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CHAPTER 2

DALLAS

FOUR WEEKS LATER…

I s it wrong that I can still smell the hint of pussy on my fingers the morning after? Yes, I’ve showered; I’m not completely disgusting. But as I sit across from my agent, while he explains my potential earnings if I sign with a certain beer brand, I’m hit by that all too familiar scent as I rest my chin on my fist. I can’t remember her name—I never can—but I can remember just how she looked as she came all over my fingers in the back of the cab we took from the bar to her Bushwick apartment.

“Earth to dickhead?”

I’m snapped back to reality to find Andy staring at me with an incredulous look in his eyes. “You listening, or what?”

I sit up a little straighter. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“This deal can make you a lot of money, Dallas.” Andy sighs. “But lately there’s been some negative backlash around professional athletes promoting alcohol.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s that whole think of the children bullshit.” Says the guy with six-year-old twins.

Andy sits back, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m leaving the decision up to you, but again…” He taps his pen against the graph at my forecasted earnings .

“That’s a lot of money,” I muse, staring at the dollar amount. With a smirk, I add, “And I do love beer.”

“It’s as if it was meant to be.” Andy grins because he knows he’s got me.

“Here we are, gentlemen.”

We’re interrupted by a waitress returning with our meals and Andy snatches the graph off the table, tucking it into his folio like it’s the blueprint for the New York Stock Exchange and we’re planning a heist.

“Thanks, hon.” I flash the woman a panty-melting grin and, naturally, her cheeks flush. She flutters her lashes at me, hesitating a moment longer than necessary before turning quickly and scurrying back inside the restaurant. Cute .

Picking up my silverware, my mouth waters at the sight of the juicy prime rib plated in front me. But before I can dig in, I hear Andy scoff, and I glance across the table to find him staring at me.

“Can you go one meal without flirting with a goddamn waitress.”

With a shrug, I grin. “What can I say? It’s in my genes.”

“Yeah, something’s in your jeans, alright,” he mutters, shaking his head.

I snicker at his comment because, frankly, he’s not wrong. The ladies love me. What can I say?

Andy’s been my agent for four years, and in that time, we’ve become more than just agent and client. He was literally the only person I knew in the city when I was traded from Alberta to New York two years ago. Because of that, we grew close. And since all my family is back in Texas, Andy, his wife Jenn, and their twins, Dotty and Jack, are like a second family to me here.

When his phone starts to ring, Andy mutters a string of expletives as he answers the call, and I take a swig of my beer. But just as I look up, my gaze is snagged by the vision of a perfect fucking ten crossing the street.

Head down, big black sunglasses shielding her eyes, light blonde hair a chaotic mess of curls that bounce in time with her steps, she’s dressed in a long tan coat that flaps open with the breeze, and I glimpse a tight black dress that hugs an hourglass figure, tits bouncing with every step she takes in a pair of sexy stilettos. She has that timeless kind of beauty—a modern-day Marilyn Monroe. And I can appreciate an attractive woman—hell, I’ve had more than my fair share—but there’s something about this one.

As she turns up 3rd Avenue and begins in this very direction, it’s as if I’ve lost the ability to function like a normal person, choking on my beer like a teenager trying his first Bud Light. I don’t know where to look, barely managing to pull my shit together before the woman of my dreams stops right at my very table.

Puck Bunny. Fucking jackpot.

Clearing my throat, I lift my sunglasses to rest on top of my head, ready to give her the full Dallas Shaw experience.

“What’s up, darlin’?” I push up from my seat, closing the distance and offering a hand, my six-four frame towering over her in that way that drives the bunnies wild. “Dallas Shaw. Voted sexiest goalie two years in a row.”

I prepare for fawning. A flirty giggle. Maybe even a sneaky brush of her hand against my crotch. The usual. But there’s none of that. In fact, there’s something else entirely.

As if in slow motion, she glances up at me, removing her sunglasses to reveal a set of big doe eyes, pretty pink lips falling open on a soft gasp. And when I get a good look at her, I’m taken aback by more than just her beauty. There’s something about this woman, alright. She’s not just hot. She’s fucking familiar.

“Goldie…” My voice is barely even a whisper, but it’s the best I can manage when really, what I want to say is what the fuck ? And what are you doing here ? And why the hell did you sneak out on me a month ago? But of course, before I can say anything, I’m stopped by my agent losing his ever-loving shit on the phone and ruining the moment in that way that’s just so him .

“For fuck’s sake, Steve, what do you want me to do? Wipe your fuckin’ ass? Work it out, Einstein. I’m not here to do your goddamn job for you.” Andy ends the call, tossing his phone onto the table and causing the glasses to clang before glancing up at me.

His gaze flits from me to my one-night stand, brows climbing high. “Oh, hey Emily. Did you bring the file?”

Huh? My brows bunch together as I look from her to Andy and back again.

“Yeah.” She smiles, although it’s tight and awkward, her hand trembling as she rifles through the oversized Louis Vuitton tote hanging off her shoulder.

Pulling out a manilla envelope, she hands it to Andy, that big, caramel gaze flitting to me before back to my agent. “I was just on my way to collect your dry cleaning. Is there, um… anything else you need?”

My head moves side-to-side, watching the back and forth between them like I’m at the goddamn US Open. What the ever-loving fuck is going on?

