Stealing Sawyer

Book 3: The Perfect Game

by Samantha Christy

Genres: Billionaires Romance; Sports Romance; Contemporary Romance; New Adult Romance; fake relationship; baseball romance

Synopsis

I hired her to be my girlfriend.
To fix my reputation.
To save my career.

It's not that I don't want a girlfriend. I do. I want it all. Wife, kids, side-by-side burial plots.
The problem is - I can't have any of it.
So I've made myself untouchable. The quintessential bachelor of baseball.
Because it's not worth the risk. Not even for someone I love.
Especially not for someone I love.

We made the arrangements.
We agreed to a contract.
It's iron clad.
No sex. No love. No future.

What could possibly go wrong?


Stealing Sawyer can be read as a standalone sports romance. It is Book Three in The Perfect Game Series.
This series can easily be enjoyed out of order.

Samantha Christy's collections:

The Mitchell Sisters Series
Purple Orchids
White Lilies
Black Roses

The Stone Brothers Series
Stone Rules
Stone Promises
Stone Vows

The Perfect Game Series
Catching Caden
Benching Brady
Stealing Sawyer

The Men on Fire Series
Igniting Ivy
Sparking Sara
Engulfing Emma 
 
The Reckless Rockstar Series
Reckless Obsession
Reckless Invitation 
Reckless Reunion  

Standalones
Be My Reason
Abstract Love
Finding Mikayla

***Amazon named Samantha Christy an All-Star Author for being one of the most popular authors in Kindle Unlimited throughout 2018, 2019, and 2020 to date.***

Her books are recommended for fans of authors such as L.J. Shen, Helen Hardt, Marie Force, J.S. Scott, Corinne Michaels, Lauren Landish, Vi Keeland, Nicole Snow, Nora Roberts, and E.L. James.

About the Author
Samantha Christy writes contemporary and new adult romance novels. She loves to write not only about millionaires, but extraordinary people, second-chance love, and deeply emotional issues. She loves to interact with readers so please look her up on social media.

Release date: September 20, 2018

Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

Print pages: 398

Sample

Chapter One

Sawyer

Damn Straight!

I look down at my jersey and see it caked with dirt. Then I stare at my pants to see they are no longer white, but reddish-brown with one of the knees ripped clean through. Bonus points for that.

The state of my clothing always tells me what kind of game I had. The dirtier the better. And today has been exceptionally good, especially for a season opener. Hell, I might even frame this uniform. Four stolen bases. Four! I’ll bet Rickey Henderson is shaking in his boots thinking I might be the one to break his record.

For two years now, I’ve held the league record for stolen bases. And if this game is any indication, I’m on my way to year three.

“Take me home, Sawyer!” a woman screams, as I make my way into the dugout.

I turn my head and find a beautiful tall blonde giving me a good look at her cleavage. I take a second to memorize where she’s sitting so I can have one of the ushers slip a note to her.

I won’t take her home. I never take them home. But the hotel down the street from where I live is convenient, within walking distance of my townhouse, and nice enough that the girls don’t complain too much when I leave before the crack of dawn. After all, they do get a hotel-catered breakfast fit for a queen, albeit for one. As for me, I usually hit Starbucks on my walk home.

I put my helmet and batting gloves away and scribble a note to Blondie. Then I hear the disappointment of the crowd and look over to see that Benham got thrown out trying to steal third. I shake my head. I need to give that rookie some pointers.

Brady pats me on the back. “Nice job out there,” he says, removing his jacket and grabbing his glove to head out onto the field.

I lift my chin at him. “Let’s end this now.”

I give my note to an usher, along with a description of the woman and her location. Then I grab my own glove before jogging out to my position. I warm up with the other infielders as the crowd gets louder and louder, wanting us to shut out the Nationals for our first win.

It’s the top of the ninth and the score is 4 – 0, so as long as they don’t pull a rabbit out of a hat, we’ll get the victory.

Before the batter comes to the plate, I take a quick look around Hawks Stadium. Man, I love this. I have the best job. Great pay. Good friends. Killer city. I couldn’t ask for things to be any better than they are right now.

