tonight, I'll prove it.

P.S. I'm wearing a fit and flare dress in green and white, a pair of Manolo Blahnik polka dot heels, and a white leather motorcycle jacket. I'll upload pictures when I get home!

The laptop lid snaps shut as I take a breath and hear a knock on the door. When I stand up, I check my dress, making sure the knee-length fabric is wrinkle free, that my tights have no runs, that I can still remember how to breathe.

I check my purse and make sure the ring is still in there, so I can give it back to Walter later. Just so he doesn't get suspicious from the get-go, I slip it out and put it on, moving over to the door and answering it with a smile.

Walter's there in his usual twenty thousand dollar suit and loafers, his hair slicked back and shiny, the scent of cologne wafting around me in a cloud. He gives me a peck on the cheek and offers his arm.

“It's so good to see you,” he tells me, admiring my outfit. Conservative enough for you, you prude? I smile back at him and pat his hand, my nerves climbing up into my throat and making me want to choke. I was going to wait until after dessert to tell him, but then I decide I won't make it past the appetizers.

A tiny niggling part of my conscious wonders if my family said anything to Walter last night or this morning. I mean, I'd hope they wouldn't, but it feels more like they're engaged to him than I am. Wouldn't necessarily surprise me if they'd already talked.

But Walter seems jovial enough, leading me into the elevator and discussing how my father's eco-friendly farming equipment is revolutionizing the way Donsanto is doing business. It sounds more like he's talking to a boardroom full of stockholders than to his fiancée, but that's okay. This part of my life is almost over and I couldn't be more excited. An entire year of sitting with my dad and Walter while they ignored me and talked over me and disregarded my opinions was a year too long.

“After you,” he says when we reach the lobby, gesturing for me to move ahead of him and then catching up with his hands in his pockets. I crook an eyebrow because this Walter is the friendliest, most talkative version of the man I've ever met.

I'm immediately suspicious.

We head outside and climb in the Hummer fronted limo, the door closing softly behind us, classical music trilling in the background. Walter wastes no time pouring champagne and passing out strawberries and chocolate.

“You look stunning tonight, Della,” he tells me, a self-assured smile taking over his mouth. When he tweaks his lips like that, he almost—almost—looks handsome, and I can see why I had a teensy crush on him for the first few weeks.

But after Rhoden?

Rhoden's smile is this cocksure smirk that wrecks his face into dangerously sexy angles, that pours lust with each word, and draws me like a moth to flame, a moth that can't wait to be burned.

“I was thinking dinner tonight at La Genevoise,” he says, naming the nicest restaurant in town. They have waiting lists that stretch for months, just to get a reservation for two, three Michelin stars, and a celebrity chef. But the Virgils? There's always a table waiting for one of the royal family.

“Sounds lovely,” I say, suddenly aware that this could be the last dinner like this that I ever have. After this, there's no more money, no designer clothes, no Range Rovers, no fancy parties.

I take a deep breath.

I am so ready to handle that.

Honestly, I think I'll take what money I have left in my bank account and go back to school for web design. I want to keep pursuing my blogging, and I want to be able to design a killer website. I should have enough to get my bachelor's and take care of the baby while I build my reader base up. I've decided the date with Rhoden Richards could go a long way to making that happen. I'm going to milk every second of that date, post photos, blog about it, live Tweet while it's happening. But I'm not going to tell the world who the father of my baby is. No way.

“Della,” Walter says, snapping me out of my reverie. He's still smiling, holding up a strawberry to my mouth. Things get really awkward when I don't lean forward and take it. After a minute, Walt drops the fruit back on the tray and wipes his hands on a moist towelette that he pulls from his pocket. Hmm. “Is everything alright?” he asks me, but all I can do is shrug and smile. I'm not ready to tell him yet, not in this car, trapped together like this.

I want to wait until we get to the restaurant, at least.

But then again, I'm not a very lucky girl.

“Della,” he repeats again as I keep smiling that faux smile of mine. “Your father and I had a long talk this morning.”

Oh. Shit.

“About?” I ask casually, resisting the urge to reach down and cup my belly.

“I understand you're having reservations about our engagement?” Walt continues to smile at me as the car glides through the glittering lights of the city, raindrops falling gently on the roof. The violin coos in my ear through the speaker by my head as I try to figure out how to respond to that.

“I … what exactly did my father say to you?” I ask as I reach up and check to see if my auburn curls are behaving in their fancy up do. I hardly ever put my hair up, but I felt like trying something new today. So far, so good.

Well, in the hair department anyway.

Can't much speak to the rest of the evening yet.

“Della, if there's something you're worried about, I'm sure we can work it out.”

“Walter—” I begin, but in typical Walter fashion, he interrupts me.

“I understand that I haven't been … as attentive as I should've. But I'm planning to rectify that.” Walter digs into a pocket on his slacks and pulls out a set of shiny silver keys. “These,” he says with a dashing smile, “are all yours.”

I reach out and take the keys, examining them in a numb fog before I glance up at him. Huh? Keys? Keys to what?

“I've bought us a new condo,” Walter says as my mouth drops open and I sit there in stunned silence. “We'll move in together next weekend. I've already spoken to my media contacts. Our happy news will go out to the public on Sunday.”

“I …” Wow. This whole thing is really snowballing downhill and fast. Did my dad not tell him I was pregnant with another man's child? “Walter, this,” I gesture at the champagne, the strawberries, the keys, just … everything, “is too much. I … appreciate it, I do.” I try to hand the keys back, but he doesn't extend his hand to take them. “But,” here I gather my courage and my breath, lifting my chin up and straightening my spine, “I can't accept any of it. I think there's a more deserving girl out there for you. I'm sorry, but I can't marry you.” I slide the ring off and then cup it in my hand with the keys.

Walter still makes no move to take the items, still smiling that debonair smile at me.

“Della, we'll work well together. Your family and mine are perfect fits for one another.” Your family and mine, not you and me. I sigh.

I didn't want to do this, but … I'd be shocked if my dad didn't tell him eventually anyway, especially after he hears how I turned Walter down tonight.

“Walter, I'm pregnant.” I look him in the eyes, fully accepting the shame of having cheated on him. That was my bad, and I made a mistake.

For the first time since we climbed into the car, his smile falters a little.

“Who's the father?” he asks, and that question is so loaded, I feel like I've just taken a shot to the chest. I think of Rhoden's buddy and decide that, just in case, I'll keep my mouth closed on the subject.

“Doesn't matter,” I whisper as I fold my hands in my lap and stare at my bare knees. “The point is, I can't marry you. I'm sorry it took me so many weeks to tell you.”

“If it's because of the baby, I don't care,” Walter says and I feel my head jerk up of its own accord. “I can have my doctor take care of it for you, or,” he continues as my eyes bulge out of my head, “you can put me on the birth certificate. How far along are you? We'll simply move the wedding up and claim it's my child.”

I gape at him, my skin breaking out in goose bumps.

“Walter … the real father deserves a chance to see his child. Even if he wants nothing to do with me,” I add under my breath. If Walter hears the emotion in my voice, he doesn't acknowledge it. Instead, he lifts up a second flute of champagne and takes a drink.

“How far along are you?” he asks me again, but suddenly, I don't want to tell him.

“I can't do this,” I say, scooting a few inches back on the seat. “Look, I'm so sorry for everything. This isn't how I intended things to happen.”

“How. Far. Along.” Walter leans forward and grabs my wrist in strong fingers, sending a spike of alarm through me. His blue eyes are as calm as a summer sky, but his mouth is tight, his smile sliding off his chin like it's melting. Suddenly, I feel like I'm choking on the scent of his cologne. Walter gives my wrist a rough shake that jars my elbow and scares the crap out of me. It's not a rough movement necessarily, but it's got the promise of violence.

Maybe Rhoden was right … I think, but I don't give into the fear.

“It doesn't matter, Walter. I can't marry you.”

The smile comes back to his face, but it isn't at all pleasant.

“Della, I've been searching for the right woman for years. You fit all the criteria: your family is rich, your stepmother comes from old money, but your father's a self-made man with a company that could be very, very useful to me. You grew up poor, but you've been trained in polite society.” His smile gets even wider and my heart starts to beat in my throat like a trapped bird. “You've got a clean background, and you're pretty enough, but not garish, the perfect woman to rise through the ranks of politics with.” I try to pull my wrist away, but Walter won't let me. “Besides, a big girl like you, that's the perfect way to gain me points with my shareholders, the board, and the public. Much better than strapping a stick thin model to my arm. And a baby? We can work that to our advantage.”

Walter jerks me closer as I sit there, frozen in shock, and try to make sense of the situation.

What the hell is happening here?!

“Now,” Walter releases me and sits back against the leather seat. “Who's the father? Is this the man you're planning on leaving me for?”

“He doesn't matter,” I say, seriously considering leaping out of the car at the next light and taking off down the sidewalk. Clearly, the man is nuts. “It's not about him.”

“Fine then. How far along are you?” I can't do anything but stare. When we pull up in front of the restaurant and Walter sighs, I jump. “I suppose this conversation can wait until later.” The door opens, the driver holding it wide for me as Walter stares at me and then smiles again. “Shall we?” he asks as I climb from the car in shock.

I'm not sure I speak to him the rest of the night.

When I get out of the limo back at my apartment complex, I make sure to leave the keys and ring on the seat before taking off into the lobby.

The next morning, I find them waiting on my counter for me.

“He broke into your place?!” Ariana practically shouts, pausing in her baby clothes browsing spree. I think it's a little early to be shopping for outfits, but I don't have the heart to tell her that. I'm just hoping everything will be okay, that these outfits she's buying will end up having a purpose. “Did you call the cops?”

“On the richest man in the city? The state? The Virgil family is like the thirtieth richest family on the entire planet. What was I going to say anyway? That he left a bajillion dollar wedding ring and a pair of keys to a new condo on my countertop? Ariana, I'm freaking out. I broke up with him and he didn't take it at all seriously.”

“This is … I didn't expect this,” she says with a sigh that makes her forehead crinkle. “What are we going to do?” I smile because at least she's on my side, like always. It's not what are you going to do, but what are we going to do. I love that about her.

“I have no clue. Honestly, I'm hoping he's going to forget about me in a couple weeks and move on. I'm not sure what else I can do. I put the ring and the keys back in an envelope and had a courier drop them off at his office. We'll see how that goes.”

“Maybe Reagan will sweep in and take your place?” Ariana says with a false laugh. I stare up at her, across the racks of baby clothes and I'm not smiling.

“Did you hear me when I read you back the list he gave me? She doesn't fit his perfect criteria. Her father's in jail for embezzlement, and she's got a serious record of shoplifting. Plus, she dated that famous basketball player and got into a domestic dispute with him—on national TV. But I wish.”

“This is … unreal. Who says something like that?” I drop my head to the rack and rest my forehead against the cool metal. This shopping trip was supposed to help me get out for the day, relax a little. Instead, I can barely even see straight. I was so weirded out last night that I didn't sleep, just sat in bed and replayed the bizarre conversation with Walter. “This is so outside the realm of reality, Ariana. I think he's clinically insane.”

There's a long pause as Ariana takes a breath and processes the information.

“When are you going to tell Rhoden about the baby?” she asks as I sigh and wish I could bang my head into the metal bar a few times. But then the other people in the store would think that I was the crazy one.

“Our NFL date is right after Thanksgiving. I'm going to use the publicity to boost my blog reads, so I can actually get this career of mine off the ground. Even if through some miracle, my dad turns the company around and makes money, I'm not taking a single cent from him ever again.”

“You go, girl!” Ariana says cheerfully as my phone buzzes and I take it out to find another call from Hal. She's seriously the only person in that family that I care to talk to. Just not right now. I need a few days to process things. “I like this idea, even if I kind of hate Rhoden right now. I can't believe he said what he said to you. What a jerk.”

“At least he's not crazy like Walter,” I say and this time I do laugh. It's a nervous laugh though, and it doesn't make me feel at all better. “But honestly, now I'm second-guessing myself. What if I tell him and somehow Walter finds out? Rhoden could lose everything. This was what I was trying to avoid in the first place. I think I've just royally screwed everything up, Ariana.”

“Oh, honey,” she says, coming around the rack of clothes and folding me into her arms. “We'll figure this out together. We've gotten through way worse than this before.” I know she's referring to my mother, and she's right. That was worse. We were just little kids then, but Ariana helped me through that. I know she'll be here with me through this, too. “We get to have babies together! I mean, we like literally conceived these suckers on the same night. How cool is that?”

“That is pretty freaking cool,” I say with a sniffle. “Now I just have to pray that Walter doesn't have an assassin murder me before my due date.”

Ariana laughs, but it dies away quickly and then we're left standing in silence.

“Thanksgiving at my place?” she asks because there's no way in hell I'm eating at my father's place this year. The place that belonged to my mother, auctioned off to the highest bidder, just like the Adders. I hate my fucking dad in that moment.

“Yeah, hun, that sounds great. Thank you.”

Vegan turkey it is then, I guess.

I'm already looking forward to it.

Guess what, guys? I have a super awesome surprise to share with you … only you'll have to wait. I'll be making my big announcement after my upcoming date with Rhoden Richards! Yep. Remember that? I was accidentally selected (thanks, Ariana, for stealing my credit card!) for the Win a Date With an NFL Player contest to support the Dr. Susan Love Research Foundation which studies not just the causes for breast cancer, but also searches for a cure.

While I was initially unsure about accepting the prize (if you don't know, my father Reuben Garland was the current owner of the Arcata Adders at the time of the contest), I've been bullied by my best friend into accepting and have decided to make the most of it.

For our date, Rhoden and I will be attending a fundraiser at the Virgil Center for the Performing Arts. Mr. Richards has graciously agreed to offer autographs and pictures for $5 a person—100% of the proceeds will be donated to local schools in an effort to expand music, dance, theater and art programs in the area. Woo hoo! I hope you show up to support us and raise tons of money for our local kids.

BTW, I'm going SLEEVELESS again! Ahh! I realized in these past few weeks that trying to hide from the reality of something doesn't make it go away (yes, I'm totally getting metaphorical here). But guess what? I also realized that by trying to hide parts of my body I didn't like, I was only drawing attention to them.

I'll be wearing a rainbow print dress from Kierstin Bowlin's new collection—and it is super freaking cool. I hope you think so, too, because after the fundraiser, Rhoden and I will be heading off for dinner at a local Arcata restaurant called Silver Waters. I'll be giving away a Rhoden Richards signed football on my page, so don't forget to enter the contest.

For the most part, Walter leaves me alone, although he does send the keys and the ring back to my place again. I leave them in the envelope and toss them aside. If worst comes to worst, I guess I can sell the ring off and put my kid through school one day. If the jerk won't take the hint, what else am I going to do?

After a few days of ignoring Hal's phone calls, I give in when she shows up at my place and bangs on the door with her fist.

“Halcy,” I say as I crack it open and she shoves her way through, getting Little Dick too excited for his own good. Wisdom thumps her foot against the bottom of her cage in irritation. My little sister sweeps into the room like a whirlwind, tossing a series of shopping bags on my floor and spinning to face me with her cheeks fluffed out and her lips pursed.

“How could you not tell me?” she asks and right away, I know that Ariana's told her something, maybe about Rhoden or Walter or the baby. Maybe all of it. Hal flicks blond hair over her ear and glares at me with the same bright blue eyes we both inherited from our father. “Rhoden Richards is Lion Mask Guy? And you slept with him twice more after that? Why am I out of the loop on these things? Del, if you didn't want Walter, then why didn't you just say so?”

“It's good to see you, too, Hal,” I tell her as I take a seat at the dining table with a sigh. “I see you and Ariana have been talking …”

Hal waves her hand dramatically.

“She let the Lion thing slip, and then I ended up needling the rest out of her. Girl, things are a mess at home. Mom and Dad are freaking out, and Walter's been there like everyday.” A chill goes down my spine. What the hell, Walt? Let it go already. I can see—in a very weird, detached sort of way—how his whole list thing works. But I'm not exactly a one in a million catch. Surely he can find another girl like me somewhere? Why go through all this trouble?

“Did she tell you that I was pregnant?” I ask and Hal's mouth flies open in shock. Her squeal makes my ears bleed as I cringe back and she comes flying around the table to toss her arms around me.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. This is the best news ever.” There's a long pause where she stands strangling me with her skinny arms and then pulls back to raise an eyebrow. “Walter's?”

“God no,” I snort and my sister's brows climb even higher.

“How do you know it's not his?” she asks and I feel myself blushing.

“We still haven't had sex,” I admit and Hal gapes at me.

“He gave you that ring … and you still haven't hopped into bed with the guy? Holy shit.”

“Hal, this isn't exactly helping,” I tell her as she taps a finger to her lips and then gapes at me as a lightbulb seems to go off in her head.

“It's Big Dick's baby,” she says and I cringe again. God, I hate that nickname. “Wow. Wow. Wow.”

“Again, not helping,” I tell her as she takes a few steps back and plops into the chair on the other side of the table. “Have you told him?”

“Nope. I'm going to after Thanksgiving, on our date.”

“You're going to wait for that NFL charity thing to do it? That's … an interesting choice.”

I raise my brows at her.

“I suppose you have another suggestion?” Hal just stares at me and drums her freshly manicured nails on the table.

“I figured something was really wrong when you didn't show up to watch the game.”

“Yeah,” I say, feeling a sort of pit growing inside me. “I haven't exactly been in the mood for football lately.”

“Did the asshole say something to you?” she asks, immediately going into guard dog mode. My little sister might be a twenty year old brat, but she's fiercely protective of me.

“Not really,” I say because it's true. All he said was that we couldn't be together. Big deal. He's a stranger; I don't even know the guy. Aaaaaand yet I'm carrying his baby. Fantastic.

“If you want to see him sooner, I know where he's gonna be tonight,” she tells me, waggling her eyebrows and leaning in close. I pretend not to give a crap, but I'm suddenly very interested.

“Where?”

“At a charity event for Double Dare Dog and Cat Rescue.” I almost choke because that's kind of funny … and sort of cute, too. “They're auctioning off dinner dates with some of the players.”

I groan and lean forward, putting my forehead against the wood of the table.

“Don't you think winning one date with the guy is enough?” I ask, but Hal is shaking her head vigorously at me, pointing at the glass surface of my table with a single finger. She looks like a schoolteacher in her long, black dress. Must be one of my stepmother's picks. The woman has no issue selling her daughter's nude shots to the highest paying magazine, but when it comes to wearing leggings around? Oh, hell no. Fucking racist, homophobic, bigoted hypocrite.

“You're waiting too long to tell Rhoden. Clearly, you like him.”

“Clearly, I've spent three short … outings with the guy. That doesn't equate to liking him, Hal.” Only I do like him. A lot. Which is silly and stupid.

“So, you got pregnant when?”

“At the masquerade party,” I tell her, wishing I'd never agreed to go to that stupid thing in the first place. Then I wouldn't have to deal with Rhoden Richards for the rest of my life, see his gorgeous lips and masculine face and smell that bourbon-oak-vanilla smell all over my baby when he's done holding it.

Ech.

If, if, if he holds it. If he's a part of his kid's life. But I am going to offer him the chance. It's only fair.

“Come to the charity thing and we'll buy you a dinner date. As soon as the auction's over, the player sits with you at one of the tables. Everything's paid for and settled, no planning required. It's in, out, over in one night,” Hal says with a big grin. I think that's supposed to be a sex joke, but I don't laugh.

“Hal, I appreciate the offer of help. Seriously.” I pause and give her a look. “Wait, why are you going to an animal rescue charity event?”

Hal blushes profusely which is soooo unlike her that I'm immediately worried.

“Well, partially because the after-party's going to be crank, but …” A long pause. “I have a crush on the tight end.” She snickers.

Oooooh. The guy she was dancing with at the party, Deshaun Green. Hmm. Wonder how the Evil Stepbitch likes that?

“I'm going to buy a date with him using my mother's credit card. She seems to be rolling in the dough lately.”

I purse my lips hard. Rolling in money, why? Because of Walter? What is this, like some kind of reverse dowry or something? The whole thing makes me sick.

“Anyway, are you sure you don't want to come?”

“I'm positive.”

Hal talks for a while longer about some of her upcoming photoshoots and then leaves to head off to the auction by herself.

I don't go, so she decides to send somebody to me.

Two hours later, when my doorbell rings, I open it to find Rhoden Richards standing in the hallway.

“What-are-you-doing-here?” The words tumble from my mouth in a gigantic bundle as I take a startled step back and Rhoden smiles at me, lifting up a bag of takeout in one hand. In the other, there's a bouquet of flowers. My heart skips a beat before I realize there's a ribbon attached to the flowers that says Double Dare Dog and Cat Rescue. Oh. This stuff is all from the auction. He is from the auction. “Did my sister buy you?” I ask and Rhoden laughs, the sound like chocolate flecked with gold.

Yes, dramatic, but that is what he sounds like.

“She overpaid,” he says as he holds out the flowers, a fresh bunch of white carnations. At least they're not roses. “But then, she also requested an extra special service: home delivery.” Rhoden lifts up his arm and gestures to himself. “I am your very own personal NFL player for the next two hours. I can cook, clean, walk the dog, whatever you want.”

I notice Billy prancing up and down the hall behind him and step back to let him in. There's a moment there where I consider passing on this whole thing and sending him home. But … I just can't do it. That smile, it's like a slash of sex on his face. I want him here, just so I can look at him.

“Sorry,” he says as Billy bounds into my apartment and straight down the steps to the living room, crashing into Little Dick with a play growl. “It was a rescue thing, so I brought my rescue dog.”

Rhoden grins as he steps inside and watches the dogs go at it like crazy.

“Although she sure as shit seems happy to be here.”

“She's cool,” I say as I move into the L-shaped kitchen to look for a vase. Rhoden watches me and I realize with a sudden burst of shock that I'm wearing the worst possible outfit EVER. I've got on Rhoden's shirt, the one he lent me at the beach, and a pair of black exercise shorts that I've never bothered to actually use for exercising. They're just comfy as hell.

Oh. And rainbow toe socks.

I know, I know, nobody in their right mind wears toe socks anymore, but I'm not exactly in my right mind right now, okay?

“Jesus,” I snap as I toss the flowers on the counter and run my fingers through my hair. “I've just … it's been kind of a crappy few weeks for me. Mind if I change?”

“Why? Because you're wearing my shirt?” Rhoden asks as he moves into the kitchen and shrugs out of his black suit jacket. Underneath this one is a proper tie and white button-up, so much more dressy than he was at that fancy party. Guess he cares more about homeless animals than billionaires selling NFL teams to each other.

It makes me like him more.

Rhoden loosens his red tie and gives me one of those delectable once-overs, the ones I can feel, like he's scanning my body with a heated laser beam. The look makes my toes curl. In their rainbow socks. Yep, time to change.

“I … it's laundry day and …” I grab the brown fabric of the shirt and pinch it, letting it drop as I suck in a breath. “Anyway, thanks for bringing this over.” I tap the bag of food on the counter as Rhoden takes his tie off and sets it next to his jacket. Then he unbuttons the first few buttons on his shirt, revealing a sexy swath of chest.

Great.

“You don't have to stay, really. I'm glad my sister's spending money at a charity auction instead of on clothes for once, but this isn't necessary.”

Rhoden just smiles at me and winks—which is, of course, adorable. He kicks his loafers off like he owns the place and saunters into the living room, pausing at the side of Wisdom's cage.

“Do you have a pussy?” Rhoden asks as he glances over his shoulder and smiles sharply at me. My knees feel weak. “I mean, since you've got a bunny and a dog, I thought you might have a cat.”

“Real cute,” I say as I move down to stand beside him, his warmth bleeding into me even from a full foot away. “You want to hold her? I know most guys don't like rabbits.”

Rhoden snorts and shakes his head.

“I don't trust men who don't like animals,” he says and I laugh. “What? It's true. What kind of fucking asshole doesn't want to pet a soft, little fuzzy something?” He winks at me again and I blush. “Anyway, yeah, I do want to hold the bunny if that's alright.”

“She kind of hates dogs,” I warn him as I open the cage and reach in, stroking my hand over the rabbit's glossy black ears before picking her up. I hand the bunny to Rhoden, setting her in his big sexy hands and looooooving the way he holds her with this gentle fierceness, this control of strength. There's a softness to the way he cradles the rabbit, completely at odds with his movements on the field, that predatory shuffle that gets the ball where it needs to go.

God.

God, God, God.

“My mom had a lot of animals when I was a kid,” Rhoden starts as he moves over to the couch and sits down with Wisdom pressed against his chest. “She taught me respect and appreciation, kindness.” Rhoden flashes me a grin as he looks up from the bunny. “And she taught me to take my aggression out on pieces of shit who don't know how to respect animals. There's nothing cute about a man who beats up on kittens and puppies. That's just … it's wrong in so many ways.”

I move over to the couch and push the dogs away, sitting down a full two feet away from Rhoden Richards. Not getting any closer than that, sorry. We've literally only interacted on five separate occasions and three of those ended in sex, so …

“Where's Jasmine tonight?” I ask as Rhoden's gaze snaps up and captures mine.

“Where's Walter?” he asks, an edge to his voice.

“I asked you first,” I tell him as he soothes Wisdom with his hand, stroking her the way I wish he was stroking me … ahhhhh. Rhoden keeps eye contact with me which I appreciate. My dad and Walter do not hold my gaze, like ever.

“I have no idea where Jasmine is, to be honest with you.”

“She said you guys were dating?” I ask but Rhoden just shrugs his big shoulders and looks down at Wisdom again.

“Yeah, well. She's full of shit, Della.” He looks up at me again, and I feel the intensity in that gaze like it's all the hell over me. “She got pissed when she found your panties in my pocket.”

“Ooooooh,” I whisper as Rhoden smiles at me. I love the way his dark hair falls across his forehead, clean but not coated in product like Walt's. His facial hair is groomed, but not plucked and primped and manicured to high hell. And that mouth, oh, that mouth.

“That's okay. I wasn't planning on seeing her anyway. We went on one date.”

“Yeah, well, I know how your dates go. Maybe she got the wrong idea?” Rhoden laughs at me again, like that's one of the funniest things he's ever heard. As annoying as that is, I like the sound. His laugh is fresh and open and real, wild, free.

“I didn't sleep with Jasmine.”

“Seriously? I have a hard time believing that.”

“I have a hard time believing a guy like Walter Virgil proposed to you without wanting to see what you were like in bed first. How's that?”

“Rude.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I'm not saying I haven't slept with a lot of women. I'm just saying that I didn't sleep with Jasmine. I'm kind of in deep shit with the NFL if you haven't noticed, so I'm trying not to piss the league off anymore than I already have. I've been keeping it cool the last few weeks.”

“Except for the few times you screwed the new owner's fiancée?” As soon as I say those words, I regret them. Rhoden's lips purse tight and the muscles in his arms get tense; he takes none of that out on the rabbit.

“How'd the breakup go?” he asks me in a faux, casual tone. I look away, watch his dog bounce on her hind legs like a kangaroo as she invites the puppy for play again. My lonely living room looks so much better with all of us in it.

The thought makes my heart hurt.

“It …” How do I tell Rhoden about what happened with Walter? Can I? Do I? Should I? “It's a work in progress.” I sigh and put my hand up to my forehead, trying on a smile to toss Rhoden's way. “Should we dig into that food? I'm starving.”

“I ditched the food from the event and grabbed Chinese on my way over here. I gave the rescue director and her wife our dinner instead.”

“Stop being so altruistic,” I say. “What's wrong with you? I thought you were an a-hole.”

“A-hole?” he asks, blinking up at me with lashes that are way too pretty for a man to have. “I've heard that I'm an asshole before, but not an a-hole. Nope. That's definitely a new one.”

“Shut up,” I say as I stand and make my way into the kitchen. “All this charity stuff, like the art thing you agreed to for our date, is that to help shine up your image with the league?”

“Sort of,” Rhoden says as he stands and puts Wisdom carefully back in her cage, coming over to the sink to wash his hands and watching me dig into my food. Oddly enough, he's picked most of Ariana's and my favorites up. Another coincidence? Or fate? “Your sister gave me food tips. Can't take credit for all of this,” he says as he gestures at the sea of white containers. Ah, so it was Hal—a girl who only thinks her middle name is fate.

“This is great. I'm already having awful cravings.”

I pause with my hand on the container. SHIIIIIIIIIIT!!!!!

“Cravings?” Rhoden asks, leaning against the counter next to me.

“For kung pao. It's, like, been running through my brain all day, obliterating all my other thoughts. Maybe I'm addicted? I've been eating this stuff like five times a week.” I throw a grin at Rhoden and surreptitiously put some space between us, stealing some of Ariana's lines. That's one of her signature moves, to continuously and constantly complain about kung pao chicken. I have no idea why. Just another weird Ariana-ism, I guess.

“Well, dig in. I bought three boxes. Hope you don't mind, but I need to get my weight up a little. I'm going to pig out like crazy tonight.”

“Do you what you gotta do,” I say as I pop the top on my container and grab a fork to dig in. I can't stand people who put Chinese takeout on plates. It's like, why? No. This stuff was meant to be eaten in the box. I watch carefully as Rhoden does the same, joining me on the couch with his food. “If you lose that game against the Titans, I swear to God …” I point my fork at Rhoden as he grins at me again. “Don't ruin my Thanksgiving.”

Rhoden snorts.

“Trust me, we're not going to lose against the Titans. Not a snowball's chance in hell. The only player they have that's worth shit is Mariota, but I'm not worried about him.”

“Cocky, much?” I ask as I take a bite of spicy, peanut-y goodness. My tummy rumbles happily as I let my head fall back.

“Just a little. Hey, what's your super awesome surprise about anyway?” Rhoden looks up at me and then sticks his long, muscular legs out on my couch, the toes of his white socks touching my rainbow ones.

