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PROLOGUE

DECEMBER

KATE

Who knew dickheads could be so handsome?

Well, I do, and I’m looking at one right now.

I mean, really, who the fuck does he think he is?

First, he proposes we head back to his place for a night in bed, where he’soh so convincedhe’ll be the best I’veeverhad. And when I refuse to succumb to his apparent charm, he goes after someone else.

Just because I wore his jersey to the game tonight doesn’t mean I’m going to instantly fall into bed with him.

Okay, there was a slim chance of that happening. But with the way he was so sure of himselfand me, well, I wasn’t handing anything over.

All this nonsense about jerseys and true love means nothing to me. Sure, he’s hot, and I can’t deny I’ve thought about what lies beneath those pads a time or two, but did hereallythink I was that easy? If I want to wear his jersey, then I’ll wear it. There are thousands of jerseys in circulation, and not everyone whowears number eighty-eight automatically wants to get railed by the Scorpions goalie, despite what he might think.

And that’s exactly what I said when I slid off his knee and told him to go fuck himself.

“Come on, babe. Why else would you be wearing my jersey? Let’s get into it.”

Ugh.

So I stormed to the bathroom and angrily fixed my blush before returning to the bar only to find Mr. Dickhead himself had moved on to another woman. A redhead with long, slender legs and a banging body, to be precise. She looks younger than me, too. At least five years, and with me being thirty-four, the fact that he’s moving onto a younger model makes me feel even worse.

Is that all I was worth? A quick attempt to get me between the sheets? We’re supposed to be part of the same friend group; all he wanted was to use me and then throw me away. I might enjoy casual sex from time to time, but I want him to at leastworkfor it. One-night stands are not my thing.

So here I am, alone in a bar and sipping on a mojito of rejection.

“He’s not even that hot,” I grumble under my breath as I take another mouthful.

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think I’m bad looking,” a deep voice says from behind me.

Slowly, I turn to locate the source.

Hmmm, not bad. Tall, dark, handsome, and probably younger than me.

I cautiously glance to my left and see Mr. Dickhead’s hand has now found Red’s lower back.

Yeah, well, two can play that game.

I take another sip of my cocktail and smile sweetly up at him. “No, I suppose you aren’t.”

He smiles and then leans down to whisper in my ear, and I instantly detect the strong smell of booze on his breath.

I’m mad at myself. Playing games to make Jensen Jones jealous has already backfired on me.

Ignoring completely what this guy has to say, I glance over at Mr. Dickhead once more. His back is to me as he stands at the high-top table with his arm now fully wrapped around Red’s waist, and I can tell that look he has on his face because it’s the look he was giving me not a half hour earlier.

But what really annoys me more than anything is the fact that I’m bothered. That I’m even the slightest bit affected by his attention being anywhere other than on me.

I might be loud and sometimes a bit brash, but I’m not an attention seeker, and I definitely do not want the attention of this guy standing next to me. So why do I want Jensen’s?

“I’m Todd. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

I fight back an eye roll and take another sip of my drink, swirling my straw around to mix the mint leaves. “Kate,” I reply in a clipped tone.