Growing up, I could only dream of playing in the majors. My childhood was anything but ideal. My mom was taken from me far too soon. My dad was a drunk. I made so many mistakes. Sometimes I wonder how I ended up here, the shortstop for the New York Nighthawks.

I rein in my thoughts. I need to stay sharp. I am, after all, what most people consider the most important position on the team. I’m the captain. The quarterback of baseball. You don’t win games without a top-notch shortstop. And you definitely don’t win the World Series. But that’s exactly where I plan on taking my team.

I hear the distant sound of thunder as Brady strikes out the first batter to the cheers of the stadium.

The second batter pops one up over the infield. I back up, calling off the center fielder so I can make a clean catch to get the second out.

The third batter dribbles a ground ball past Brady. Conner runs up to the ball, scoops it up and throws the batter out at first, solidifying our first win of the season.

We run off the field just as it begins to rain, celebrating our way back into the dugout.

I catch a glimpse of Blondie as I make my way to the clubhouse. I give her a wink and call out to her. “Give me twenty minutes, sweetheart.”

She smiles and then turns around and screams with her friends.

I laugh and shake my head. Every time.

Walking up to my locker, I see one of the assistant coaches leaning against the wall. “Rick wants to see you,” he says.

“Okay, sure. Mind if I shower first?”

“I don’t think he cares how you smell, Mills. Just get your ass in there now.”

I watch him walk away, wondering what this is all about. I mean, I just had the best game of my life, why would Coach want to see me?

Caden comes up next to me. “Being called to the principal’s office so soon?” he jokes.

“I’m sure he wants to tell me how awesome I played. Did you see me out there? I fucking killed it.”

My words speak a much different story than my mind. My mind is going crazy wondering why I’m being called to the manager’s office after playing such a good game.

I’m no stranger to being in Rick’s office. A few times a year he likes to give me the talk about keeping my dick in my pants. Last year they changed the rules of the organization to forbid employees from dating not only each other, but also their family members. Yeah – that was because of me. A pregnancy scare with the daughter of one of the assistant coaches did not go over well.

“I’m sure that’s what it is,” Caden says.

But I know as well as he does that we’re both full of shit.

I walk down the hallway and stand at Rick’s door. He’s on the phone, but he motions to the chair in front of his desk, so I sit down while he finishes up his call.

I look around his office. The walls are lined with pictures of players. Most of them past players, but there are a few current ones. Most notably, my two best friends, Brady Taylor and Caden Kessler. Caden got his picture on the wall two seasons back for setting a Nighthawks record for hitting the most home runs in a season. Brady got his ugly mug on the wall for the perfect game he pitched last year.

My picture is not yet on the wall. Not even after two years of holding the league record for stolen bases.

Rick has it in for me. It’s no secret. I know it. He knows it. Hell, even the press knows it.

I wonder what it will take to get my picture on his wall.

He hangs up the phone. Then he looks at me thoughtfully as he relaxes back into his chair. He crosses his arms and studies me.

He eyes my dirty jersey. “Good game today,” he says, with about as much enthusiasm as a pet rock.

“Thanks.”

He pushes a folder slowly across his desk, nodding to it.

I pick it up and open it. It takes me a minute to realize what it is before my blood pressure shoots through the roof. I close the folder and throw it back onto his desk. “You’re trading me?”

“Yes.”

“You’re trading me?” I ask again, still in disbelief. “But I fucking killed it out there today. I’m one of your best players, Rick.”

“Could be a good opportunity for you,” he says.

I open the folder again. “Kansas City? Are you kidding me? It’s a demotion and you know it.”

“They’re a solid team, Sawyer. You’ll do well there. And they are one of the few teams willing to take you on. Hell, you’re lucky we’re not straight up releasing you.”

“Come on, Rick. Lots of guys have issues like I do.”

“Issues?” He walks over to his file cabinet and pulls out a thick folder. He drops it on his desk in front of me. “Your issues take up more room in my file cabinet than the other twenty-four players combined.”

He opens the tattered folder and pulls out some papers, shuffling through them. “I’ve never seen so many complaints. Women, men, old, young. Hell, I had to sit here and get my ass chewed out by some hussy’s granny last fall. I don’t know how many times you have to be told to stop fucking around, Mills.”