“My … what?” I ask, feeling like my eyeballs are about to pop out of my face.

“Yeah, from your blog post. You said you had a super awesome surprise to share. What is is?”

I snort.

“Like I'm gonna tell you. You'll just have to wait like … everybody else.” My heart starts to thunder inside my chest and I feel like I'm about to keel over from a coronary. Rhoden isn't everybody else. He's the freaking dad.

“Craparoni and cheese,” I say and then groan when I realize I've said it aloud. Rhoden laughs his ass off at that and shakes his head.

“You're one interesting girl, you know that, Della?”

“I guess,” I say as I pretend to be super excited about my chicken, staring into the container like it contains all the answers in the universe. Are you there, Cheap Box of Kung Pao Chicken? It's me, Della. I think I got my first period today. Sorry, no more Judy Blume jokes.

I look up from the container to find Rhoden already halfway into his second. I like the way he eats. He pokes a piece of chicken with his fork and then lifts it up for examination, sliding it into his mouth and then smiling with tightly closed lips as he chews. It's like he's savoring every single bite, enjoying the moment.

“I could get us some wine?” I say and then realize he's probably planning to get smashed at the after-party when he leaves. “Or not if you've got plans after.”

“Hit me,” he says and I raise a brow. “I can walk home later, so no big deal if I get slobbering drunk and start break dancing on your floor, right?”

“Yeah, sure. If you do, I'm filming it with my phone and posting it all the hell over social media.”

Rhoden laughs as I stand up.

“Fair enough,” he says as I get us each a glass and drag a bottle of white wine into the living room to polish off our evening. Because I imagine that as soon as his paid two hours are up, he's out of here. I pour Rhoden a glass first, passing it over to him and trying not to shiver when our fingers brush together. He meets my gaze as he takes the wine, his smile this curved wicked thing on his face, like he's promising naughtiness with every bite.

I am not going to last two whole hours with this guy in my house.

I curl my rainbow toe socks beneath me, pour myself a glass of wine and set the bottle on the sofa table. It's only as I'm lifting the drink up to my mouth that I realize it: I shouldn't be having this. Right? Oh crap. I have no idea what, exactly, the pregnancy-alcohol rules are. It's, like, an across the board no, isn't it? My fingers twitch with the desperate need to Google it, but not with Rhoden staring at me across the couch like that.

“Cheers?” he says, lifting his glass and saluting the space between us.

“Cheers,” I say with a false smile, pretending to drink the wine, but letting it slosh against my lips instead. When I bring the glass down, I notice that Rhoden's damn near polished his off. “You know,” I say as I swirl my finger around the rim of the glass, “I've always kind of hated you.”

“Oh?” Rhoden asks as he sets his glass on the sofa table and undoes the rest of the buttons on his shirt. I watch his fingers hungrily as the fabric parts and … reveals a white tank underneath. Damn, I think as he slides the shirt off his arms. But then … daaaaaaamn. Rhoden's tattoos are just … criminal. His biceps are so big and hard, the ink so crisp and dark, tracing the lines of his muscles and emphasizing how strong he is.

My nostrils flare and I suck in a deep breath.

“Are you going to elaborate?” he asks as he tilts his head to the side and then runs his tongue across his lower lip. He's either flirting with me or he's so used to flirting with everybody that he has no idea what he's doing. I'm going to assume the latter. “About the whole hating me thing? Because now you've piqued my curiosity.”

Rhoden sits up and leans toward me, the motion making my insides twist.

“You're a showboater,” I tell him and he nods like he was waiting for that. “The penalties for victory dances are so high—the fines, the fifteen yard penalties. Why even bother? Oh, and your first season with the Adders, you seriously sucked. I saw you fumble a good half-dozen passes. You cost us that game against the Giants, and then you got into that fight with LeBraun Davids at a bar. All in one season. I mean, it's a shock that you're still around.”

Rhoden's eyes glitter as he looks me over again, this time with a different sort of appreciation in his gaze.

“So you're not just the owner's daughter, huh? You're a real fan.”

“Football's a huge part of my life. I …” Haven't been able to watch any of the games lately because I'm pregnant with your baby, and this situation totally sucks. “My mom was a huge Adders fan,” I say, my voice drooping before I can stop it. “The Adders were her team.” A smile tickles my mouth. “She would've died twice if she'd been around to see Dad buy the team.”

“And then sell it?” Rhoden says, but it's phrased as a careful question instead of an insult. I look up at him, praying that he won't notice I'm not drinking my wine. Do guys even think about things like that? If he was a woman, I'd be terrified.

“I didn't know my dad was going to sell the team. It … happened so quick. Clearly, Walter and Reuben have had this deal in the works for a long time.” I drop my chin to my chest and set my kung pao on the sofa table, rubbing the heels of my hands over my eyes. “Anyone else, anyone, would've been a better owner. I can't even imagine him being in charge of the Adders. Especially after this … the breakup thing …” I gesture loosely into the air and then drop my hand to my lap.

Rhoden watches the movement and then reaches down to take his socks off. Yep. Just takes them off and bundles them up, dropping them next to his discarded shirt. His feet … yeah, I even like those, too.

“What were you doing at that masquerade party?” Rhoden asks mildly.

“Same thing you were doing, I guess,” I say and he nods like that makes tons of sense. Maybe to him, it does? “Are … you seem …” I can't figure out how to phrase the question.

“Are you seem? What kind of question is that?” he asks as a joke, leaning back into the couch pillows and crossing his muscular arms behind his head. “Is this about us? The sex?”

“Well, yeah. This is kind of awkward for me.” I gesture between us again. “One-night stands are supposed to stay one-night, not three nights and some dog park visits. Is there something you want from me?”

“Is there something you want from me?” he asks back, one brow raised.

He looks so fucking pretty there, leaning back on my couch like that. I wish I could keep him here forever, just to admire his physical form. It's absolute perfection …

“Do you want your shirt back?” I ask, avoiding his question the same way he avoided mine.

“Nah,” he says, eyes half-lidded as he looks at me from across the couch. “You keep it.” A pause. “So, what's your story, Della?” he asks, nodding his head slightly to the faint whisper of music in the background. I left something playing on my computer, but at this volume I can't even tell what it is.

“My story?” I ask as Rhoden opens his eyes a little wider and smiles at me.

“Sure,” he says. “Everybody has a story, Della. Tell me about yours.”

Several hours later, I stretch my feet out and bump into something warm and hard, groaning as I try to adjust myself into a more comfortable position.

“Little Dick, get off the couch,” I mumble as I kick at the offending dog and try to encourage him to retreat to my bedroom to sleep. Yep. You heard that right; when I fall asleep on the couch, I chase the dog off and he usually ends up in my bed.

“It's not Little Dick this time,” a sleep warmed voice says from the other side, and my eyes fly open, head lifting to find Rhoden Richards staring at me in the dark. “You've got Big Dick on your couch tonight.”

“Hah,” I say, trying not to let my rapidly thumping heart get to me. I'd forgotten that Rhoden was here. After he'd asked for my story, we'd just ended up … talking. For hours. I glance over at the clock and see that it's almost three in the morning. We both must've dozed off sometime around one. That's the last thing I remember, checking the clock at that time as Rhoden told me stories about his kick-ass single mom.

She's the reason he fought so hard to make something of himself. She's the one that spent hours tossing the football around the yard, driving him to practices, cleaning him up after fights with kids at school.

She's the one who would suffer most if I got Rhoden in trouble with Walter.

“Rhoden,” I start, my voice quiet and strange in the darkness. I'm about to tell him about the baby when his hands slide along the arch of my foot and make me moan. It's been … forever since I got a foot massage from someone. I forgot how exquisite it felt.

“You're even tenser than before, Della. Didn't Mr. Virgin give you any rubdowns?”

“I didn't let Mr. Virgin touch me,” I whisper and then groan as Rhoden pushes his thumb into the arch of my foot, working out a knot I hadn't even known I was carrying there. It's almost … sexual, the way he touches me, runs his fingers up my calves, kneads the muscle with his strong hands.

“No? Not the way you let me touch you,” he says as he sits up and grabs the top of my knee-high sock, dragging it slowly down my foot and tossing it aside. The way his fingertips graze the suddenly bare skin is almost painful in its intensity. “With all of that money and that swagger, that asshole couldn't figure out how to make his woman feel good?”

“I was never his woman,” I say, the words breaking from my lips like whiplash. Rhoden freezes for a moment and then drags my other sock down, getting rid of that, too, before he reaches out for my hands and pulls me to him.

I'm sitting in his lap now, straddling the thick hardness of his erection, one leg tucked up beside him on the couch, the other hanging off the edge. Rhoden looks me in the eyes and traces his fingers up my thighs and under the shirt, taking hold of my waist.

He watches me for a moment before leaning forward and kissing me in that slow, easy way of his, working his tongue into my mouth, heating me up from the inside. I can feel my hips start to wiggle of their own accord, my chest arch forward against his. I put my arms around Rhoden's neck as he takes his hands out of the shirt and starts unbuttoning it from the top down. When he stops kissing me and leans back, I drop my gaze to his hands, watch as he pulls the fabric apart and reveals my favorite comfy sports bra.

Oops.

“This is—” I start, but he's laughing, reaching under the band and helping me pull it up and over my breasts. Let's just say, it's a bit of a struggle. I have a big chest, so getting those things out from under the tight fabric is … Rhoden sucks in a sharp breath and bites his lower lip, cupping my breasts, one in each hand.

“Jesus fuck,” he says, and those words are sharp enough that I know he's not bullshitting me, or treating me like a fetish, or trying to get off for getting off's sake … no, he likes me. Or at least my body. I can be certain he's got a deep appreciation for it—which I like. Love. Rhoden makes me feel sexy. Now, if I could only dredge up the power to feel sexy by myself, I'd be in good shape. “You're so goddamn gorgeous,” he tells me and my mind flashes with flickers of Walter's horrible words. You're pretty enough. Like I wasn't hideous to look at, but, well, he could pass if he wanted.

“Rhoden,” I whisper as he leans forward and captures one of my breasts with his mouth, causing my head to fall back, my breath to slide out of me in a rush. His left hand trails a fiery heat down my side, cupping my hip with enough force that I bite my lip. “Rhoden, wait.”

I have to tell him now.

I have to.

But then he's kneading my breast with his fingers, biting the hard point of my nipple, and I'm burying my fingers in his hair and thrusting my hips against his erection. The pressure feels so good between my thighs that I can't help but rock against him, grinding my clit with the motion.

Rhoden takes his time, slow and easy, tasting and sucking my left breast until it's tender and sore, and then moving onto the other. I want him bare inside of me, I think as he tastes the side of my throat and I lean into his touch.

When Rhoden reaches between us and unzips his slacks, I suck in a sharp breath, watching the shadows shift around us as he frees himself and tugs me forward.

“Fuck me, please,” I whisper against his ear, leaning into his chest and hoping he'll just go for it without asking questions. And then I'll tell him after, I swear. I reach down and push the tiny shorts aside, tilting my hips back until I find him hard and thick and ready for me. The slow subtle movement of my pelvis sheathes Rhoden inside of me as I lean back and gasp at the hot feeling of his flesh buried inside of mine.

Exquisite torture. That's what this is. The more I sit back, the deeper he goes, our eyes locking together the same way as our bodies. Rhoden doesn't speak, just watches me as I get used to the deep ache of being filled. When I'm ready, I start to move and he takes my hips in his hands, guiding me, encouraging me, turning my resolve to jelly.

Wow. I seriously have a huge crush on this guy. Big time.

God, please let him be okay with this baby.

I close my eyes and lean my head into his shoulder, kissing him in the exact same spot he told me not to touch before. The sound he makes is completely delicious, a low rumbling that echoes through him and into me as I work us together in a wet, sweaty frenzy.

“Faster, Della,” he urges in my ear. I grind and buck and move as fast as I can, whipping us both up into a sexual panic. When it's clear neither of us can handle this much longer, Rhoden lifts us up and lays me on my back on the couch, driving into me with deep, hard pumps of his hips, my ass sinking into the couch cushion as he fucks with me all his strength and comes in a flurry of grunts and curses, kissing and nibbling at my neck between panting breaths.

“Stay the night?” I ask as he sits up a little and looks down at me with a gaze like burning embers, a slow and easy heat that burns everything around it to ash.

“Yeah,” he says, and I try not to freak-out about that because I don't even really know what that means. Rhoden pulls back and reaches underneath me, lifting me up as I let out a small squeak.

“You don't have to do that,” I say, trying not to laugh, but he just looks down at me like, what, this little thing?

“Relax, Della. Like I said, you're too stressed out. Let me take care of you.”

My heart flitters and jumps, even though his words don't mean what I kind of secretly, maybe, almost, possibly, might want them to mean …

“Bedroom's straight ahead and to the right.”

“I think I can handle that,” he says with a slight smirk, carrying me over to the door and pushing it open with his foot. My room's nothing fancy, just a queen bed with two nightstands, a couple dressers and a single chair. It should have more personality, I suppose, but I kind of like things simple, easy, beautiful.

Rhoden kicks the dogs off—both of them this time—and then lays me down, reaching to take his shirt off and tossing it side. He wastes no time stripping me of my shorts and sliding his fingers up my thighs. My warm heat envelops him as he starts with two, and then three, working me easy and slow, his golden body beautiful in the weak light leaking in through my bedroom window. Must be moonlight, this high up.

When Rhoden puts his face between my thighs again, I relax into it completely, letting my hands grip the headboard behind me, my back arching off the bed. He works his tongue around my clit the same way he does when he's at my lips, like he's completely sure of himself, like he has all the time in the world.

My lids stay half-shuttered, my body loose and limp. Just when I think I'm about to come, Rhoden slides up over me, his muscular body crushing me against the mattress. He takes hold of the back of my head as he kisses me and slides his cock into me again, propping himself up and then dragging my hand to my clit. He pushes me to move my fingers in a circular motion and then lets go, leaning his pelvis into me as I tease my most sensitive spot. If I let my touch drift down just a little, I can literally feel him as he parts my body, enters it, slides out again. His shaft is wet with me, and the very idea of that is intoxicating.

My orgasm is so intense that I scream, setting the dogs off into a barking fit that ends up making me laugh while I'm still quivering and gasping for breath, slightly sobbing. The contraction of my muscles makes Rhoden come again, and then he's laughing, too.

When I fall asleep that night, I feel contented, sated, and safe.

Rhoden wakes me up a few hours later and whispers something in my ear. I'm too groggy to process it, but later, when I finally crack my eyes open for good, he's gone. Disappointment trickles through me before I remember that he's got practice.

Duh.

The man's in the freaking NFL.

I sit up with a yawn, stretching my arms over my head and smiling at Little Dick, sitting and wagging his tail at the end of the bed, his orange and white spotted fur bright against the dark wood of the dresser behind him. Billy's gone, probably back to Rhoden's apartment this morning.

You didn't tell him, a small voice nags in the back of my mind. I meant to, but I forgot he'd be leaving so early. Deep breath. Okay, next time I see him. Literally, as soon as our eyes meet, I am shouting this news across the street.

Little Dick whimpers, dragging me out of bed with a groan as I throw some clothes on and get ready to take him down to the dog park to do his thing. It's a pleasant morning outside, sunny and bright and cheerful. To be honest, I'm feeling pretty damn good after last night. Rhoden and I, we have a connection. I know he feels it, too.

But then my good mood shatters in a sea of broken ice, stabbing the inside of my belly with panic.

Walter's waiting for me outside the gate.

My heart skips and bounces, but not in the way it does when I see Rhoden. No, this is a sick lurching feeling, a premonition of terrible things to come.

The man's leaning over the fence, staring at the pack of dogs playing inside the park with a blank face. When he hears my boots scraping across the pavement, he turns to look at me with a stoic expression on his thin lips and dull gray-blue eyes.

“Walt,” I say, trying to keep my voice cool as I unlock the gates and let the puppy in. I come to stand in front of Walter … on the other side of the fence. Maybe he won't grab my wrist and shake me if I'm standing over here? “Did you come to get your ring back? If so, I have it upstairs. I can run and grab it.”

“Della,” Walter starts as he stands up and purses his lips at me. “Rhoden Richards was a terrible choice. I'd suspected him, but for the sake of your character, I'd sincerely hoped not.” I blink back at him and try not to gape. Shit. But of course he would find out that Rhoden was with me last night. What have I done?! I force myself to take slow, shallow breaths. This, this was what I've been trying to prevent from happening all along.

“Listen,” I start, but Walter interrupts me … like he always does, curling his pale fingers around the top of the fence. As usual, his suit is impeccable, his teeth perfect and white, his skin unblemished. But he looks so ugly to me in that moment, it's sickening, like I'm finally seeing the person beneath the mask.

“It's his baby then?” he asks me, but he's not looking for an answer. Walt's already made up his mind about this. “I see.”

“Don't, please,” I say, but I have no idea what it is that I'm pleading for. “Walter, this has nothing to do with Rhoden and me. It's us that doesn't work. Me and you, we wouldn't work together. Please, just take the ring back and let it go.”

“Listen to me, Della. When I set my sights on something I want, I get it. Do you understand me?”

“You can't boss me around, Walt,” I snap. “I'm not a dog.” I cross my arms over my chest and keep my chin raised.

“No. But what I can do is make your boyfriend's life a living hell. Think about that, Della. I'm sorry it had to turn out like this, but I need you to understand how serious I am. I won't be made a fool of again.”

Walter turns and climbs back in the limo as I stand there and cross my arms tight over my chest, sucking in deep, calming breaths. Only … they're not working and I think I'm about to have a panic attack. Why can't he just let me go?!

My gaze snaps up as the tinted windows of the limo slide down the street like a snake's scales. I watch them go before I sink to one of the benches in the park and put my head in my palms.

What the hell am I going to do now?

When I get back to the apartment, I see that Rhoden's actually left his number on a piece of paper. It's stuck to the fridge with the only magnet I own—a cupcake with a giant penis candle that Ariana gave me as a joke.

I'm far too freaked-out to laugh about it … or get too excited about the phone number or the way it's signed simply Lion. Cute. Real cute. And yet … did Walter just threaten Rhoden? Threaten to do what?

So what do I do?

Do I call Rhoden and tell him everything? Do I keep all of this craziness to myself? Maybe Walt's bluffing, trying to get me to roll over for him.

If so, he's wasting his time. No matter what, I won't give him what he wants.

My cell rings and I tug it out of my pocket. It's Ariana.

“Hey,” I say, trying to figure out the best way to explain what happened this morning.

“Babe, you need to Google yourself. And quick.”

“Why would I want to do that?” I ask, standing up and moving over to my laptop. I type my name in the search bar … and up pops a million results featuring me and … Walter. My throat gets tight and my breath catches hard in my chest.

Loud and Proud Big Girl Della Garland to Marry World's Sexiest Billionaire Bachelor-and she's having his baby!

I stare at the words for a long, long time, scrolling through pictures of Walt and me at an Adders game, walking arm in arm out to his limo, heading inside my father's house together. To somebody looking in from the outside, it might look like we spend a lot of time together but honestly, these pictures pretty much tell our whole story. Walking to and from parties, to and from my father's house, to and from Walter's family's house.

“Jesus, Ariana,” I whisper as I scroll through article after article. “This is a nightmare.”

“Screw that bastard,” she says. “So who cares if all the news sites picked this crap up? It doesn't mean anything. You don't have to marry him, and if you need to, you can always use a DNA test to prove it's not his baby.”

I pull up my blog to check for comments and find that it's … offline.

I clamp a hand over my mouth as tears prick the corners of my eyes. 404 Error Page Not Found. No matter how many times I refresh the site, it's the same message.

“What's wrong?” Ariana asks as I log onto my hosting site and find out that my account is gone. Wiped. There's nothing there.

“He … it's wiped clean,” I whisper as I stare at years worth of work down the drain. Of course I saved all of my posts to my computer, but … my site is gone, the thousands of positive comments over the years, my followers, even the URL for my site is unavailable. “My blog. It's gone. It's all gone.”

“No way,” Ariana says as I hear her fingers sliding across the keys of her Mac. After several long minutes, I hear the slight softening of her breath. “Holy shit, Della, this is … this is really bad.”

I put my forehead in my hand and try to calm my racing heart.

“I need to go see my dad,” I say as I lift my face up and do my best not to cry. If this was done in one day, then it can be undone, right? I stand up from my chair and sling my purse over my shoulder. “I'll call you when I have news.”

“Okay, Del. Please keep me in the loop. I'm here for you if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Ariana. I have a really bad feeling that I'm going to need to take you up on that offer.”

My dad's front door is unlocked, slamming against the wall as I storm into the foyer and look around for my first target of the day.

Reagan and Emery are standing at the base of the stairs, laughing and talking. They pause when I come in, glancing over at me with bored expressions on their faces. After a few seconds, Reagan's face splits into a smile.

“We were taking bets, you know, to see how long it would take you to come over here.”

“Eat shit and die, Reagan,” I snap, my rage a tangible force inside of me. At the same time, I'm dashing back tears, my body shaking with a rush of hormones and adrenaline that I'm not sure how to control. I'm not sure if I've ever felt like this before, like a trapped dog. Like a caged dog.

“Della,” my stepmother says as she pauses at the top of the stairs and looks down at me like she's been doing my entire life. “I'm glad you're here. We need to talk.”

“Where's my dad?” I ask as I shove Emery and Reagan out of my way and storm up the steps. When Verna tries to stop me, I push past her, too, and explode into my dad's office. He looks up from his desk and rises to his feet, an angry mask sliding into position over his face.

We stare at each other for several long, tense seconds.

“How could you do this to me?” I whisper, my voice hoarse and shaking. “Send Walter after me like his name's branded across my chest, like he owns me. I don't want to marry him. What part of that was so difficult to understand?” I curl my arm across my tummy protectively. “And this is not his baby, you know that.”

“You want to advertise that you're a little whore to the press?” my dad roars, rising to his feet and throwing his glasses so hard that one of the lenses pops out and slides across the floor. “Be my guest. You storm in here, making a fool of yourself over what? Some articles on the computer? Or the blessed fact that Walter finally had his IT team take down your online diary?”

I stumble back like I've been slapped, my heart pounding so loud in my head that I can't hear anything else.

“The man is stalking me. He put a tracker on my phone. He … he watches my house to see who comes and goes. None of that is alarming to you? Just because a man has money and power doesn't give him the right to claim the world.”

“Money and power,” my dad says quietly, looking me straight in the eye. “Give the man the means to do whatever he wants.”

“The means, maybe, but not the right,” I whisper, unable to trust my voice in this pit of snakes. “If you think I'm going to fall in line, that you're going to drain the Virgil's money like leeches on the skin, you'd best rethink your strategy.”

I spin on my heel, but my stepmother's not about to give up that easily. After all, she is money and jewelry and big houses and fancy things. There's nothing else there, no heart, no brain, no personality. If I don't do this for her, sell myself to the highest bidder, she becomes the absence of her former wealth, nothing more.

“What do you think Walter will do to your boyfriend if you refuse, Della?”

I don't stop, moving down the steps as fast as I can. I need to find Rhoden. Now.

I need to tell him everything before he hears it from somebody else.

“That boy will be lucky if he ever plays football again!” Verna screams from behind me.

I ignore her and head over to Ariana's. I can call Rhoden from there, meet up with him somewhere.

Now all I have to do is pray he actually answers.

I toss my cell on Ariana and Scottie's table and drop my face into my hands.

“My life has officially devolved into nightmare territory,” I mumble against my sweaty palms, heart racing as I try to arrange the day's events into something that resembles sense. Only … I can't because nothing that happened today is even within the realm of reality.

“Maybe he's still at practice?” Ariana asks as she and Scottie exchange one of those wordless couple glances that I've always envied. “Don't NFL players, like, eat, live, and breathe the game?”

“Just about,” I say as I drop my hands to my lap and check the time. “I guess there's a good chance he's still working. From the few practices I've gotten to witness, it seems like these guys go from six to six most days.” I force myself to take a deep breath. Inside, I'm panicking. Not only is my blog obliterated from the sphere of the internet, but my family is actively plotting against me. Yes, plotting. Like villains in a movie, I can practically see them cloaked in shadows, cackling and rubbing their hands together maniacally.

I groan.

So, as far as Rhoden knows, we've only ever done it with condoms—except for last night but I'll keep that bit to myself for now—and then he hears a news story about how I'm having a baby which, as far as he might be thinking, can't possibly be his. For whatever reason, what Rhoden might be thinking about all of this bothers me the most … although I suppose if I were thinking clearly, I should be more worried about Walter.

“Let's focus on one thing at a time,” Ariana says as Scottie sets a cup of steaming tea in front of me. According to him, a cup of warm tea with honey can fix any problem. Instead of hunkering down with DayQuil and throat lozenges like the rest of us, Scottie swishes coconut oil in his mouth and drinks entire pots of honey laden green tea.

I really do love the guy.

“Walter is harassing you, Della. You can go to the cops about this.” I give her a look with a raised brow and she gives me her what? face.

“The Arcata police force that everyone in high school jokingly calls the Virgilville PD? The same police department that the Virgils purchased brand-new Dodge Chargers for, to replace their old squad cars? I have a feeling that going there and complaining about the man that owns everything, that gave me a ten million dollar ring, might not get me very far.” I sit up straight and drum my fingers on the table. “It'll only piss Walter off.”

“This is why I've been pushing a socialist platform for years,” Scottie says and I give him a weak, little half-smile. Oh, Scottie. “I say we go grassroots with this, get together the most dedicated, hardworking people I know and put up a fight.”

“Scottie,” Ariana and I say at the same time. “This isn't a fracking demonstration, honey,” she continues. “This is Della's life here.”

“Well,” he starts, pushing his glasses up his nose and running his fingers through his dark hair. “What can we do to help?”

I smile, a more genuine one this time, because I know that at least I have the support of these two people. Oh, and Hal. I know I've got Hal on my side.

Now if I could just get Rhoden Richards, I'd be feeling a whole lot better. Although after the threats I received today, I wouldn't be surprised if he never talked to me again. Some girl he spent a few nights with … or football? I know what I'd probably choose.

I bite my lip. This is not good.

“Della?” Ariana asks as I curl my hands around the warm mug of tea and take a deep breath. “Just say the word and we're your personal honor guard.”

“Thanks guys,” I say as I close my eyes and pull my resolve around me like a blanket. “It's okay. I'm sure Walter's just feeling snubbed. Give this some time and it'll blow over, I know it will.”

I pretend not to notice the two of them exchanging a look. Maybe they're afraid I'm being too optimistic? But that's okay because I know am.

I just have no idea what else I'm supposed to do about it.

Rhoden doesn't call me back which is fine because I don't care.

Lie.

I ignore my roiling inner turmoil and pretend that I'm not counting the two weeks it's been since I last saw him. Inside, my heart feels like it's being squeezed by an angry fist, but I don't have time to wallow in my depression right now. Today is Thanksgiving and I have an appointment at Ariana and Scottie's. It'll just be us and Hal because Ariana doesn't have any other family, and Scottie's family is a very strict, traditional Indian family that refuses to accept his wife-to-be.

“Come on, Little Dick,” I say as I hook the dog's leash on and put a hand over my tummy. Morning sickness sucks. Especially when it's not just in the morning, when it's afternoon, evening and night. The doctor says everything's just fine, but it's still a really unpleasant sensation.

With the dog hooked to my belt loop and a vegan pumpkin pie in one arm, I pick up Wisdom's travel cage with the other hand and try to figure out how to make it downstairs without dying. There's a pretty good chance I'll trip and send the whole lot of us tumbling down the elevator shaft. But I'm determined to spend the holiday with my family, so the damn bunny's coming. Besides, I'm staying at Ariana's for the next two nights anyway.

And then I've got the NFL charity date with Rhoden. That is, of course, if he actually shows up—or if Walter doesn't put a stop to it.

Wouldn't that just be the whipped cream on top of the pie?

With a sigh and an extremely impressive maneuver for somebody holding an angry bunny, a naughty English pointer mix, a pie with no eggs or milk in it, and a seven week old NFL player's spawn, I manage to get out the front door and down to the parking garage without any mishaps (unless of course you count Little Dick lifting his leg on Marquis' desk, but I don't).

I'm wrangling the rabbit's kennel into the backseat when I realize somebody's standing behind me. I don't whirl around and scream like I want to. I very carefully buckle Wisdom into the seat and wedge the pie into a blanket padded nest on the floor.

When I turn around, I find my ridiculous dog who never does anything right raising his lip and his hackles at Walter. Good boy. I stroke my dog's silky orange ear and then stand up straight, raising my chin defiantly. I haven't seen the man in two weeks, but every time I try to restart my blog, it lasts for all of about three hours and then disappears into cyberspace.

“Della.” He stares at me like he's always done, same stoic face and blue eyes, like he isn't a seriously crazy person in need of psychiatric help. “I'm here to pick you up.”

“Pick me up?” I ask as I open the front door and try to get Little Dick to jump inside with an elegant wave of the hand. The dog ignores me, putting his front paws up on the side of the Range Rover and whining. Then I have to do this really undignified lift where he kicks me in the face before diving between the front seats and falling into the pumpkin pie. Great.

I turn around to face Walter again, reaching up to make sure my sunglasses are still perched on the top of my head.

“I have my own plans for today,” I tell him, making sure my voice is steady and even. “If you'd waited just a few more minutes, maybe you could've tracked my phone and found that out?”

Walter smiles, which I really don't like, and then gestures down at my hand.

“You're not wearing the ring,” he says. “If you don't like it, we can get another. Whatever you want, Della.”

“What I want, is for you to leave me alone.”

“So you can get with the quarterback? Is that it?” he asks, his voice mild but his expression darkening.

