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M ILES

I’m not sure if last night was ballsy smart or a stupid-ass way to fuck up my relationship with Rowan. Which has been strictly friendship. I was cool with the friendship gig until...I wasn’t.

There’s no way to pin-point when my feelings started to change toward her. Maybe it’s when Banksy and Potato—fucking love that nickname—fell hard and fast and got hitched, and seeing so many teammates my age married with kids.

Maybe it was turning thirty-two earlier this year and watching the years I have left in the NFL tick away.

Maybe it’s the way Rowan’s laughter lights up a room.

Or the way she’s so genuinely sweet and kind and makes you feel like you’re the center of the universe. Or at least her center when you’re with her. She listens without judgment, talks without bragging or looking for attention.

Or maybe it’s the way she smells. Vanilla and sweet and earthy like carrot cake. I snort as I turn toward her street. She’d love being compared to cake. Actually, I think she really would like that comparison.

She’s just inside the entry door to her building, which either means she’s as excited about this date as I am, or she has a lot of nervous energy and is hoping to get this over with as soon as possible.

I shake the second option out of my head. No way. I’m a fun guy to be with, and I’m a good kisser, from what I’ve been told. No way in Hell she isn’t excited about spending the evening with me.

“Hey, gorgeous.” I greet her with a kiss to her cheek as soon as she walks out of the door. “I hope you weren’t waiting long. I would have come up and greeted you at your apartment like a gentleman.”

I may have a juvenile sense of humor and struggle maintaining serious conversations—thank you, ADHD diagnosis in middle school—and I love to play hard on the football field and in the bedroom, but I can be a gentleman. No one would call me an asshole.

Well, Potato does from time to time, but I know in my heart it’s because he loves me so.

“No need.” Rowan waves her hand in front of her. “Parking can be difficult around here. I almost texted you telling you to pull up wherever and I’d find you.”

“Hell no.” I take her hand and walk us to my car. “I don’t want you standing alone on the sidewalk looking so pretty. No doubt someone else would swoop you up and there goes my dinner date.”

“So you’re more concerned about dining solo than my safety?” she teases.

“Damn straight. What would that do to my reputation?” I open the passenger door for her and wait for her to slide in.

She puts one hand on the door and stops. I look around her and spot the bouquet of flowers on the passenger seat. “I don’t want to squish your flowers.”

“They’re not mine, they’re for you. When I saw you at the front door of your building I kind of forgot to grab them.” I reach around her and catch a whiff of her vanilla-carrot cake scent. So delicious.

“Forgot?” She smiles up at me when I hand her the flowers. “Thank you.”

“I was partly distracted and annoyed that you were already down here and partly distracted because you look beautiful tonight. But you always do.”

I keep my tone light so I don’t totally freak her out. After the kiss last night, I could feel her body go limp when I ended our way too fucking short and sweet kiss. Even so, I don’t have a good read on her yet.

Is she being all sweet and cute with me because that’s who Rowan is with everyone? I don’t like the twinge of jealousy I feel inside at that thought.

Or is she starting to look at me as someone more than her friend’s husband’s teammate? Fuck, that’s a mouthful. And the only mouthful I want right now is Rowan. Her lips and tongue. Her beautiful tits. Her full, round ass. What I can only imagine as the sweetest, ripest, wettest pussy.

Damn. I shift my feet, hoping my boner doesn’t poke through my jeans.

“Thank you.” She shifts as well. Maybe she’s got a girl boner she’s gotta ward off.

The hell is a girl boner? Damn my ADHD and the thirteen-year-old thoughts that have yet to mature.

Once she’s buckled up, I mentally smack myself as I round the hood of my SUV. Rowan’s good at keeping conversation going and we talk about dumb stuff—my favorite topic, after sex and food—until we reach the restaurant parking lot.

“A coma’s the way to go,” she argues as I hold the door open for her.

“No way. Five years in prison, over ten years in a coma.” My aunt and sister would never be able to handle watching me waste away in a coma. “You’re one hundred percent wrong on this one, Doc.” Would you rather is my favorite game, and only a select few in my world have an appreciation for the ridiculous questions. That Rowan is a fan and can hold her own only turns me on.

And I don’t need help in that department when it comes to Row. Everything about her turns me on, which is becoming a problem. An obsession. And I’m not mad about it.

“Table for two?” the hostess asks, and only then does Rowan realize where we are.

“Wait. I thought we were going to my favorite pizza place.”

“Two.” I nod and place my hand on Rowan’s back as we follow the hostess through the Italian restaurant. I heard about it from Kendall and Potato. Or rather, I overheard them talking about this hole-in-the-wall place that Nash takes Paisley Pickles to, and now it’s become their family favorite.

I love that Rowan was so distracted by our Would You Rather game that she didn’t realize we weren’t going to pizza.

When we’re seated and the hostess leaves with our drink order, Rowan leans across the table.

“You promised you’d try the Brussels sprouts pizza.”

“Darn.” I snap my fingers. “I forgot about that. I guess we’ll have to go out again.” I pick up my menu to hide my grin.