“Why the hell does the organization even care what I do when I’m off the field as long as I perform like I did today? I’m making the team tens of millions and you know it.”

He shakes his head. “There comes a time when the risks outweigh the rewards. And we’ve pretty much hit our limit. Your reputation has gone from being the quintessential bad boy of baseball to potentially damaging the Nighthawks’ brand and we can’t have that.”

“What about Brady? He had a chick in every city for Christ’s sake. Did you ever threaten to trade him?”

Rick shakes his head. “He kept a low profile. We didn’t have to hire an additional PR person just to cover up his indiscretions.”

“So you’d rather get rid of me than give me a second chance?”

He gives me a stern stare and then nods to the folder on his desk. “The racy photos. The constant stream of tabloid fodder. The goddamn pitching coach’s daughter. Need I say more? Mills, you’ve had a hundred chances and everyone knows it.”

“Come on, Rick. You know as well as I do you’ve never threatened to trade me. Yeah, so you’ve had it out with me a few times, but if I’d known it was coming to this—”

“You’d what? You’d change? We’ve been asking you to do that for years.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it was that serious.”

“This is a business decision, Sawyer. Nothing personal.”

I stand up and pace behind the chair. “Nothing personal? You’re not serious, are you? This is very fucking personal. You haven’t ever liked me, Rick. Not from the very beginning. And you’ve said nothing to me about this being a possibility. This is bullshit and you know it. I could have done things differently. I would have done things differently. You can’t do this without warning. You have to give me a chance to prove myself now that I know what could happen. Come on, man. I love it here. And you need me. Please. Give me a chance to show you I can change.”

“Pick up, Rick,” a familiar voice says from the speaker on his phone.

Shit.

It’s Jason. The team owner. He’s been listening in the entire time.

Rick puts the phone to his ear. “What is it?”

I pace his office, running my hands through my hair as the two men discuss my fate.

I can’t imagine leaving New York. My whole life is here. It’s where I started my career. They are the only MLB team I’ve played for. My friends are here. They are more than friends, they’re family.

Rick holds out the phone to me, looking annoyed. “Jason would like a word.”

My shaking hand reaches out to take the phone. “Jason, look, I’m sorry, I—”

“Sawyer, shut up and listen. I’m giving you one more shot against everyone else’s wishes. One last chance to clean up your act and prove yourself worthy of the Nighthawks’ brand. But you should know I’m the only one in your corner. And I happen to agree with you that Rick should have made it clearer about our intentions if you kept going down the path you were on. But kid, you’ve got one last shot here. No more chances. No screw ups. Do what you have to do to make it right. Find a nice girl and settle down. Swear off women if you have to. Because your job depends on it. And there is a lot of pressure on me. I won’t be able to save you again.”

“I swear to God, Jason, you won’t regret this.”

“I hope not. Now if I were you, I’d put down the phone and get out of Rick’s office. He’s bound to throw a few things around the room.”

I laugh half-heartedly. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

I hand the phone back to Rick.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he says, walking over to open the door for me. He hands me the file folder with the Kansas City contract in it. “You might want to keep this. I have a feeling you’ll be needing it.”

I take it from him. “I’m not going anywhere, Rick. You’ll see.”

He raises his brows at me. “I’m not a betting man, but if I were, I think I’d be betting on a sure thing if I put money on your position opening up in, what, two to three weeks?”

“No way. Not this time.”

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

He shuts the door behind me. Or should I say he slams the door behind me. And Jason was right. I’m pretty sure I hear what sounds like a baseball hitting a file cabinet as I walk back down the hallway to the clubhouse.

Most of the guys are gone when I get back. I spot Brady, Caden, and a few others sitting around a table. They all look up at me with questions in their eyes. I bypass them and walk over to the clubhouse door. I stick my head through and ask one of the security team to find a certain blonde girl and tell her I won’t be coming.

Then I go sit in front of my locker and hang my head. How am I going to do this? How do I change the person I’ve always been? I’m the guy who never dates the same girl twice. ‘One and done’ – that’s my motto. No way can I go from that, to what, swearing off women? Settling down? I will never settle down. I’ll never find a nice girl. I can’t. I know I can’t, not without someone getting hurt.