“This has nothing to do with Rhoden,” I say quietly, although that feels a bit like a lie. “I just don't think that we work together, Walter. I'm sorry.”

“I've already made the announcement, Della. My family has expectations; your family has expectations. I've been trying to be polite here, give you some space, but I'm running out of patience.”

Walter's hand shoots out and grabs me by the upper arm, fingers bruising as he locks me a grip that's so much stronger than I would've thought just by looking at him. He gives me a little shake and then jerks me forward. My first instinct is to hit him in the nose and make a run for it, but I'm afraid that'll only incense him more.

“I've been more than nice, more than patient with you.” Walter puts his other hand on my waist and yanks our bodies together. I'm sure I'm just imagining it, but his fingers feel cool against my skin, his cologne suffocating in its tinny sharpness. “If you continue to test my dedication to this union, it won't just be you paying the price. Now, I've warned you before, but this is your final admonition. Next time, it'll be Rhoden Richards that I speak to.”

Walter releases me and then gestures to the waiting limo.

“Your family will be joining me for Thanksgiving dinner. We'd all love it if you'd come.”

I just stare at him, one arm coming up to touch the tender spot on my arm where he grabbed me. Already, I can see the faint outlines of fresh bruises. Under normal circumstances, I would just call the police, but this … I don't know what else to do. Walter owns the police here.

Before I can protest, the limo's pulling forward and blocking my SUV into its parking space.

Shit.

The driver gets out and holds the door open for me while I stand there with my heart beating in my throat. Unsure of what else to do, I grab the dog and the bunny, abandon the squished vegan pie, and climb into the backseat of the limo.

I send Ariana an SOS text on the drive, but beg her not to do anything about it. My current plan is to go to dinner and speak quietly with my father again, try to get him to see reason, to help me out here. Or maybe I could talk to some of Walter's other family members? Surely his parents or his sister don't know about any of this? If they did, I doubt they'd play into this whole scenario. After all, their son really is committing several crimes here.

Walter and I don't speak during the drive as mellow jazz music trickles in through the speakers and tries to trick the tense atmosphere into believing this isn't really a kidnapping.

It so is.

When we pull up to the front gates of the Virgil estate, I have to hold back my usual gasp of awe. My father's house is extravagant, but this … it's indescribably opulent. The house sits on the edge of town, against the backdrop of a national forest, surrounded by a brick wall and massive hedges sculpted at perfect ninety degree angles in the corners. The entire front and back of the house are lined with floor to ceiling windows and the floor plan on the main level is completely open, giving the whole thing this odd sort of see-through effect that shows off the pool, pool house and treed backyard on the opposite side.

I've always loved this place … until now, that is. Now, the leaded black lines on the windows look a little like bars on a jail cell. As our driver opens my door and a rush of cool air filters into the car, I squash down a panic attack and grab my rabbit and my dog, stepping outside to find Hal waiting on the steps for me, a frown creasing her face.

“Mom basically kidnapped me,” she whispers as she comes down to give me a hug. “What's your story?”

“I think I really was kidnapped,” I whisper back and when she pulls away, her eyes are huge blue circles. Walter comes up next to us, but Little Dick nips at his ankle and makes him scowl as he draws away.

“This is why I hate mutts,” he says as he looks up at me. “Are you coming, Della?”

“Do I have a choice?” I ask and he laughs.

“Of course you do,” he says. “I just think you should make the right one.”

Walter moves inside as Hal and I exchange a look, clasping hands before we follow him into the gaping expanse of the first floor foyer/living room/kitchen combo area. The furniture is arranged carefully to give the illusion of rooms, but the sight lines are completely open. I used to think that was pretty cool, being able to see from one side of the house to the other. But now? I have nowhere to hide.

Oddly enough, I notice that the Adders vs Titans game is not up on the massive 4K TV, despite the fact that it starts in fifteen minutes. Instead, the damn thing's not even on. Now, this is a house of Adders fans that includes both the former and the current owner yet we're not watching the game?

Holy crap.

I feel an extra pang of frustration. Watching football on Thanksgiving with my mom was the highlight of my childhood holiday memories. Plus, I was kind of looking forward to seeing Rhoden. I've been watching all of the games since I last saw him, tracking his movements across the field.

I'm pretty sure I don't hate him anymore, even if he is avoiding me.

“Della.” I set Wisdom down on the floor near the front door and tug LD close with his leash. The way Walter grabbed me in the parking garage was disturbing to say the least. I feel better having the dog with me.

“Dad.” We stare at each other across—God, I don't know—5,000 square feet of space? Okay, I'm exaggerating. He's standing near the TV to the left of the door, hung in the corner and tilted at an angle so as not to cover any of the windows on either wall beside it. My stepmother is with him, while Reagan and Emery emerge from the back door, wet from the pool and wearing strings and pasties instead of bikinis. I glare at them and they return the favor.

Other than a few employees cooking and preparing the meal, I realize that … this is it.

“Where's Anise?” I ask, hoping and praying that Walter's sister is here. She might be the stereotypical party girl heiress type, but I've always kind of liked her. I was hoping for a little back up here.

“In Venice with her new boyfriend,” Hal says as she gives her mother a dark look. “And Walt's parents are at their place in the Hamptons.” My chest feels suddenly tight. Of course they are. Of course. All of my hopes of escaping this place seem to disintegrate into ash right in front of my eyes.

I feel trapped in an impossibility, a stifling surreal sort of nightmare.

My phone buzzes and I fish it out of my pocket.

Scottie says he can have five hundred members of his anti-fracking group together and ready to march within the hour. Let me know, 'kay? Love you.

I text Ariana back and then slip my phone in my pocket.

You're invited here for dinner. Please come! I need you and Scottie to back me up.

“Does anybody care that I'm here against my will?” I ask loudly, trying to catch a few of the employees' attentions. Nobody looks at me. “I've been kidnapped,” I say again and my stepmother scoffs, reaching up to pat at her carefully styled blond locks.

“Don't be dramatic, Della,” she says as she comes over to smile at me. “How's the baby?”

“I don't know,” I say, again as loudly as I possibly can. “I slept with so many men that I'm not sure who the father is. Honestly, it could be any member of the Arcata Adders or the San Francisco 49ers.”

Walter's back stiffens as he pauses in the kitchen and speaks to one of the women there. Good. Glad he heard me because this is the rumor I'm going to spread if he doesn't let all of this stupid crap go. I'll tell every news media outlet I can get ahold of that I slept with everyone but him. How would his shareholders like that? Some future politician's wife I would make, huh?

“Della!” Verna exclaims, touching a hand to her pearl necklace. I almost laugh at that. My stepmother in a pearl necklace. Get it? “Don't be vulgar.”

“That's exactly what I'm going to do if you don't leave me alone. Look, this is ridiculous. We all know that I don't want to marry Walter. Why am I even here?”

There's a long, awkward pause where everyone just turns to stare at me like I'm the crazy one here. Hal stands next to me in companionable solidarity.

“Could I have a moment alone with Della, please?” my father asks, coming over to take hold of my elbow. I'm sick and tired of having people grab onto me, so I jerk my arm from his touch and follow him outside.

As soon as the door slams shut behind us, I storm down the steps and stand in the misty half-dark, looking up at the gentle layer of fog settling over the trees. When I drop my chin and turn to face him, I feel the anger swirl up hot and wild inside of me.

“How can you do this? Support some crazy man stalking your daughter?”

“Della, this is about more than just you,” he says as I shake my head and run my fingers through my hair. “I have the company to think about, my employees. What about your sisters? What do you think will happen to them if I go bankrupt?”

“Stop being dramatic,” I say as I glare at him. “There are a lot worse things than just not being filthy rich. We were happy before, me, you, Mom. You're smart, Dad. You'll do something else great, even if Garland Enterprises goes out of business.”

“Walter has given me so much, Della. He's done a lot for this family. We're not turning our back on him now.”

“Turning our back on him? Not selling me off to him like prized cattle is turning our back? If he's really our friend, this shouldn't matter.”

“What is it that you want, Della, that Walter can't give you? Is it that footballer? Is that what this is about?”

“There is no footballer, Dad,” I say, my voice sounding far too sad for my own liking. There really isn't one though. No Rhoden anywhere to be seen. “Tell Walter that for me, please. Nobody else should have to suffer this craziness.”

We stand there in silence for a few moments before a car's headlights sweep across the front of the house, pausing outside of the gates. My dad looks over at them with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Who on earth is that?” He stares at Scottie's tiny electric car like it should be obliterated from existence. I glance casually over my shoulder.

“Ariana and her fiancé, Scottie.” I look back at my dad with a grim half-smile. Scottie plus Walter equals serious trouble. This should be fun. “They're my family; I invited them. Tell Walter to buzz them in.”

“How can your company continue to produce the Round-Down pesticide line for use on commercial, food grade crops when it's a known carcinogen? The runoff alone is poisoning our waters, contaminating our air. How do you sleep at night knowing that the price of your wealth is the health and well-being of the general populace?”

I cough into my napkin to stifle a laugh as Walter sits at the head of the table and snaps his fingers for a refill on his wine. One of the employees—because I refuse to call them servants or whatever else—appears to pour him a generous helping.

Dinner is delicious because, well, it's probably a Michelin starred chef cooking it, but it hardly resembles the usual Thanksgiving fare. Instead of turkey, we have goose and duck, and instead of cranberry sauce, we have cranberry compote. It's certainly … elevated.

“I don't discuss business at the dinner table,” Walter tells Scottie for the fiftieth time. I'm so glad I invited my best friends over. This is actually kind of … bearable.

“And why lie to consumers and tell them that labelling genetically modified foods would increase prices? Clearly if the opposition can create their own non-GMO verified label and put it on their products without bringing the costs to consumers, surely Donsanto, a multinational multibillion dollar company, could handle the same?”

Walter slams his fork down on the table and gives me a scathing look.

“I won't be harassed in my own home,” he says, his voice like ice. “I'd like you to ask your friend to leave.”

Scottie stands up, fully incensed and boiling with righteous rage.

“Of course you do, because you know everything that I've said is the truth.” Scottie shoves his glasses up his face. “And I know I said I wouldn't do this, but—”

“Scottie,” Ariana and I both warn.

“What you're doing here to Della is the most despicable thing of all—and the most illegal. Taking away her right to free speech? Kidnapping? Corrupt influence and coercion?”

“I did not take away her right to free speech,” Walter says, and this time he's smiling with his wide, thin lips, like this is a game. “I purchased the hosting company that she was using and had them remove any sites that violated the new terms and conditions.”

My skin gets cold and chilly and I feel like I'm going to puke. What. A. Creeper.

“Please leave my house before I call the police and have you removed.”

I stand up, too, watching Walter's face as I follow Ariana to the door … and then grab my purse, my bunny, and my dog. What's he going to do now with my friends here? Have us all assassinated and buried in unmarked graves?

The most disturbing part of that, is that I really believe he could do it. He's rich enough, has the police in his pocket. Why not?

Hal gets up and joins us as Verna starts into a raging bitch session, standing up from her chair and shouting across the gaping warehouse of a palace.

Without another word, I head out the front door and squeeze myself into Scottie's mini clown car with the puppy on my lap, the bunny beneath my feet, and a hundred bumper stickers clogging the window behind my head.

I've never been happier in all my life.

The rest of my Thanksgiving is significantly better—even if the food is … tempeh and tofu? But the Adders game is really hard to watch. Rhoden plays well while he's on the field, but clearly, he's in a temper because he almost gets into a fight with one of his own teammates, right there at the thirty yard line.

I rewatch the game later in Ariana's living room with Hal sleeping on the floor next to me, pausing on a zoomed in shot of Rhoden's face and sighing. Our date is the day after tomorrow, and I'm prearranged to be picked up in a limo at my place. That is, of course, if Walter hasn't already pulled some strings and screwed that up. Honestly, I'm shocked that I haven't heard anything about it.

I sigh and drop the remote in my lap, leaning back into the down-alternative pillows that Ariana put out for me and tucking my hands behind my head. I can't decide if I should be pissed at Rhoden's avoidance of me, saddened by it … or maybe if I should feel anything at all?

He's just a stranger that I had a few one-night stands with. Aaaaaand the father of my kid.

And I have a gigantic, monstrous crush on him. I've been trying to deny it, but I do.

I groan and snatch a pillow up, covering my face with it. In two days, I'll (hopefully) be face to face with the guy and that warm gaze of his, the one that makes me want to tell him everything.

The thought alone makes my insides twist painfully—it hurts almost as badly as when LD gets up and slaps me in the face with his muscular tail. The damn dog is too big for his age, like a child in a giant's body. And he doesn't listen to me for crap.

I sigh and pet his side anyway, praising him for biting Walter on the ankle. Now, if he could just take the guy out for me permanently …

I force myself to take a deep breath and relax into the couch.

But I don't turn off the TV.

I fall asleep to the sight of Rhoden Richards' beautiful half-smile.

I manage to get through the next day by hiding out at Ariana's place and watching news specials about crazy people fighting over discount TVs during their black Friday shopping. We sit curled on her couch eating yesterday's vegan feast and petting Wisdom's long, silky ears while Hal texts back and forth with her new tight end(ed) boyfriend. When Scottie gets home from his shift at the hospital, we play some weird board game about medieval ghosts and then fall into food comas.

As far as days go, that one ranks up there among the best.

Today? The violent stomachache of baby/nerves that I'm feeling right now makes me think it might be one of the worst. I got a text this morning from Walter that said enjoy your date, Della. What does that even mean? Is that a threat? How do I even respond to that?

I take a deep breath and shake out my hands, writing a faux blog post in my head since, you know, I apparently can't put one online

Okay, guys. Today is the day! I'm heading out on a date with Rhoden Richards, the incredibly gorgeous but admittedly kind of annoying quarterback for the NFL's Arcata Adders. He averages three touchdown passes a game, but he doesn't call me and clearly, he's stopped going to the dog park.

By the way, my outfit today is beyond fabulous. I've got on the promised rainbow dress! As you can see from the photos, this gorgeous above-the-knee dress is made of white silk crepe de chine with a curved rainbow printed vertically down the right side. Sweetheart neckline and … no sleeves! Yep, I'm showing off those arms again today.

Sorry I can't give away the signed football like I promised, but the crazy rich guy I said no to marrying bought the web host my blog was on and had it removed. Don't forget to subscribe to the RSS feed of my brain for more fun news from Della Garland—I still need to share that special surprise with you. Winky face!

I roll my eyes and reach up to check on my hair. It's coiffed into an intricate style that Hal calls the twisty sweet bun which I'm pretty sure she made up. It's basically a bunch of braids interwoven together to make a kind of piecrust-esque tapestry. Several curls have already jumped ship and are bouncing around the sides of my face.

I pucker my lips and hope the vibrant pink matte lipstick I put on is still in place, wondering if I look sexy or just childish with the dress, the overblown makeup, and the classic red pumps.

My hands twist together in front of me as I wait outside the apartment, looking down the one-way street for any sign of a limo—Hummer fronted or otherwise.

Five minutes later, I see it. It's a white Cadillac limousine and it glides to a stop directly in front of me, its tinted windows reflecting back the lines of my nervous face. I stand there, trying not to throw up as the driver gets out and comes around to open the door.

“Miss Garland,” he says as he steps back and I stare at the warm, dark interior of the limo. At first I think that Rhoden's not in there, that maybe it's someone else from the team standing in for him at Walter's behest, but then I duck my head and plop my butt on the leather seat, trying to pretend that the sweaty skin on the back of my thighs isn't sticking to the chair. I don't usually sweat this much, but God I'm so damn nervous.

“Hey, Della,” Rhoden says from the seat kitty-corner to mine. He's sitting all the way at the opposite end with his arms crossed over his chest and his head tilted slightly to the side. “Long time, no see.”

I stare at him, but I can't think of anything witty or clever to say.

“You left your number, but you didn't bother to answer any of my calls or texts. That's messed up, Rhoden.” I notice the way he blinks at me, a painstakingly slow movement that gives his half-lidded gaze an extra burst of sexiness. I notice some champagne in a bucket and a stack of NFL and Adders merch, but I don't touch any of it.

“Della,” Rhoden starts, glancing up at the window that separates us from the driver. When he turns back to me, he looks pissed. “I was warned by your fiancé that if I called or came over here again, that I wouldn't set foot on the field another day in my life.”

“He …” Oh crap. “Oh my God,” I whisper as I put my hands over my face. I mean, I figured that Walter would go there, I just didn't … wow. “I can't believe this is happening.”

“Was that your extra special news?” Rhoden asks when I lift my face to look up at him. He's scanning me in that way he does, the one that says he likes what he sees but this time he looks like he'll be damned if he'll do anything about that. “That you and Walter are having a baby?”

“I …” I start, but then I feel like I'm going to puke for real this time, clamping a hand over my mouth as I struggle to control my breathing. Rhoden pinches his brows like he's concerned, scooting a little closer to me, but he makes no effort to touch me.

“Do you need to pull over?” he asks, but I shake my head, dropping my hand into my lap and breathing out long and easy and slow.

“Rhoden,” I start as I look back at him, study the red hoodie and black jacket combo he's rocking over his NFL emblazoned t-shirt. I want to crawl into his lap and kiss his stubbled face off. WHY DOES HE HAVE TO BE SO FREAKING HOT?! I smooth my skirt across my lap as I try to find the words I should've said a few weeks ago. Instead, I start off with this gem, “so you know about condoms?”

That's what I say. So you know about condoms.

What? WHAT?! Like, what?

Rhoden raises his brows at me and cocks his head to the side.

“I'm familiar with the device, sure,” he says, and I detect a note of amusement in his voice. The sound, and the look that went with it, fades immediately and he glaces sharply away. “Why? What does that have to do with your creepy fiancé's threats?”

“He's not my fiancé,” I say, trying not to get frustrated. I try to run my fingers through my hair, but they get caught in the bun instead and I curse as I try to untangle myself. This is so not going the way I'd planned.

Here's what I'd thought could theoretically happen:

Me: Rhoden, Walter's blackmailing me into marrying him, but … but I want you. I'm carrying your baby. I know it seems impossible, but the condom broke and well, we should get to know each other, see if this thing is worth fighting for.

Him: Oh my God, Della. I didn't want to say anything because it's too soon, but … I'm falling in love with you and I want to be a father to my child. I have some contacts in the CIA or the FBI or something, so we can talk to them and get Walter arrested for being a creepy stalker. Now, let's make love, quickly, before we get to the arts center.

Guess that's a bit of a pipe dream.

“He's not your fiancé?” Rhoden asks with a raised brow. “It's all over the internet.” A long pause. “And I noticed you got rid of your blog?”

“See!” I point at him and then blush from head to toe, dropping my hand into my lap. “I didn't get rid of my blog.” The words come out in a whisper. I try to fight back tears, but something about Rhoden makes them want to come out. I guess I just like the guy, even though I don't know him for shit. I look up as tears start to stream down my face.

“Oh God, don't cry, Della,” Rhoden says, his deep voice like a soothing balm against my skin. “I'm a serious sucker for the whole damsel in distress thing. If you do that, I'll have to beat the crap out of somebody.”

He's trying to smile at me, but it's not working. Everything just comes bubbling up all at once.

“He bought the web host,” I say and then am suddenly glad I didn't go to the cops with this. Listen to how it sounds when I tell Rhoden: “I told Walter I didn't want to marry him, so he bought the web host my blog was with and deleted it. I think he's having his IT guys stalk me or something because every time I try to start a new one, it gets deleted, too. He's certifiably insane, Rhoden.”

Rhoden blinks at me a couple of times and then runs his fingers through his dark hair, breathing out a long, frustrated sigh.

“Holy crap,” he says, but he doesn't know the half of it.

“I broke up with him, just like I told you I was going to do. He won't leave alone.” I'm crying and getting pissed and maybe screaming a little bit, all at the same time. “He kidnapped me on Thanksgiving and dragged me to his house. I don't know what to do because he, like, owns the police and I'd probably sound ridiculous if I told them a multibillionaire was stalking me because I met all the points on his stupid list.”

I'm rambling now, not making any sense, but Rhoden's listening which is a huge positive. We may have only had a handful of conversations in the past, but I've noticed that he never interrupts me. He always listens and responds like he gives a crap. I can't tell you how turned-on that makes me.

“This is fucking serious, Della,” Rhoden tells me as he reaches out and puts a hand on my bare knee. Heat surges through me and makes me gasp. I notice the muscle in his jaw tighten, but all he does is lick his bottom lip. “I don't care if he is a multibillionaire, he can't force you to marry him against your will. Have you tried talking to the media?”

“I was worried that he might retaliate.” Against you. Those are the unspoken words hanging in the back of my throat. Rhoden purses his lips, looking over at the row of windows like he wants to kill someone or something. “Like how he threatened you … only worse. My whole family—except my sister—is on his side. My dad, my stepmom, my stepsiblings.”

“What about the baby?” Rhoden asks in a strange, soft melancholy voice. His brown eyes are deep and rich, focused directly on my face. “You said you didn't … that you and Walter had never had sex.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “Did he rape you?”

“This is not his baby,” I say as I sit up straight and put a hand on my half-rainbow covered tummy. Rhoden raises his brows at me and then gives a slight smile.

“Well, that's good,” he says, and I realize that this is my window, that if I don't say anything now, I'll lose my chance. Tears stream down my face, but I'm not sure why. I think I'm just freaking out. “Hey,” Rhoden says, leaning forward and rubbing a tear off with this thumb. His touch is warm, and I can't help but lean into it. “It'll be okay. We'll figure this out.” See? We. He said we, just like Ariana and Scottie do, like all of your problems are theirs, too. I like that.

“Rhoden,” I begin as he scoots over next to me and presses his big, warm body against mine. “I … this … the only guy I've slept with in over eight months is you.” Deep breath, deep breath. I don't look at him, my entire body stiff and focused ahead on the window that separates us from the driver. I might be shaking a little, I'm not sure.

“So you're not pregnant?” Rhoden asks, like he's totally confused. I don't blame him. I was shocked as hell, too.

“No … I am pregnant.” I scoot a few inches away from Rhoden, so I can turn and look him in his whisky-honey brown eyes, smell his rich masculine scent, feel the warmth radiating off his body. Our eyes are locked as I take a deep breath. “Did you know that condoms are only about ninety-eight percent effective if used correctly? Eighty-two percent effective more like if you count in human error. I Googled it.”

Wow, Della, strong lead.

Rhoden's still sitting there, just staring at me.

“It happened on the masquerade party night. I don't remember anything about the condom breaking, but I didn't exactly look at it after. How well did you?” He just keeps looking at me, blinking those dark eyes suuuuper slowly. “Rhoden, this isn't Walter's baby, this is yours.”

He stares at me for so long that I'm afraid he's not going to believe me, that I'm going to have to get a DNA test and fight to prove the truth I'm telling him right now.

“I should've told you sooner, when you came over to my place, but … I didn't and then all this crap happened with Walter. I'm afraid of what he'll do to you if he knows for sure. He suspects, yeah, but …” I trail off and then suck in a deep breath. “He wants me to tell everyone it's his baby, even though we've never had sex, wants to put his name on the birth certificate.”

“Are you … fucking …” Rhoden starts, staring at the floor now, blinking those gorgeous eyes of his. He turns back to look at me. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I lean back and try not to let myself feel hurt by the question. I'd expected this. I had. But it still makes me feel goddamn awful. “He … he's trying to take my fucking kid?”

My turn to blink slowly.

I stare at Rhoden in shock for a second as he looks at me again, really looks at me.

“You believe me?” I ask, maybe not the best way to keep instilling confidence in him that I'm telling the truth, but it pops out anyway. “Because I know how impossible this sounds.”

“I believe you,” he tells me with a weird half-smile. “I can see it written all over your face.”

“Are you pissed?”

“At you?” he asks incredulously, and I nod. It's not that I think he should be pissed at me, just that I thought he might be. “Hell no. No. Absolutely not. I'm a little … surprised, I guess. What kind of dickheads are you hanging out with that you think I'd pissed?”

“The kind that threaten guys into not taking my calls?” I guess and Rhoden purses those gorgeous lips of his.

“I figured … well, it doesn't matter what I figured. I'm obviously a complete idiot.” Rhoden runs his fingers through his hair, the movement laced with violence. I imagine the energy's directed towards Walter. “I thought you'd lied about sleeping with him, found out you were pregnant and decided to marry him. Fuck, I'm such a dumbass.”

“You are kind of a dick,” I amend, but it comes out with a weird little laugh-hiccup-sob thing. “I was wondering why you'd avoid me after …” After you came over and we had bareback sex all night on my couch and in my bed. “Anyway, I just thought … well, to be honest, I didn't know you'd take this so well. I mean, I was hoping you would …” I can't seem to hold a proper conversation, so I pause for a minute. I kind of want Rhoden to touch me, but all he's doing is looking at me.

“I can't believe that piece of shit is trying to take our kid,” Rhoden says. Our. Our kid. I like that so much better. He breathes out and then turns to face me fully, taking me in with a slight twist to his mouth, a cocksure smirk that hides a little of that anger. “I knew there was fate involved here. I told you, didn't I?”

“You told me you were wrong about that,” I say and his mouth droops a little at the corners. “During the party.” Rhoden breathes in deep, holds it in his chest, and releases it. He doesn't comment, which is fine, but I can't stop wondering why he said that.

“Mr. Virgin,” he starts, which helps me stop crying, makes me smile a little. “I want to say I'm shocked that he'd do something like this to you, but I'm not. I told you what happened to my friend in college?” I nod and Rhoden shakes his head, like he's trying to puzzle his way through this. “No matter what,” he says, tilting his head in my direction as he rakes his fingers through his hair again, “I won't let him keep me away from my baby.” A pause. “I can't believe we're having a fucking baby.”

I smile, but I notice he doesn't say anything about me, which is fine since having a baby with someone doesn't automatically make you soul mates, but …

“How are you feeling?” he asks, suddenly awkward in a way I've never seen before. The look makes me blush as I twist my hands in my skirt. “I mean, emotionally as well as physically.”

“I'm not that far along, so it's not a big deal except for the fact that I keep puking.”

Rhoden grins at me, like an excited little boy. It's a little bit … precious.

“My mom still complains about her pregnancy. She said the Richards always make awful babies—big, awful babies.” I laugh and then choke because I'm still kind of snotty from my miniature crying fit. “I guess you'll have to rename your dog then.”

“Huh?”

“Little Dick. You'll have to change it, so we can call the kid that.”

“Hah! Really? In your dreams, Richards. And anyway, what makes you think I named my dog that? You suggested it, but I didn't say I'd accepted.”

“Nice try,” he says, putting a hand on my knee again. The touch makes me jittery. “I distinctly heard you call him Little Dick when I was at your place.” Rhoden leans in and breathes against my ear. “You had to be talking to the dog since there's no way in hell you were calling me little.”

I shove him back, but the damage is done. My nerves are loosened up, my anxiety down, and I'm starting to feel like I can breathe again.

“How do you … want to do this?” I ask him, trying to be cool and modern, like I don't give a crap what he says in response. Only … I kind of do.

“What do you mean?” he asks, his hand sliding a few inches up my thigh. It's heading towards dangerous territory there. “With the baby?” A few inches higher. “Or with us?”

I almost choke and then lunge forward to grab the champagne, breaking our contact. I'm not even sure why I do that, since I can't drink any. I just take the bottle and then hold it in my hands like a shield.

“Either. Or.” I purse and pucker my lips to make sure my lipstick's even, watching as Rhoden sits back with that perfect body of his. The way he moves, it's almost liquid, all smooth and effortless. I feel like a beached starfish sitting next to him.

“I think we should go to the press,” he says, steering the conversation in a slightly different direction than I'd planned. “We'll announce the news. Our news. We'll tell the whole goddamn world. I might not be a multibillionaire, but more people know who I am than they do Walter Virgin.”

Rhoden pauses as the car comes to a stop and stays still. We must be at the arts center.

“Are you still okay to do this?” he asks me as he glances over with a slight hint of concern in his eyes. Is he getting all … male possessive on me? It's one of those annoying but ridiculously adorable things. “I mean, because of all this Walter bullshit, not the baby.” He gives me a crooked smile. “My mom always taught me not to treat a pregnant woman like an invalid—unless, of course, you want me to. Because I've got the sudden urge to carry you everywhere.”

I laugh again, but then the door's opening and the roar of a crowd breaks into our quiet, warm little space.

“Your fans have arrived,” I say and Rhoden nods, our eyes meeting one last time before I take the driver's hand and step into the fray.

The Virgil Center for the Performing Arts is yet another gloriously old building that's been completely revamped and remodeled by the family in question. This particular building is Walter's sister, Anise's, baby. When we were kids, we used to take ballet here together. Of course, I dropped out after like three weeks, but Anise continued on to become somewhat of a prima ballerina. She quit eventually to tackle her rich-heiress-party-girl duties full time, but at least this place got an upgrade.

I pretend not to be bothered by the giant gold Vs on every single surface of the place and take Rhoden's hand as he pulls me up the steps and past the cordoned off crowd around us. Inside, there are even more people and cameras and shouting. Holy crap. I guess I'd underestimated the Big Dick fandom. As I look around, I notice the words painted on t-shirts, sweaters, signs.

A woman named Tamara takes us behind a curtain near the tiny stage that graces the lobby. It's been a tradition to hold small performances in here during intermission and ticket sales, ever since the building was originally erected and called Railroad Cross Dance Academy. Even with the ugly Virgil seal of approval on everything, the tradition continues.

As we squeeze through the crowd and pause behind the curtain that surrounds the little stage, Tamara further introduces herself as the director of operations at the center and starts to gush her thanks at us.

“You have no idea what this means, Mr. Richards, Miss Garland. The number of programs we'll be able to fund with this money is … it'll have an astronomical effect on the community.” I'm nodding away and smiling when I notice … Walter entering from backstage, appearing in his suit with his sister, Anise, on his arm.

