On our way to the club, Denver and Sawyer talk while I study them. Neither of them hit the jerk at the ballpark and I wonder why. It’s not like my brother to back down from a fight. And why would Sawyer hit the wall instead of the guy’s face after the jerk said such terrible things about him?

Once we find where the other players are sitting, I ask the waitress for a couple baggies of ice.

“I know why I didn’t hit the guy,” Denver says to Sawyer. “I’m on probation. I could end up in jail. But why didn’t you? You had every right. You would have been defending me after that sucker-punch. Defending Aspen.”

Sawyer shakes his head. “I’m a lover, not a fighter,” he says, disingenuously.

“No, come on, really,” Denver says, prodding him. “I mean, I’d get it if you said you didn’t want to risk hurting your hands, but you did anyway by hitting the door. So what gives?”

Sawyer looks like he’s trying to come up with a reason when Denver says, “Oh, I get it. You don’t want a lawsuit. I’ll bet people could get millions out of you if you hit them.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Sawyer says, throwing back a shot the waitress brought. Then he puts a bag of ice on his hand.

That’s not it. And it’s written all over his face.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, reaching out to touch his arm.

“I’m fine. Nothing a kiss from my girlfriend can’t cure,” he says. Then he nods to all the people watching. “What do you say?”

I lean forward and meet him halfway. Our lips touch and I realize just how much I’ve missed this. We haven’t kissed in a while. Haven’t touched in nearly a week. Not since he almost kissed me on his couch that night. The night no one was watching.

After our kiss – the one that leaves me disoriented – I sit back and watch Sawyer and my brother become fast friends. Denver knows a lot about baseball, so they have much to talk about. Denver is deliriously happy, despite the split lip and swollen jaw. Halfway through the night, he declares his acceptance of Sawyer, giving us his official blessing and saying our parents would have loved him.

I don’t agree. It’s Denver who loves him. My parents would have hated Sawyer. I can almost hear them say that he’s arrogant and crass and not nearly good enough for their daughter.

We sit and drink, the shots going down far too easily; the touches Sawyer and I share feeling far too customary, almost like an old habit.

By midnight, he’s got me melting into him on the dance floor. I’ve shed my Hawks shirt, and the tank top underneath is wet with perspiration. My hair is piled on top of my head in a messy bun. And it’s now that I realize I’ll be going home with Sawyer, not Denver. People will expect it. He’s my boyfriend, after all.

Sawyer looks at me as he’s grinding himself into me. His dark hair is matted with sweat. His eyes burn into mine. I know he’s putting on a show for everyone else here. But deep down, I think nobody is that good an actor.

He leans down and kisses my neck, licking the beads of sweat that have settled there. “You taste good. Salty and sweet.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I swear every time he looks at me, he’s telling me he wants me. And every time I look at him, I answer him with my own heated stare. One that tells him I want him, too. That I’m tired of resisting. That I’m done using the contract as my shield.

“Fire me,” I say, before my brain can filter the spontaneous command.

“What?”

He stares at me, trying to gauge the sincerity in my words. We stop dancing but keep swaying, our bodies pressed together. I can feel his erection. He can see my pebbled nipples through my thin tank top.

I see my brother over Sawyer’s shoulder, sitting at a table, laughing with a few of the Nighthawks players.

Nighthawks players.

And suddenly, I’m reminded of who Sawyer is. Who I am. What we’re doing. And what I’d be if I let him have me.

I start to pull away. “Forget it. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

He pulls me back. “Fuck that, Aspen. You said it. I heard it. It’s out there. You can’t take it back.”

“Yes, I can. And I am. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get some water.”

I walk across the room, aware that he’s following me. I keep going past our table and down the hallway until I find the bathroom, knowing he can’t follow me in. I take much longer than I need to, hoping he’s gotten bored by the time I emerge.

I peek out and see the coast is clear, then I go up to the bar and get myself a bottle of water.

“Aspen Andrews?” I hear from behind.

I spin around and see Trent Dugan. Trent Dugan, my high school boyfriend. Trent Dugan, the guy with an ear-to-ear smile on his handsome, chiseled face.

“Trent,” I say, grabbing my water off the bar and reaching into my pocket to fish out some money.

He throws a five-dollar bill on the bar before he pulls me into a hug. “I thought it was you. I’ve been watching you all night. You look fantastic.”