I feel the eyes of my teammates burning a hole into the back of my head, so I turn around and hold up the folder. “They want to trade me. Kansas City of all places.”

Chairs fall over as my pissed-off friends stand up and run over to me.

“You’re getting traded?” Caden asks.

“Apparently so, if I can’t get my ass in gear and stop tarnishing the Hawks’ reputation, that is.”

“Wait, so you’re not getting traded?” Brady asks.

I shake my head. “Not yet. But I will be. How in the hell am I supposed to do what they want?”

“What do they want?” Caden asks.

“What do you think?” Spencer says. “They want him to keep his dick in his pants.”

“How hard can that be?” Conner asks. “I mean, come on, Mills, this is your career we’re talking about. At least fake it for a while, until they get off your back.”

“Fake it?”

“Yeah, you know, pretend you’re done with women. Become the guy who doesn’t date. Become besties with your right hand until things die down. After a while, they won’t care if you slip up from time to time.”

“Nobody will believe Sawyer Mills has sworn off women,” Brady says.

They all laugh.

“So, find one woman and date her until they get off your back,” Caden says.

“Not an option,” I say.

“You’ll figure it out,” Brady says. “Just let us know how we can help.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

“Want to go celebrate the win?” Spencer asks.

I shake my head. “You guys go ahead. I still need to shower. I think I’m going to lie low.”

“Probably a good call,” Caden says. He grabs my shoulder. “It was a good game, man. The first of many you’ll have this season.”

I nod again, looking down at my ripped pants. “See you guys. Have fun.”

They leave the clubhouse and I find myself sitting alone. I look around. It’s filthy in here. Dirty clothes, muddy cleats, wet towels. It smells hideous. It smells like home. This is my home. And I will do anything to make sure I can stay here.

After I clean up and get dressed, I pick up the folder Rick gave me and toss it into the trash. But before I reach the door, I go back and retrieve it. I think I’ll keep it. I’ll keep it as a reminder of what will happen if I don’t straighten up.

By the time I emerge from the tunnel, the afternoon storm has passed. The streets are flooded. The air is clean. Night is falling. I decide to walk home. It’s only a few miles. It will give me time to think. I sling my duffle bag onto my shoulder and grip the folder tightly in my hand – vowing never to sign the papers inside.

Chapter Two

Aspen

Today could not get any worse. I mean, literally, the only thing that could make it worse is if I get run over by a bus.

My dreams for the future – squashed with a single, solitary phone call.

And on the same day that I got my acceptance letter.

I stare down at the piece of mail that should have me celebrating. The piece of mail everyone in my position dreams about. 

Then I think about my brother. That alone makes for a shitty day. And the news about my apartment, that was just the icing on the cake from hell.

I can’t go home. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Not even my best friend. My best friend who is following his dream. My best friend who doesn’t have an idiot for a brother.

I read the letter once more before putting it back in the envelope. I rack my brain to see if I can find any way to make this happen. But there is no way. The money is gone, and he needs my help. I can’t turn my back on him. No matter what he’s done, he’s my brother. My only remaining family member.

I’ll have to go back home. Get a job, or three. I can always give piano lessons to rich snotty-nosed kids for some extra money. What a fine way to use my education. I close my eyes and try to forget about the last few hours of my life.

Then I pull myself together and start to cross the street when a horn blares at me, scaring me back onto the curb just as a bus goes by, its massive wheels splashing water from the gutter, soaking me from head to toe.

“Great! Just fucking great!” I scream at the bus.

I turn around to see people staring. “What?” I scream at them.

They stare at me like I’m crazy as they walk around me.

I look down at my sodden clothes and laugh. It’s a maniacal laugh and I think maybe those people are right. I am crazy.

I spot a bar and decide it’s exactly what I need right now. I walk over and grab the door handle when I hear, “Miss, you dropped this.”

I turn around to see a guy handing me the soaking-wet letter I had dropped on the sidewalk. I look at it and laugh. “A lot of good that’ll do me.”

“It’s not yours?” he asks. “I thought I saw you drop it when you almost got pasted by that bus.”

