Keep Me Close

Jennifer Sucevic

Keep Me Close

Copyright© 2026 by Jennifer Sucevic

Published by Tangled Hearts LLC

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, palaces, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Cover photography by Michelle Lancaster www.michellelancaster.com

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Contents

1. Knox

2. Knox

3. Cheyenne

4. Knox

5. Cheyenne

6. Knox

7. Cheyenne

8. Knox

9. Cheyenne

10. Knox

11. Cheyenne

12. Knox

13. Cheyenne

14. Knox

15. Cheyenne

16. Knox

17. Cheyenne

18. Knox

19. Cheyenne

20. Knox

21. Cheyenne

22. Knox

23. Cheyenne

24. Knox

25. Cheyenne

26. Knox

27. Cheyenne

28. Knox

29. Cheyenne

30. Knox

31. Cheyenne

32. Knox

33. Cheyenne

34. Knox

35. Cheyenne

36. Knox

37. Cheyenne

38. Knox

39. Cheyenne

40. Knox

41. Cheyenne

42. Knox

43. Cheyenne

44. Evelyn

Epilogue

Epilogue

Bonus Chapter

Never Say Never

The Breakup Plan

More Books by Jennifer Sucevic

About the Author

1

Knox

The bass thumps through the floor of VYCE, vibrating up the leather couch and straight into my bones. Sweaty bodies press together on the dance floor below, writhing in time with the music. Lights flash red, blue, then white, the space nothing but motion and noise.

VIP is supposed to be exclusive.

Tonight, it’s just ordinary.

When the hell did going out start to feel so boring?

I tip my beer back and scan the club again, waiting for something to spark my interest or grab my attention.

Nothing does.

This used to be enough. Loud music, a few drinks, and a willing distraction whose name I won’t remember in the morning. It was easy. Predictable. A means to an end.

Somewhere along the way, that changed.

Cooper Callahan lounges on the couch to my left, legs stretched out, nursing a drink he hasn’t touched in ten minutes. Jax Wilder is to my right, already buzzed and grinning like he’s having the time of his life.

I exhale heavily.

Most of my other friends are domesticated now. Maybe they’re not all wifed up, but it’s close enough. Steele and River are engaged. Oliver’s having a baby. And Laiken, of all people, ended up married to Oliver’s little sister.

I still can’t wrap my head around that one.

And here I am, sitting in a nightclub surrounded by half-naked strangers, bored out of my damn skull.

That’s when I feel a shift on the cushion beside me as a warm weight settles without permission. I glance over and find a woman with long auburn hair spilling over one shoulder in loose waves, and green eyes that are bright even in the dim lighting. She’s wearing a black dress that clings in all the right places, and her bare thigh is pressed firmly against mine.

Her smile is slow and filled with confidence.

“I’ve been watching you all night,” she murmurs, leaning in close enough for her lips to brush my ear. “And couldn’t help but notice that you don’t look like you’re having much fun.”

Her hand trails over my knee.

“I love hockey,” she adds when I remain silent. “I thought maybe we could go somewhere a little more private.”

It’s tempting.

The woman is gorgeous. She’s exactly the kind of distraction I came here to find.

Except…

My chest tightens as I continue staring.

The color of her hair. The curve of her smile. The shape of her body. They’re not exact but close enough to remind me of Cheyenne.

Even the thought of her name is like a gut punch.

The music fades for half a second as an image flashes through my mind of her standing across the room at a family gathering and staring at me like she already knew exactly who I was.

I shove the thought away before it can burrow deeper beneath my skin.

Abso-fucking-lutely not.

I don’t screw stand-ins. I have rules. The first one is that I don’t touch women I can’t walk away from in the morning.

The second rule?

I don’t touch women who are off-limits.

And Cheyenne?

She’s both.

She’s the kind of woman a man loses everything over.

I shake my head. “Maybe next time.”

Her smile falters just enough to notice. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” I say, forcing a polite smile. “Sorry. Guess I’m having an off night.”

I help her to her feet before she can argue or make a scene. With one last confused look, she disappears into the crowd. A waitress saunters by loaded down with a tray of shots, and I grab one without thinking before knocking it back. The burn hits fast but doesn’t help.

Chey’s face is still there, clear as day.

With a shake of his head, Cooper glances at me. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

Jax leans forward, elbows perched on his knees. “Hey, cut him a little slack. Maybe our guy isn’t into the ladies. We don’t judge here.”

I snort. “Please.”

Jax continues watching me. “I just want you to know this is a safe space.”

“You’re about as safe as a minefield,” I say dryly.

