“You too, Kate. The seat is yours if you want to sit in on the next game, kiddo. I know some of the guys would love a chance to win back some of their money.” Frank pauses. “And maybe their pride.”

“I’d love that. See you soon.”

The age range of the contestants runs from twenty-three to twenty-eight, yet it feels like high school all over again. I look over to the padded lounge chairs along the side of the pool, where six of the remaining ladies sit gathered in a tight group, gossiping.

“Bet they were cheerleaders,” Ava says as she joins me in the pool, the two of us outsiders looking in on the cool-girl posse from a distance.

“Without a doubt.” I nod my chin in the direction of the ringleader who sits in the middle of the clan. “Jessica was definitely prom queen too.”

“You know they aren’t coming in because they don’t want to mess up their hair and makeup.”

“Of course … God forbid.” I should probably be doing the same thing, keeping my eye on winning the prize, but it’s over ninety degrees today, and sweltering in the sun while staring longingly at the glistening pool just seems stupid to me.

“Who do you think he picks for the first stranded date?” Ava’s fisted hands clench and unclench in the water, each squeeze sending a stream of water soaring into the air.

“Jessica. That little white string she calls a bathing suit will definitely catch Flynn’s attention. You think they’re real?”

“Her boobs?”

“Yeah.”

“No, they are definitely not real.” We both stare over at prom queen; her nipples are barely covered by the small triangle top that tries to contain her overflowing breasts.

I look down at my barely C cups: they’re perky, but definitely not the attention-getters that Jessica’s are. “Remind me not to stand next to her in a bathing suit.” I laugh.

“You?” Ava looks down and then back to me. “Hello? I look like a boy!”

I hadn’t really noticed her flat chest until now, but she actually makes me look endowed. “Maybe I should stand next to you, might help put my girls into perspective.” Ava splashes me, smiling.

“Hi ladies.” Flynn Beckham interrupts our girl talk, walking into the spacious yard wearing nothing but swim trunks. Every head turns. I may have entered this contest for the grand-prize money, but I’d be lying if I said that the bachelor hasn’t sparked my interest. He’s nothing like I expected. The outside may scream rockstar, but in the small amount of time I’ve spent getting to know him, he’s seemed like a pretty normal and great guy.

“Hi Flynn.” The lounge-chair ladies swoon in unison.

He smiles and waves, but keeps going as he passes, heading straight for the pool—to the blatant dismay of the poolside posing beauties.

As he gets closer to the pool, he winks at Ava and me … right before cannonballing into the middle, splashing water all over the ladies who weren’t planning on getting wet.

When he surfaces with a huge boyish smile on his face, I’m laughing. If I was in his position, it’s exactly what I would have done. “Wish I could have seen their faces,” Flynn grins as he speaks to us low.

“I don’t think they were happy getting their hair ruined,” I say through a genuine smile. He’s facing us, his back to the other women. I glance over, then return my attention to him. “Bet they all come in the pool now though.”

“I say four come in.”

“All six.”

Flynn arches his eyebrows. “Bet you a foot massage.”

Crinkling up my nose, I respond, “I’m not really a foot person.”

A lopsided smile reveals one of his two deep-set dimples. God, he really is adorable. “Chicken?” he challenges.

Looking over at the girls, I see three already coming toward the water. “You’re on.” I extend my hand and we shake on it.

“That feels so good.” I close my eyes and lean back, relaxing into the pleasure with a deep sigh. I wasn’t kidding when I said feet weren’t really my thing. But Flynn definitely knows what he’s doing as his two thumbs rub firmly into the ball of my foot, each stroke releasing a little more tension from my body.

“I’m glad I lost.” His murmur is a low rumble. I can tell he’s smiling, even though I don’t open my eyes to check. I smile back too.

“Mmmmmm. I’m glad you lost too” is all I can muster as he alternates between kneading and long gliding strokes on the instep of my left foot.

“Not to be a pig here, but Jesus, Kate, you look like you might have an orgasm.”

My smile widens. “I might.” It would be the first one in way too long.

He laughs. “That good, huh?”

“Shut up and rub.” I don’t even care that cameras are probably filming my succumbing to a pre-orgasmic induced haze.

“Yes, ma’am. Watching your face is better than getting a foot massage myself anyway.”

Chapter three

Cooper

Early afternoon sunlight streaks in through the tall windows in my office, a ray landing directly on the shelf against the wall where my father kept his most coveted prizes. Nine Academy Award statues, a picture of my mother smiling on the beach in Barbados, and a framed photo of me, Dad and Miles on a fishing trip in Alaska.

My father beams proudly, standing between Miles and me, both of us holding up king salmon. I was probably eleven or twelve, Miles six or seven. It was the summer after our father divorced Miles’s mother.