When I see them walking toward us, I almost throw up—for real this time.

Rhoden is smiling at Tamara, shaking her hand for the millionth time, when he glances back at me and notices my expression. His smile falls away and his eyes flick over to Walter. That violence I saw in the car, it comes rearing back in a rush.

“Ah, Walter, Anise,” Tamara says as she scurries over and takes Anise's hand. “We were hoping you'd be able to show. This event has turned into something beyond our wildest dreams. To be honest, we weren't prepared for the crowd, but we're doing our best. So glad you could come.”

“Well, it's our pleasure,” Anise says, her hair coiled on top of her head in a far more elegant version of the bun I'm wearing. Her dress is this thin sheet of white and gold glitter that hangs on her long, lithe form and emphasizes the points of her hips and her tiny rib cage. To be honest, I'm beyond glad to see her. This could be my ticket off the Walter train.

That is, if Rhoden doesn't derail him first.

My hand flies out and takes hold of Rhoden's jacket, stopping him in his tracks as he starts toward Walter and Anise.

“Don't.” I step forward and push my breasts into his arm, trying to keep his attention without making a scene. Hey, the move works. He looks back at me with his pupils dilated and his jaw tense. If I lean forward just a little, I can breathe in his scent. “Not here. Beating the crap out of him in public—at a charity event—will only make things worse. It'll only get you put in jail.”

Rhoden looks down at me, his teeth clenching tight, before looking back over at Walter. Tamara is bringing them directly over to us, weaving around the few people that are standing backstage.

“Della,” Walter says pleasantly, but I notice his eyes lock onto my fingers where they're clutched in Rhoden's jacket. “Mr. Richards.”

“Just call me Big Dick,” Rhoden grinds out as I let go of his jacket. When he smiles this time, it's not at all friendly. “Didn't expect to see you here, Mr. Virgin.”

“Well, I wanted to be here to support my future wife.” He holds his hand out to indicate me and smiles as the director looks obliviously among the three of us. Anise has a slightly puzzled expression on her face, raising her brows as she sees me staring at her.

“Hey, Tamara,” Rhoden asks, turning to the director of operations in her pale pink suit and frizzy blond curls. “Could you give us a moment?”

“Sure thing,” she says, reaching up to squeeze Rhoden's shoulder and then squealing, giving it another squeeze. “Oh, that's nice. No way my husband's built like that.” She laughs as I blush for her. “Just let me know when you're ready to make an introduction speech and I'll get the mic.”

“Thanks,” Rhoden says as she moves away and the four of us are left alone in a weird bubble amongst all this chaos. “Your future wife, huh? You mean your future wife that's carrying my baby?”

Anise's eyebrows practically disappear into her hairline as I squeak out a shocked sound of disbelief. Walter looks like he always does: pressed suit, slicked back hair, a gentle shaved and plucked illusion of facial hair.

“Watch yourself, Mr. Richards. Clearly you're unfamiliar with Della's history of mental illness. Try not to believe everything you hear.”

I gape at him as Rhoden's hands turn to fists. With what looks like an extreme amount of effort, he uncurls his fingers and tucks them into the front pockets of his dark wash denim jeans.

“Walter,” Anise starts, turning her head slightly to look at her brother. “What the hell is going on?”

“It's not important,” he says, smiling softly at me. “The other day, Della told me she'd slept with so many men that her child's father could be nearly any member of the Adders. But clearly, that's not true. As far as I know, the only person she's been sharing her bed with for the past year is me.”

“As far as you know doesn't extend all that far then, does it?” Rhoden asks as he lifts his chin, and I pray to God that he doesn't believe any of Walter's crap.

Walter's mouth thins a little and he glances away sharply before looking back at us.

“If she did have some kind of affair,” he grinds out, “it wouldn't matter. She is my fiancée, and there's no doubt in my mind that that child is mine. Della's attempts to separate me from the baby might be working on you, but any court will find me in favor of full custody.”

“I should kick your ass where you stand,” Rhoden growls at him, getting in the man's face. “I should beat you to a fucking pulp until you can't figure out which end is your head and which is your ass. Although looking at you now, I'm not sure you don't already have that problem.”

“Boys, boys,” Anise says, slipping expertly between them. I get the feeling that she's done this a few … hundred times before. “We're here to support the arts.”

“I'd be happy to make some art with your brother's face and my fist,” Rhoden says which is super cheesy and kind of … sexy. He crosses his arms over his chest and gives me a look. It's a long, lingering study of my face, like he's taking my mettle.

It makes me want to prove myself.

“Anise,” I say as quietly as I can. “I broke up with your brother. We have never slept together. This is not his child.” I take a deep breath and look her straight in the face. “He won't leave me alone. He's basically stalking me.”

Anise looks between her brother and me.

“Like I just said, she's not making much sense. I'm worried about her, that's all.”

“Maybe we should go?” Anise asks, stepping back. “This isn't exactly the time or place to have this discussion.” As soon as she says that, it's like a bubble's been popped and the roar of the crowd comes crashing into the room around us. “Walter?” The man in question stares at me for a minute and then quirks the corner of his mouth in a small smile.

Rhoden sees it and goes completely rigid.

“I'll see you soon, Della,” he tells me as he turns and lets his sister guide him back the way they came. As soon as they're out of sight, I breathe a small sigh of relief.

“You didn't believe anything he said?” I ask, looking tentatively at Rhoden, but he's already turning to me and cupping the sides of my face with his hands. Before I can protest, he's kissing me, sliding his tongue into my mouth and tasting me like we're alone in bed and not in front of a dozen people backstage.

When he pulls away, he has some lipstick on his mouth that I reach up to rub off with my thumb.

“You're telling the truth,” he says, “I can taste it.”

The signings take so long that by the time we're done, it's dark outside and I've got the words Big Dick pressed into the backs of my eyelids. I'd say at least seven out of ten people had Rhoden sign his name like that on their footballs, and only about half of those gave him dirty looks like they had an idea about what it meant.

“Silver Waters is closed now,” I say as I check my phone in the back of the limo. “And technically, our date is over. I was only supposed to get until eight. It's close to ten now. You're a free man now, Richards.”

“I have the day off tomorrow,” he says as he leans across the space between our seats. “There's this dog-friendly bar down the street from the park. I could grab Billy, and you could grab your Little Dick,” he grins as he says this, “and we could walk over there. Even if you can't have booze, they make the most kick-ass bar food. They fry pretty much everything under the sun there. What do you say?”

“Are you trying to make me fatter?” I ask and Rhoden raises his eyebrows, giving me another one of those head-to-toe examinations. The way his eyes sweep my body, I get chills.

“You're not fat, Della,” he assures me, sliding over to sit next to me again. I feel like he's holding back, but I'm not sure why. Now though, with his thigh pressed against mine, I can feel his heat burning my skin. Does he want me? I glance down at his crotch, but I don't see any hint of a bulge in his jeans. “Are you … checking me for an erection?” he asks as my eyes snap up to his face and I flush.

“N-no. No. Of course not. Obviously not.”

Rhoden reaches over my lap and takes my right hand, pulling me across his lap so that I'm straddling him. When he puts his hands on my hips and encourages me to relax against him, I can feel it.

Oh.

His hands squeeze me as he leans in and breathes against my ear.

“You don't need to search for it,” he assures me. “Because it's right here.”

I bite my lip and stare up at the ceiling for a moment to catch my breath. I can feel my chest heaving against his, my breasts brushing against Rhoden's chest. When I look back down at him, I can't help it, I slide my arms inside his jacket/sweater combo like I've been wanting to do all damn day and hug him.

Rhoden lifts his arms from my hips and puts them around my waist, squeezing me back.

“What's this for?” he asks quietly against my ear, letting me press myself against his hard, warm body. There's a slight second of hesitation before he relaxes, rubbing one of his hands up and down my spine.

I don't want to exaggerate here or anything but … it's, like, the best thing I've ever felt in my life.

“Thank you for being a gracious adult about all of this,” I say and feel his mouth smile against the side of my face, stubble scraping my cheek in a pleasant tickle.

“Well, I did threaten to beat the crap out of Walter in plain sight, so I wouldn't exactly say that.”

“Close enough,” I whisper in that warm crook between his shoulder and neck. “Close enough.”

Rhoden takes me over to his apartment to pick up Billy the Kid and it is, quite literally, across the street from mine. As soon as I realize what floor he's on, and what side of the building, I realize that our places look out at one another.

“This is so crazy,” I say as the doors open on Rhoden's penthouse and I step out of the elevator. Even though it's the only apartment on this floor, there's a small hallway with a proper front door, a welcome mat, and two decorative plants on either side. “Can you see in my window from here?”

He laughs as he unlocks the door and lets me in.

“Not exactly,” he says as I take my first step into the place where my kid could be spending half his time, walking across the hardwood floors slowly in my red heels and then pausing to look out the window to my left. Across the street, I can see my building in its towering white glory, but the space between the two places is large enough that I can hardly make out my own drapes. Still, it's pretty coincidental that we'd live this close to one another.

Rhoden whistles and Billy comes trotting into the living room, yawning and stretching, her tail wagging furiously at the sight of LD and me. I let him off his leash so the two of them can sniff each other. Billy gives him about a second of that before she growls and then proceeds to try and mount him.

I flush and pretend not to notice, letting them do their thing.

“You have a nice place,” I say as I look around at the lush furnishings, the football memorabilia in glass cases against the wall, and the seemingly random display of art hung like a gallery on either side of it.

“I picked it because it's close to work,” he says, and I smile. It's funny hearing him talk about football like it's a job. “And because of the view.”

Rhoden closes the front door and comes up to stand behind me, way too close for any sort of casual conversation. I shiver and close my eyes as he rubs the knuckles of his right arm down mine, making me shiver.

“What view?” I ask as I realize he hasn't bothered to turn the lights on. Outside, red and orange lights flicker by with the traffic and tiny groups of people move past on the sidewalk next to the green belt. Rhoden puts his hands on my waist and gently moves me forward with his body.

“This one,” he says as he reaches down and takes my hands, planting the palms flat against the glass and putting his lips to my ear. “This spot has the most incredible view of the stars.” Rhoden takes my chin and tilts my head up so I can see the swatch of dark sky above the park. Meanwhile, he sneaks his other hand under my skirt and slides his warm fingers across the front of my panties.

I relax into his touch, letting my cheek press against the glass as he caresses me with that same, slow careful way of his. It's an adaptation to having a huge cock, I'm sure of it. I close my eyes as Rhoden plays with my clit through the fabric, teasing and caressing it into a hard nub, his breath feathering against the side of my throat.

“What happened to dinner at the bar?” I whisper, but honestly I don't really care anymore.

“They're open all night,” he purrs and I shiver all over, pressing his right hand flat against my tummy while he continues to tease me with his left. I'm not sure what we're doing here, if this means anything, if Rhoden wants to pursue a relationship or what, but it feels too damn good to stop and ask any of those questions. I figure they can wait.

As soon as Rhoden gets my panties nice and wet, working a warm spot onto the front of the fabric, he slides his fingers inside, continuing his exploration with long, gentle strokes of his middle finger. When it's all nice and slippery, he slides two of them in, teasing my opening and making me moan against the glass. My breath fogs against it, obscuring the view of the stars for a moment.

My eyes slide shut of their own accord as Rhoden lifts his right hand and caresses my breasts through the fabric, kneading and massaging the tender flesh until I'm panting and arching my chest into his hand and my pelvis back against his body.

When he removes his left hand to unzip his pants, I let out a small whimper and lean harder into him, wiggling my hips against his body and getting a rough, frustrated sound in response.

“God, Della,” Rhoden whispers. “I kept thinking one more fuck and that'll be enough, but it wasn't. For whatever reason, I keep finding myself drawn to you. Each time we do this, it only makes me want you more.”

Before I can respond, Rhoden is pushing my dress up and grabbing my panties. He drags them to the ground and unhooks them from one of my heels, leaving them dangling from the other. His hand when he places it against my bare hip, is like a scalding iron, marking my flesh with his print. The other guides his bare cock to my opening.

“Are you sure you're okay with this?” he asks, even though we already did it like this the other night. The question makes me smile anyway.

“It's not like I can get pregnant a second time,” I whisper and Rhoden groans, sliding deep into me and grabbing tight with both hands. My fingers stay splayed against the glass as I resist the violent churning of his hips, the warmth and tender ache of feeling his body stretching mine.

The more resistance I give him, the harder he thrusts, strumming a dark ember of heat, fanning it into a brilliant flame. As I lean my pelvis into his, pushing back from the glass a few inches, I realize I can see our reflections. Rhoden smirks wickedly at me, his full mouth curving in a beautiful dichotomy against the masculine strength of his jaw as our eyes meet.

I feel so beautiful in that moment, my dress pushed up around my hips, my legs bare, feet encased in red heels. My hair's falling in bouncy curls from my bun, my eyes wide and pupils dilated with desire. I can see the outline of Rhoden's sun-kissed fingers against my skin, the darkness of his hair, the heat of his gaze.

The image is so compelling that I find myself falling hard into an orgasm, my knees giving out completely. The only thing that keeps me from hitting the floor is Rhoden's arm as he snakes it around my waist and lowers me down slowly.

Gently, he guides me onto all fours and positions himself behind me again, the pressure of his body making me cry out when he enters me, fucks me slowly with sure, strong movements. I can see his chest rising and falling in harsh breaths, hear the rough moans that break from his throat with each slide of his shaft inside of me.

His hands move from my hip to my waist, holding me in place as he slams our bodies together and comes with his head tilted back, his throat bared. I watch it all in the reflective surface of the glass as he fills me with his heat and then collapses next to me, drawing me into his arms as we both struggle to catch our breath.

“I'm sorry I didn't come back sooner, Della,” Rhoden says after a few moments as I turn over to face him. There's just enough light coming in from outside that I can see the rich espresso color of his eyes. They're half-lidded and dark and achingly beautiful. “I wanted to.” There's a long pause as he takes a deep breath. I can feel the expansion of his chest against mine. “I think I was kind of … pissed.”

I raise my brows, but don't say anything, letting him fill the silence.

“You'd told me that you were breaking up with Walter, and then there was all this news about the two of you, all these pictures, and the fact that all the articles said you were pregnant …” He pauses again and reaches up to the bun in my hair, untangling it and pulling the bouncy strands free. “I guess I was jealous. And angry. I thought maybe you'd lied to me. I should've known something was wrong when your blog went missing.”

“It's okay,” I say, but he's shaking his head at me, cheek pressed into the hardwood floor beneath us. It's not the most comfortable place in the world, but I don't have the heart to move. My legs are tangled with Rhoden's and his body is hard and warm and comforting. I like it here.

“No, it's not. I should've … well, fuck. I've never actually been any good at this stuff, you know?”

“Is that why you don't do romance?”

A slight smile takes over his face.

“Maybe.”

There's another long moment of silence, the only noises from the street below and the click of the dog's nails on the floor. Rhoden watches me the entire time, leaning forward after a few moments and pressing his mouth to mine. Our tongues sweep together in a romantic waltz as he cups the back of my head and holds me tight to him, dragging the straps of my dress over my shoulders and undoing my bra. As soon as he cups my bare breast in his hand, I'm done for, relaxing in his arms and arching against him.

When Rhoden's ready, he mounts me again, pressing my body into the floor, pinning my wrists gently with his hands. My lids flutter closed and I relax completely, all my worries about the future obliterated by the pleasure between my thighs.

Let's just say, we don't exactly make it to the bar that night.

When I wake up the next morning in Rhoden's bed, I'm completely disoriented. I sit up and rub at my face with both hands, trying to clear the blurriness away. When I drop my hands to my lap and blink a few times, the room comes into bright, golden focus. The wall of floor to ceiling windows to my left is half covered with dark shades, sunshine leaking in through the bottom.

In the morning light, the dark wood floors shine bright and the red paint on the walls looks vibrant and lively. There's a couple of framed jerseys on the wall across from me, one on either side of a large flatscreen that's silently playing the Thanksgiving day game against the Titans. There's a small table in the corner paired with a chair and a notebook, the pages covered in small, dark script.

I feel warm heat radiating from a body next to me and turn to find both Billy and LD curled on the bed by my right arm. With a racing heart, I lean back into the pillows and stare up at the ceiling.

Holy crap. I'm in Rhoden Richards' apartment right now. Ariana would die.

For me, this is the first time I've ever slept over at a guy's house. I usually leave … or they do. This time, I can hear Rhoden's footsteps in the living room/kitchen area and I smile. Then frown. Then panic.

I told him about the baby and Walter knows it.

What the hell is going to happen to the two of us?

I stay laying down, noticing that there's a quote written in black paint on the ceiling above me.

Stay sharp, stay strong, fight to be kind. The world needs all three of these things in a man, son.

“My mom painted that,” Rhoden says, pausing in the doorway to the bedroom. I don't know how he knows I'm awake, but there's no sense in pretending. I roll onto my side and glance over at him.

“She painted that?”

“Yep. She's a little … quirky. She did it after I moved in when I gave her a spare key. Waited until I was at practice and then I came home to this.” Rhoden says it like he's pretending to be annoyed, but his lips are smiling.

He pads into the room in bare feet, wearing a pair of red sweats and a black tank with a purple Arcata Adders logo, team colors. He sits on the bed next to me and nods his chin at the TV.

“I was watching some gameplay, taking notes,” he says and I smile, his heady, warm scent wafting up from the sheets. I don't even remember coming in here, but I do remember his body pressing me into this mattress, riding me from above. Gawd, how many times did we do it?!

“Can I give you some food for thought?”

“Shoot,” he says, studying me carefully, his long lashes emphasizing the deep, darkness of his gaze. “You play with a lot of passion, but I notice that you're more likely to attempt running a touchdown into the end zone than passing. Don't be afraid to let go and make that pass. You have a beautiful throwing arm.”

Rhoden raises both brows at me.

“What? Too amateur?” I ask, trying to laugh it off.

“No, too eerily accurate. I'm pretty sure the QB coach told me the exact same thing last week.”

“He said you had a beautiful throwing arm?”

“Except for that part, maybe.” Rhoden keeps looking at me and then takes a deep breath. “I can't believe we're having a baby,” he says and I feel my face flush warm. “To be honest with you, I'm still in a bit of shock.” His mouth purses. “And I can't even believe that cocksucking Virgin is trying to weasel his way into taking what's mine.”

“Cocksucking Virgin, not sure if I've ever heard that one before,” I joke, but I'm fixating on his words. Mine. What's mine. What? The baby? Me? Both of us? I have no idea how to ask that question. “You should've seen me the day I found out. I cried a lot. Too much.”

Rhoden looks at me and his face softens a little.

“I'm seriously fucking sorry. Believe it or not, this has never happened to me as far as I know.”

We both sit in silence for a few seconds before I look down and see an orange tabby cat sitting on the floor in the sunshine. My lips quirk up at the corners.

“You have a cat?” I ask and Rhoden glances down, grinning.

“You think I can go to all those homeless pet charity events and not come home with a pussy of my own?”

“Looks like you nabbed yourself a couple,” I joke, and then remember that we haven't actually talked about what the two of us are planning on doing. At this point, we're still virtually strangers. “I didn't mean …”

“Della,” Rhoden starts as he looks at me with a dead serious expression on his face. “I was not looking to bring home a wife or a child or anything like that for a long time. When I said I didn't do romance, I meant it. I have a career and my life is good, has been good.” There's a quiet, heavy pause where I start to feel sick, like I want to get up and jerk my dress over my head, run all the way home in bare feet. “But I … didn't expect any of this.” He gestures loosely at me. “When I said I believed in fate, I meant it. I really do. When I thought you'd still planned on marrying Walter, I got upset. I said some things I shouldn't have.”

He looks at me, really looks at me.

“So here's what I think,” he starts as he takes a deep breath. “Next week, on my day off, I want you to come and meet my mother.”

“Your mother?!” I ask, and I feel chills travel up and down my spine. “I … isn't it a little early for that?”

Rhoden notices my discomfort and grins. He looks even sexier in the morning, his facial hair just a little scruffier, his eyes heavy lidded, hard body clothed in soft, easy fabrics. I could get used to this.

“Even if we don't hit it off,” he says and then pauses again, studying my expression carefully, “you're still the mother of her one and only grandchild.” Rhoden pulls the black down comforter over my shoulder and traces a few freckles with his finger, eyes lighting with arousal. Whatever else he might think of me, he clearly finds me attractive. “We'll take care of this Walter thing, one way or another, and then … let's try this. We have time.”

I clear my throat as I sit up and look at him, at this stranger that I like so much so suddenly, whose baby I'm carrying, whose bed I'm lying in, happy and sated and warm from a night of lovemaking.

“Are you saying you want to … date me?” He grins and pulls the cover away, revealing a lot more of my skin than I'd like him to see in the bright light. But he doesn't look disgusted or disturbed, doesn't look at me like the ugly fat girl my stepmom always treated me as. No, he looks at me like I'm something special.

“Yeah. If that's what you want, of course. Either way, I'll be a father to our baby. I know what it's like for a single mother. She was so damn good at it, I didn't care that I didn't have a dad. But I also saw the hell I put her through.” Rhoden smiles. “I'd never do that to another woman as long as I live.”

“So dating in acceleration then? Like a nine month crash course?” I pause and reconsider. “A seven month crash course?”

“I'm down if you are,” he tells me and the way he looks at me, it's like we can't possibly fail at this.

Regardless of the outcome, I'm excited to try.

Rhoden and I get dressed (in separate rooms since there's no way I'm changing in front of him). He comes out of the bathroom in a black, short sleeved button-up, black jacket, and jeans while I don my outfit from last night. Rhoden offers me some of his sweats, but I turn him down, even though my poor panties have seen better days; I want to look cute since we're spending the day together.

We take the dogs down to the dog park and I notice right away that if I hand him the leash, that LD falls into line immediately. Must have something to do with his commanding presence. And boy, is it commanding. People stare at us as we cross the street, stroll in circles around the dog park and throw the tennis ball. Could be because Rhoden's in the NFL, could be because he's hot as hell.

Hah, it rhymes. But who I am kidding? It's probably both.

“Tell me some more about yourself, Della Garland,” Rhoden says as we finish our tour of the dog park and collect our mutts, heading out the gate and down the sidewalk towards yet another dog friendly food and beverage establishment that Rhoden knows about. “Besides all the stuff I can find online: your dad started Garland Enterprises from the ground up, your stepmom is a wealthy East Coast socialite, and your little sister is some kind of supermodel. That's what I got to start off with,” he says and then, “besides your blog.”

I feel my face drop and then shiver as Rhoden slides his arm around my waist.

“I read it all,” he says and even though I don't believe him, the sentiment is cute. “Every story from start to finish.”

“If that's true, then you know everything there is to know about me. I poured my heart and soul into that thing.”

Rhoden walks with me for a while and then smiles.

“I made your pumpkin bread,” he says and I snap my gaze over to look at him. “Okay, my mom made your pumpkin bread at my place when she stopped into town.” His smile gets a little wider. “It was dry as hell.”

A laugh bursts from my throat, and I can't stop it. It just bubbles up and takes over me.

“Okay, seriously, how much did you read?”

Rhoden walks us to the next intersection and then looks over at me. He's taller than me, but not freakishly so. It's nice. He's got a little height on me, but I still feel like we're at eye level. Plus, it makes the sex so much easier. I do not envy couples with big height differences.

Couples.

I shiver at the word.

“All of it,” Rhoden repeats after a minute. “After I ran into you the second time. I Googled you to see what you were about and there it was. I glanced at one page and ended up reading everything.” I feel suddenly exposed when he looks at me, like he's got all my secrets and I've got none of his. “For what it's worth, you have fucking amazing arms.”

I shove at him with my hand, his arm still wrapped around my waist, and we start across the street together. I forget for a freakishly odd moment there that Ariana works around here, at a tutoring center about two blocks further than the café we're on the way to. It's why she always stops by at least twice a week with Chinese takeout from that place up the street.

I almost don't see her at all.

But that girlish fangirl squeal is unmistakable …

“DELLA!” I cringe, my head whipping up as I see my best friend turned sexy librarian sprinting—totally sprinting—in a pair of black glasses and heels, a white pencil skirt, and a red button-up. Rhoden watches her coming with raised brows. “Della Garland,” she pants when she gets close to us, pointing a finger directly at my chest and then blushing when she turns her attention to Rhoden. I realize with a start that this is the first time they've ever met. “What secrets are you hiding from me?”

“We had our date last night, remember? The NFL charity date that you stole my credit card for?” Ariana looks from me to Rhoden, then just point-blank stares at him, no shame at all.

“Ariana, right?” he asks and she gapes at him with her red painted mouth.

“He read the blog,” I whisper and her cheeks go from pink to crimson.

“He read the blog?” she whispers back, in complete awe. “Even I don't read the blog. Clearly, he's into you.”

“He's literally standing next to us and can hear everything you're saying,” I tell her as Rhoden laughs and Billy the Kid does this ridiculous circus dog act and hops on her back legs.

“I don't know if you know, or like how much Della's told you about me, but I am a huge Rhoden Richards fan. Seriously, when I found out she was pregnant with your baby, I—”

Ariana gasps and clamps her hand across her mouth while I roll my eyes.

“Thanks for telling him,” I say. “If I hadn't already, that would've been a serious problem.”

“If I didn't have a husband-to-be that I loved with all my heart, I would leave him for you.”

Rhoden laughs again, and I breathe a small sigh of relief. Ariana can be really hard to handle for some people.

“Speaking of weddings,” she says, and I almost scream. Like magic, she produces an invitation from her pocket and passes it to Rhoden. “Two weeks until the big day. Can you make it? I made sure it wasn't on a game day, so Della would attend. She's so addicted to Adders games, she'd probably skip her own funeral to watch one.”

“Gee, thanks for the glowing recommendation.”

“So, what do you say? Or wait … are you two … he wants the baby, right?”

“Could I maybe, um, have a minute alone with you, please?”

“Be my guest,” Rhoden says as he gestures with his hand and kindly takes LD's taut leash from mine. The dog transforms immediately from a flopping fish on dry land to a well trained service dog in an instant. “Oh, and Ariana?” We both stop walking and turn toward him. “For what it's worth, I want this baby.”

My whole face goes red as I grab Ariana by the arm and pull her a safe distance away, stopping right in front of our destination café.

“Listen, let me give you the rundown so you can stop hitting on my baby daddy.”

“Oh, I am so never stopping hitting on him, but please, do tell.” I take a breath and glance over my shoulder at Rhoden as he leans against a stop sign with his long, lean body, the tattoos on his right arm a dark swirl of magic on his bicep. “First though, please tell me you're planning on marrying him. I love him. He's perfect.”

“We're going to date, okay?”

“Date? You're going to date Rhoden Richards?! How was last night? Did you guys do it again?”

“Actually, yes,” I whisper, feeling my body suffuse with heat. “And it was incredible.” I look down at the ground with a sheepish smile that Ariana immediately interprets correctly because she's a horrible, horrible person.

“You didn't use any protection, did you?” she gasps.

“I'm already pregnant,” I mumble back and she shakes her head. I know I'm going to get a talk about STD testing, but I try to put it on hold for a more convenient time, like Rhoden's first time meeting Scottie. That should be fun. “Anyway, please move on from that topic. I'd like to have breakfast with the man whose baby I'm carrying.” I look over my shoulder again and find Rhoden signing some kid's football. How cute. Until I see that he's scrawling Big Dick across it in black Sharpie.

I look back at Ariana.

“You want me to just leave? This is my first time meeting my idol. Oh my God. Tell me you've seen the back tattoos in person? Are they as fabulous as they look online?”

“I'll make you a deal. You go away right now and leave us alone, and I'll bring him to the wedding.”

“Too boring. I'll be too busy getting married to pay much attention to him. Bring him over for dinner and you've got a deal.” I purse my lips, knowing that Scottie and Ariana's can be the kiss of death for a new relationship. But he'll have to meet them eventually.

“Fine, deal. Now go away.”

Ariana squeals, gives me a hug and them immediately takes her phone out and starts texting Scottie and Hal. Which is fine anyway since there's nothing I can do to stop her. She walks past Rhoden and tickles his chest with her fingers before heading down to the Chinese place for an early lunch.

“I like her,” Rhoden tells me as I rejoin him and we walk into the café's outdoor sitting area together. “She's definitely got spunk.”

“She … grows on people,” I say as we get seated and I stare across the table at one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen in my life. “But, if you've read the whole blog, you'd probably know that. Tell me something about you? I feel like I'm in the dark here.”

“What do you want to know,” Rhoden asks with that whisky-honey gaze of his, mouth still twisted in a sexy smile. I look down at my hands and then back up at him.

“Everything,” I say.

And I mean that.

Rhoden and I spend the day together making light conversation, nothing as heavy as Walter or a possible future relationship or our baby. Instead, we just chat and get to know each other although … the sexy football dick really did read most of the posts on my blog, all the way back to the beginning.

Later, when he walks me home, we share a hot, lingering kiss on my doorstep.

My hands slide around Rhoden's shoulders, enjoying the shape and feel of his muscles under his shirt. When he pulls me forward and presses our bodies together, I can feel that he's already hard and ready for me.

“Are you sure you don't want to come in?” I whisper and he makes a sound that's half-growl/half-purr, falling into my apartment and slamming the door behind him. This time, our hands are flying everywhere, tearing his shirt over his head, ripping off my dress. When Rhoden sets me on the edge of my table and pulls me tight against him, there's an urgency in him that I haven't seen before.

I open myself to him, encourage him to enter me with a hard, fast thrust, throwing my arms around his neck as he rushes us both to the edge of a wild, frantic orgasm. Afterwards, he takes me into my room and lays on his stomach on my bed.