He grins. “That’s not a denial.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” I mutter, “but I like women. I’m just not interested in that particular one.”

Jax glances at Cooper, who’s suddenly invested in his phone. “What are you looking at over there?”

Our teammate flashes the screen at us. “Apparently, your brother’s wife is going on tour. Damn, she’s hot. Think you could get me a pic with an autograph?”

I roll my eyes. “Absolutely not. God only knows what you’d do with it.”

He grins, completely unbothered by the comment. “Fine. What about her sister? Cheyenne, right?” His brows lift. “She’s a serious knockout.”

When he turns the phone toward us again, my stomach drops. It’s not a conscious decision to snatch the device out of his hand.

Air clogs my lungs as I stare.

Long auburn hair. Green eyes that don’t miss a damn thing. Confident smile. Curves that could bring any man to his knees. The very same woman who’s been living rent-free in my head since we were introduced.

The knockoff from earlier doesn’t even compare.

“Think my agent could reach out to hers?” Cooper asks. “Maybe set something up?”

I shove the phone back at his chest. “You do that and I’ll personally make sure you never skate again.”

Cooper laughs and Jax nearly chokes on his drink. I rise as restless energy crawls under my skin. Maybe I do need a woman tonight. Someone loud enough to drown out my thoughts.

Even as the idea circles through my head, I know it won’t work.

It never does.

Because the problem isn’t a lack of women.

It’s Cheyenne fucking Benson.

And problems like her don’t just disappear because you turn up the music. The only thing that makes the situation bearable is knowing that she’s all the way across the country in LA.

Far away.

Safe.

Exactly where she needs to stay.

2

Knox

I loosen the top couple buttons of my shirt while riding the elevator up to my place as my mind tumbles back to the woman at the club who offered to come home with me. In hindsight, shooting her down might have been a tactical error on my part. Maybe it would’ve helped me stop thinking about a certain someone else.

I drag a hand down my face, remembering the first time we were introduced and just how knocked off-balance I’d been. Six years later, Cheyenne has become the bane of my existence. I really need to figure out a way to get her out of my system once and for all, because I can’t keep doing this.

The first time I saw her, she’d been standing in my parents’ kitchen with a glass of champagne in one hand while wearing a short, sparkly dress that looked like it had been made to catch every eye in the room.

Well, it worked.

Her auburn hair had spilled over her bare shoulders, and her makeup had been flawless. She’d looked every bit like the reality TV star she was. She’d smiled at my mother, charmed the hell out of everyone around her, and fit into the McNichols household like she’d been born into it.

When her gaze had landed on me, there hadn’t been a single spark of interest.

No curiosity.

No flirty smile.

Nothing.

Instead, there’d been a quick once-over and a bored look that said she’d already decided exactly what kind of man I was.

That had been it for me.

It wasn’t the dress or even her gorgeous face, though I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’d been completely bowled over by both. It was that she hadn’t been impressed. Not by me or the McNichols name. Not by the charm that usually got me whatever or whoever I wanted. She’d looked at me like I was just another good-looking hockey player with an ego problem.

And for some fucked-up reason, that stuck.

A soft chime interrupts the whirl of those thoughts as the doors slide open to my penthouse. Coming home alone has never bothered me. After growing up with three siblings, our house was always mass chaos. In the best possible way, of course. Then throw in that my father is Gray McNichols…

Yeah, that Gray McNichols.

Pro hockey legend turned ESPN broadcaster, and you get the picture.

So, I like the quiet.

Usually.

Except tonight.

Right now, it crawls along my skin like an incurable rash. All I want to do is shrug off the melancholy that’s been eating at me these past couple weeks. Maybe the guys have the right idea and it’s time to settle down.

Or not.

Who knows.

It just sucks that whenever I think about getting serious, it’s Cheyenne’s face that flashes through my head before I can stop it.

And that’s problematic for a variety of reasons.

No one knows about my fascination with her.

Least of all my family.

My older brother, Colby, would probably string me up by my balls if he caught wind of it. In the beginning, I’d assumed it was a passing fixation. No woman has ever held my interest for more than a few weeks.

A month, tops.

Whatever this is with Cheyenne is uncharted territory. And I wish to hell it would fade. I don’t need it. More than that, I don’t want it.

I don’t trust myself where that woman is concerned. Not even a little. One taste and I’d be fucked. She’d carve herself even deeper into me than she already is and then what?

I’d wake up the next morning with all the same reasons she’s off-limits and a whole new set of other problems.

End of story.

