Page 6

Chapter 6: Avery

T he smell of coffee and bacon pulls me from sleep. For a moment, I forget where I am. This isn't my depressing motel room. The sheets are too soft, the morning light too perfect as it streams through floor-to-ceiling windows.

Right. The rental house. Our staged little love nest for the media.

I pad downstairs in sleep shorts and an oversized tennis shirt, following the sounds of domestic activity. Luke stands at the professional grade stove, already dressed in workout gear that shows off every muscle. He doesn't look up as I enter, focused on whatever he's cooking.

"There's coffee," he says, spatula moving with practiced efficiency. "And we need to talk strategy."

"Before breakfast? That's cruel."

His lips quirk. "Wilson called this morning. They're reconsidering their position about pulling their sponsorship."

That gets my attention. "Seriously?"

"Apparently, our little press conference made quite an impression. The bad girl finding love, finding her way back." He slides a perfect omelet onto a plate, adding bacon and fresh fruit.

"Finding her way into your bed, you mean." But I accept the plate he offers, impressed despite myself. "I didn't know you could cook."

"There's a lot you don't know about me." He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching me eat. "Like how I hate it when people don't take their careers seriously."

I pause mid-bite. "Excuse me?"

"You're talented, Jenkins. But talent isn't enough. You need discipline, focus, commitment."

"I am committed."

"Really?" His eyes pin me in place. "Because from where I'm standing, you've been sabotaging yourself. The outbursts and the tantrums. It's like you're trying to prove everyone right about you."

"You don't know what you're talking about." I push away from the breakfast bar, suddenly not hungry. "You're my fake boyfriend, not my coach."

"I'm the guy trying to save your career." His voice is intense. "Whether you like it or not."

"By controlling every aspect of my life? Thanks, but I've had enough men telling me what to do."

He moves then, until he's right in front of me, towering over me.

"Someone needs to challenge you," he says as he cups my chin in his hand to tilt my face to his. "Push you past your comfort zone. Make you remember why you fell in love with the game in the first place."

My heart pounds against my ribs. "And you think that's you?"

"I think." His hand comes up, fingers ghosting along my jaw. "You need someone who isn't afraid of your attitude. Someone who knows how to channel it into your game."

"Everything's a game to you, isn't it?"

"Life's a game, Jenkins." His thumb traces my bottom lip. "The question is: are you ready to start playing to win?"

Something inside me snaps. I grab his wrist, yanking his hand away. "I've been playing to win my whole life. Don't pretend you know what I need."

Instead of pulling back, he steps closer, backing me against the counter. "I know exactly what you need. Structure. Discipline. Someone who won't let you hide behind your tantrums."

"I'm not hiding."

"No?" His hands bracket the counter on either side of me, caging me in. "Prove it."

My breath catches as he leans down, his mouth inches from mine. "What are you doing?"

"Testing your commitment." His voice is rough velvet. "Show me how badly you want this comeback."

"By letting you dominate me? Not happening."

His laugh is low, dangerous. "Sweetheart, if I was trying to dominate you, you wouldn't be talking right now."

Heat floods my body. "You can't shut me up."

"I can think of several ways." His eyes drop to my mouth. "But we're keeping things professional, remember?"

"Professional?" I arch against him slightly, satisfaction coursing through me when his breath hitches. "Is that what this is?"

His hands tighten on the counter. I lean up, letting my lips brush his ear. "I don't think it is anymore."

He moves fast, lifting me onto the counter in one smooth motion. My legs part instinctively as he steps between them, hands gripping my thighs.

"Last chance to back down," he warns.

I curl my fingers into his shirt, pulling him closer. "I never back down."

For a moment, we're frozen there. Our breath mingling, hearts racing, bodies humming with potential energy. Then Luke smiles, slow and wicked.

"Good to know." He steps back abruptly, leaving me cold. "Practice in thirty minutes. Don't be late."

WTF! "You're seriously walking away right now?"

He grabs his coffee, heading for the door. "Consider it motivation. Channel that frustration into your training."

"You're an ass, Mitchell."

"And you're going to thank me when you're holding your next trophy." He pauses in the doorway. "By the way, Wilson wants to meet tomorrow. Be ready."

"Is that an order?"

His grin is pure sin. "Unless you need more forceful motivation?"

I grab an apple from the fruit bowl and throw it at his head. He catches it easily.

"That's my girl." He takes a bite, winks, and disappears upstairs.

I slip off the counter on shaky legs, torn between fury and arousal. This is going to be the longest two months of my life.