This is my chance, I think as I pant and listen to the happy tingle of my body. I could sleep with Rhoden a dozen times a day and it would never get old. With a small giggle that I immediately regret and try to turn into a fake cough, I roll over and sit up, straddling his bare, muscular ass with my body.

“Oh, hell, you can't do that or I'm gonna go crazy again,” he says as I lean over and run my hands down his back, right over the black and gray ink of the tree tattoo that climbs up his spine. Branches curl and twine around one another and tiny, intricate little leaves dot the ends of each one. Some of them float majestically down towards the roots, forever destined to hang suspended on his golden body.

“Good, because I like that. Feel free to do it anytime.” I feel bold sitting on him like this, like he can't turn and look at me so I can say whatever I want. “I think I'm just the right size and shape to take you without too much foreplay.”

Rhoden groans and rolls me off his back, pulling me close and looking down at me with a pained expression on his face.

“If I could stay here all night and fuck you, I would.” He reaches over me with his tattooed right arm and grabs his phone, cursing lightly under his breath. “I have practice in six hours,” he says as he lets go of me and leans back. The thought of spending a night alone here kind of depresses me, but I don't say anything about it. After all, we just decided to test this attraction between us out. Moving in together comes later. Much later.

“Rhoden,” I start as I summon a burst of courage. “What does your tattoo mean? What does it stand for? I can't find the answer anywhere on the internet.”

He closes his eyes for a moment and then opens them again, looking at me with that warm gaze.

“It's not all that glamorous,” he says apologetically, sitting up and scooting to the edge of the bed so that his back's to me. I think he does it so I can see the design better and it makes me smile. “The reason I don't tell the media about it,” a glance over the shoulder at me and a small half-smile, “is because it's a little … hell, how should I put this? Cheesy?”

“I love cheesy,” I tell him, running the palm of my hand up his spine. “I eat cheesy for breakfast.”

Rhoden chuckles, but he doesn't look at me, reaching down to stroke Billy's ear instead. She smiles up at him with her pink tongue lolling, like she's trying to encourage him to tell his story.

“When I was kid, and things were rough as hell, I had this notebook.” He pauses and traces a line down the dog's muzzle. “My mom drew a tree for me and told me that each time I wanted to give up, I should add a leaf to the picture. Then, when the tree was full and leafy, I could look back and see how all the hard moments in my life had come together to grow something great.”

I purse my lips and try not to awwwwww at him. Because damn. Damn. Big Dick is kind of … perfect.

He looks over his shoulder and flashes a smirk my way to dampen the power of his words.

“You see what I mean? I don't exactly want to share that story in the locker room. The running joke is that each leaf is a woman I've slept with.” I raise my eyebrows at that, but he just laughs and leans over, giving me another long, lingering kiss on the mouth. “It's an away game this weekend, but I'd love to see you as soon as I get back.” He pauses and reaches over to the nightstand for his phone. “Do you want to give me Ariana's number so I can call or text? Walter … made it pretty clear if he saw me contacting you, that he'd make things bad. Until we can figure out what to do about that fucker, we should probably take it easy.”

“That's not at all depressing,” I joke as I take the phone and program in Ariana's contact info. When she finds out that Rhoden Richards has her number, she's going to freak. “I'm sure he'll find some way to kidnap our baby and shackle me to the Virgil family empire, all without breaking a sweat.”

Rhoden turns to me slowly and blinks, nice and slow and easy.

“There's no way in hell, that rich little weasel is touching my goddamn kid.” A long pause as he stands up and pulls his sweats on. “Or my woman.” A smile that makes my insides twist into knots. “I'll see you on Monday, Della. Good night.”

As soon as I hear the front door close, I grab a pillow and shove it over my face.

And then I scream like a teenage fangirl and don't feel the least bit ashamed about it.

The next morning, I wake to the front door slamming open and a teary-eyed Ariana leaping into bed beside me. I'm completely naked, but that never seems to actually matter with her.

“Oh my God,” I start, thinking it's something about the baby. It took her four years to get pregnant. I really don't want to see her lose her first chance, especially not with me pregnant because of a broken condom. How horrible can the universe get? “What's wrong?”

I sit up and immediately start searching for some clothes.

“Scottie got a two week notice today.”

I pause.

“Wait, what?” Scottie is the best goddamn nurse I have ever met in my life. He follows all the rules, but protests them peacefully. He works overtime and double shifts and trades holidays with his coworkers. He knits hats out of sustainably produced hemp yarn and brings them to the chemo patients. No way. Nuh uh. “How? Why? What?”

“California is an at-will state. That means an employee can be fired at any time for any reason. When he got home from graveyard this morning, he told me his supervisor just randomly pulled him aside and gave him the notice without any reason. He's going to hold a peaceful sit-in rally, but … this really sucks, Della.”

I stare at my friend's runny mascara and I know there's more to this than just that.

“Ariana …”

“Did you know that the tutoring center is going under? They've been struggling for some time, but we thought we might get a grant from that new education measure? Anyway, we found out today that we've been denied any grants for next year. So not only is Scottie out of a job, but I'm out of a job, and we're having a baby.”

She pauses for a moment and sits up, acting like she doesn't see my bare nipples peeking out from under the blanket.

“Del, do you think … it was Walter?”

There is no doubt in my fucking mind.

Instead, I say, “don't worry about anything. I have some money saved and if I have to, I can trade the Range Rover in and get a more economical car.” I make myself smile, even though I'm shaking inside. “Scottie would like that anyway. I know how he feels about the SUV.”

“You don't have to do that, Della,” she tells me seriously. “I'm not friends with you because you're rich. Were rich? Anyway, don't NFL players make bank? Rhoden might not be a billionaire, but he was contracted to the Adders with a twenty-one million dollar a year salary for four years, thirty-one million guaranteed. I think you can keep the Range Rover.”

“You're assuming we actually get together,” I say and she gives me her oh please look which is kind of sad-funny since she has mascara bleeding down her cheeks and can't stop sniffling. “Listen, don't worry about Rhoden right now. This is about you and Scottie, and I'm going to make this right. If this was at all Walter—which, since he's a creeper is highly likely—then I'm going to fix it, okay?”

Ariana nods at me as I wrap the blanket around my bare butt and go searching for clothes.

She doesn't need to know that I have literally no idea how I'm going to do what I've just promised.

My morning is spent making phone calls, searching for people who can get my story out. Honestly, it's not that hard to sell them an article about how Loud and Proud Big Girl Della Garland Dumps Multibillionaire for NFL's Hottest Star—especially if I promise them an exclusive photo.

I'm starting to feel really good about myself when I get an actual phone call from the man in question.

“This is over,” I tell him when I pick up, feeling high and mighty, like David facing Goliath, a cell in one hand and a laptop in the other. “We're finished, Walter.”

“Della, I hate to burst your bubble, but I have entire teams of people whose job it is to ferret out things like this before they hit the public's awareness. I also have lawyers who can make sure those articles never see the light of day. I admire your effort, but it's not enough.”

“You cost Scottie and Ariana their jobs!” I snap, squeezing my phone in my hand. “You can't do that. They're just normal people trying to live normal lives, Walter.”

“As soon as you come to your senses, there are two highly lucrative positions waiting for your friends in the company. Think about this, Della. It's not just you you're hurting with this decision, it's everyone: your friends, your father, your sisters, even your boyfriend.”

I feel my stomach clench tight.

“Rhoden Richards' career depends on his ability to actually play football. I'm giving you a final warning: if I see him at your apartment again, it's over. Do you understand me?”

I stare numbly at the wall as I remember Rhoden's story about the gang of guys with baseball bats. Somehow, I imagine that whatever fate Walter has planned for Rhoden is much, much worse. What can a guy with roughly sixty billion dollars in his back pocket get? The answer is: anything he wants.

Walter hangs up on me before I get the chance to answer.

Hal's at a magazine shoot on Friday, but I manage to snag her on Saturday, pulling her aside to borrow her phone. She's wearing this disgusting head to toe brown muumuu that I know my stepmother put her in on purpose. I try not to judge my twenty year old sister for letting her mother boss her around since I've essentially been letting my father do that my entire life. I think sometimes when you've got a wealthy family, it's easier to pander to their wants and needs than it is to head out and start your own thing.

I'm really kicking myself for that right now.

Listen guys, I know it's been a long while since I last posted, but I feel the desperate need to share this with you today. Hal is walking around in a floor length puke brown muumuu with cap sleeves and orange Hawaiian flowers on it. Yesterday, she posed in a thong with one arm barely covering her breasts. I have a hard time understanding my stepmother's dual issues of puritanical urges/exploitation of women's bodies.

Also, even though she knows I'm pregnant, the second I walked in the door today, she said I looked a little chunky and might want to start a new exercise program. When I confronted her about Scottie's and Ariana's jobs, she said something so awful about them that I can't repeat it.

She is a racist bitch, and I hate her.

P.S. I WANT CRAZY WALTER TO DIE!

I take a deep breath and shake my head to clear my imaginary blog post. If I was actually writing one right now, I'd put a recipe up there for a heartburn remedy because I have it in spades today. I can't tell if it's nerves, if it's the baby, or if it's my righteous rage toward Walter.

“God, I need a sparkling water or something,” I moan as I sit down on Hal's bed and watch as she double and triple locks her door. Look what we've been reduced to: cowering in my sister's pink and white room like naughty teenagers.

“Walter's, like, totally gone Big Brother on you, huh?”

“Basically, yeah,” I say as I scroll through her contacts and clutch the piece of paper in my pocket that has Rhoden's number on it at the same time. Which do I do first? Call him? Because I really want to call him. Or do I call Walter's sister, Anise, and risk it getting back to the asshole in question?

I decide to take the riskier route and call Anise Virgil.

“Hey Hal, I've got a dope ass party planned for Monday night. Will the Wicked Witch of the East let you out of the house if I stop by?” I try not to laugh, but I kind of appreciate the fact that Hal calls her own mother by my chosen nickname.

“Hey, Anise,” I start and I can tell she goes stiff, even over the phone. I can feel her stiffness from all the way over here. Aaaand that sounds really disgusting so forget I even said that. “It's Della. I need to talk to you about your brother.”

There's a long pause as Anise thinks. I'm not trying to be rude, but I honestly believe after all the drugs and alcohol she's done, that she needs long pauses to think.

“Are you going to be at the party on Monday?”

“Considering I'm several months pregnant, probably not,” I say, and Anise sighs dramatically. I make sure I'm not gritting my teeth when I respond. “But I guess if there's something you can do to help me with Walter, then sure. Why not? Text Hal the details for me.”

“Della,” she starts and then pauses. “Never mind. Just … I'll see you at the party.”

And then she hangs up on me.

I breathe out nice and slow and then look up at Hal's giant blue eyes.

“Apparently, we're going to a dope ass party on Monday.” The confusion on my sister's face melts away into sheer bliss as she comes over to sit next to me. Stalker Billionaire Boyfriends she can't quite handle, but Halcy is always down for parties of any kind. “But for now, I need you to get out of here so I can use your phone to call Rhoden.”

“Sure thing. Just don't masturbate on my bed because that's kind of gross, 'kay?” Hal stands up and swishes out of the room in her muumuu while I roll my eyes. What a brat. I wait until the door is closed and then nervously dial up Rhoden.

I'm carrying his baby, but this is our first phone call. How messed up is that?

“Hello?” I'm honestly surprised that he answers at all, considering the brutality that is an NFL player's schedule. Maybe he was waiting for me?! I suck back a breath and try to sound nonchalant.

“Rhoden, it's Della,” I say and I like to think that he sounds pleased when he answers.

“Hey, Della. Is everything okay?”

“It … I don't know. I had some more trouble with Walter today.” Rhoden makes a noise on the other end of the line and he sounds pissed. Good. I kind of like that protective streak. It's cute without being creepy. “Listen, I might be able to talk some sense into his sister, Anise. I'm going to meet her at a party. I have no idea what—if anything—she can do, but it's at least worth a try.” I pause and curl my fingers into my sister's baby pink sheets. “Walter said if he sees us together, you won't play football anymore.” I pause again. “And I don't think he was talking about firing you. Anyway, maybe we shouldn't see each other until after I talk to Anise?”

“Screw that,” Rhoden says as I blink stupidly at the closed door in front of me.

“What?”

“No. I already made the mistake of taking his threats seriously before. I won't do it again. Look, after I get back from Texas, let's meet somewhere neutral, someplace other than the apartment.” A warm flush works its way up my cheeks.

“How about Anise's party?” I ask, trying really hard not to think about the masquerade ball. But I end up thinking about it anyway and then chuckle when I get really stupid ideas filtering through my head about how we're having a lion cub, haha, and all that.

“Is it one of those leather and latex things?” he asks and I laugh.

“I have no idea, but I could find out for you and send you the details? Or rather Hal will be sending you the details since Walter seems to be watching me like a hawk.”

“Done. My only regret then is that I can't see you until then. Della?”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to know, I'll be thinking about you though. I have to go, okay? Call me if anything happens. I don't want that Virgin asshole anywhere near you. He might be rich, but if he's not hiding behind bodyguards, I can still beat the shit out of him.”

There's a pause here where neither of us know what to say. It's not an I love you sort of relationship yet, so …

“Au revoir,” I say and then hang up before he can answer back. And then I feel stupid because I don't even speak French. And maybe he thinks I'm a weirdo for not responding to the whole beat the shit out of him thing.

Gah.

This whole dating thing is going to be harder than I thought, isn't it?

The next few days are awful, like molasses, just these sticky low flow oozes of time that drag on forever. I think I might have a problem because I can't stop thinking about Rhoden and his warm body pressed into mine, and his gigantic …

I head over to Hal's before the party, some clothes shoved in a duffel bag so that she doesn't try to dress me tonight. I want to feel good about myself, so that means I should decide what I most feel comfortable in.

Mostly, I stuff the bag full of colorful Kierstin Bowlin dresses and several different options for shoes. Shoes are easy when you've got a size eight foot; there's tons of choices. Now if that variety could just be expanded into size fourteen (or since I'm pregnant, I guess maternity clothes would be great) then I'd be a happy camper.

When I get up to Hal's room and find her zipping a green and white muumuu up over a leather bodysuit, I start to get worried.

“Is this one of those …”

“Leather and latex things? It kind of is. Here.” Hal picks up a leather dress that looks like I could probably grease it up and get it over my big toe if I tried really hard.

I point at the thing.

“That's a size negative four, and I can't wear that.” I point to my tummy. “Lots of morning sickness. I'm not squeezing into a tube of toothpaste.”

“Don't be silly, Della. This is your dress, your size, and the party has a dress code.” Hal flicks the fabric at me. “Now, put this on and don't let mom see you wearing it. Do you have a cover up in there? If not, I have some more tents if you want to go dressed as twins.”

I take the leather dress and stare at it closely. It looks like real leather; Scottie would have a fit.

With a sigh, I turn my back and slip off my clothes, putting the strapless bra I painstakingly purchased over the girls, and then sliding the dress on. Hal's right: surprisingly, it fits.

But it also looks … ridiculous.

“I look like a dominatrix who doesn't have any clients and who can't get any clients because she looks awkward as hell.”

My sister rolls her eyes and throws my duffel at me.

“Put the black knee-high boots on and grab a muumuu. It's time to go. You're not the only one meeting an NFL player at tonight's party.” Hal winks and stands up, leaving the room as I struggle into the boots and the aforementioned tent and follow after her.

The only positive side to this whole thing is if I'm being forced to wear leather, then so is Rhoden.

Now that is something I cannot wait to see.

Hal drives us to the party in her red Jaguar, the one my dad bought her for her sixteenth birthday. My stepmom hates it—calls it a death trap—and my dad thinks it looks decrepit and outdated since it's disgustingly four years old. Who could possibly survive driving a car that's older than six months?

I roll my eyes at the thought as Hal takes us slightly off the beaten path and into a neighborhood called Sunny Brae. It used to be farmland, but now it's home to sprawling mansions and celebrities trying to escape the grind of places like LA or San Diego. Arcata is growing, but it's still small-ish. That's what people like about it.

“Whose house is this?” I ask, but Hal just shrugs because she hardly ever knows. Maybe it's 'Rochelle's' place again. Or someone like Rochelle, named but never met. I think these sorts of people might prefer it that way.

I stare up at the stone fronted mansion as Hal finds a parking space in the massive circular driveway, complete with naked cherub fountain. Before we climb out, we both strip our muumuus and leave our purses in the car. Trust me: at these celebrity parties, nobody's looking to steal anybody else's purse. Plus, there are security guards on either side of the gate.

I look around for Rhoden's truck, fully aware that he drives a brand-new Ford F-150 instead of a sports car, something that Ariana thought was adorable when she saw his Facebook post about it; Scottie couldn't stop complaining about the gas mileage. I spot it in the corner, near the hedges, and feel my lips breaking into an easy smile.

When we get to the front door, the attendant waves us in without checking the list and my sister winks at him. Apparently, she's been here before.

I clutch my arms over my chest and pretend like I don't feel half-naked, moving into the room of scantily clad partygoers and enjoying the slightly-less-obnoxious-than-usual-dubstep.

“Are you okay by yourself?” Hal asks, starting to slobber when she sees her tight end(ed) boyfriend waving at her from across the room. “Because if not, I can totally scope out your baby daddy for you first.”

“I'm fine, Hal. Go hang out with Deshaun.” I wait until she's about halfway across the massive entry before I shout at her. “And don't forget to use protection!”

Although that doesn't always work, I think as I chuckle and watch my sister pretend to ignore me. I wait until she's hooked arms with Deshaun, and then turn my attention back to the other rooms on the first floor. There's definitely a lot of kinky things going on here, but it doesn't look as pervy as the sex swing party that Hal dragged me to that one time.

I start moving through the partygoers, searching for either Anise or Rhoden. I'd much rather focus all of my attention on finding him, but I begrudgingly admit that Anise is equally important.

I search the bottom floor first and don't see Rhoden anywhere, circling back around to the entryway and then realizing that the second floor's also open to guests. I manage to get up the steps in my boots without dying which is hugely impressive.

Rhoden's upstairs in the hallway, leaning against one of the closed doors in a pair of leather pants and not a whole lot else. And when I say not a whole lot, what I actually mean is nothing else. Just boots and leather pants. His chest is bare and rippling with muscles as he turns to me and smiles, reaching out and opening the door to his right.

“Della,” he says and my heart does this funny, little jittery thing that I haven't felt since high school. I move down the hallway in my boots, trying to pretend that I don't notice his sweeping gaze, the approval in his eyes, the upward tilt of his mouth.

He moves inside and lets me into the room before closing the door softly and flicking the lock.

“What kind of party do you think this is supposed to be? It's one of the weirder ones for sure. Did you see how many of those girls were carrying around feather dusters?”

“I wasn't looking at the other girls,” he tells me honestly, eyes taking in the micro portions of the dress I squeezed myself into, looking pregnant and ridiculous. Only … Rhoden never looks at me like I'm ridiculous. “Did you find Virgin's sister yet?” he asks as he comes over to sit next to me and does that infuriatingly awesome thing with his knuckles down my arm.

Goose bumps spring up in his wake.

“No, not really. I was honestly just looking for you.”

Rhoden lets his face relax into that sexy half-smile that I like so much, watching my hand as it slides up the leather leg of his pants. Oh. So that's why people like leather so much. That feels heavenly.

“Oddly enough, I already had these in my closet.”

“You had leather pants in your closet? You must come to a lot of these parties then, huh?” Rhoden shrugs his shoulders, the movement making his muscles ripple and bunch in a very enticing way. I reach over and trace the branches that come off his back and curl around his right bicep. “I'm just glad there are no sex swings at this one.”

Rhoden raises his eyebrows at me and then points in the direction of the hallway.

“You haven't seen the upstairs lounge area then, have you?”

“Goddamn it, Hal lied to me again.” I sweep some fingers through my hair as I look at Rhoden leaning back on the bed, arms stretched out behind him. “How stupid is this? A pregnant chick in a leather minidress at a weird sex party? Doesn't get much more ridiculous than that.”

“It doesn't have to be,” Rhoden says as he sits up and holds a hand out for me. “You're pregnant, not dead. It's not a crime to have some fun.”

“I am so not getting in that sex swing,” I say as Rhoden pulls me to my feet with a laugh.

“Maybe not that sex swing,” he says as he gives me a sexy eyebrow lift. “But if I installed one at my place …?”

“Where are we going?” I ask as he takes me into his arms and presses my body against the hard lines of his chest.

“Nobody here will tell on us if we have a little fun. Come on.” Rhoden pulls me out into the hallway and back down the stairs towards the dance floor. It's packed with people in barely there outfits, grinding and jiving to the crazy goth techno music that's playing right now. Whoever's hosting this party has giant bird cages hanging from the rafters of the soaring ceilings, and people are dancing in those, too. It's not quite as extravagant as the masquerade party, but no expense was spared. I recognize the DJ in the front from the best clubs on the plaza, some guy whose name is so ridiculous I can't even remember it anymore (kind of like most DJ names).

“Is that guy giving people tattoos?” I ask as I notice a dude in a corner pressing a silver machine into some chick's arm.

“Looks like it,” Rhoden says as he turns around and starts walking backward, pulling me into the crowd with him. I resist a little at first because, come on, who goes dancing when they're pregnant? But then I'm standing in the middle of the room, feeling the crowd's heartbeat in my chest and Rhoden's taking hold of my hips and then … I'm just dancing.

It's so much weirder to dance sober than it is drunk, a lot harder to get into it at first, but once I do, I find myself laughing as Rhoden turns me in a circle. Flashy costumes twirl by as I let him take me in his arms and grind our bodies together, his hands burning through the leather of my dress.

As sweat drips down Rhoden's chest, I find my fingers tracing over his muscles, our faces getting closer and closer together until we're kissing as much as we're dancing, his tongue sliding hot and warm against mine. I bet Walter would love to see this, I think as I hook my arms around Rhoden's neck and let him pull us together. He's a hell of a lot more adventurous than I am, but I think that's good for me. I need someone to force me to test new waters (like, literally, a Pacific Ocean swim at night?!), someone to take my hand and pull me onto the dance.

Rhoden and I grind our way through several songs, until I find myself needing to take a break. I might not be that pregnant, but I'm still carrying an NFL star's baby here.

We thread our way over to the refreshments and I load up on sparkling water since for some weird reason no rich person I've ever met drinks tap. I notice Rhoden doesn't drink either, opting for soda instead one of the weird dry ice cocktails that are lined up on the table next to us. I don't say anything, choosing to smile secretively into my drink instead.

“Tell me,” I shout over the hop of the music and the laughter of the people around us. “Was this party on your roster already? I mean … before this whole baby thing came up?” Rhoden grins.

“I knew about it, sure. But I didn't know if I was gonna come.”

“Why not?”

He leans in close to my ear with a smile.

“There was no point,” he says and then presses a kiss against the side of my throat. “Because I didn't think you were going to be here.”

He stands up as I flush and lift a hand to press against the sensitive spot on my neck. I have no idea if he's telling me truth or not, but … that'd be crazy nice if it were true.

Just as I'm starting to feel like I could hit the dance floor again, I see Anise dancing near the massive fireplace, the one whose mouth is as tall as Rhoden. Inside are giant pillar candles of varying heights, melting white wax all over everything.

“That's her,” I tell Rhoden as I stand up and we start working our way over there.

As soon as she sees me, Anise's face falls and she purses her lips. She pats one of her white leather gloved hands against her dance partner's chest (the guy's wearing a giant pink mouse head) and steps away to smile tightly at me.

“Della,” she says as she glances over at Rhoden. Anise takes a deep breath and gestures at the side door to my right. It leads out onto a massive deck that overlooks the forest. People are dancing out here, too. Some of them are in the hot tub to my left, and a couple are starting a fire pit down a stone walkway in the center of the yard. “I was kind of hoping you wouldn't show up,” she says with a bitter looking set to her mouth.

A waitress in a tight black corset with lizard scale tattoos on her arms (no joke) walks by and Anise snags a drink, her tall body plastered in a white jumpsuit, her perfect dark hair like glittering onyx down her back. She's so much better looking than Walter, it's not even funny. Honestly, I think I'd rather date her.

“You seriously don't want to marry my brother?” she asks, a tad on the suspicious side, looking me up and down in my tight leather condom dress (that's kind of what it looks like to me) like I'm crazy. “He's got control of Donsanto now,” she adds, like that's the most important part, how much money and power he has. “Are you sure that's not his baby?”

“Unless he practices the art of immaculate conception, then no.” I fold my arms under my boobs and pretend I don't notice how hard they're trying to escape from the top of the dress. Rhoden is leaning against the side of the house next to me, eyebrows raised, a slight smile on his face. He looks so goddamn young in that moment, like there's no way in hell we could be having a kid together. It hits me suddenly that Rhoden is … like two years younger than me.

HOLY SHIT!

“I don't want to do anything to hurt my brother, you know?” Anise says as she takes a step back and laces her fingers together behind her head. “But if he's really stalking you or whatever …” She trails off and glances down at the damp wood of the deck beneath her feet. “I do know what he's capable of.” She looks up at us and runs her tongue along the matte purple of her lipstick. “That guy you went to school with,” Anise says, looking over at Rhoden. He cocks a brow at her.

“You know about that?” he asks and Anise nods, taking a deep breath and then glancing down to see if the dry ice has melted in her drink. Then she tips it back and takes a giant swig of purple liquid.

“Actually, yeah.” Anise puts the glass on the railing and then snatches another drink from a waiter in black chaps. “Because it wasn't his girlfriend at the time that was having an affair with Calvin Witten; it was me.”

“I don't get it,” Rhoden says as he stands up and moves over to stand next to me. “If it was you, then why'd he care so much?”

“Gigi, the girl he was dating, and I were really close at the time.” Anise gives me a look. “She, like you I guess, had decided she didn't want to marry Walter either. I suppose my brother doesn't exactly have a magnetic presence?”

“Yeah, well,” I start, but I'm definitely not here to tell Anise what I really think of her psycho brother. I could fill a book with all the things Walter needs help with.

“Anyway, she had Cal help her move her stuff out of their penthouse when Walter wasn't home. I guess he'd thought she was having an affair with him anyway since they'd been spending so much time together—mostly with me. But Walter dealt with Calvin before I had a chance to set him straight. And then he … well, you know the rest of the story.”

“So you'll help us?” I ask and Anise nods reluctantly.

“I don't want something to happen now like it did then. I've learned to forgive my brother over time, but I won't let him keep being a bully.” Anise sighs and taps her manicured black nails against the glass in her hand. “I have some … things that I stole from his home office. Proof that he's been moving company money into offshore accounts.”

“Your brother's embezzling money?” I ask, completely and utterly perplexed. “But he's … he's already rich as dirt.” Anise gives me a look and a gentle shake of her head, but I don't ask her to explain. Why bother? Don't rich people always embezzle money? I've learned from my stepmom, stepsisters, and father that it's never enough, never enough money or jewelry or cars or property. I don't get it, but I guess that's why the only thing I've ever been excited about in my life is blogging.

Or being a mother.

Or … Rhoden Richards.

“Walt knows that I have this stuff, but he doesn't think I'd ever use it against him. Just … I'll give you copies of everything that I have, and the name of a forensic account that's a friend of mine. It should be enough leverage to get Walter to leave you alone.” Anise looks distinctly uncomfortable about all of this. “Look, he's family, and this isn't just his reputation on the line. It's all of ours. Don't make me regret this, okay?”

“Thank you, Anise,” I say, feeling a huge wave of relief wash over me. She nods and then pulls her cell from a back pocket, offering it to me so I can plug in my information. Okay, so I plug in Ariana's information because I'm not sure if Walter's been watching my emails or not. God, I really hope he isn't, but at this point I'm not so certain of anything.

Anise moves back inside to join the fray of dancer as Rhoden smiles down at me.

“That was … a whole lot less painful than I thought,” I say, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over me. Really? That's it? That's all I have to do?

I should've known it wouldn't be that simple.

“Are you ready to try that sex swing now?” Rhoden asks and I laugh, letting him take my hand again. He rubs his thumb in a warm circle in that spot where thumb meets pointer finger, dark eyes half-lidded and sexy as hell. “Back to the dance floor then?”

“That sounds a little more manageable,” I say as he drags me inside and pulls our bodies together, melding us into a dancing sea of leather and latex clad rich people with serious emotional complexes.

There's no place in the world I'd rather be.

After the party, Rhoden offers me a ride in his truck, gliding us smoothly along back roads through the country and then swinging a loop to get us into the heart of the city. He takes us straight into his parking garage before turning and looking me in the face.

“Do you want to stay the night again?” he asks, and I nod, enjoying the way his expression shifts into that deep, dark shadow of a smile that drew me to him at the masquerade party. It only gets worse as we take the elevator up and enter the darkness of his penthouse.

I can practically taste the sexual tension between us.

I move into the room and drop my purse on his couch, pausing as I catch sight of his laptop on a desk in the corner. The screen is open and there's an image there that I recognize, burned into my brain by the hot iron of embarrassment.

It's our ocean kissing picture, the one with my hair hanging in my face, my hands pressed against Rhoden's cheeks. Looking at it now gives me the chills. Or maybe that's his warm presence behind me, fingers trailing down my arms as I study the screen.

“Is this your collection of conquests?” I ask, but the image doesn't change. It's not a slideshow on a loop, just a single photo. I look at it for a long time before Rhoden turns me around and bites his bottom lip in thought for a second.

“I told you, Della,” he says as he lifts me up onto the edge of the desk and pushes my leather dress up my thighs, stepping between them. “Fate brought us together. I thought that from moment one. Although Virgin pissed me off, threw a few wrenches in my plan. I was gunning for you the second I saw you in the dog park. I was just biding my time.”

“Sure. Because I'm so much better than all those models, right?”