Thoughts of the reality star reluctantly circle through my brain as I head into the kitchen, open the cabinet, and grab a glass before filling it from the tap. I guzzle down half of it and then step toward the living room, flicking on the lights. Maybe I’ll watch a little game film or a movie. I need a distraction to take my mind off Chey, or I’ll end up jacking off.

And that never works out well for me. I only end up hating myself more than I already do.

As soon as the place is lit up, I catch movement from the corner of my eye.

“It’s about time you came home, McNichols. I’ve been waiting here for hours.”

For a second, maybe two, I can only stare. Part of me wonders if I’m hallucinating. Or maybe I’ve actually lost my fucking mind.

With the chokehold she has on me, I wouldn’t be surprised in the least.

I stare at the woman stretched out on my couch, one leg crossed over the other, her clutch tossed beside her. The soft lamplight spills over auburn waves and bronzed skin, catching the green of her eyes and the glossy shine of her lips.

She looks unexpectedly perfect in my space.

Too damn natural.

Not to mention, tempting.

It’s as if every fantasy I’ve ever entertained about the woman decided to show up and make itself at home in my penthouse.

When I remain silent, she lifts a brow. “And you’re actually alone? Wow. It really must be my lucky day.”

It takes effort to keep my features carefully blank. “What are you doing here, Cheyenne? Actually, first things first—how’d you get into my penthouse?”

She holds up a keycard between manicured nails. My guess is that it’s the one I gave my parents in case there was an emergency.

Except, Cheyenne fucking Benson is no emergency.

I set the glass down on the counter with a thud. “Want to tell me the reason you decided to break into my place?”

She tips her head. “Break in? The word choice seems a little dramatic, McNichols.”

I pop a brow. “You used my family’s emergency keycard to sneak into my home.”

Her mouth twitches. “Sneak also feels dramatic.”

I huff out a breath that’s not quite a laugh.

The second I do, her expression shifts, and for just a moment, there’s a flash of strain around her eyes and perfectly painted mouth. It would be too quick to notice for anyone who wasn’t paying close enough attention.

Unfortunately, when it comes to this woman, I see everything.

Her posture remains confident. Almost careless. Her tone is laced with that dry, dismissive bite she uses when trying to keep people at arm’s length. But there’s tension in the set of her shoulders. It’s almost as if she’s holding herself together by sheer force of will.

Hmm… Something’s off.

She rises to her feet with one smooth movement. And, fuck, she looks even better than I first suspected. My greedy gaze skims down the length of her before I mentally backhand myself and force my attention to her face. She swallows up the distance between us, stopping less than a foot away.

My hands tighten into fists as I tamp down the urge to reach out and drag her closer. When I’m around her, every bit of self-control is put to the test.

Ironically, Chey has no idea the effect she has on me.

None. And that’s exactly the way it needs to stay.

For a second, neither of us speak.

She simply stands there, looking up at me, and I’m hit with the same jolt I felt six years ago. As if the room has narrowed to the space between us. I should take a step in retreat, but I can’t make myself do it.

Her gaze flicks to my mouth before darting away so quickly I almost wonder if I imagined it.

Almost.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice sounding as if it’s been scraped out of me.

“Nothing.”

My eyes narrow. “Why don’t I believe you?”

A tiny exhale leaves her, and for the first time since I found her here, she looks uncertain. That’s new. Cheyenne Benson is a lot of things, but uncertain isn’t one of them.

Instead of responding, she rises to the tips of her toes before pressing her lips against my cheek. My eyelids feather closed as I greedily inhale her perfume. It’s something light and airy. Like bottled-up sunshine from the beach.

Fuck me.

I’ve spent too many nights dreaming about her decadent scent, wondering why it feels imprinted on my soul.

The kiss is fleeting. Almost innocent. She lingers just long enough to fray my nerves.

A groan sits trapped in my chest as I fight the urge to turn my head and capture her mouth with my own. To bury my hands in her hair and see if kissing her feels as explosive as I’ve always imagined.

I’m pretty damned sure it would.

Which is a problem.

The moment stretches until it feels like I’m standing on the cusp of something I won’t be able to come back from. Just when I’m on the verge of cracking, she draws away.

My eyes pop open as I meet her gaze. “You never answered the question, Chey.” I congratulate myself when the words come out calmly. “What are you doing here?”

Her smile pulls tight as the tension I caught a few seconds ago returns. There’s no mistaking it this time.

“I need a small favor.”

3

Cheyenne

His forehead furrows as he stares at me like I just offered him a glass of poison. I’ve known Knox for a while, and this is always the kind of guarded expression I get from him.