I look down at my sweaty top and think of how my hair must look and I laugh. “I do not.”

He nods. “You do, Aspen. You always did.”

“You look great, too,” I say.

He does. He hasn’t aged much in the four years since I’ve seen him. Except that maybe his baby face is not so babyish anymore. And as I crane my neck to look at him, I could swear he’s gotten even taller.

He pulls me off to the side of the bar, where it’s quieter. “I guess I don’t have to ask you what you’ve been doing these days,” he says, nodding over to where the guys are sitting. “It’s pretty much all over the news.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You’ve done well for yourself. I’m happy for you.”

I stare at him. I think he’s serious. I believe he is truly happy for me. I’ve wondered about him over the years. We dated during sophomore and junior year. Then, senior year, he broke up with me when I told him I was going to Juilliard. He didn’t want me to go and was mad that I’d go so far away from him. He’s one of the few guys I’ve slept with. And the only one who’s broken my heart.

Until now, my inner voice says.

I look over to where the guys are sitting and try to find Sawyer but he’s not there.

“What have you been doing since high school?” I ask Trent. “Did you get your engineering degree?”

He nods proudly. “Three weeks ago. I’m back here to pack up my things. I got a job in Austin, Texas.”

“That’s wonderful. Did you go to school here in Missouri?”

“I went to Cal Tech,” he says.

I raise my eyebrows at him, accusingly. “And you thought New York was too far away?”

He laughs. “It was only too far away if you were there and I was here. Once I accepted we weren’t meant to be, I broadened my horizons.”

“I’m glad to hear that. And I’m happy for you.”

“I’m glad you found the guy you were meant to be with,” he says.

I try to paste a genuine smile on my face, but I know I’m failing miserably.

“What is it?” Trent asks.

“Nothing.”

I feel an arm come around my waist. Then hot breath rolls across my neck before Sawyer kisses my bare shoulder. “I lost you for a minute, babe.”

I try not to show my displeasure at his use of the endearment. He only calls me babe when he’s putting on a show.

“Who’s this?” he asks, nodding to Trent.

“Trent Dugan, meet Sawyer Mills,” I say.

Trent holds out his hand, but Sawyer doesn’t shake it. “Sorry,” Sawyer says. “I can’t risk injuring the hand.”

Put off, Trent wipes his hand on his jeans and puts it back by his side.

I try to take a step away from Sawyer and his asshole remark, but he pulls me even closer. “And how do you two know each other?” he asks.

“Aspen and I dated in high school,” Trent says. “For over two years.”

Sawyer’s grip on me tightens. “Is that so? Well, what happened to the happy couple?”

“She wanted Juilliard,” Trent says.

“And he wanted Jenna Kinney,” I say, joking.

“That’s not true,” Trent says. “I only dated her after you made it clear that you wanted Juilliard more than you wanted me.”

Sawyer’s brows shoot up and he looks back and forth from Trent to me.

I shrug. “Doesn’t matter now. Everything worked out for the best, didn’t it?”

“It did,” Trent says. “Well, it’s nice to see you again, Aspen. I won’t keep you any longer. My number hasn’t changed. Look me up sometime if you ever get to Austin, Texas.”

“We don’t ever go to Austin, so that would be highly unlikely,” Sawyer says arrogantly.

I elbow Sawyer hard and give him a scolding look.

“Houston isn’t all that far,” Trent says.

“We’re usually very busy when we travel,” Sawyer says. “We don’t have any time for socializing.”

Trent shakes his head, knowing Sawyer is full of shit. “Yet here you are, hanging out at a bar.”

I give Trent an apologetic smile. “I’ll look you up if we can find the time. Nice to see you, Trent.”

Trent walks away and Sawyer pulls me into the hallway leading to the club offices. “Did you sleep with him?” he asks.

“We dated for more than two years, Sawyer. What do you think?”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Sawyer is almost as mad now as he was when that guy confronted him after the game. I reach up and run my finger across his throbbing temple. “You’re not jealous, are you? There’s really no need to be. After all, you’re paying me. Trent wasn’t. Two totally different things.”

Just as intended, my words do nothing to tamp down his anger. But then his anger turns into something else as he looks into my eyes. It turns into passion. Pure unbridled, no-holds-barred passion.