“It’s mine. But I don’t want it. It represents something I can never have.”

He holds up the folder he’s carrying. “I hear you. The papers in this folder represent something I can’t have either. Or more accurately, something I don’t want.”

“Maybe we should burn them,” I say.

He shakes his head. “Nah. I’d like to keep mine. That way I have a reminder of what I’m working for.”

I cock my head to the side and study him. Then I take the wet letter from him and decide maybe I should keep it just for posterity.

“Bad day?” he asks, nodding to my clothes.

“You could say that.”

“Bet mine was worse,” he says.

“I doubt it.”

He holds the door open for me. “Want to have a drink and compare our shitty days?”

“I’d rather not relive mine if it’s all the same to you.”

He laughs. “Fair enough. But the offer for the drink still stands.”

I eye him up and down. He’s very attractive in a rugged, athletic kind of way. His dark hair is wavy and haphazard. His smile is crooked and devious. He looks dangerous in the best of ways. And maybe dangerous is what I need right now. I’ve played it safe for so long. I’ve been conservative. The good girl. The driven girl. The girl who has no time for danger.

I stuff the envelope in my bag. “A drink is exactly what I need right now.”

“Good,” he says, walking us over to a table in the darkest corner of the bar. “But you should know up front that I’m not sleeping with you.”

I slip into the booth and grab some napkins from the dispenser to wipe the dirty street water from my arms. Then I stare him down. “Is that the standard line you use to get girls into bed?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “No. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever said those words before in my life.”

The waitress comes over and takes my order as the guy grabs a non-descript baseball cap out of his bag and pulls it down low on his head. “I’ll have a wheat beer, whatever’s on tap,” he says.

“Coming right up,” the waitress says as she walks away.

I eye his hat and then I look around the dark pub. “Too bright for you in here?”

“Just protecting myself from getting splashed from stray buses.”

I laugh, looking down at my clothes.

He motions to the bag he put down next to him. “I may have a dry shirt in there if you want it. I can’t promise it won’t smell like guy though.”

“I’m fine. But thanks for offering.” I hold out my hand. “I’m Aspen.”

He takes my hand in his and shakes it. His handshake is strong and confident. “Nice to meet you, Aspen. That’s an interesting name.”

The waitress brings our drinks over as I wait for him to introduce himself. But he never does.

“I’m not telepathic, you know,” I say.

He narrows his eyes at me.

“Your name. Am I supposed to guess it?”

“Oh.” He chuckles and stares at me like I’m supposed to know him or something. “It’s Sawyer.”

“As in Tom?”

“Yup. That’s the one,” he says. “My mom was a big fan.” His hand absentmindedly runs back and forth across his ribs. “And that’s not usually what comes to mind when people meet me.”

“Really? What does then?”

He laughs. “Nothing. It’s just refreshing.”

“What’s refreshing?”

He shrugs. “You.”

I wiggle my toes around in my soaked shoes. “I don’t feel so refreshing.”

“Well, you are.”

“Thanks – I guess. So what do you do, Tom Sawyer?”

That crooked smile of his makes another appearance. “A little of this, a little of that.”

I can’t tell if he doesn’t want me to know what he does, or if maybe he’s out of a job and doesn’t want me thinking less of him.

“Sorry,” he says. “It’s just that my job is the reason I’m having a shitty day, and since we’re not talking about that …”

I nod. “Got it. Same for me. But not my job. I’m a student. But it’s the reason for my shitty day.”

“You go to college?”

“Yeah. Juilliard,” I say sadly.

“No shit? Are you some kind of prodigy or something?”

I wiggle all my fingers. “Hardly. I play piano.”

“I’d say you must play it pretty damn well to be there.”

I shrug. “I graduate in May.”

“Wow. Congrats. What are you going to do after?”

I take a long drink of my beer. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure. How about sports? Do you like sports?”

I shake my head. “No time. I spend every spare minute practicing.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I thought we weren’t talking about that.”

“Right.”

We sit in silence for a minute as I try to think of something to talk about. I look over at the other corner of the bar and see a band setting up. I look up at the silent television. I look down and examine my fingernails.