His mouth twitches at the corners as he yanks me into his leather pants, the hard bulge of his cock teasing me through the thin layers of fabric.

“Why do you discount yourself so much?” he asks as he leans in and breathes hot against my neck. Rhoden smells divine right now, like sandalwood and oak, fierce but comforting at the same time.

“Because I don't think I'm good enough for you,” I admit as Rhoden slides a hand up my back and takes my zipper, pulling it down in a slow, agonizing sort of way. “Because I've never been enough for anyone before—not even my own family.”

Rhoden leans back and looks at me carefully, slowly, studying my face as I sit there in front of his computer and try to breathe. I don't know why I feel so nervous right now, why I care so much.

Why I'm so desperate for this guy to fall in love with me.

“Don't let that bullshit get to you,” he says as reaches down and takes hold of the leather dress, drawing it up and over my head before tossing it onto the back of his couch. “The only person that has to think that you're good enough is you. You have to believe in yourself before anybody else can.” Rhoden pauses as he runs his hands down my slowly thickening waist. I wonder if he'll still like me this way when I get huge? “But for the record, I think you're more than good enough for me. Too good, maybe.”

“You don't even know me.”

“Then why don't you help me out with that?” he asks as he reaches around my back and unhooks my strapless bra with one hand. My breasts tumble out and Rhoden grins. “Help me get to know you better.”

He leans down and captures my nipple with his hot mouth, my fingers curling in his dark hair as I arch my back against the pleasure. Oddly enough, that's when it really hits me, a question that's been brewing for a while. It might not seem all that important, but for me, it is.

“Rhoden,” I whisper and he pauses, standing up straight to look at me. “Do you by chance happen to purchase your jeans from Target?” He gives me a look like I'm a crazy person.

“Who doesn't?” he asks and then grins big, picking me up from the desk and carrying me into his room.

I don't say anything in that moment, but I'm pretty damn sure I've just met my soul mate.

The next morning, I wake up alone in Rhoden's bed, stretching my limbs languorously and smiling up at his mother's quote on the ceiling. I crawl out from under the covers and log onto his computer with the password he left me.

As promised, there's an email in Ariana's inbox (we're BFFs, okay, we share passwords) from Anise. I open it up and check out the files: a few emails, some spreadsheets, a couple of hard copies that were scanned in. It all looks foreign as hell to me, but I suppose I'll never know if this stuff is real or not unless I test the theory.

I start an email to Walter, trying to keep it cool and civil, telling him that I want to be left alone, that I want Rhoden left alone, and that my friends need to get their jobs back. I know I should probably call him or meet him in person or something, but the thought of it just makes me feel sick to my stomach. I don't attach any of the files, but I do tell him that I got a few gifts from Anise, hoping that's vague enough to sound scary. It's not like I exactly write threatening notes to people on a regular basis. Actually, that's Ariana's thing. She's damn good at writing vaguely threatening emails; it's one of her best skills.

As soon as I get that sent, I pull up a blank email and start dictating a blog post that I figure I can use later, when Walter finally gets it in his right mind to stop stalking me like a crazy lunatic.

Listen up, on Wednesday after practice, my new NFL … boyfriend? can I call him my boyfriend now? … and I are going to head into the country to see his mother. It'll only be for one night, but I'm basically freaking the hell out. Do you know the last time I met a guy's mother? It was … well, we'll just call the guy Mr. Virgin. Anyway, this visit feels important. Rhoden clearly looks up to his mother, wants to support her. I have a feeling that this could make or break our not-yet-a-real-relationship relationship.

Anyway, sorry about not being able to give away that signed football like I'd promised; I now have thirteen of them that I stole from the autograph session at the arts center. I'll post some contests when I get back, so stay tuned for those. And trust me—I WILL be back. Honestly, writing about my problems makes them seem … less problematic.

I remember the first time my stepmom called me fat, pinched the skin of my arm with her long nails and bruised me. I cried away my entire weekend. And then do you know what I did? I grabbed a notebook and I wrote down all of the things I was feeling and why I thought I was feeling them and guess what? It didn't make them go away, but it put them in perspective.

I'm not perfect, no, but I'm trying. That's all we can ever do, try. So I'm going to keep up on my dress for success plan, and I'm going to keep challenging myself, and I'm going to be good enough.

For my baby. For the guy I'm starting to fall for.

Most importantly, for me.

I send the email to myself and stand up, looking out the window at the city below and smiling. I have a good feeling about the next step in my life. I put a hand on my tummy and take a breath. Things will be okay if I let them, I know they will.

I just need to see if Walter shares that same sentiment.

Ariana and Hal came over to pack my clothes for the trip. I'm scared to unzip the bag and see what's in it because I kept adding things and they kept taking them away. What I do know is that I got some Target jeans in there, but I'm actually scared they're not going to fit because they were tight when I got them and well, I'm growing an NFL player's baby right now.

Also, I'm pretty sure that Ariana tucked some of her wedding invitations into the bag as a subtle hint. She wants Rhoden there more badly than she wants Scottie, I think. As I'm sure meeting Rhoden's mom will be some kind of litmus test for our relationship, I know that a night in with my friends will be the same.

That's why, when Rhoden gets back from practice, we're heading over to Ariana's for dinner before we leave for his mom's place

I am scared shitless. You should be, too.

By the way, I'm wearing a kick ass pair of velvet lace-up booties and a black and white polka dot shirtdress—with no sleeves! Yeah, I'm starting to think that maybe I'm over that. Time to pick a new challenge and test my emotional/mental limits.

Here's what I'm thinking: feeling beautiful through pregnancy. And I don't just mean on the outside because makeup and haircuts are easy, but on the inside. I want to stay positive, point the compass of my life in a certain direction and go for it.

Now, I'm off to hear Scottie discuss corporate taxation limits.

Woo hoo!

My computer closes with a click as I head to the door and open it to find Rhoden waiting for me. His hand is raised to knock and he drops it by his side with a sly smile.

“Fate,” he tells me, pointing between the two of us. Billy barks in agreement as he reaches for me and takes me by the arms, kissing me long and deep and hard with his tongue. It's a greeting I've never gotten from a man before, like I'm the highlight of his entire day.

It's surprising … and exciting at the same time.

I love it.

“Are you ready for this?” I ask, because taking Rhoden to meet my friends is the equivalent of a meet-the-parents date. As of right now, I have zero interest in taking him to see my father or stepfamily. Sorry, but no. Not going to happen until I get some serious apologies. “Because I'm cool with stopping somewhere on the way to your mom's instead.”

Rhoden brushes a curl away from my face and derails LD from jumping on us with a single hand command, all at the same time. The fucker. I'm honestly considering just giving him the dog. And then simultaneously hoping that I get the dog back when we … if we move in together at some point.

“Don't be so nervous, Della.” He turns me around, gripping both shoulders with his big hands and kneading away the knots until I'm jelly. “You're ripe,” he says and then pauses for a long time before adding, “with tension.”

“Haha,” I say as I turn back around and push him into the hall with a hand on his chest. “Hilarious.” I close and lock the door before glancing over my shoulder. “I hope you brought your fangirl riot gear with you, and maybe your fangirl husband riot gear, because you're going to need it.”

“Oh, I'm looking forward to it,” he says, tucking his hands in the front pockets of his pants, looking young and sexy in a green zip-up hoodie and black jeans. Big Dick sure cuts a pretty picture standing in my hallway like that. “Let's do this.”

He takes my arm and leads us to the elevator, and then out to his car, holding the door open for me like a true gentleman. Or maybe he's holding it open for the dogs because they steamroller past me for the opportunity to crowd into the backseat.

On our drive over, Rhoden and I take turns picking songs, listening to this god-awful band that his friend is in and then admitting that we both do, in fact, hate every single song that's loaded on his iPod. It's like a death metal/ska/Christian gospel combo. Yeah. I think there's a reason those things usually don't go together.

When we pull up at Ariana's, I notice Hal's car about two spots over. She's on her phone texting, but when she hears my door close, she looks up and grins. Without skipping a beat, she's out the door and on Rhoden's ass in less than a second.

Figures.

“Do you intend to take responsibility for this child?” she asks, and I groan, putting my face in my hands.

“You're twenty years old, Hal. Like several decades too young to talk like that.”

Rhoden doesn't miss a beat.

“That's my kid in there,” he says, leaning over her with a smile. “I intend to do more than just take responsibility. I intend to revel in it.”

“Good, because my dad just parked riiiight over there and he's coming this way.”

Hal gives Rhoden a kiss on the cheek.

“It's nice to see you again. Thanks for letting me overpay for you at the auction. I'll see you guys inside.” Hal disappears in a whirl of her teensy-weensy little red dress, disappearing up the steps before the shit hits the fan and my dad gets across the parking lot. He has my stepmom in tow, and I just know this is going to go to hell.

“Della.” My father pauses behind Rhoden's car, his blue eyes taking in the man like he's the worst thing that ever happened to him. “You don't answer my phone calls. You instructed your security guard not to let me up to your floor. Do you understand how humiliating that is?”

“I didn't exactly feel like talking to you, after the things you've said and done. How did you even know I'd be here? Did you follow Hal? That's a little creepy, Dad.”

“Mr. Garland,” Rhoden says as he studies the former owner of his team. “It's nice to officially meet you, one-on-one.” He moves forward and holds his hand out, but my dad doesn't take it. Instead both he and my stepmom turn their attention back to me.

“Walter and I had a long talk this morning, Della, and neither of us is happy.”

“So?” I ask as I come down the sidewalk to stand next to Rhoden. “Is that supposed to faze me? Look, all I want is to be left alone. If you're so desperate to marry into the man's family, why don't you spend the rest of your life with him? You two seem to be close.”

“If you do this, then we're done. I'm cutting ties with you.” I gape at the man who used to be my best friend. Whatever happened in the years since mom died, he's become a completely different person, a person who apparently doesn't give a crap about his own daughter. “Do you understand me? You're choosing this … this man over your own family.”

“No,” I say as I start walking backwards. “You're choosing your own wants and needs over mine.” I step up onto the sidewalk and pause with a sad half-smile on my face. “If you change your mind, I'll be around to accept your apology.”

I turn away and listen as Rhoden's footsteps follow after mine up to Ariana's apartment. The walk is all of twenty feet, but it feels like a million miles as I struggle to catch my breath. I haven't stood up to my dad much in my life, but right now, when it's most important, I'm holding my ground.

“Is there anything I can do to make it better?” Rhoden asks, and I love him for that.

“Just survive tonight,” I say, holding open the door to the apartment with a grim expression. “You make it through Scottie's interrogation, and I'll be a happy camper.”

“Have you ever thought about your prominent position in the public's eye as a platform for social change? People will listen if you talk, Mr. Richards. Now, from the research I've done, I see you're often involved in animal rescue. That's an admirable path, but have you ever thought of taking an active role in politics?”

“Scottie,” Ariana says as she snuggles into Rhoden's right side. I'm on his left, glaring around the man's muscular chest at my friend as she strokes her finger's over the tattoos on my baby's father's arm. Her baby's father sits across the table and pushes his glasses up his nose, looking at Rhoden like he expects the man to stand up and declare himself a warrior for social justice. “Leave the poor guy alone, okay? This is Rhoden Richards here.”

“Yes,” Scottie says as he stands up and grabs the leftover tofu roast, taking it into the kitchen to wrap it up. “I know who he is. And so do you. And so do Hal and Della.”

“I'd hope so considering she's having his baby,” Hal says dramatically, rolling her eyes and reaching up to run her fingers through the smooth silk of her blond hair.

“What I mean to say is, we all know who he is, so if he were to stand up and speak out, people would feel compelled to listen. That's what I mean.”

“I understand what you're saying,” Rhoden tells him, standing up and carefully extracting Ariana from his arm, so he can help with the dishes. YES! A dude that helps with dishes. Talk about a huge plus. “I guess I've never thought of it like that, but you're right.”

Scottie beams and gives me a really obvious thumbs-up that Rhoden definitely sees.

“From what I understand, NFL players retire fairly early?”

Rhoden laughs, letting his head fall back with the motion. Watching him gives me butterflies in my tummy. He's completely relaxed and open with my friends, a stark contrast to that horrible Thanksgiving dinner at Walter's. I shiver just thinking about it.

“You understand correctly, Scottie,” Rhoden says as he slips the dishes into the dishwasher after pre-rinsing them in the sink. Damn. His mom must've taught him well. “It's a hard job, and the NFL is a money making machine. The second you stop performing your best, you're done. Though I suppose I can't complain. I never thought I'd make a fraction of what I do now.”

“After your career's over, have you considered what you're going to do with your life? Because I'm actively involved in a grassroots group that needs people on the board. It's going to take time to grow this thing, but once it gets going, we'll need full-time staff who've been involved from the beginning. Honestly, since I found out I was losing my job at the hospital, I've been spending every waking moment getting together some extra manpower.”

“I don't have a lot of free time,” Rhoden admits as he looks back at me. “And what little I do have, I'd like to spend with Della and the baby.” Oh shit. He did not just say that! Ariana scoots into Rhoden's chair and elbows me in the side dramatically. While Rhoden is looking right at us. WHY DO MY FRIENDS KEEP DOING THAT?!

I cough into my hand and ignore her.

“But sign me up, and I'll do what I can. A lot of the guys have wives who don't work. Maybe I could pass the information along?” Scottie gazes at Rhoden like he's a god. I mean, he kind of looks like one, but that's a little overboard. I smile anyway as Hal leans back in her chair and puts her feet on the table. I hate that, but it's Ariana's house and she lets it slide.

“Are you guys getting married?” Hal asks loudly and quite irritatingly.

“Jesus Christ, Halcy,” I say as I whip a look at my sister that could kill with its intensity. “Can we maybe not grill the guy on his first visit?”

“Don't you want to marry my sister?” Hal continues, yanking a vegan lollipop from the decorative jar on the table. I'm not sure they're actually meant to be eaten since they're part of a rainbow bouquet, but whatever.

“Halcy.” I'm about two seconds from murdering my own sister. “Please don't answer that, Rhoden,” I add quickly, standing up before he can say anything. There's an intriguing look on his face, but I'm kind of freaked out to see what he might say. “We should get going anyway. We have a long drive ahead of us.”

“Oh, I wish you didn't have to go,” Ariana says, but she's not looking at me. Instead she's staring at Rhoden like she's considering kidnapping the poor guy. But then she turns to me and pulls me into a hug, putting a kiss on my tummy that makes me blush. “This is my future son/daughter's future husband/wife, so take good care of him/her for me, you got it?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Rhoden says as I roll my eyes. Ariana's convinced that not only are we going to have our babies on the same exact day, but that they'll become childhood friends and fall into romantic bliss as teenagers/adults. It's a cute story at least. “I promise I'll bring them both back safely.”

“Can you please let go? You're choking the life out of me.” Ariana lets go reluctantly as I step away from the table and give my little family a wave before I go. All three of them are weirdos, but I really do love them.

“Thanks for letting me molest you,” Ariana says as she stands up and leans into Rhoden for a selfie. He's a good sport, posing with his arm around her while she takes the perfect shot. And then another. And then another

“Ooooookay, we're done now,” I say as I grab Rhoden's deliciously muscular arm and drag him away. “You're making us late. If we hit a deer and die on the way out there, it'll be your fault.”

“I guess there's one positive to driving that god-awful gas guzzling tank. I think you'll be safe in an accident,” Scottie mumbles, eyes twinkling as he pours bleach onto the counter and lets his OCD cleaning disorder get the best of him. “You know, Rhoden, if you were thinking about a more economical vehicle—”

I clasp Rhoden's hand and pull him towards the door and onto the porch.

“Love you guys!” I shout as the dogs sweep out and down the steps. “Good night!”

I slam the door closed and breathe a huge sigh of relief, leaning my back against the wood for a moment. When Rhoden looks back at me, hands tucked into his pockets, he's got an amused expression curling his lips.

“You didn't tell me that you and Ariana were both pregnant.”

“I know it sounds creepy, but we didn't plan it. It just … I think we're mentally synced to each other or something. And I'm sorry she talked in excruciating detail about her ovaries. She does that sometimes.”

“As disturbing as that particular topic of conversation was,” Rhoden begins, stepping close to me. “It made me think. When's your next doctor's appointment? For the baby, I mean.”

“Um, I have an ultrasound scheduled for the fourteen week mark. Why?”

“Because,” he says as he reaches down slides his thumb across my lower lip. “I want to be there.”

A window slides open around the corner and I hear Hal's voice echo into the parking lot.

“We can hear everything you're saying!” she shouts as I roll my eyes and Rhoden chuckles, reaching down to take my arm. “Just in case you guys were planning to do it right there, I thought I would warn you. You two have a knack for screwing in weird places. Masquerade party, the beach, against the wall of glass in Rhoden's apartment.”

I flush bright red and realize that when we get back, I'm going to have to kill Ariana. Clearly, she's spilled all of my beans to Hal. Fantastic.

Rhoden just keeps laughing, opening the door to his truck and helping me up and into it.

“There must be some serious locker room talk amongst you guys, huh?”

“You have no idea,” I tell him as he ushers the dogs into the back and then climbs up into the driver's seat. “Men are under the impression that they talk about sex a lot. Well, that's because they don't spend enough time around any lady friends. Women don't just talk shop, we list details.”

“All kinds of details?” Rhoden asks slyly as I narrow my eyes at him. “I mean, like the whole Big Dick rumor and all?”

“Dude, I was getting texts about your big dick before I even went to the masquerade party, all right. If you're worried about a rep, you've got one.”

“Do I now? Well, then, that's a relief. Just don't tell my mom. Like I said, she thinks my nickname's entirely innocent.”

There's a moment of silence as we pull out of the driveway, headlights sweeping across the parked cars along the street.

“Do you think she'll like me? Your mom, I mean? Do you think we'll get along?”

Rhoden smiles, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching out for me. I curl my fingers around his and he pulls me into the center of the seat, so I can press myself up against him while he drives. The connection of our bodies feels so good, I can't help but sigh with pleasure. I could so get used to this.

“I have a good feeling about it,” Rhoden tells me with all of his usual confidence. I twist the fingers of my right hand into the soft green fabric of his hoodie and let his smell take over me, that rich male scent that stirs my hormones into a frenzy. “I gave her the link to your blog before it was taken down. She read quite a bit after she made that pumpkin bread.”

“Great. The dry pumpkin bread is your mother's first impression of me. That bodes well.” He just laughs at me and cracks the back windows for the dogs, letting in the fresh sharp scent of winter as we take the exit for the highway and start our journey out of town.

Just three hours until I meet the most important person in Rhoden's life for the first time.

Am I nervous?

Nah.

Am I lying about that?

Maybe.

Rhoden and I spend most of the drive talking, but at about the three-quarter mark, I give into my heavy eyelids and fall asleep with my body pressed against his. It's … basically heaven. Rhoden's warm and solid and comforting, one arm curled around my waist protectively, the sound of his heartbeat thumping softly against my ear.

By the time we start up his mother's long gravel drive, I'm basically in love with the man.

When I sit up and stretch my arms over my head, a giant embarrassing yawn escapes that makes my eyes water. I rub at them with fists as I struggle to wake my ass up. The last thing I want to do is meet Rhoden's mom in a half-sleep with drool pooling on the corner on my mouth.

“Whoa,” I say as I realize exactly how remote this is. I don't see any houses on either side of the driveway, just the dark beauty of trees in the weak moonlight, the foliage thick and dense even with winter on its way. Pine needles drift into the beam of white from our headlights, obscured by the faint fall of mist. “It's like a postcard out here.”

“This house belonged to my grandfather,” Rhoden says as the smallest glimmer of lights comes into view at the end of the long drive. “My father walked out on my mother when she was pregnant, so she moved in with her dad. I lived here my entire life, all the way until college.” He smiles faintly at the memory, and I like what it does to his face, lights it up from the inside like that. “She wasn't about to give that asshole any privilege to her son, so I got her last name. You can blame her for the whole Richards fiasco.”

“I see. So it's her fault that everyone calls you Big Dick. I'll make sure to mention it.”

“If you do, you'll ruin her world. She has an entire wall in the spare bedroom painted with the words Big Dick. She uses it to hang football memorabilia. I keep all my favorite stuff out here, like my college jerseys and my first little league uniform. I figure it's safer in her care than in mine.”

“Is this where you're going to plant that Super Bowl ring you win? Because I'm definitely going to need tickets to come and gawk at it.”

“I'm considering it,” Rhoden says, casting me a sly smile across the cab. “But I also have another idea. We'll see. Let's just find out if the team can take it all the way first. I'm a little nervous because the only thing Deshaun talks about now is your sister. And then well, I have you.”

I laugh as I sit up fully and cross my arms over my chest, trying to ward off the slight chill I get from separating myself from Rhoden's warmth. I also pretend really hard that I'm not blushing. If I put enough stock in it, that'll make it true, right?

“Poor guy. I hope you're not actually serious about that. Hal isn't exactly … relationship material.” I run my tongue over my lower lip and glance sidelong at Rhoden from under my lashes. Hal might not be into relationships, but I am. I mean, I could be. With you.

Yeah right. Like I'm going to say that aloud. Fat chance.

Rhoden pulls the truck up in front of the house, right next to a gleaming silver and black motorcycle.

“Holy crap. Your mom rides?” I ask, pointing out the window at the gorgeous hunk of machinery by the porch steps. Rhoden grins and raises his brows at me.

“You bet. Just don't ask her to take you for a ride. She's a crazy ass driver.”

He hops out and the dogs follow him. When Rhoden holds a hand out for me, I scoot toward him and let him pull me out of the cab, his hands on my hips as he sets me down on the gravel of the driveway. Each place that he touches me feels marked, making it impossible to forget where his hands were for several minutes after. It's a lingering effect, a bright tingle dancing across my skin.

Aaaaaand I am officially losing it.

Rhoden grabs the bag I packed—overpacked actually—and tosses it onto his shoulder. We're only here for one night and yet I brought along an entire wardrobe. Okay, well Hal and Ariana brought along an entire wardrobe because they were the ones that actually stuffed the bag full of crap.

Rhoden smiles at me like he knows what I'm thinking and leads me up the front steps to the door, swinging it wide without bothering to knock.

Inside, the room is a warm mix of wood paneled walls, worn leather furniture and a hulking fireplace made up of river rocks. It's definitely got that cabin-y vibe, what with the deer heads staring at me from the wall opposite us. But it's cute. Authentic. Definitely country.

I smile as a woman appears from around the corner, drying her hands with a white dish towel.

“I know what you're thinking,” she says as she points up at the dead animals. “I don't like them much either, but my dad's dad was big into hunting. These have been hanging here since I was a kid.”

“Mom,” Rhoden says as LD and Billy rush the room like linebackers and head straight for Rhoden's mother. She must have the same commanding presence as her son because they don't bother to jump up on her, running in tight circles around the living room until they get the chance to bump into me instead. Rhoden shoos them away. “Mom, this is Della Garland. Della, I'd like you to meet my mother, Molly Richards.”

“Get over here, and stop being so formal.” Rhoden's mom moves over to us, letting her son wrap her up in his big strong arms. It's one of the cutest things I've ever seen in my life. The small brunette is dwarfed by her only son, a good foot shorter than him but just as pretty. They have the same dark eyes, full lips, strong cheekbones. I'd know they were related even if I'd never met them before.

When Molly pulls back and looks at me, her smile is soft and her expression is open. I start to panic as she moves over to me and takes my hands.

“Della Garland, huh?” she asks, her voice softer and more melodic than I'd expected. It matches her pixie small face and the pink blouse she's wearing with her jeans. When Rhoden said she was a single mother, he didn't mention that she was a young single mother. She's nowhere near as old as my dad or stepmom. And apparently, she also drives a motorcycle and lives in a cabin with dead deer. You'd never guess just by looking at her. “I really enjoyed your blog.”

I blush as she smiles up at me.

“I'm sorry about the pumpkin bread,” I say and then there's a long pause before she throws her head back and laughs, just like her son.

“No worries. He,” she jerks her thumb at Rhoden, “gobbled it up like the monster he is. Personally, I think his vigor had something to do with the fact that it was your recipe.” I keep blushing and Molly laughs again, letting go of my hands and putting hers on her hips. “Thanks for coming all the way out here to meet me.” She nods her chin in my direction. “I know it's a little early, but if you need any help with that baby, just call me. I can come into the city at any time. Or you could even come up here.”

“Mom,” Rhoden says, breaking Molly's dark eyed concentration on me. She turns her attention back to her son. “Which room do you want us in?”

“Use the guest room down here,” she says, stepping back from me with a sly look on her face. “I don't need my young son and his girlfriend in the room next to me, thanks.” She winks mischievously which makes me blush even harder. Great. What kind of an impression am I making here? “Clearly you two must be up to something if you got yourselves pregnant already.”

“Thanks, Mom, I appreciate that,” Rhoden says with a shake of his head. “I'll show you where we'll be sleeping,” he says, his voice dropping a notch as he moves past and I follow after, down a small hallway that branches off the living room. We pass a bathroom and another room, this one dark but humming with red heat lamps. When I peek inside, I see that it's full of reptiles. There are snakes, lizards, all sorts of stuff.

Holy crap.

I hurry after Rhoden and step into the room to find that there's already a fire going in the small fireplace, the blankets turned down, a fresh cut cluster of flowers on top of the single dresser.

“This is like a bed and breakfast or something,” I say and Rhoden laughs.

“This used to be my room,” he says and I notice then that the wall to my right is, in fact, painted with the words Big Dick. I choke back a laugh as I step over to the framed jerseys from Rhoden's college days, running my finger over the glass as I peer inside. Rhoden moves up behind me and slides his arms around my waist, breath warm against my ear. I can't help but shiver. This casual touching thing between us is new, and I like it. A lot. “What would you say if I invited you into the living room for a horror movie? My mom's obsessed with them. One warning though: she talks through the whole damn thing.”

“I heard that!” Molly calls from the living room, but that just makes Rhoden chuckle warmly in my ear. “Get out here and add some wood to the fire. I shouldn't have to work with my big, strong son around. I've earned a break here.”

“Come on.” Rhoden takes my hand and pulls me back into the living room. A pair of cats are waiting for us on the back of the leather sofa, one black and one white. They look like a yin yang, the way they're curled together like that. “Take a seat,” he tells me as I sit in the corner of the couch and Rhoden grabs a blanket off the back. “It's get chilly in here,” he says as he lays it over my lap and then leans in close, his mouth brushing against mine.

Craparoni and cheese.

Yep. I said it. Again.

My lips purse tight against the tingling sensation as Molly watches me carefully and waits for her son to step outside to grab some more wood.

“What do you think of my boy?” she asks me, like she genuinely wants to know. Molly kicks her boots off and sits on the couch across from me, sweeping some glossy chocolate hair over her shoulder. “I worked my butt off to make sure he turned out alright. I hope he's treating you okay?”

“You know,” I say as I let myself settle into the couch and fend off a lick attack from LD. “At first, I kind of thought he was a dick.” I flush but Molly just smiles at me, so I continue. “But … now that I'm getting to know him better, he's kind of … precious?” It comes out unsure, and Rhoden's mother laughs at me.

“Is that a question? You tell me, honey. He's not going to be my husband; I don't have to live with him for the rest of my life.”

“Well, we … haven't exactly decided to make this official or anything yet.” Molly raises her brows at me as I fidget with the red and black checkered blanket in my lap. “What I mean to say is …” That phrase comes out of my mouth, but the thing is, I actually don't know what I mean to say. I feel the strange, new feelings for Rhoden bubbling up inside of me, but can't adequately seem to describe them—to myself or anyone else. “I guess what I mean to say is that I want him to fall in love with me.” Deep breath as I make eye contact with Molly. “And I think I'm falling in love with him.”

The woman's lips curve back in a smile as I jump and realize that Rhoden's already halfway in the door, several pieces of wood tucked under his arm. When he sees me looking at him, he smiles, but I can't tell if he heard what I just said.

God, I hope not.

“Your mom really does like to talk through movies, huh?” I ask as I figure out how to change into my pajamas without Rhoden seeing. I mean, I could go into the bathroom, but then it'd be obvious that I was avoiding him and … well, fuck it.

I make myself take a deep breath as I reach down and start to unbutton my dress. I said I'd try new things, scary things. This is definitely up there for me.

“God,” Rhoden says as he swings his legs over to the side of the bed next to me. “Don't do it like that.” His hands watch my fingers as they move down the row of buttons.

“What are you talking about?” I ask as I feel my skin getting hot. Maybe I really should've just gone in the bathroom? Why the hell is it so hard to change in front of someone that I've already had sex with? This is dumb.

“Like it's the most difficult thing you've ever done in your life.” Rhoden reaches out and takes my hips, pulling me to him and taking over the unbuttoning process. “You don't have to be embarrassed, Della.” Rhoden lets his mouth curve into that wicked slash of sex. “It's not like I haven't seen it all before.”

“But this,” I say as he parts the front of the dress with his hands, fingers sliding hot and warm across my bare waist. “This isn't sex. We're not in the moment here and … God, I can't think when you're touching me like that.”

“Della, I think you're beautiful.”

“But a little fat,” I suggest as Rhoden rises to his feet and slips the dress off my shoulders. In the crackling firelight, his face is even more handsome. He looks wild, feral, like that lion I met at the masquerade party. Speaking of lions, a glimmer of light from the fire catches on something in my bag. I notice it, but I hope Rhoden doesn't. Oh, no you didn't! I think at Ariana and Hal.

“Fat? I think you're soft and womanly and curvy, Della. I like what I see.” He touches the side of my face with his hand, runs his thumb down my lower lip. “And so should you.” Rhoden pauses as he notices the glittering coming from my bag. “Is that …”

Before I can stop him, he's bending down and digging the pair of lion masks out of the duffel.