“Well played, Bucky.” The nickname is adorable coming from Pickles, but I’d rather have Rowan scream out Miles in the throes of passion. We’ll get there.

If I’m doing my job well, she’ll be so overwhelmed she’ll forget how to speak. But that’ll have to happen another day. I’m still in the wooing stages, whatever the hell that means.

Women like me because I like them. The flirting, the innuendos, the blatant come-ons. It’s fun. I’m flattered and I love flattering women right back. It’s second nature to me and doesn’t always mean anything other than a fun time, which doesn’t always mean sex either.

I can be all talk, but I’m good at follow-through when the person, time, and place is suitable. I’ve never done the dark kink before but—

“Kendall talks about this place all the time. She said the gnocchi is amazing.”

“Order whatever you’d like.” Our waitress comes over with our waters and an iced tea for Rowan. “Are you sure you don’t want a glass of wine or something stronger? Maybe a shot of whiskey in your tea?”

“I’m good, thank you. I don’t normally drink on a work night unless we’re watching your game.”

Damn. I like the sound of your game on her lips. Even if she’s there to cheer on Bankes and Hump, I like that she bends her rules for football. For my team. Maybe eventually for me .

“Are you ready to order?” Our waitress asks.

I tip my chin to Rowan to start. When we’ve placed our order and the waitress leaves, I loop us back to our game. “Why a coma? Defend. You have sixty seconds.” I look at my naked wrist and tap it.

Her brows dip down in confusion. “Coma?” It takes a second for her to catch up, then she laughs. “Okay. No fair starting the clock when I wasn’t ready yet.”

“Your stalling tactic won’t work on me. And don’t try to flirt your way out of it. You’re wasting time.”

All lies. I want her to flirt her way out of it. All she has to do is stretch those pretty lips into a smile and point those smooth, chocolatey eyes at me, and I’ll concede. Fuck. She wouldn’t even have to do that. She could just tell me she wins and I’d bow down at her mercy.

“Fine.” She laughs then straightens her shoulders. “Five years in jail would get in my head. I’d be sad, depressed, angry, miserable. I’d be aware of everything I’m missing out on in the real world. And orange isn’t my color.”

“Disagree. You can wear any color and any style. You could make a paper bag look sexy.” I wave my hand. “Continue your nonsense. You have twenty-two seconds.”

I have no idea how much time she’s used, and I’ll gladly sit across from her and listen to her talk for hours.

Fuck, I’m obsessed. Not mad about it either.

“I wouldn’t come out of prison the same person. But I wouldn’t remember anything I missed out on if I was in a coma. Yes, I’d be sad to see the world had carried on for ten years without me and be upset about missing Emmitt and Paisley’s birthdays and important milestones, but it’s the better alternative. Also, I highly doubt I’d get my job back after serving time in the slammer.”

The slammer. God, she’s cute.

“Time’s up. That was a decent argument.”

“Thank you.” She tips her head down in a bow. “Your turn. Ready. Set. Go.” She taps her wrist, mimicking me.

“My argument is quite simple and undebatable.”

“Mhm.”

Damn, she’s extra cute when she tries to be serious and stern.

“Ten years in a coma would leave my body emaciated. But while spending five years in the slammer, I could work out all day and still come out looking the fine specimen I am. Maybe garner a tattoo or two.”

I pick up my ice water and clink it against her glass. “Match. Set. Point.”

“Do you even know how to play tennis?” She laughs. “And that’s not match, set, point. That’s the lamest, most superficial argument. Mine is deeper.”

“Um, have you met me? I’m as superficial as they get. No depth here.” I mean for my words to be a joke, but underneath the layers I hide from everyone else, there’s a lot of truth to them.

“I don’t believe that for a minute, Miles Buckingham. You have depth, you just like to hide it with your jokes and...body.” Her cheeks turn a delicious pink. “I see how you care for your aunt and sister.”

“I have money. Superficial.”

“No.” She shakes her head and rests her elbows on the table. “It’s easy to throw money at someone and pretend like you care. Even though I only met them for a few minutes, I could tell by the way they interacted with you and how you talked with them that you care. You’d give up everything for them, which is anything but superficial.”

How is it that Rowan can see the real me when no one else has? Hell, nobody else has ever even tried. I’m saved from coming up with a witty response by the arrival of our salads.

She doesn’t let it go though. “And I think you’re selfless enough to go to prison because at least then your aunt and Julia could visit you, while it would break their hearts more to see you in a hospital bed for ten years.”

Fuck. Me. Now.

Serious talk makes me itchy. Thankful for the distraction of food, I pierce a cherry tomato and inhale my salad. I push my empty bowl away before Rowan’s even made a dent in hers.

Needing to lighten the mood—my specialty—I continue our game. “Would you rather swim in a pool of Nutella or maple syrup?”

“No brainer. Nutella. Syrup is so sticky. I could probably scrub it off my body easily enough, but I can’t imagine how long it would take to wash out of my hair.”

Fuck. Now I can’t unsee the image of naked Rowan covered in sticky syrup. How she’d taste. Maple mixed with vanilla and carrot cake.