Honestly?

I’m pretty sure this guy doesn’t even like me.

If there were anyone else I could turn to, I’d do it in a heartbeat. The problem is that I’m desperate and out of options.

“Exactly what kind of favor are we talking about?” The caution in his tone is almost laughable.

My teeth sink into my lower lip as I stare at him. Why does this guy have to be so damn handsome?

It’s disconcerting.

Actually, it’s way more than that.

Up close, Knox McNichols is all hard angles and controlled intensity. He’s the kind of man who looks like he’s holding himself back even when he’s standing perfectly still, and I never know what to do with that. Most men are easy to read. Especially the ones in my orbit. They smile, flirt, and perform like show ponies.

Knox just observes, silently assessing the situation.

I open my mouth, prepared to say something smooth and halfway dignified, but nothing comes out. That’s all it takes for my pulse to kick harder.

Why is holding a simple conversation with this man so difficult?

“Chey?” he snaps.

With a blink, I realize I’ve been stalling. I can only imagine he wants to get rid of me as quickly as possible. For all I know, some booty call is on her way over as we speak.

“I need a boyfriend,” I blurt.

His eyes widen.

“A fake one,” I rush to add.

Well, hell.

I’d really hoped to ease into this conversation. Maybe lay a little groundwork before springing it on him.

An uncomfortable hush falls over the room.

His expression remains blank for a moment or two, as if there’s been some kind of processing error, before understanding dawns.

“Wait a minute. Me?” His hand flies to his chest. “You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

A dull heat crawls up my cheeks.

For one wild second, I consider backtracking and pretending he misheard me. That I need a fake landscaper. Or an accountant. Honestly, just about anything would be better than the stunned way he’s staring at me.

Instead, I take a small step in retreat before forcing myself to straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. “Yes, I do.”

Laughter tumbles from his lips as they tilt upward for the first time since he walked in. “Why do you need a fake boyfriend?” He gives his head a slight shake before holding up a hand. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I can’t do it. Sorry, sweetheart.”

Well, I knew it was going to be a long shot. This man is barely able to tolerate my presence for ten minutes before finding the nearest exit. Of course he’s not going to help me. Asking him was a miscalculation on my part. I need to get out of here while I still have a few scraps of my dignity intact.

I force a shrug. “Okay. I’ll check with your brother.”

He snorts. “Colby isn’t going to pretend to be your boyfriend. For fuck’s sake, he’s married to your sister.”

I roll my eyes. “I meant your other brother. Brooks.”

His eyes go flat in a way that makes me wonder if I just hit a nerve.

Huh. Interesting.

He jams his hands into his pants pockets and glares. “He won’t do it either. He’s busy.”

I arch a brow. “And you know this how?”

“Siblings group chat.”

I search my brain for an alternative. When nothing comes to mind, I jerk my shoulders. “Then I’ll find someone else. Clearly, you’re busy. I’ll see myself out and let you get on with your evening.”

Before I take a step, he blurts, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Why? I thought you didn’t care?”

A muscle tics in his jaw in the most fascinating way. “I don’t. Call it curiosity.”

I pause, silently weighing just how much to reveal. “I ended things with someone, and he’s having a hard time accepting it’s over. What I need is for him to see that I’ve moved on so he’ll do the same.”

Emotion flashes across his expression before quickly being shuttered away. “Is this guy bothering you?”

For a second, I consider telling him the truth. Instead, I downplay the situation. “No. It’s more annoying than anything else.”

That is, if breaking into my place, filling it with a hundred bouquets of red roses, and waiting in a bubble bath can be classified as merely annoying.

We’re not even going to talk about the hundreds of voice messages and texts he’s been flooding my phone with. Last week, I finally blocked his number. It’s starting to get creepy. I considered taking out a restraining order, but that seems a little over the top. It’s not like he threatened me.

Knox remains silent for the longest time, and that only makes everything worse. He just stands there, his face unreadable, his body still.

“Want me to have a conversation with him?”

A gurgle of laughter escapes from me, mostly because the image of Knox marching over to handle my ex like some kind of blond avenging angel is ridiculous.

And a little hot.

All right, maybe a lot hot.

I shake my head. “No, that’s not necessary. I just want him to see that I’ve moved on. That’s it. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”

His gaze sharpens, as if he’s not buying my breezy tone for a second, before he drags a hand through his thick hair and stares out the window at the lit-up skyline. The atmosphere turns awkward as I do my best not to fidget. It’s even harder not to notice how broad his shoulders look beneath his dress shirt or wonder what’s going on behind those striking blue eyes.