“Oh, my God,” I say, looking up in disgust. “I literally have nothing to talk about. The past four years I’ve done nothing but eat, sleep and live piano. Everything has been about Juilliard. I think I must be the most boring person alive. Sorry you ended up sitting with such a dud.”

He laughs. “Aspen, I have the feeling you are anything but boring. How about your family? Want to talk about that?”

“Ha! Family is exactly the reason I’m sitting here drowning my sorrows with you. So, no.”

“I thought school was why you were here.”

“It’s both,” I say. “But if you want to talk about your family, go right ahead.”

“Nothing there to talk about,” he says.

I take another drink of my beer to hide the awkwardness.

My phone rings. It’s Bass. I hold it up and apologize. “I’m sorry, I have to take this. I’ll be quick.” I swipe my finger across the screen.

“What the hell, Penny? They’re going to demo the whole building?”

“That’s what the notice said.”

“Three months? That’s not enough time to find a new place in the city.”

“You’ll be fine. I’m sure you’ll meet a ton of people in training who will need roommates. Plus, you never know where you’ll be stationed. I actually think the timing is good for you.”

“But what about you?”

I shrug. “I’m probably moving out of New York anyway.”

“What?”

“Long story.”

The waitress comes by asking if we want another round. Sawyer raises his eyebrows at me and I nod.

“Where are you? Who was that?”

“I’m just getting a drink.”

“A drink? Are you at a bar?”

“I might be.”

He laughs. “Aspen Andrews at a bar. Wait, did something happen? I mean, other than our impending eviction?”

I sigh into the phone.

“Where are you? I’ll come keep you company before my shift.”

“No, that’s okay. I already have company.”

I think I’ve stunned him into silence.

“Bass?”

“Aspen, you’re at a bar and you have company? I know some shit had to happen. Tell me.”

“I have to go. I’m being rude. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Aspen—”

I hang up and put my phone away. “Sorry,” I tell Sawyer.

“That’s okay. I think you’re getting more interesting by the minute. Who’s Bass?”

“My roommate.”

“Another interesting name.”

“It’s short for Sebastian.”

“Is he going into the military?”

I look at him with questioning eyes.

“You said something about him going into training and not knowing where he’ll be stationed.”

“Oh. No, not the military. He’s going to firefighter school. He spent the past year becoming a certified EMT and paramedic and now he’s starting his firefighter training. That will take several months.”

“And he’s just a roommate?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing else going on there?”

I laugh. “Well, we did mess around once, but it was awkward. Kind of like being with my brother. Ewww. We’re better as friends.”

“Does he think so?”

I shrug. “I’m sure he does. Why wouldn’t he?”

“Aspen, have you looked in a mirror lately?”

I scoff at him. “Oh, please.”

“You’re gorgeous.”

I feel my face heat up. I take a drink. “Thanks, I guess.”

“And I’m hot, too, right?”

“And far too modest,” I say, laughing.

The band starts playing a familiar tune and I sit up tall in my seat so I can see them.

“You like this song?” Sawyer asks.

“Yeah.”

He nods to the small dance floor. “Want to?”

“You should know I’m a terrible dancer.” I wiggle my fingers in the air. “These are the only parts of me that have rhythm.”

He laughs, standing up and pulling me out of the booth. He tugs his hat down even lower on his forehead as we reach the dance floor.

I discover that although my dancing leaves much to be desired, it’s a way to keep us from feeling the awkward silence. And I find that if I simply mimic what the other girls on the dance floor are doing, I might not look so much out of place.

“You’re not half bad,” Sawyer says, leaning close to speak in my ear.

“You’re not so bad yourself. You do this often?”

“Not really.”

“Me neither. I can’t remember the last time I danced.”

Every time he leans in to talk to me, I smell him. Unlike someone who just got splattered with dirty street-water, he smells clean from a shower. His cologne permeates my senses. His hot words crossing my ear have me feeling things I haven’t felt in a long time.

Another song plays. A slower one this time. Sawyer looks at me with raised brows and holds out his arms. I walk into them, drawn like a moth to the flame. I’m not sure what it is about this man. I just met him less than an hour ago. He’s dark and mysterious. He’s handsome and inviting. He might just be everything I need, to forget about the day I had.

