The Raleigh Rough Riders are back, and this time Super Bowl Quarterback Beaux Hale finds himself playing the most important game of his life.
Every woman knows Beaux Hale is nothing but a player. Yet the first time he walks into Paige Halloway’s restaurant and flashes his sexy grin, she feels a heat between them spark. Too bad he opens his mouth and ruins it.
He may think his money, fame, and sexy looks will attract any woman—but he’s wrong.
Paige doesn’t have time for a man. She’s too busy keeping a roof over her head and taking care of her father to care about relationships.
Lucky for Beaux, he’s a man who’s ready to use all the plays at his disposal. He didn’t bring his team a Super Bowl victory by giving up at the first block in his path—and Paige Halloway has just become his new long-game.
Beaux also knows that sometimes, in order to win and claim your prize, you have to get a little bit filthy.
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“You know, you’re not anything like I really imagined you were.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“I suppose it might be.” Her lips twisted like she didn’t want to admit it. I couldn’t stop from chuckling. Why did this woman dislike me? Instead of it turning me off, I was curious.
“Okay, then, how about this. You take care of my truck, I’ll do your favor, and then tonight, you let me take you out for dinner.”
“You don’t even know what the favor is.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll still do it, and I still want you across the table from me so I can keep proving how much of a non-asshole I am.”
“You’re sort of pushy, you know that?”
“I prefer ‘determined’ when I see something I want.” I flicked my hand out. “What’s the favor?”
“She glanced toward the door to the garage and sighed again. “My dad’s a fan—”
“Just your dad?” I teased.
She huffed, lips pressed into a pout and continued, ignoring me. “It’s just, I was wondering, it doesn’t have to be much, nothing big at all…but could you autograph—”
“Done.” We had boatloads of crap in the marketing department I could grab. I’d take care of it and blow her mind with my generosity. And it wasn’t just because I tried to do everything I could for fans, but because she was pretty when she blushed.
Even prettier as her eyes went soft when she mentioned her dad.
Spectacular as she gritted out her favor like asking for something from someone was worse than getting teeth pulled without Novocain.
“Yeah?” she asked. “That’d be really great. But dinner, I don’t know.”
The pretty little liar. Her blush told me she wanted it. “Tonight, whenever. You make the call, and it’s not payback for the favor or you fixing my truck. I just want to share a meal with you.”
“Why? Because you want in my pants?”
Her tone was snippy and her shoulders tightened. She’d handed me a loaded gun and hell if I was going to shoot myself with it.
I closed the five feet of space between us, making her step backward until she was almost plastered to my truck.
“I do want in your pants, Paige. Any American male who watches you for longer than two seconds probably wants the same. And I’ll take my time getting there if I have to, so I’m not going to be a dick and lie, and I’m not being a dick by being honest. I’m just honest. But dinner is because you’re pretty, and for some reason I can’t explain, I want to know why you look so damn exhausted, why you just asking me for help made you look like you want to puke, and why you did it anyway. So basically, I just want to talk to you. Get to know you. I’m interested and I’m not going to hide that either. It’s not my style.”
“Wow.” Her cheeks had turned pink while I was talking and by the time I was done, her lips were parted. “That’s a lot to discuss at dinner.”
“Then we’ll tack on drinks and dessert at the end.”
About the Author
Stacey Lynn currently lives in Minnesota with her husband and four children. When she’s not conquering mountains of laundry and fighting a war against dust bunnies and cracker crumbs, you can find her playing with her children, curled up on the couch with a good book, or on the boat with her family enjoying Minnesota’s beautiful, yet too short, summer.
She lives off her daily pot of coffee, can only write with a bowlful of Skittles nearby, and has been in love with romance novels since before she could drive herself to the library.
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