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“You clearly haven’t been giving yourself much of a challenge.” I stirred the straw in my drink around in circles as I gazed at him.

Jamil threw his head back and laughed, the sound doing something strange to my insides. “I like a challenge.”

My stomach twirled the second his eyes met mine again.

I lifted a finger off my glass and pointed toward another woman sitting by herself at the end of the bar opposite us. “She looks like a challenge.” She was older by a few decades, but her ring finger was bare. She looked like the kind of woman hoping for an escape, just like me.

His eyes cut to who I was pointing at before he brought a hand to his chest. “You wound me. Am I not good company?”

I lifted one shoulder. “You’re suitable company, I suppose.”

That was the understatement of the century. This conversation was the most interesting one I’d had since I came down to Florida. But I wasn’t above making him work for it.

He turned in his seat to give me more of his attention, his knee bumping against mine, and I sunk my teeth into my bottom lip, my body tingling at the contact.

I leaned into him until my legs were between his, our bodies fully turned to face each other now.

Jamil’s playful energy was more intoxicating than the alcohol in my hand. The exact remedy my day needed.

It had been far too long since I’d flirted or even been touched by someone of the opposite sex and the racing of my heart could be chalked up to that very reason.

Or it could be because of the man with a crooked smile, dimple in his right cheek, and eyes the color of starlight. But I highly doubted it.

“Do you like tacos?” Jamil asked as he drained the remainder of his beer.

My eyes fell to his throat as I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and then back down. Suddenly thirsty for more than just a cocktail.

“Tacos?” I heard myself ask as I lingered on the gold chain peeking out from beneath his shirt.

“This may be a little forward, but I know a great food truck a few blocks away. It’s one of my favorites from when I used to live here.

” A hint of red colored Jamil’s cheeks for the second time tonight as he rambled on.

“Maybe I read you wrong, but it feels like you could use a night of distraction as much as I can, and I always find food can be the perfect way to take your mind off of things—”

“Tacos sound great.”

Before I could fish my card out to pay for my drink, Jamil threw a few bills down on the bar to cover our drinks and a hefty tip.

“Do you mind walking?” He let me lead the way out of the bar. My body was painfully aware of how close his tall, broad frame was to me as we walked past the patrons wearing tropical button downs and sandals before heading out the front door of the small dive bar together.

“After the day I had, walking is exactly what I need,” I told him.

Jamil reached around me to hold the door open. His chest brushed my shoulder, and I caught a whiff of his cologne. Either those two drinks had made me tipsier than I thought, or the cologne was the reason my foot caught on the crack in the sidewalk.

My body careened forward, the ground rushing toward me.

“Woah, there!” A strong arm wrapped around my waist, stopping me before my face met asphalt. “Are you sure you’re okay to walk? I can give you a piggyback ride.”

I quickly sidestepped out of his grasp, heat filling my cheeks and my stomach. Maybe I had more to drink than I thought. That was the only explanation for why I was considering his offer. My mind imagined what he’d feel like between my legs. “I’m fine but thank you for the offer.”

He raised an eyebrow before making a pointed look at the crack in the sidewalk that had almost been my demise.

“I promise.” I reached over to squeeze his arm. Both of us glanced down at my hand before I dropped it back to my side. God, how is this man tying me up in knots just by touching him?

Jamil cleared his throat. “Right. The food truck is just around the corner.” He motioned for us to cross the street and head in the direction of the bay before shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

Night had fully settled in Tampa and the sticky humidity of the day was giving way to a nice breeze that lifted my hair off my neck. It was a welcome change from DC, where the last bits of winter still clung on to the city.

I eyed Jamil as we continued down the street together, matching each other’s steps.

He looked more relaxed than when he first sat down at the bar.

His shoulders were a little lighter and his face clear, as if the ocean breeze was slowly peeling away his burdens.

His steps held a bounce that reminded me of the player I had watched on television, living out his dreams and soaking up every second of it.

“You grew up around here?”

He nodded his head and shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his shorts. “On the north side of Tampa.”

“Do you still have family in the area?” We were both dancing around asking anything personal—and I respected that—but I tucked away any piece that he was willing to give me.

I wanted to know why the guy with the biggest smile in the room looked like he carried more weight than he could manage when he walked into that bar. I wanted to know why the guy that everyone assumed had the world at his fingertips and was supposed to be so happy, was clearly not .

Definitely because of the reporter’s instinct in me and not because I cared.

“My mom, dad, and sisters still live here,” Jamil told me. “My brother moved to Chicago with me.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw at the mention of his brother, and I feared for a moment that I had walked into dangerous territory. “My oldest sister had her first baby a few months ago. I came down so I could meet my niece. Being around them makes me miss home.”

“I’m sure they love having you around for a portion of the year.”

The food truck came into view. We stopped to read the menu next to the window.

“It’s nice to feel normal again.” My chest cracked in half at his admission.

I wasn’t sure he even realized he’d said it as he studied the menu.

He’d gradually pulled himself away from everything outside of playing over the past few months.

Media couldn’t pin him down for a comment or interview and fans really had no way to interact with him after he catapulted into stardom.

The change had been instantaneous, with people showing up at his home or tracking his movements to try to get a photo.

“Anything in particular good here?” I asked, desperate to change the subject before we wandered past the point of no return.

Jamil began naming off the different tacos that he suggested I try.

As soon as he started on the margaritas he swore were the best ones on this side of the state, I stopped him. “Surprise me?”

His eyes widened before he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “You won’t be disappointed.”

I’m sure I won’t be , I thought, as I slid into a seat at one of the open tables nearby.

A few minutes later, Jamil walked over balancing two margaritas on top of two trays full of the most delicious-looking tacos I’d ever seen. He had his tongue stuck out the side of his mouth as he concentrated on not dropping anything. I was glued to the boyish look on his face, unburdened and free.

“Let me help with that,” I told him as I sprung up from the table to take one of the trays and drinks from him.

“These are the only tacos I think I’ve ever gotten a ‘foodgasm’ from,” Jamil said casually as he took a sip from his margarita.

Thankfully I hadn’t taken a sip yet of my own or I would have spit it all over the table. “Did you just say ‘foodgasm’?”

Jamil nodded. His face solemn before he took the first bite of his taco. He let out a moan that was borderline inappropriate to do in public but had me unable to take my eyes off him—a look of disbelief surely on my face.

A laugh slowly built inside of me until I was nearly doubled over in stitches. Tears leaked out the corners of my eyes. The second I had a hard time catching my breath, I knew what was about to happen. A snort ripped out of me.

Jamil’s eyes widened with delight. “And you made fun of me !”

I reached for my margarita, still enthralled with the way Jamil’s face lit up. The second the tequila and salt hit my tongue, I was in trouble.

Tequila was my kryptonite, and I wasn’t sure if I could be held accountable for whatever happened next. Especially when he gave me a smile over the rim of his margarita that had me daring to ask if he wanted to get out of here.