But he’s not going to sleep with me.

Suddenly, I feel a sense of loss.

His hands feel like hot lava on my sides. They work around to the small of my back. His thumbs caress me through the thin fabric of my shirt. His eyes take me in now that we’re closer.

He looks at me like I’m the flame.

“Shit,” he says, pulling away.

He grabs my hand and leads me back to the table. He calls out to the waitress to bring another round along the way.

I sit down and stare at him. “What was that about?”

“That was about me not sleeping with you.”

“Am I missing something?”

“I can’t sleep with you, Aspen. It’s against the rules.”

I look at his left hand. I don’t see a ring. I ask him anyway. “Are you married?”

His eyes snap to mine. “Hell, no.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Never.”

“What do you mean never?”

“I mean I don’t do girlfriends.”

I study him. He looks truthful but sorrowful.

“Are you a recovering sex addict or something?” I laugh.

He doesn’t laugh with me. “Or something,” he says.

The waitress brings our drinks. Sawyer stops her before she walks away. “We’d like some shots, please.” He turns to me. “Pick your poison.”

“Me? Uh, I don’t know.” I think back to when I had time to party. “Buttery nipple?”

Sawyer laughs and turns back to the waitress. “Bring four.”

“I haven’t done shots since the summer after my senior year in high school.”

“How old are you, Aspen?”

“Almost twenty-three. You?”

“A solid twenty-five. When’s the big day?”

“Next month.”

Our shots get placed on the table in front of us. He picks one up and toasts me. “Happy early birthday.”

I pick mine up and clink it to his. “Thanks.”

“You’re different,” he says.

“Different from whom?”

“The girls I usually take out.”

“This is you taking me out?” I tease. “I thought we were just two people drowning our shitty-day sorrows.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Okay, so tell me about the girls you usually take out.”

“They don’t go to Juilliard, that’s for sure. Most of them can’t even have an intelligent conversation.” His eyes travel to my breasts that are well-covered by my t-shirt. “And they usually have on a lot less clothing.”

I follow his eyes to my chest. “And bigger boobs, I imagine.”

“Size doesn’t matter to me.”

“Me either,” I say with a wink.

His head falls back and he bellows out a deep, throaty laugh. “I don’t think you’d be disappointed,” he says with a cocky grin.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t be. I can already tell you have a massive … ego.”

His grin turns into an all-out smile that brings out a slight dimple in his cheek.

“Tell me why you’re leaving New York,” he says. “You told your friend on the phone that you might. You don’t like the city?”

“New York is okay. But why I might be leaving goes along with my shitty day, so I’d rather not talk about it.”

He raises his second shot. “To new friends and better days.”

I raise mine. “And to buttery nipples.”

His eyes go to my chest again and I feel my pulse rate go up. He’s thinking about my boobs. I’m thinking about his … ego.

He pulls out his wallet and puts enough money on the table to cover the drinks for half the people in the bar. Then he grabs his bag, tucks his folder under his arm, and stands up, offering me his hand. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

My heart slumps in defeat. It’s not that I wanted to go home with this guy. This guy I don’t even know. But after the day I had, it just felt right to do something wrong. Something dangerous. Something out of character.

My head feels a bit fuzzy, so I let him help me from the booth, our hands fitting nicely together. I notice he has callouses on his hand and I wonder if he works in construction. Then I look back at the table and the nice chunk of change he left and I think maybe not.

He drops my hand to open the door and after we walk through, he doesn’t take it again.

“I’m this way,” I say. “About four blocks over.”

He again pulls his hat low on his forehead and keeps his head down, like he’s afraid he might run into someone he doesn’t want to.

The streets are crowded this time of night and we keep bumping into each other. Every time our hands or elbows touch, we look at each other and smile. It’s the oddest thing. I feel more comfortable with him than I did my last boyfriend after weeks of dating.

A bicyclist comes barreling down the sidewalk and Sawyer grabs my arm, pulling me into an alley to avoid a collision.

“Jesus, that was close,” he says. “Two close calls in one day is more than enough. First the bus and now this. You are having a bad day.”

