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Before you judge…don’t. I had no idea what I was doing. I could blame my sudden lapse in judgment on a myriad of things, but the simple truth was that I wanted Mateo. The popular quarterback was suddenly, possibly attainable. He’d let me touch him, devour him, and rub up against him the way I’d fantasized so many years ago. And then he’d blown my mind.

Sadly, once wasn’t enough. I had to have more.

Amber’s PR idea was a good one, but better yet, it gave us an excuse to spend time together. I’d happily subject myself to his wrath if it meant I got an up-close and personal view of those long lashes and full lips. And if there was a snowball’s chance in hell he was willing to see how far we could go, I was all in. I wanted to be inside him…deep, deep inside him.

However, I’d been raised in a nice midwestern family who prized good manners above all else. There’d be no jumping Mateo’s bones the second he showed up on my doorstep. No, I vowed to show a little restraint tonight and find some common ground that didn’t involve sex or violence. Food was my best bet. Specifically…marinara sauce.

“Marinara?”

I motioned for Mateo to give me his leather jacket as he stepped into the foyer. “Yeah.”

“What happened to taking me apart? Talk about false advertising,” he snarked.

I lowered my head to hide my smile, draped his jacket on a bench, and headed through a maze of rooms to the family-style kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Beer, if you have it. If not, I—holy freaking crap.” Mateo marched to the wall of windows overlooking the sun setting over the Pacific. “This is a killer view. When they were building this place, I remembered thinking it was going to be some monster mansion, but it’s really…nice.”

“Thanks, I like it.” I popped the tops off two beers and joined him at the window, handing him one. “I bought it from the contractor after the original investor pulled out.”

“Does anyone else live here?”

“No, just me.”

Mateo lifted a curious brow. “By yourself? Geez, it’s fuckin’ huge.”

He was right.

But I’d earned a fuckton of money and had invested wisely in stocks and real estate. I still owned condos in Manhattan and Dallas, a house in Hollywood Hills, an estate in Indiana near my family, and this house, a five-bedroom beach chalet.

It was more house than I needed and I swore I wasn’t one to flaunt my wealth, but privacy was important. Some athletes were stalked like rock stars and while that wasn’t me, I wanted to be insulated from prying eyes…to be on the safe side.

Besides, I’d always loved this stretch of beach. I used to come out here whenever I’d felt overwhelmed by college courses and football…and life in general. The miles of golden sand and the ribbon of blue that kissed the sky at the horizon had always calmed me.

“Where do you live?” I asked conversationally.

“Above the shop.” Mateo shot a suspicious glance my way. “Why?”

“So I can throw eggs at your window later. Why else?”

“Ha. Ha.”

I followed him to the kitchen and leaned on the island, sipping beer while Mateo poked his head into my oven and examined the built-in air fryer and the vent above the stove.

“Check out the fridge too. It’s new.”

Mateo opened the Sub-Zero and whistled. “It’s bigger than my first car, and…it’s empty. Don’t you eat?”

I patted my belly with a laugh. “I think it’s obvious I don’t miss many meals.”

His gaze went molten with desire and damn it, I couldn’t breathe for a hot second.

“Quit fishin’ for compliments. You look good, and you know it.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Mmm.” Mateo flopped onto the nearest barstool. “You didn’t really think I’d share a family recipe, did you?”

I took another slug from my bottle. “No. But I think we need to call a truce and figure out a way to be civil.”