“You?” she asks before she takes another bite of salad.

“Maple syrup. For the exact reason you wouldn’t want it. Taking a long time to wash off your body would be the best part.”

Rowan’s mouth drops and my gaze and dirty thoughts go straight to it. My cock, covered in syrup, between her lips. Or since she prefers the other, Nutella on my cock, down her throat. Nutella covered nipples. Nutella between her—

“Gnocchi?” The waitress once again cock-blocks me. Or rather, my imagination. Rowan lifts her hand and moves her salad bowl aside. “The Italian platter must be for you.”

She sets the trio of food in front of me. Spaghetti with the biggest meatballs I’ve ever seen in my entire life, chicken parm, and a slice of lasagna.

Rowan laughs. “You never cease to surprise me with your appetite.”

“Doc. You have no idea how big my appetite really is.”

Our plates are empty and cleared and the check paid before I’m ready to end our date. When I turn down the road to her apartment building, Rowan picks up her purse by her feet and cradles the flowers to her chest.

“Don’t bother trying to find parking. You can drop me off here.”

I give her a side-eye and drive past her building and into the lot. I drive through row after row, not finding anything open. Finally, a car leaves, and I snag the spot.

“Seriously, Miles. It’s not worth paying for a spot when you’re going to be here for two seconds,” she says as I enter my information into the kiosk.

Not worth it? Fuck that. Rowan is worth it and so much more. Ignoring her asinine comment, I reach for her hand and walk her to her building. When she unlocks the entryway door, she turns to me and opens her mouth to shoo me away, no doubt.

“I’m walking you to your door, Rowan.”

When we reach her apartment, she pauses, keeping her gaze to the floor. She nervously fiddles with her key ring and I can tell she’s thinking about our kiss last night as well. I’m all about taking baby steps with her, but she has to see how badly I want her. She may even be able to see how much I need her.

“Since you’re paying for an hour, want to come in for a drink or something?”

Or something. Like her, I don’t usually drink during the season unless it’s after a game or we’re celebrating someone’s birthday. Which has been a lot more lately now that I’m hanging with these family guys. I have a few beers, nothing too crazy, but then I’m back to my focused diet.

But fuck me now if I don’t pounce on her, I mean, the opportunity to spend more time with her, especially away from other people. Alone. Row and me. For real alone for the first time.

“Sure.” I sounded casual, right?

She’s a foot shorter than me, so when I stand behind her while she unlocks her door, I can see the slight tremble in her hands. Her nerves are my undoing. If she’s nervous to be alone with me she wouldn’t have invited me in, right?

The tremble’s gotta be nervous anticipation of what happens next, right?

Who the fuck my brain is talking to waiting for a reply, I haven’t a clue. I’m not one to talk to myself. Part of my problem. Words come out of my mouth before I think about what I’m saying. But when I’m with Rowan, I try harder to think before I speak.

Part of me is proud of mature Miles trying to act like a grown up. The other part twists my balls and tells me to be myself. That if she doesn’t like who I am, we’re not meant to be.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Rowan says as she sets her purse down on the counter and takes a vase out of one of the three cabinets in her kitchen area.

Her apartment is small but cute. Kinda like her. The kitchen is just big enough for a small fridge, two-burner stove and oven, and about three feet of counter space. The two-person kitchen table is set up with autumn-colored placemats and a leaf ring around a candle.

It’s cozy. Intimate. Set up for a date.

“Expecting company?” I nod toward the table and hope the second twinge of jealousy I have tonight isn’t evident in my voice.

“Oh, no. I rarely even eat at the table. My apartment isn’t much and I don’t have space to decorate for the holidays, so I like to make my table look festive. Usually Kendall, Riley, and I sit on the living room floor to eat.” She moves the fall candle thing and sets the vase of flowers in the center of the table.

I glance at the living space, which could easily fit inside my walk-in closet. Okay, maybe not easily, but my master bedroom is bigger than her apartment, and I don’t even live in a fancy house like most of the married guys on the team.

The couch is more of an overstuffed chair. There’s no way in Hell I could stretch out on it, but I can easily bend Rowan over the back and—

“Do you want something to drink?” She opens the fridge and pokes her head in. “I have orange juice, coffee creamer, water, and a bottle of tequila in the freezer.” She pops her head up. “Sorry I don’t have much. I don’t entertain anyone except the girls on occasion and they usually stop at the store for food.”

“Noted. Next time I’ll bring beverages instead of flowers.” I cross her apartment so I’m close to her, which doesn’t take but three steps. “And there will be a next time, Rowan.”

She nods and licks her lips. I’m sure it was an innocent move, but anything and everything Rowan does turns me on.

“Can I kiss you again?” Hell, I’ve never asked a woman if I could kiss her before. Not that I’d kiss a woman without consent, but usually they’re more obvious about what they want. Or they go in for the liplock first.

With Rowan, it’s hard to tell what she wants from me.

“Yes, please.” Her voice is soft and polite, but those eyes. Those brown eyes turn to molten chocolate begging to be ravished.

So ravish, I do.