“No. I’m flying up to Boston to make a BU game after this, but you have a good weekend,” Andy says, far too interested in the contents of the envelope to bother granting her another glance. But that’s okay, because I’m all fucking eyes, baby.

“Okay, I’ll see you Monday.”

I just stand there, gawking, my jaw slack. But can you blame me? I shared one of the most amazing nights of my life with this woman. Hell, she came back to my apartment. No woman has ever come back to my apartment. That’s a hard rule. But I broke it. For her. We had amazing, mind-blowing sex. She even wore my goddamn jersey while I fucked her. I don’t think she knew it was technically my jersey; I assume she thought I was just some hockey fan with a weird fetish, but that’s not the point. I thought we had something. I thought we connected. But then I woke up the next morning, naked and alone, with nothing but the lingering hint of her scent trapped in my bed sheets. What the fuck?

When she glances at me again, she tucks a wavy lock of glossy blonde hair behind her ear, and it almost looks as if she’s going to say something. But she doesn’t. Instead, she turns quickly and walks back the way she came, crossing at the lights before disappearing down 49th Street.

I release the breath I’ve been holding, looking at Andy. Sitting back down, I stare at him long and hard, waiting for at least some sort of explanation. When he doesn’t look up from his paperwork, I make a point of clearing my throat, and he casually glances at me, doing an almost hilarious double take when he realizes I’m gaping at him.

“What’s up?” he asks, taking a sip of his iced water, gaze flitting about as if he’s missed something. World’s most clueless bastard, I swear.

“Um—” I shake my head once as if to say what-the-fuck ? “Who was that?”

“Who?” Andy looks around again because sure, he’s one of the best sports agents in the entire country, but my God, the dude is thick as fuck.

I spear him with a pointed look.

His brows jump in that way that causes his curly hairline to momentarily recede. “Oh, Emily?”

I deadpan. No, Sherlock Holmes; the guy down on the corner holding a Jesus is coming sign.

“She’s my new assistant,” he says as if it’s obvious. “Do you even read the monthly newsletter I send out?”

I snort. “No.”

He rolls his eyes.

“What happened to Paris?”

Andy shifts in his chair, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable. “She… broke the rules.”

Interest sufficiently piqued, I arch a brow. “What rules ?”

“The terms of her employment. ”

I stare at him, waiting for more.

“She had relations with a client,” he mutters, looking down at the papers in front of him.

That’s a rule? Well, damn.

Finishing the dregs of my beer, I stare out at nothing in the distance, thinking back to the look in Emily’s eyes when she saw me just now, fear and something else flashing in her gaze.

It’s been four weeks since that night. Four long weeks I’ve spent driving myself crazy, wondering what the hell happened. Wondering where she went. Racking my brain with what I possibly could’ve done that was so goddamn terrible she felt the need to sneak out on me the morning after.

I’ve had my fair share of hook ups. I’ve even had a few since that very night. I’m a no strings kind of guy, and I make damn sure the ladies I go home with know that about me up front. It’s like a disclaimer; I don’t want to deal with the drama of a woman who thinks I’m about to commit just because we fuck. But that night, four weeks ago, it was different. I felt more with Emily than I’ve felt for any woman. She was sexy but vulnerable, with this innocence about her. Hell, I even looked in her eyes as I came. Another first for me. But there was something about her. Something that rattled me through to my core in the best possible way. Something that, for the very first time in my life, made me want more. But then she left. And for the last month, I’ve been reminding myself that that’s the exact reason I remain single as a Pringle.

But now she’s back…

“Don’t even think about it, Shaw.”

Andy’s stern voice pulls me from my thoughts and I look at him to see he’s still focused on the documents in his hands.

“What?” I choose to play dumb.

He glances at me then, offering a knowing look, his shoulders falling with a heavy sigh. “I like her, Dallas,” he begins. “She’s good at her job, and she’s the first assistant I’ve had that Jenn actually likes.” He shakes his head at me as if to answer any and all future questions I may or may not have on the matter. “She’s off limits.” He arches a warning brow. “Stay away from her.”

And sure, I could come clean right now and tell him that his warning is, in fact, four weeks too late. But I don’t. Instead, I shrug a shoulder and turn my attention to my steak with a muttered, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

When we’re finished up with lunch, Andy’s shiny SUV arrives at the curb and I say goodbye before crossing the street and heading down 49 th to the garage where I parked. But, as if I’m on autopilot, I continue straight past the garage entrance, apologizing as I make my way through a throng of tourists snapping photos of the city before, finally, turning right onto Madison Avenue.

Like magic, I come to a stop outside a familiar lobby entrance of a generic sky-scraping building, and I take a moment to consider myself. Sure, I could turn around, walk back to the garage, collect my car and drive home like I probably should.

She left you, Dallas , my subconscious reminds me like an asshole. And as usual, the smug bastard is right. She did leave me. And sure, some guys might accept that as an obvious sign that a woman is not interested and move on. But, in a city of eight-million people, there’s something to say about her coming back into my life like this. Of all the competent, experienced people Andy could’ve hired as his assistant, he hires her? That’s got to be fate or some shit.

Pushing my way through the revolving glass doors, I jut my chin at the security guard who offers me a knowing wink and finger-guns before buzzing me through the turnstiles. And, as nerves try to get the better of me, I step onto one of the elevators and press the button for level twenty-two, HMC Management’s headquarters.