Goddamn it, Ariana! I'm going to kill her and Hal when I get home. They must've slipped those in there when I wasn't paying attention. I bite my lower lip as Rhoden rises to his feet with a mask in each hand.

A smirk crawls across his mouth as he hands one to me and then steps back, setting his on the bed so he can take his shirt off. When he turns his back to me, the firelight catches on the dark branches of his tattoo. My eyes follow the leaves as they swirl around in infinite stillness. Each one of those leaves represents a time when he didn't feel good enough, didn't feel like he could do it. But he did and look at him now, how far he got himself on nothing but his own strength and determination.

I feel a small smile take over as I look down at the yellow-gold stones that make up the mask's fur.

“Turn around,” Rhoden tells me as I glance up and find that he's already wearing his, the mane bright and orange and frothing around the upper part of his face. In the dim light of the fire, it looks twice as bright. This time, there's no music, no anonymity, just Rhoden and me in his old bedroom in the middle of nowhere.

I am scared shitless.

I put the mask up to my face and turn, shivering as he lines his warm body up with mine, lifting his big hands up and sliding his fingers along my arms, over the sensitive spots of my wrists, until he's got the leather straps in hand.

Rhoden fastens them behind my head and then bends his lips to kiss the curve of my neck. My body reacts instantly, melting back into him, loving the fact that his chest and belly are already bare. I press my naked skin against him as he takes hold of my hips and bites gently down the side of my throat. Fingers dance up my waist and over to my bra, unhooking the clasps and then sliding it slowly over my arms. Each movement is practiced and sure, determined.

Rhoden Richards knows exactly what he wants right now.

I moan as I stare into the fireplace, savoring the texture of Rhoden's hands against my skin, the way his fingertips feel rough as they glide over my breasts, carefully tease and pinch my nipples.

“This won't be difficult at all, so don't worry,” he tells me in my ear, turning me to face him, mask to mask.

“What won't?” I ask, my heart pounding, body trembling as I raise my hands up and press them against Rhoden's chest.

“Falling in love with you,” he tells me and my eyes go wide. Crap! He did hear me. Of course he did, because that's the luck of Della Garland, folks. Rhoden grins and then leans in to capture my mouth, tongue sliding slick and hot into me. When he pulls me down to the bed, I fall into him, straddling his lap in my panties, letting him tuck us up against the pillows and the headboard.

Rhoden leans back, holding me to him as we kiss and grind our bodies together, the only sound the crackling of the fire and LD's snoring from the corner. It's a million times quieter out here than in the city, so much quieter that I feel like I can hear the sound of my own heart like a drum. It beats in my head as well as my chest, vibrating my body with emotion.

I'm going to say something embarrassing, and I'm not going to be able to help myself. I just know it.

Rhoden holds me close, the circle of his arms this warm, strong, safe space that I can't seem to get enough of. So much for him being a football dick. He's actually … kind of a nice guy.

“I want to make love to you, Della,” he whispers against my mouth, turning us over so he can kiss and lick his way down to my panties, teasing the edges of the fabric with his tongue before he finally pulls them off. Rhoden pauses to peel his jeans off next and then lays back on the bed between my thighs. The edges of the mask brush against the sensitive skin of my legs as he kisses his way back to my hips, pausing with his mouth hovering over my belly. “I love that you're pregnant,” he tells me honestly, lifting his face up to look at me through the holes in the mask. “I wouldn't have wanted this to happen with any other woman.”

“Stop that,” I say as he moves back between my legs and starts stimulating my clit with his tongue, drawing my hips up off the bed with the pleasure. Rhoden teases me mercilessly, using his fingers to amp up the intensity until I'm wound tight and ready to break.

“I'm telling the truth, you know,” he says as he pauses and brings his golden body up over mine. I cup the skin of his face beneath the mask and look him directly in those whisky-honey eyes of his. Shit. I run my tongue over my swollen lower lip as Rhoden adjusts his position, pausing at my opening as he searches my eyes with his own. Here it goes; I can't stop it.

“I love you, Rhoden,” I say and he smiles, pushing his bare body into mine. I wrap my legs around him, the dim light from the fire flickering across his skin, making the semiprecious stones on his mask glimmer. The old bed makes a slight creaking sound, the headboard hitting the wall with each motion of Rhoden's body, each contraction of those fabulous stomach muscles.

I feel so much better after having finally admitted that I'm in love with this guy, that I'm in love with the father of my baby. Our baby. His baby.

My head relaxes into the pillows as Rhoden moves slowly, drawing his hand down the side of my face and tilting my chin to look at him. He keeps our eyes locked as our bodies dance in the firelight. When I reach my hands up and undo the straps on his mask, he doesn't stop me. He waits until it's off and then pushes mine slowly up my face.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks as I spread my legs wider and squeeze him tight between them, feeling the slightest prick of tears at the corners of my eyes. “I love you, too, Della Garland.”

When I come that night, I feel like my body's breaking into molecules, disappearing into the atmosphere and sweeping me away to join the stars and the moon. But I don't let them stay away for long, no. I fall back into that bed with a gasp and a groan, pulling Rhoden tight to me, hugging his body into mine.

We stay that way for the rest of the night.

The next few weeks seem to go by in a blur. Walter doesn't contact me again which is great but which I'm not sure that I really believe, not in my heart of hearts. Rhoden lets me take him to Ariana's wedding and doesn't even mind that he has to take, like, a hundred pictures with the bride. After carefully studying my bridesmaid dress in the photos, I do indeed decide that I agree with Hal; we all looked like walking, talking penises.

But that's okay.

Because I, Della Garland, am in love. Eek!

Ariana and Scottie don't exactly have the money for a honeymoon, so I lend them my apartment for the week after the wedding, certain that I'm going to have to steam clean/bleach the hell out of everything since my friends are probably doing it all over my furniture. Gross.

The thing is, I don't need the apartment because I am staying with Rhoden.

“I think your cat wants to murder my bunny,” I say as I watch the ginger tabby swishing his tail, yellow eyes focused on Wisdom like she's the pancake special at my favorite diner. Fantastic. “That's a naughty pussy,” I say as I push the cat away with my foot. Or I try to anyway. Apparently cats listen to me about as well as dogs. The tabby—whose name is Kid Curry, after the old west gunslinger—flops onto his side and mewls, batting at my bare toes with his paw.

“Aw, he's got more bark than he does bite,” Rhoden says, scooping the cat into his arms where it instantly transforms into a purring, rubbing machine. “You'd be an angry pussy, too, if you were never getting stroked.”

I raise my brows at the sexual innuendo and plant my hands on my hips, trying to pretend I'm not at all nervous for my ultrasound visit today. Nope. Not nervous at all.

“I pet him,” I protest, but Rhoden just laughs at me, setting the cat on the back of the couch before stepping over next to me and taking my hand in his.

“You're nervous,” he says and I raise an eyebrow at him. How a guy I've only known for a few months can get a read on me like this man does is astonishing. “Everything's going to be okay.”

“You don't know that,” I say, my heart beating rapidly in my chest as Rhoden tilts his head to the side and raises his brows back at me.

“I do. Because that baby is mine. That means she's strong as hell.”

“She?” I ask. “You think it's a girl?”

“I don't much care either way,” he tells me, running a hand down my back. The movement is soothing, calming in a way I never expected. Rhoden's still a showboating idiot on the field sometimes, but … like this, in private with me, he's … kind of the perfect guy.

My perfect guy this time. Not my dad's or my stepmom's or my stepsisters'.

Mine.

“It's our baby, so it's exactly what I want, either way.”

“Shut up.” I push him gently and cross my arms over my chest. “Get your jacket and let's go. If I wait around here any longer, I'm going to turn into a nervous wreck.”

“You got it,” Rhoden says as he kisses my forehead and heads into his bedroom to grab a coat. It is cold as hell outside. It might not be snowing—never does around here—but the icy chill off the ocean is enough to freeze my panties off.

I pull my phone from my pocket while I'm waiting and check my new blog for comments. I don't have nearly the level of readership that I did before, but I'm working on winning all those people back. A cute little ultrasound pic should be a fun post, right?

Or maybe just some pictures of Rhoden's naked back? I could snap some of those while he's sleeping and post them all the hell over. Don't tell me that won't bring readers flocking to my page.

At least it's still up, I think as I smile and praise my good fortune. Seriously, zero contact from my dad and from Walter. None. And my blog's been up since a few days after we got back from Molly's.

Things are looking up.

“Alright,” Rhoden says as he heads back into the living room and reaches out to take my hand. “Let's go see our baby.”

The doctor's office is quiet and out of the way, in Sunny Brae near all the rich party houses. It's weird to be up here and not be going to a party. Hal has seriously dragged me to way too many. It's definitely time for a break, especially since I'm starting to get bigger. I don't look hugely pregnant, but already I can see the swelling of my tummy.

No more leather toothpaste dresses for this chick.

At least, not until after the baby's born. Once that happens, all bets are off. If I turn down Hal for too long, she'll probably try and kidnap me.

The nurse takes Rhoden and me into a room in the back, helping me get situated on the table, my kick-ass yellow and orange Kierstin Bowlin shirt pushed up out of the way. My pale tummy looks like a full moon, but I make myself relax and take a deep breath. Doubting yourself takes so much effort, why bother with it? It's taking me some time, but I think I'm finally starting to get that. It doesn't hurt that Rhoden's so goddamn confident, so patient and so … loving.

My cheeks flush as the doctor comes into the room and pauses for a long moment with her eyes locked on Rhoden. Must be an Adders fan. But she manages to maintain her professionalism, coming around the table to stand next to me. At this point, she's got to know we're together. As soon as I got my blog up, I posted about Rhoden and me. With the raging blaze of the internet, the news caught fire. Today, the Huffington Post released an article titled Loud and Proud Big Girl Della Garland's Baby Has A Shocking Paternity—from the Team's Owner to the QB. Yeah. Another crass and tasteless article spread across the web. At least this time, it's somewhat accurate. I can only imagine how infuriated Walter is at this point.

“Hello, Miss Garland, Mr. Richards,” the woman says as she smiles down at me. “My name is Jane Messenger and I'll be your ultrasound technician today. Do you have questions or concerns before we get started?”

Rhoden and I exchange a look, the deep warm color of his eyes bringing me some seriously needed comfort.

“I'm pretty sure we Googled the hell out of it before we came in,” I say and take a deep breath. “I'm more than ready to get this over with.”

“Aw, it's not so bad,” she says as she gets some warm gel and smears it across my belly. “Trust me, this is one of the least painful parts of the whole experience.” The woman winks at me and I smile back, watching as she places what she calls a transducer across my tummy, bringing up a blurry blue-black image on the screen. At first it looks like the ocean during a rough storm, just a swirl of gray colors. But then I start to see a shape and my breath gets caught in my throat.

“There we go,” Jane says as she moves the device around and the picture gets a little clearer. “It's too early to be able to tell the gender, especially in the baby's current position, without doing a blood test, but what we can see is the baby's size. At this point, he or she is about half the size of a banana.” Jane smiles, tilting her head so that her blond braid slides over her shoulder. She moves a cursor around the screen to point things out. “Here's the umbilical cord there. And this, this is the heart.”

Jane spends a minute adjusting her position as the picture on the screen warps in and out, like a surge of ocean waves. What's with all the ocean references today, Della? I make myself calm down, pulling in a deep breath as the image pauses again.

“Here we go,” she says as I start to hear a sound, like the hoofbeats of a horse, a thumping patter that makes my throat and chest feel tight. “This is the heartbeat that you're hearing.”

I close my eyes and let the sound wash over me. When I open them, I find myself looking right at Rhoden, getting lost in his gaze as I bite my lip and feel his hand squeeze tight around mine. When he smiles at me, my heart stutters and jumps and the sound of the baby's heartbeat seems to jump along with it.

That's when I know for sure that my life is going exactly the way it should.

How funny that it took a broken condom for me to figure it all out.

After we're done at the doctor's office, Rhoden helps me into the truck, his hands lingering on my waist like he doesn't want to let go. I smile because I'm feeling that same connection, like there's this invisible thread between us that hurts when it's pulled taut.

Ugh, did I just think that?! I am such a serious freaking sap.

When Rhoden climbs into the cab next to me, he's smiling, his gaze half-lidded and dark.

“What's the expression for?” I ask as we back out of the parking lot and start down a back road that will take us to Rhoden's mother's place. Luckily, his game this week fell on a Thursday which means Christmas day is free. We're going to spend it at the cabin with his mom. Ariana's still technically on her honeymoon and Hal's out of town on a modeling gig, so I don't feel guilty leaving them. Although they both did whine and complain until I gave them their presents early. I got them both pet hermit crabs. Seriously. The kind with the painted shells. Neither of them has a pet and I find that weird; this was my subtle hint.

“What expression?” Rhoden asks innocently, but he has a sexy crooked twist to his mouth that I find endearing. “Maybe I'm just trying to act macho and blink back the tears I have in my eyes for my future firstborn child?”

I cock a brow at him.

“Or maybe I just realized how fucking much I'm in love with you.”

OH MY GOD, HE DID NOT JUST SAY THAT!

I cover my face with my hands and make a sound.

“Please don't talk like that,” I say and Rhoden grins, enjoying making me suffer like this. The better we get to know each other, the more he seems to like it.

“Why? It's true. You know I don't do bullshit, Della. I just heard my kid's heartbeat for the first time and honestly, it made me realize how loud mine was beating for you.”

“Seriously? I mean, seriously? You're supposed to save that stuff for quiet nights wrapped in each other's arms.”

“Oh, don't worry. I've got some extra good lines saved up for tonight.”

“Please.” I reach over to turn the music on when Rhoden grabs my hand, bringing the tiny heart tattoo on my wrist to his lips, kissing it gently before releasing me. I look up at him and my heart throbs in that painfully wondrous way that I'm only just starting to get used to. “I am so glad that condom broke,” I say and then turn a seriously weird crimson-peach color that I can't explain. I'm immensely grateful that Ariana and Hal aren't around to see it. Why can't I ever come up with cute one-liners the way he does?!

“Best thing that ever happened to me,” Rhoden agrees, one hundred percent seriously. I lean my head against his arm and rest a hand over my belly, drawing up images of the ultrasound in my head, wondering if I should go get one of those 4D ones that show the baby's face and all that.

On the drive, Rhoden and I discuss names, agreeing that Ariana's choices are all awful and that we're totally not letting her name our baby. She's somehow gotten the idea into her head that her child and my child need to have complementary names, just so they can look extra cute when they eventually become a couple.

“I really hope she doesn't name the kid Honey if it's a girl. That's … kind of the most hippy name I've ever heard in my life.”

“Really? I thought Saphira was worse.” I laugh as we pull into Molly's driveway, the sun just beginning to dip behind the horizon. The trees are wet with dew, giving them this look like they're limned in gold. “And the sad part about it is, I'm not even sure if Scottie was joking.”

“He probably wasn't. Honestly, there was a time he thought Avocado might be cute.” I open my door and slide out after Rhoden, the dogs following after. He helps me down the step and moves over to the front door, using a key from his ring to unlock it.

I move into the warm interior of the cabin and breathe deep, noticing the two cats sitting perched on the arm of the couch, their green eyes focused on Billy and LD.

“Mom?” he asks, moving into the kitchen and then checking up the stairs. I make myself comfortable on the sofa and end up with a cat under each arm. For whatever reason, I'm exhausted today, already dreaming of a nap as I yawn and bury myself under a blanket. “She left a note,” he says with a sly half-smile. “She has yet to master the art of texting.”

“Where is she?”

“It looks like her bike broke down. She had a friend pick her up and take her into town. She wants us to come and pick her up.” Rhoden looks down at me and then grins, kneeling next to me and folding his arms on the side of the couch. He's really goddamn adorable like that, you know? And young. God, I feel like a cradle robber! “If you want though, you could stay here and I could pick you up something fun to eat?”

My belly rumbles happily at the thought. I'm having the worst freaking cravings right now.

“Um, Goldfish crackers and red pepper hummus maybe?” Rhoden's grin gets a little wider.

“That I can do,” he tells me as I reach over and flick the hood of Rhoden's black sweatshirt over his head. “So, crackers, hummus, and a Super Bowl win. Is that all you want?”

“Can you take the dogs with you, too? They never listen to me. Make those four things happen and I will be a happy camper, Mr. Richards.”

“Please. When are you gonna start calling me Big Dick?”

I smile at him.

“How about never?” Rhoden sits up and leans forward, pressing a scalding kiss to my mouth and then savoring it, dragging it out in that long, sensual, easy way of his. Most people I know get a weak peck on their way out the door. Not me. I get … this.

I am one lucky chick.

“It takes about twenty minutes to get to town. See you in an hour or so?”

“Sure thing,” I say as I wiggle my cell at him. “I've got backup just in case.”

Rhoden nods, heading to the door and opening it before he pauses to glance back at me.

“Della?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

I flush as he leaves, too embarrassed to say it back so easily.

When he closes the door fully behind him, I feel like I wish I had.

Not long after Rhoden leaves, I find myself drifting off to sleep, curled on my side with the cats nestled against me. I can't have been out for long when I hear tires against the gravel drive. I figure it's just Rhoden, so I don't bother to get up, laying there on my side with my hands tucked under my face.

When I hear the knob of the front door turning, I smile. The door doesn't open though, the knob turning uselessly against the lock. I listen as I wait for the sound of a key. When one doesn't come, I sit up, blinking away the shrouds of sleep as I scoot the cats over and rise to my feet.

A quick check out the windows shows me a car nestled in the shadows outside. It's parked far enough away that the porch light doesn't reach it, but when I squint, I feel like I can make out the front of a black sedan.

“Who the hell is that?” I whisper, just a split second before something comes crashing through the window to my right. I stumble back in complete shock, bare feet stepping on shards of glass as I move away from the dark shape that's climbing over the threshold. At first, I seriously think it's a werewolf. Well, okay, for like three seconds, I think it's a werewolf.

Then I realize it's something much worse.

“Walter?” I ask as the man stands up straight and stares at me with narrow blue eyes and pursed lips. There's an axe in his hand which seriously freaks me the hell out, but then he tosses it onto the floor next to the couch. Oooookay … “What are you doing here?”

He moves a few steps forward and reaches out, grabbing me by my upper arms in a vise grip.

“Do you really think you can use my sister to blackmail me? Who the fuck do you think you are?” He shakes me, hard enough to really hurt, his thumbs digging into my skin. I wonder briefly if I can get access to the cell in my front pocket.

“Walter,” I start, trying to keep calm, trying to figure out what the hell a multibillionaire would be doing breaking into a remote cabin like this. When I look him in the eyes though, it's fairly obvious why that is.

Rage.

He is beyond pissed. Whatever he's doing right now, it's not something he's thought out or planned. It just is. He's acting on pure aggression and instinct. Maybe nobody's ever told him no in his life? Maybe he just doesn't understand how to process it?

I wonder why now, why not several weeks ago when I first emailed him.

But then I remember the article from this morning: Loud and Proud Big Girl Della Garland's Baby Has A Shocking Paternity—from the Team's Owner to the QB.

That could do it, for sure.

“Listen,” I start as Walter starts dragging me forward, looking around frantically and then marching us toward the hallway that leads to Rhoden's room. “You don't want to do whatever you came out here to do, Walt. It isn't worth it. You have everything you could ever want. Don't blow it by doing something stupid here.”

The man ignores me, yanking me into the hallway as I pull my cell from my pocket and try to dial 911. He notices the phone in my hand and tries to snatch it away, grabbing my wrist and jerking it from my fingers. I struggle with him for a moment, but I don't notice the gun in his hand. As soon as I do, as soon as he has it pressed into the soft flesh of my tummy, I go completely still.

“Don't make me do this, Della,” he says as he stares at me and I release the phone into his grip. “I didn't come here to kill you or your baby.” Walter tosses the phone onto the floor of the bathroom and grabs my arm with his left hand, using the right to keep the gun on me.

“What did you come here for, Walt?” I ask, trying to keep him talking, give Rhoden and his mom time to get back here. As soon as they do, everything will be okay. Until then, I just need to keep him from torturing me or … I realize with a sudden start where he's taking me. Into a bedroom. That's not good. That's really not good. “Walt,” I start again, but he's yanking me into the room and pushing me over to the bed, the bed that I made love to Rhoden on. I turn to look at him, pleading with my eyes for him not to do this. “This doesn't have to go badly for either of us, you know that, right?”

“Shut your fucking mouth. I offered you everything,” he snarls, pushing the muzzle of the gun so hard into my tummy that it actually hurts. I have a goddamn baby in there and he's slamming his semi-automatic pistol into me like I'm a pin cushion. I curl my hands into tight fists, the motion hidden by the long sleeves of my sweater. “You had the world at your fingertips and you shot it down. For what? Some football player's cock? Some slab of meat with few brain cells left in his Neanderthal skull?” Walter gestures with his free hand to the bed. “Lay down, Della. I won't be denied again.”

“Listen to me,” I start, but without warning, he raises the gun and hits me across the face with it, bringing blood streaming from my nose as I fall back to my ass on the bed. The pain is startling, a white hot noise that fills my vision and makes me feel like I might pass out.

“I won't be told no, Della. And I won't be made a fool of.” Walter gestures with the gun at me. “Take your pants off. Now.” When I make no move to obey him, cupping my bleeding nose with both hands, he reaches forward and grabs at the waistband of my sweats, putting my leg directly between his.

I lift my knee up as hard and fast as I can, slamming it into his crotch before I roll to the side and off the edge of the bed. I twist my body at the last second and land hard on my hip bone instead of my belly. It hurts like fucking hell, but I manage to lift myself up off the floor before Walter gets to me.

“You goddamn fucking whore,” he snarls as he scrambles after me. In that moment, I see that he's far more interested in trying to rape me than he is in trying to kill me. I use that to my advantage and duck by him, hitting the wood floor on my knees and scrambling to my feet. I might not be a kung fu ninja master, but neither is Walter. He's a suit wearing boardroom monkey, not an NFL quarterback. To be honest, if I wasn't pregnant, we'd probably be pretty closely matched. I bet we weigh about the same.

I briefly consider going into the bathroom to get my phone, but it's too risky and Walter's too close. I can practically feel his breath on my neck as I sprint forward into the living room and over the broken glass. My feet burn and ache as Walter catches up to me and grabs my left arm, spinning me towards him. With a quick jerk, I manage to free myself, stumbling back towards the French doors that are opposite the broken window.

When I burst out into the night, it's raining, thin silver droplets falling from the sky like knives. Even though my feet are killing me, even though I'm several months pregnant, I sprint over that wet gravel like an Olympic athlete, bare bloody feet sinking into puddles as I head towards the side of the house. If I can get far enough away from Walter, maybe I can get back inside and barricade myself in one of the upstairs rooms, hopefully the one that has the house phone in it.

But I don't make it to the edge of the house because Walter grabs my arm and yanks, making me slip in the wet mud and fall hard to my back, my gaze pointed up at the night dark sky and the smattering of silver stars. Rain falls across my eyes and makes it hard to see as Walter straddles me, grabbing at my clothes with his hands, tearing holes into the loose knit of my sweater as he scrabbles at me like an animal.

I scream and flail, kicking and hitting him with enough force that his rage finally gets the best of him. He hits me in the face with the pistol again, knocking me senseless as he rises to his feet.

“You goddamn bitch,” he screams as he hauls back his foot and kicks me as hard as he can in the back of my knee. I groan and roll forward, curling around my belly protectively as I try to stand up. Walter rains blows down on me with the grip of his gun, bruising my back and sides as I fight to get away from him.

In desperation, I throw a quick elbow back at his groin and manage to make contact again, getting myself to my feet for the briefest of seconds before the gun goes off and splinters into a tree ten right to my right.

“Turn the fuck around,” Walter gasps as I spin slowly, rain mixing with the tears streaming down my face, my legs bruised and my back aching and my feet bleeding into the mud. I turn toward him and I wonder how he got to be so sick, this man. If it was the money and the power that made him this way, or if that only exacerbated a problem he was born with.

I swallow hard as he lifts the gun up and points it at me.

“Get over here,” he tells me through gritted teeth now. “Crawl over to me on your fucking hands and knees like a goddamn dog. Do it.” I open my eyes again and stare at him, my mind racing frantically as I try to figure out a way to escape, to run, to fight some more. Because I can't give in. I won't do that anymore. This is my life and for the first time ever, I love me and somebody else loves me and I'm having a fucking baby.

I won't let it end like this.

When I don't move, Walter comes at me again, raising his gun up like he's going to hit me again. Vaguely, I realize that I can hear movement to my right, but I don't look, just in case I might give away whoever's there.

Walter notices though and turns his gun on Rhoden the moment he appears in the rain, breathing hard, his dark hair mussed and stuck to his forehead, his hands curled at his sides. Those whisky-honey eyes look more like dark embers as they flare with rage and concern, darting between me and Walter in a frantic flicker.

My hands curl into tight fists as I watch the two men face each other.

“Did you come to watch?” Walter asks as he smiles at Rhoden and I see that he's lost in his own head, consumed with his rage and frustration. I don't really think any of this is about me in particular. I'm just an example of one thing he's never had, that he can't have, but that he's decided he wants. I'm the only thing in his life he's ever had to work for, and he doesn't like that he can't get it.

Walter lowers the gun suddenly like he's going to shoot Rhoden in the leg, but the man's already moving, charging toward Walt like two hundred and twenty-five pounds of muscular brick. The gun goes off and the shot hits the side of the house, splintering green siding in the air like small wooden stakes. I scream and try to move forward to help, but I can't see what's happening with the gun in that frantic moment.

I curl an arm across my tummy and watch as Rhoden takes hold of Walter's wrist with one hand, yanking the weapon away with the other and tossing it aside. He's so much stronger than the other man that there's no contest. The gun just goes sailing off to the side like nothing.

“I should've fucked you up when I had the chance,” Rhoden growls and then pulls his arm back, letting loose a hard punch that cracks Walter's nose.

“Hit me again and I'll see you rot in prison,” the man screams as he attempts to hit Rhoden back. He might as well be struggling against a set of iron bars. Rhoden shoves the man's hands off and takes another hit, knocking Walt's head back into the mud. When he rises to his feet, he takes one look at the sniveling pile of suit on the ground and then pulls his foot back, kicking Walter as hard as he can in the side before turning to me and lifting his hands up to cup my face.

Water's sluicing between my lips, plastering my curls against my cheeks as I try to hold back a sob.

“Are you okay, baby?” he asks me, his face open and warm and tender and terrified, all at the same time. “Fuck, please tell me you're okay?” Rhoden pulls me close to him, folding me into his arms as Molly appears on the deck near the French doors.

“Rhoden!” she screams as her son releases me, spinning around just in time to see Walter pick the pistol up from the ground. This time, when he lunges at the man, it's for keeps. Rhoden grabs Walter by the front of his shirt, ignoring the gun as he slams the man into one of the deck's support beams. The force of the impact is so hard that Walter almost loses the pistol, scrambling for it in midair as Rhoden rams him into the wood a second time. As soon as the gun falls to the ground, I stumble forward and pick it up, taking a step away as Rhoden pulls his fist back and hits Walter with all the force he can muster right in the stomach.

The air rushes out of the man in a wheezing breath as Rhoden pulls back and does it again, taking this easy, slow controlled sense of rage out with careful intensity. When Walter's doubled over and doesn't seem able to stand back up again, Rhoden lifts him by his shirt and then takes a final punch, right to Walt's cheek.

His fist cracks into the man's face before he lets him slump to the ground at his feet.

When he turns back to look at me, he's panting.

“I called the police,” Molly says, rushing toward us with a shotgun suddenly in her hands.

“This could look bad,” Rhoden says as he glances back at the unconscious Walt and puts his fingers through his hair. “This could look really bad for me. Shit, I shouldn't have done that.” He reaches out and pulls me into his muscular arms, breathing hot against my hair, pressing his lips to my scalp. “But Jesus, I couldn't help myself. Della, are you alright?”

“I'll live,” I whisper, but my sides are killing me and my feet feel like they've been shredded to pulp. I slide my arms around Rhoden's waist and squeeze him tight, hold him to me and breathe in his bourbon-oak-vanilla smell. “I love you, Big Dick,” I whisper as he cups the back of my head with his hand and puts our foreheads together.

“I love you, too,” he tells me and then pauses as we both hear a groan from the mud near our feet. Distantly, I realize I can hear sirens echoing around the trees. The cops should be here soon, but I have no idea if they'll be Virgilville PD officers or not. Fingers crossed for the best.

“I'm going to have you crucified for this,” Walter says as he sits up with a groan, blood streaming down both sides of his face, dripping from both nostrils onto his dirty white button-up.

Rhoden releases me reluctantly and then kneels down next to Walt, leaning into his face with a curled lip.

“Listen to me, you corporate fucktard weasel piece of shit, I sent those documents that Anise gave Della to every guy on the team. If anything happens to Della, to her friends, to me or my career, they go out to every media outlet in the country, on every Tweet from every player, to that forensic accountant your sister handpicked. I swear to God, one thing. Just one. That'll be all it takes.”

“Besides,” Molly says in her strangely melodic little voice. “I have cameras all over this place. Whatever's happened here tonight won't just be a matter of hearsay.” She points up at a blinking red light tucked up under the eaves of the porch. “I had animals going through the trash and getting into the house,” she explains with a small smile. “Took the cameras for me to finally catch some raccoons.”

I almost laugh, but then I start to sob a little and Rhoden stands up, pulling me into his arms.

When I look down at Walt, he glances away suddenly and I pray that this time, it really is over.

There's a lot I want to tell you guys, but I can't. Just … I went through a lot in December and not all of it was good. If you remember from my posts then, I got seriously hurt in a … home invasion. Yes, that was at the same time Walter Virgil lost majority control of the board of Donsanto. His sister and his parents pulled their backing and used their own shares to vote against him. I won't go into detail about it, but it doesn't matter because I'm not with him. I was never really with him at all.