I realize how close we’re standing. So close that I have to look up to see his eyes. I shrug. “I don’t know. I think it ended up pretty well.”

His hand comes up to trace the outline of my jaw. “Aspen.” He says my name like it’s a prayer. “I can’t do this.”

I nod and smile. “It’s okay.”

Before I can turn and back away, he pulls me to him and kisses me. He kisses me softly. Then he kisses me hard. Then I open for him and our tongues meet and mingle as I forget about school, delinquent brothers, and apartment demos. I forget everything, including my own name.

He pushes me gently against the alley wall, his hands moving up and down my arms and then down to my ass. Oh, God, it feels good to have a man’s hands on me again.

He breaks our kiss only long enough to utter the words, “I really shouldn’t do this.” Then he resumes his assault of my lips and my neck.

“Then don’t,” I say, as he’s sucking on a spot beneath my ear.

“I’m not sure I can help it.”

I can’t help but smile. “Then don’t.”

“Where’s your place?” he asks.

“About twenty steps to the right.”

He pulls me by my arm, eager to get where we’re going. “Roommate?”

I shake my head. “He works the overnight shift tonight. One of his last shifts as a paramedic before he goes to firefighter school.”

We practically run up the two flights of stairs to my third-floor walk-up. I fish through my bag for my keys, pulling out the wet envelope in the process.

“I really want to know what’s in the envelope,” he says.

I nod to what is tucked under his arm. “I really want to know what’s in the folder.”

We laugh. Then we stare at each other, the heat between us becoming palpable. When I open my door, all thoughts of envelopes and folders fall away as everything, including most of our clothes, gets thrown to the floor on our way to my bedroom. 

In my room, we tear each other’s undergarments off in a matter of seconds. Then we appraise each other appreciatively.

“You look incredible,” he says, his eyes wandering up and down my body.

“You’re not half bad yourself, Tom Sawyer.”

He pushes me back onto my bed and climbs over me. “I shouldn’t do this. I’m breaking the rules and it hasn’t even been one day.”

“Sometimes rules are meant to be broken,” I say. “Unless it hurts someone. Would you be hurting someone?”

“Just me,” he says.

I have no idea what he means by that. But in two seconds, I don’t care because his lips are on my breasts. Then my stomach. Then … oh, my.

I writhe and buck beneath him as he brings me to a quick orgasm, likely fueled by alcohol and abstinence.

“That was spectacular,” he says, crawling up my body.

“I think I’d have to agree,” I say before we share a laugh.

Then I reach over into my nightstand and pull out a condom.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Do this often, do you?”

“Not in a very long time,” I admit. “But I was a girl scout. I’m always prepared.”

He takes the square package from me and studies it. Then he reaches into my nightstand to grab another one. “Mind if I use two?” he asks.

I shrug. “Suit yourself.”

Watching him roll on the condoms gets me hot all over again. I reach out and touch him, running my hand up and down his length. He wasn’t lying. It is impressive.

When he can’t stand my hands on him any longer, he climbs on top of me, looking down on me as he positions himself at my entrance. It’s as if he’s asking permission.

I reach up, grab his head and pull his lips to mine just as he enters me. I groan into his mouth. I groan from the incredible feeling of his taut skin on mine. It’s far different from the feeling of the hard rubber I keep in my night stand. I groan because I haven’t had a man inside me for so long, I didn’t even remember what it felt like until just now. I groan when he slips a hand between us to stroke my clit, building me back up to what I know will be another explosive climax.

I can see him holding back. He bites his lip so hard I can taste blood when he kisses me. And when I orgasm, he shouts out with his own guttural release.

He collapses down onto me, both of us needing a minute to catch our breath.

Finally, he rolls to the side. He brushes a piece of sweaty hair off my forehead. “Damn, you are different,” he says.

“Different? I know it’s been a while, but I’m pretty sure sex hasn’t changed since the last time I did it.”

His abs bounce up and down with his laughter.

I put my hand on his stomach, feeling the outline of his chiseled physique. Wow, the guy is in pristine shape. I lay my head on his chest and bask in the afterglow, the strong pull of alcohol drawing me under.

In a haze, the last thing I remember is his strong arm coming around my shoulders to pull me even closer to him.