But have I told you lately that I'm in love with Rhoden Richards?

Probably a million times, I'm sure. But you know what I'm really in love with right now? The fact that I get to go to the Super Bowl at Levi's Stadium in Santa Clara. The Adders are playing against the Green Bay Packers and I am almost literally DESPERATE for a win. It doesn't help that I'm getting hugely pregnant either (look at all the pics I posted today!), but what is awesome is that I don't have to do this alone. As you probably remember from my post a few weeks ago, we've moved in together! We're staying at Rhoden's place while my BFFs, Scottie and Ariana are moving into mine. It's the least I can do considering it's pretty much my fault that neither of them have steady jobs anymore (don't ask about that because I can't tell!).

Anyway, I'm leaving tomorrow for Santa Clara. I'll let you know if my man wins (he better) and I'll find some awesome NFL merch to give away.

P.S. I got an email from a publisher a few weeks ago, and they want to publish ME! Yep. You heard me right: they want me to write a book. They seriously told me they were planning on titling it Loud and Proud Big Girl Della Garland, but that's crass and tasteless so we'll see. I #lovemycurves, but I'm not feeling the title. What do you think?

For now, over and out. I'll be posting live from the game.

“Stop distracting me from the game,” I growl at Ariana as she clings to my arm and squeezes her eyes shut tight. You'd think it was her lover on the field down there, fighting an epic battle in super sexy tight black football pants and a red and purple jersey. Yum. “Look, he's fine, okay? He didn't get sacked. Stop being such a baby.”

Ariana sits up and tugs on her red braids while Scottie sits on her other side, staring at the field with a perplexed expression on his face, like one day he's going to suddenly understand why other people actually like the sport.

I sigh.

At least Hal is cheering like a normal person, not at all bothered by the fact that the tight end, Deshaun Green, still has a crush on her. Hell, maybe she'll actually date this guy for a while? This pseudo relationship has lasted longer than any other I've seen. Although I'm not holding out much faith. This is, after all, Hal that we're talking about.

“Too bad Dad's still being a whiny ass,” she says as she smacks her gum and I try not to scream. Why did I choose to bring these people with me to the game again? Oh yeah, because they're family. I sigh and glance over at my sister. The game is almost over, and I've barely gotten to watch half of it there's so much damn talking up here.

“I'm pregnant and trying to watch the Super Bowl. Can we talk about this later, please? The Adders are down 24-30 and there's less than a minute left in the game. Would it be too much to let me savor this?”

“All I'm saying is that it's shitty he can't admit he was wrong and just be here. When's the last time we watched the Super Bowl without him?” I can barely hear her over the crowd, but she's right. This is the first time we've been dad free for a Super Bowl, and it sucks. But even though he now knows the full extent of what happened with Walter, he has yet to apologize. Hal says she thinks he's softening a little, but at this point, it doesn't matter to me. Here, with these people and this game, with Rhoden and our baby and our two stupid dogs, one angry bunny and murderous orange tabby cat, that's all the family I need (oh, and don't forget Ariana's hermit crab; Hal's is already dead).

I lean forward, cupping my hands over my growing belly as I watch Rhoden move across the field, the announcer's voice blaring loud in the stadium.

“Big Dick out of the gun … pocket … hole … looks right, throws to Forsyth. Got him, inside the five, into the end zone. But no! He stayed inside the one. Richards gets the offense into position … GOES … he dives in for the touchdown. Did he get it? Good God, but he did! Touchdown Arcata Adders!” I stand up and scream bloody murder, scaring the living hell out of Scottie as I bounce around and then regret it, feeling ridiculously huge in my Adders jersey with the number nine on it. Rhoden's jersey. My Rhoden. “The Adders have taken the lead with twelve seconds to go!”

I cheer and shout, my voice lost in the immensity of the crowd, swallowed up by the excitement and the joy of the people around me. But I know in my heart that they can't be feeling what I'm feeling, this pride, this overwhelming love, this anticipation for the future.

I wait for Rhoden's usual showboating, but it doesn't come.

Instead, he turns and looks in my direction, like he knows exactly where to find the speck that's me in this mass of people. Yes, he knows where I'm sitting in a general sense, but … the way his eyes lock onto mine, hone in on my face, the way his smile melts across his own in a slash of liquid sex, I know he can feel me, too.

His teammates surround him in a swarm as I grin and sit back to watch my man take the Super Bowl.

Somehow, it feels like he's doing it just for me.

I know it's been a while since I've posted, but I was busy having a FREAKING BABY! Yep. That's right. I gave birth about two weeks ago to a healthy ten pound one ounce baby boy (ouch!) that we named Carson Richards. Before you even ask, Ariana also gave birth to her little girl—all of six hours later. Yeah, like I said, we're kind of in sync with each other. Unfortunately, she did name her child Honey (which is basically a dog's name in my opinion), but I guess it's cute anyway.

Luckily, Scottie was actually able to land a job at a nearby hospital in Eureka, and Ariana's decided not to work for a while so everything's been turning out alright. Basically, with the rent-free apartment I'm letting them use, their expenses have evened out.

Anyway, before you can even ask, yes, Hal came to the hospital to see me and has stopped by every day since I got home. And no, my evil stepmother and stepsisters did not. My dad … that's a little more complicated. He sent a bouquet of carnations to Rhoden's apartment with a generic, pre-printed card. Other than that, I haven't seen him. But I'm okay with that. I've accepted my life for what it is, for what I want it to be, and I'm the happiest I've been in … well, ever. One day, if he comes to me and apologizes, we might be able to fix this.

For now, I'm focusing on my new life and the family I've chosen to surround myself with.

A few days ago, the Adders had a party to celebrate finally receiving their Super Bowl rings. When I first saw it in person, I almost died. It's big and gaudy and ridiculous, but it has the Adders' snake logo in diamonds and it represents our first Super Bowl win ever. Mom would certainly be proud! I know Molly is; she drove in to see the baby and stayed to help out for a few weeks.

Or maybe she just knew what Rhoden was planning.

The day after he came home with the ring, we left the baby with his mom for a short dinner date … and he proposed! WITH THE RING. The Super Bowl ring. He GAVE it to me. How cute is that? When he jokingly asked if I wanted to pick out something different, something prettier or more traditional, do you know what I said?

FAT FREAKING CHANCE!

Even if we get divorced one day (hah), I am so keeping this thing forever. An Arcata Adders Super Bowl ring, come on.

Anyway, this time, I didn't say sure. I didn't freeze like a deer in the headlights, didn't panic or wonder or fret. This time, when this man asked me to marry him, I said yes with my words, with the frantic fluttering of my breath, and with every beat of my heart.

My name is Della Garland, a loud and proud big girl, and I fell in love with a Big Dick.

That's my story. Everyone has one. So tell me, what's yours?

DESCRIPTION

Holy sweet baby Jesus.

I don't know anything about taking care of kids.

I pierce nipples, navels, and noses for a living.

I've never even held a baby before. Not once. Never changed a diaper or cleaned up a skinned knee. Hell, I don't even want kids. I'm more of a drifter, a once in a lifetime lover, and then I move on.

Family? Commitment? Nuh uh, no way.

Tough shit, though, because my brother and his kids need me. Desperately.

I never thought to wonder if I might need them, too.

That I might need her, this strange woman I met at a playground.

Brooke Overland.

She doesn't know I'm not a professional nanny, but what am I supposed to do now?

She hired me; I took care of her sister's kids for her; I fucked her.

My life is so screwed up.

CHAPTER ONE

Zayden Roth

"Move for me," I growl, curling my hands around my new lady friend's hips. She's got almost as many tattoos as I do and the kaleidoscope mind-fuck of her arching her back above me is just about enough to send me over the edge.

She squeals and giggles as I flip her over and run my fingers through her hair. It's like cotton candy, all pink and soft and shit. I fucking love Las Vegas. Ever since I moved here and got a job as a body piercer, I've had so many opportunities to meet new friends. Friends that smell like body butter, with soft skin, and healthy sexual appetites.

Oh yeah.

This is the real "City That Never Sleeps" and there's no way in hell I would ever leave. I don't think this girl, Katie, and me have slept in three days. Thank God for holiday weekends, right?

"Oh, Zay," she moans, running her tongue up the side of my face. I grab her wrists in my hands and slam them into the pillow behind her head, nipping at her exposed throat as I thrust hard and fast, slamming our pelvises together with the sweet sound of flesh on flesh. Oh God yes. "You are the world's fucking hottest nerd."

I grin big.

"Hey, just because I take breaks to shoot rebel soldiers online with my buddies does not make me a nerd." I put a little extra strength in my next thrust and get rewarded with a guttural groan from Katie's pretty little lips. If she hadn't walked into the shop to get her tits pierced on Friday, I'd have missed out on all this fun. Lucky me.

"You have a toy collection, Zayden," she says, but I don't respond. If she's able to talk, then I'm not doing my job right.

"What if I asked you to be one of my little toys? Because I want to play all night long with your movable parts." Katie laughs and I groan. Ladies, laughter tightens up all those muscles downstairs. Guys fucking love it. Laugh more during sex, pretty please.

I nibble Katie's lower lip, tasting cherry lip gloss, and slide my tongue into her mouth. Fuck, do I love women. They always smell so good, feel so soft, taste so sweet. If I had to list my hobbies for a stranger, it'd go like this: fucking, video games, fucking, and listening to pop music. But don't tell anybody about that last one or I'll have to kill you.

I squeeze Katie's wrists tighter, fuck her harder, and feel myself on the verge of a mind-blowing orgasm when my phone goes off, buzzing across the nightstand like a vibrator gone rogue.

The ringtone is the song Toxic, but not the Britney Spears' version (even though I secretly dig it). I had to save face, so I put on A Static Lullaby's cover of it.

There's only one person on my contacts list that has that ringtone and he never calls.

I pause for a moment, but Katie wiggles beneath me and I end up dropping my mouth to her freshly pierced nipples. I run my tongue around one and avoid the sore spot, teasing just close enough to make her squirm.

"I'm coming, Zay," she groans as my cock drives deeper and harder. I can feel her tightening around me, getting ready to explode. Thank God. I don't think I could hold on much longer.

The phone stops ringing and immediately starts up again.

I pause yet again, and Katie ends up getting her hands free, wrapping her arms around my neck.

"So close," she whispers against my ear. "So close. Don't stop."

So I keep going and then fucking fuck, there goes that damn phone again.

"I have to answer it," I say, because my brother, he only calls if there's an emergency. I stay right where I am, wrapped up inside of Katie, and lean over to take the call.

"What the fuck do you want? This better be good. I'm entertaining company right now."

My brother doesn't hesitate to rip me a new one.

"Do you have any compassion at all, Zayden? What is your goddamn problem? It's not like I ever ask you for anything. You never return my phone calls or texts, never come home for the holidays."

"Okay, and what's wrong with that? It's not as if we're exactly close," I say and then sit back in shock when Katie slaps me across the face with an open hand.

"I was close," she snaps at me, shoving me back and climbing off the bed. I watch in stunned frustration as she gathers her jeans and tugs them on. "Enjoy the rest of your Monday, you dick."

The front door slams closed behind her as I tug off my condom with a growl. Great. Just great. And I didn't even get her number or her last name. What a waste.

"I need your help, Zayden," Rob says, and I catch the strain in his voice right off the bat. Whatever this is, it really is serious. I feel a little guilty for being an asshole â€“ to both Rob and Katie â€“ and climb off the bed to dispose of the condom in the trash can under the window. "It's Mercedes' parents," he continues as I open the top drawer of my dresser and grab some boxers. My hard-on's long gone now, no point in wandering around naked. Feels kind of wrong to have my junk hanging out when I'm talking to my brother, you know what I mean?

"Okay?" I ask, trying to be sympathetic. I mean, Rob might be a jerk, but his wife, Mercedes, is actually pretty awesome. Sometimes when Rob's asleep and she doesn't think she'll get caught, she gets online and joins my raid group. That girl can take on a red dragon zombie boss like nobody's business â€“ impressive, even if it's all part of a computer game.

"They were in an accident," he says, sounding tired and worn-out. Rob works as an insurance salesman, so I can totally see that. If I worked as an insurance salesman, I'd only be at the job long enough to buy a gun and a single bullet.

"Oh, shit, are they alright?" I ask, pausing in the kitchen. It's a disaster of take-out and pizza boxes, and it smells like my cat's litter box. Well, technically, he's not my cat. One of my girlfriends left him here when she moved out, and I kind of like the little bastard. I spy the cat crouched on my stove, completely hairless, a hideous feline monstrosity, and flip it off. Hubert hisses at me and flicks his tail, glaring at me with creepy white-green eyes. The effect is somewhat lessened since he's wearing a black sweater. Hey, this is Vegas and it gets hotter than hairy balls in a pair of briefs. I keep the air conditioner cranked, and Hubert being a hairless cat and all, he gets the chills.

Told you I was a nerd.

"They're alive, if that's what you're really asking," Rob says, just before a piercing screech crashes through the phone and I jerk it away from my ear like I've been slapped. Either that's a banshee coming to take my soul to the underworld, or it's Rob's daughter, Kinzie. Yes, Kinzie. Weird name. I know, that's what I thought, too.

I am so fucking glad I don't have children.

I work very, very hard to make sure my dick is sheathed at all times. And I always use my own condoms, just to make sure they're fresh and free of holes. Honestly, if I had to choose between having kids and throwing myself off of a bridge, I'd have to think for a while to give you an answer.

"Well, that's good, right?" I ask, shooing the cat off the stove and sliding an old pizza box forward. The slices inside are stiff and tough, like chewy cardboard covered in melted plastic. I shove the end of one in my mouth anyway and turn around, leaning back against the counter. "So what do you need me for?" I ask around a mouthful.

"You know her parents live in South Africa, right?"

"Yeah, and?"

"And that's halfway around the world."

"Okay?"

"Zayden, they're in critical condition. There's a good chance neither of them will make it through the week." I flinch and swallow my bite.

"Man, I'm so sorry to hear that. Give Mercedes my love and tell her I'm praying for them."

"Why don't you tell her yourself?" Rob asks cryptically as I snap my fingers at Hubert who's desperately trying to untangle himself from his sweater.

"Put her on, I guess," I say, wrinkling up my brow and finishing up my pizza slice. I scratch my belly with tattooed fingers and wait.

Silence.

"Rob?"

"Zayden, Mercedes and I are flying to Joburg to see them. Tomorrow."

Joburg. Johannesburg. The city that's home to the tallest building in Africa. That much, at least, I know. Everything else here is a mystery to me. I grab a second slice of pizza and then toss it aside. That one has mold on it. Third one looks fine though.

"What the fuck are you getting at? You know I suck at word games, Rob."

"Zayden, I'm asking you to drive up here. You know, to take care of the kids for me."

Holy shit.

"Um, no?" I say, barely managing to keep from dropping my pizza to the floor. Take care of Rob's kids? I've met them once. Once. And they were little demons from hell â€“ screeching, wailing, squalling monsters. Oh, and that's not to mention the brand new freaking baby they just had like last year or whatever. A seven year old girl, four year old twins (who may or may not be human based on their behavior), and an infant.

Oh fuck the fuck out of that.

"Why doesn't Mercedes go, and you can stay with the kids?"

"My wife's parents are on their death beds, Zayden, and all you can think about is yourself? Do you think I'd have called if I had anyone else?"

"That really inspires confidence, bro. Why would you even trust me with watching your kids anyway? I killed two goldfish last week. On accident." I don't mention the fact that it was actually Hubert who murdered Teensy and Woo-woo, two more pets left over from a past girlfriend.

"I work a shit job. I have no money, no family in this world other than you. Mercedes has nobody left other than her parents. Zayden, please. Don't send my wife alone to watch her parents die."

Aw, man.

I stand up straight and pad across the cold slate tile floor to the fridge to grab a soda. My brother's using the sympathy card on me right now, and it's working. I might be kind of a douche sometimes, but I'm really a nice guy underneath. I think? I mean, I try to be anyway.

"The kids don't have passports, Zay. And Mercedes doesn't want to take the baby on such a long flight. Can you imagine trying to care for a one year old in a hotel room? Or how about at the side of a hospital bed?"

"Dude, it's a fourteen hour drive up there and all I have is my ugly ass Geo. The car is older than I am, Rob. I was conceived in the backseat of the damn thing. I can't drive that piece of shit to the grocery store, let alone into California."

I pop the top on my Mountain Dew and down half of it before Rob decides to speak again, his voice low and thick, like he's on the verge of tears. Fucking Christ. In the background, Kinzie screams again, sending a chill down my spine.

"You're my last chance, Zay. Please. Please do this. What would Mom and Dad say if they were here?" I roll my eyes and run the fingers of my right hand through my the hair on the left side of my scalp. The other side is currently shaved like a military man gone punk. "I'll tell you what they'd say: Family is everything and everything is family. This is as much your problem as it is mine, Zay. We're brothers, and even though you can be an irresponsible prick sometimes, I love you."

"Gah," I stick my tongue out at my own reflection and shake my head. I can't take this lovey family shit. I feel myself just about ready to cave in. My buddy runs the shop I work at, so he'd understand. Besides, I could get the new dude, what's-his-face, to take over my appointments for me. I'd miss out on a lot of nipple piercings, but what choice do I have? I can't tell Rob no and not feel like a piece of human garbage, now can I? "Fine."

Rob sighs in relief as goose bumps break out over my arms.

I'm going to hate this. Every second of it. I know that to be a fact.

"But I want a plane ticket. I can't drive fourteen hours straight, man."

"I can't afford a plane ticket for you. I just spent all of my savings on tickets for Mercedes and me. You'll have to drive. If you leave now and take minimal rest stops, you can be here a few hours before our flight leaves tomorrow."

I start to protest, but the phone is suddenly snatched away from my brother by his wife.

"Thank you, Zay," she sobs, voice thick and sniffly. "Thank you so much. I love you like the little brother I never had, you know that right?"

Great.

I'm a sucker for pretty girls in distress.

I purse my lips so tight that my lip rings stand out like swords on either side of my mouth.

"See ya in fourteen hours then."

DESCRIPTION

Obsession.

I know the feeling well.

I'm the top draft prospect for the NFL, voted All-American last year, and a God at the University of Oregon.

I didn't get here by fucking around or chasing fantasies - and I'll never forget where I came from. A guy like me only gets one chance to get out, to make something of himself.

Passion.

I thought football was my passion.

But Teagan Fletcher, she's my obsession.

My childhood friend is now a woman with curves for days and hair like fire.

But she also hates me - and I don't blame her.

I want her. But I can't have her.

I need her. But I don't know how to let go.

One way or another, I'll have it all: football ... and Fletcher.

CHAPTER ONE

Teagan Fletcher

Tyce Winship had a serious god complex.

That was the first thing I noticed when I bumped into him for the first time in four years. I stood there in the middle of the park and gaped up at his smirking face. My breath came in quick, panting gasps as my fingers found the edge of Tyce's sweatpants. My nails scraped over the firm hills and valleys of his lower abs as I steadied myself and tried to keep the shock off of my face.

This is so my luck, I thought as I stared up at his bare tattooed chest, slack-jawed and surprised as hell. I go out for a run and literally fall into the arms of my childhood best friend. Not exactly the evening I was expecting.

“Tyce?” I asked, because the second I saw his face, I knew it was him. It was the boy I hadn't seen in years, a boy that had turned into a man. A somewhat famous man if ESPN was to be believed. Hell, I'd even seen him listed in Seventeen Magazine as one of the top ten hottest football players in the country. Hadn't expected to see him out on a deserted trail, a pair of Nike sneakers on his feet and gray sweatpants slung low over his defined hips.

Tyce raised one dark brow at the mention of his name, but his faceâ€”his gloriously handsome faceâ€”didn't show even an ounce of surprise.

“That'd be me,” he said, his voice that same deep, dark promise of sex and passion that cut straight through me. Of course, I'd never heard that tone directed at me. Now that's a change, I thought as I waited for him to acknowledge me. 'Hey, Tea. Long time no talk. Sorry for abandoning you all those years ago.' “Now how about you tell me your name?”

My â€¦ name? I thought as I struggled to gather my thoughts. I was still reeling from the sheer coincidence of the moment, and Tyce was still â€¦ smirking at me. His hands were hot on my upper arms, his fingertips rough but sensual as he kept a firm grip on my body. His touch was intoxicating, but it wasn't enough to numb the sting of his words.

“Or are you more the mysterious type?” he continued, still holding me, still not getting it. Tyce Winship was looking down at me like a conquest, like a find, some beautiful girl that stumbled into him in the dark that needed saving. His face said he was pretty damn sure I'd fall into his arms, that he was exactly the casanova that I was looking for tonight. But to me, he was still that angry little boy from two blocks down. That asshole teenager who broke my friends' hearts, who kept me frustratingly close at the same time he kept me at arm's length. Now â€¦ he was a haughty jerk with a perfectly defined 'V' of muscles at his hips, a taut tummy, and a chest that got my blood pumping hot and furious.

Oh, and apparently he must also be suffering from memory problems because he didn't recognize me.

“I'm gonna take that as a yes,” Tyce continued as my mind spun in a million different directions and he leaned closeâ€”way too closeâ€”to my lips. “The mysterious, silent type. I like that.” His lips curved in a sensual smile. The movement of that mouth turned my knees to jelly. “But be careful. Next time you might not have something this sturdy to grab onto.” With a start, I realized my grip was precariously low, my fingers in a hot, sweaty place that they really shouldn't be. But that they kind of wanted to.

“Sorry,” I said automatically as I unhooked my grip and stumbled back, the shock of the moment making me numb, and, for just a split second there, speechless. Not a usual thing for me. I continued to stare back at Tyce, waiting still for that recognition that I so badly wanted. We grew up together, you asshole. Remember me, damn it.

“No apologies necessary,” he said, his sapphire eyes catching the evening's last golden streams of sunlight. “I'm always happy to help a beautiful girl.”

My heart started pounding again, and I found myself having trouble catching my breath. I'd come to Alton Baker Park to run. After all, I'd just moved to a city nicknamed TrackTown, USA so why not try to embrace the local lifestyle? Sweat continued to stream down my face and stray strands of red hair clung to my forehead and my cheeks as I stared Tyce down and tried to figure out what to say or do. I should just walk away and forget I ever saw him, but I was effectively mesmerized by that smile of his.

He was taller than I remembered him, a towering six foot two that made me feel even shorter than usual. And those eyes â€¦ had they always been that blue? Two sapphire orbs ringed in gold, the perfect color to offset his chocolate dark hair and that ruggedly sculpted face. His lips looked ripe and moist, wet with sweat, and would've been his most distracting feature had he been wearing a shirt.

I swallowed hard and brushed some hair away from my face, unconsciously wetting my lips at the same time. I didn't mean to flirt. Hell, I was actually starting to get pretty pissed. How could Tyce not recognize me? After all that we'd been through â€¦ A part of me had never forgiven him for leaving.

I curled my hands into fists by my sides and listened to the subtle beeping of my Fitbit. It was warning me of my rapidly rocketing heart rate. Approaching the danger zone. Like I needed a warning. I could feel it in my throat.

“You must be a Ducks fan,” Tyce said, taking a step closer to me. It wasn't a question. He looked down at my green and yellow University of Oregon shirt and then lifted up a hand to trace the curve of my side.

His fingers were warm, his touch firm, and when he finally settled his grip on on the round swell of my hip, I felt a distinct tugging sensation in my belly. I was turned on, but I didn't want to be turned on. I wanted to be mad, furious, indignant.

“Not really,” I said softly, registering the confusion on his face. Good, that makes two of us now. The nearby oak cast mesmerizing shadows across Tyce's face, highlighting the strong square shape of his jaw and the high but masculine cheekbones that he'd inherited from his mother. A warm coloring of bronze shaded his skin, complementing the dark tattoos near his hip and down his arm. Those were new. When Tyce had left our hometown four years ago, he hadn't had a single one. “My friend gave me this shirt.”

“Well, then, why don't you let me do you the favor of taking it off? I guarantee by the time we're done, you'll be a huge fan.” Tyce cupped his junk with his other hand and gave me a look that I just knew had a near one hundred percent success rate filling his bed. I bet the girls at the U of O fell all over themselves for an offer like that.

“You don't recognize me, do you?” I asked as I locked my green eyes with his blue ones and waited for something, something that told me the asshole was still human. I mean, I was surprised to see him, and I was hurt, but I wasn't going to let this wreck me emotionally. I'd been devastated when he left; I got over it.

“Shit,” Tyce said, leaning back, his lean body a hard slice of perfection in the cool, green quiet of the park. He was sizing me up, sliding his tattooed right hand into the pocket on his sweatpants. I stared him down, my hands still curled into fists, and waited for him to redeem himself. What are the chances I'd run into him here, now, tonight? We'd both been jogging, and I'd quite literally tripped and fallen right into Tyce.

At the time, all I felt was annoyance. Later on, I'd think it was fate. The thing is, fate isn't always a good thing.

“Have we fucked?” he asked, blinking those long lashes at me, tipping a water bottle back and letting the liquid drip down his throat and onto his chest. Moist droplets slid across the hard swells of his pecks and splattered on the tips of his shoes. When he dropped his head and looked back down at me, I was already shaking mine.

“Never mind,” I said as his brows raised up in surprise. Not used to getting turned down, huh? Well screw you. “Forget about it.” I reset my Fitbit, turned around and started running. If he'd wanted to, Tyce could've caught up with me.

He didn't.

And when I looked back, he was gone.

That's how I started my year at the U of O.

It wasn't how I ended it.

Listen to this playlist for FREE on Spotify by clicking here or visiting: http://tinyurl.com/footballd

Guardian Angel – Abandon All Ships

Take One Last Breath – Abandon All Ships

A Match Made In Heaven – Architects

Dangerous Woman – Ariana Grande

In Between – Beartooth

Can You Feel My Heart – Bring Me The Horizon

Earthbound – Bury Tomorrow

Payphone – Crown The Empire

I'm Made of Wax, Larry, What Are You Made Of? – A Day To Remember

Cool – Daya

Hide Away – Daya

Sit Still, Look Pretty – Daya

Confident – Demi Lovato

Fashionably Late – Falling In Reverse

Trophy Wife – Famous Last Words

Unbreakable – Fireflight

Love Myself – Hailee Steinfeld

Rock Bottom – Hailee Steinfeld, DNCE

I Am – Hands Like Houses

Running With Scissors – I See Stars

The Illusionist – Jamie's Elsewhere, Tyler Carter

Bonfire – Knife Party

La vie en rose – Laura Fygi

Sexy, Naughty, Bitchy Me – Lene Alexandra

I Love Me – Meghan Trainor, Lunchmoney Lewis

Woman Up – Meghan Trainor

All About That Bass – Meghan Trainor

Electronic <3beat – The Neverdies

STHLM – The Neverdies

Miss U – The Neverdies

Dead Or Alive – The Neverdies

Hit Or Miss – New Found Glory

Same Old War – Our Last Night

I Must Have That Man – Scott Hamilton, Karin Krogh

Stockholm Sweetnin' – Scott Hamilton

I Want to Live – Skillet

Undefeated – Skillet

Purple Lamborghini – Skrillex, Rick Ross

Unbreakable – A Skylit Drive

Crash Down – A Skylit Drive

Just Stay – A Skylit Drive

Pendulum – A Skylit Drive

I, Enemy – A Skylit Drive

Wide Awake – A Skylit Drive

Kick Me – Sleeping With Sirens

Glad You Came – The Wanted

Bury Me Alive – We Are The Fallen

Glad You Came – We Came As Romans

The World I Used To Know – We Came As Romans

Boys Like You – Who Is Fancy, Meghan Trainor, Ariana Grande

Violet Blaze's Super Interesting Life Story (aka Her Biography)

Violet Blaze is the best friend you've always wanted, but still love to hate. She embarrasses you at dinner and flatters you at the club. And you're pretty sure her ugly little dog is a 'poochon', even if you have no idea what that means (it's a mix between a Bichon Frise and a Poodle, just in case you wanted to know).

A California native, Miss Blaze loves the good ol' US of A, and enjoys dressing up in its stars and stripes. She lives in a house with bright pink walls, a chair shaped like a shoe, and a cat named Miranda Rose. Violet's been reading all of her life (often while drinking brightly colored cocktails); her favorite thing about books is that she gets to watch people fall in love over and over again. Really, who doesn't? And if she wasn't a writer, it's likely Violet Blaze would be a pop star who wore too much make up and wore too little clothing.

This raging feminist likes writing books about strong women and strong men who aren't afraid to express themselves (oftentimes in the bedroom). She hopes you'll join her in reading her debut novel, Stepbrother Inked, and wants to hear your thoughts, questions, and favorite quotes @IAmVioletBlaze #stepbrotherinked.

(or you can be all old fashioned and stuff and email her at me@violetblazebooks.com)

www.violetblazebooks.com

www.facebook.com/violetblazeauthor

www.twitter.com/IAmVioletBlaze

www.instagram.com/IAmVioletBlaze

play.spotify.com/user/iamvioletblaze

Table of Contents

- Table of Contents

- Title Page

- Copyright

- Dedication

- Prologue

- Chapter 1

- Chapter 2

- Chapter 3

- Chapter 4

- Chapter 5

- Chapter 6

- Chapter 7

- Chapter 8

- Chapter 9

- Chapter 10

- Chapter 11

- Chapter 12

- Chapter 13

- Chapter 14

- Chapter 15

- Chapter 16

- Chapter 17

- Chapter 18

- Chapter 19

- Chapter 20

- Chapter 21

- More Awesome Reads

- Football Dick Playlist

- About the Author

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

More Awesome Reads

Football Dick Playlist

About the Author