Coming here and asking for his help was a huge mistake.

A terrible, embarrassing, ill-conceived mistake.

Just when the quiet reaches a breaking point, I clear my throat. “Look, forget I even⁠—”

“It would only be for a week, right?”

I blink in surprise, not expecting his capitulation. “Two or three, tops.”

He turns back to me, his expression still tight. It feels less like reluctance and more like resignation, as if he already knows he’s going to say yes and hates himself for it.

“Obviously we’ll need to be photographed together,” he mutters, lips tugging down at the corners, as if he hates the very idea.

All I can say is that this guy is doing irreparable harm to my ego.

“Yeah, that would be part of it.”

A reluctant shiver slides through me at the thought of spending time with Knox McNichols and pretending he’s my boyfriend.

Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all.

Maybe I should have given more consideration to Brooks. Sure, he’s two years younger than Knox, but he’s no less handsome, and he’s an upcoming hockey player who’s already making a splash in the league. The guy is a hot commodity.

More importantly, my pulse doesn’t race whenever we’re together. Certainly not the way it does when I’m with his older brother. The problem is that Knox is staring at me with an intensity that makes me feel pinned in place like a butterfly to a Styrofoam board.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” he grumbles.

The relief that rushes through me is almost enough to buckle my knees. Right on its heels is something far less welcome.

A burst of nerves.

Asking Knox for this favor had felt like an act of desperation but still theoretical in nature. Him actually agreeing makes it real. Pretending to date a man I can barely think straight around suddenly feels riskier than dealing with a crazy ex.

Before I can thank him or consider backtracking, he says, “If we’re actually going to do this, we need to establish a few rules first.”

4

Knox

She stares at me for a few beats before a laugh bursts from her. “Rules? You can’t be serious.”

I’m one hundred percent serious. I don’t need this woman slipping any further beneath my skin or into my thoughts than she already has.

Although, I keep that part to myself.

“Oh, I’m serious, sweetheart. It’s important we set clear boundaries so no one gets confused.”

She snorts before pressing a hand against her chest as her green eyes widen. “Hold on a second… You actually think if we spend a little bit of time together, I won’t be able to stop myself from falling in love with you?” She shakes her head before more laughter tumbles from her lips. “You really are an egomaniac.”

Even though that’s not what I meant, I don’t bother correcting her. It’s better for both of us if she thinks that than discovers the truth.

“Maybe.” It takes effort to shrug off the sting of her words.

“Oh, there’s no maybe about it, McNichols. You’re definitely an egomaniac.”

I force a smile. “You’re welcome to find another fake boyfriend if you’d prefer.”

Her humor fades as she presses her lips together and glances away. For a moment, I wonder if she’ll tell me to go fuck myself before stalking out of the penthouse.

It would probably be for the best.

Just as my nerves reach a breaking point, she mutters, “Whatever your rules are, I’ll agree to them.”

Relief punches through me so hard and fast, it’s almost embarrassing. As much as I’m dreading this, the thought of another man laying his hands on her, smiling for the cameras, pretending he’s the lucky bastard who gets to be at her side and in her bed, has something ugly unfurling in my gut. I’d have no other choice but to kill him with my bare hands.

“No offense, but I’ve dated my fair share of manwhores who are commitment phobic. I’m certainly not going to fall for one I’m pretending to date. So there’s nothing for you to worry about on that front.”

Umm… excuse me?

“What does that mean? Are you saying you’re ready to settle down?” The questions shoot out of my mouth before I can reel them back in.

Her brows lift.

Mine probably do as well, considering how fucking interested that made me sound.

And it’s too damn late to backtrack.

She glances at the skyline before shrugging. “If the right man came along? Possibly. But Dakota wasn’t the right one.”

A bark of laughter slips free. “I’m sorry… you actually dated someone named Dakota?”

She rolls her eyes. “At least I know the names of the people I sleep with.”

I force a smile. Little does she know I haven’t slept with a woman in six months.

Before I can dwell on the sad state of my sex life, she clears her throat. “So, what kind of rules did you have in mind, McNichols? I can hardly wait to hear this.”

What I need to do is keep it simple.

Straightforward.

Clean.

Instead, the second I open my mouth, every fucked-up, possessive instinct I have when it comes to Cheyenne Benson claws its way to the surface.

“No flirting with anyone but me. If we’re together, you act like it.”

She stares at me for a long moment. “Ever consider I’m just friendly?”

Damn straight she is. I’ve witnessed her flirting firsthand, and I hate it. I’ve never experienced the kind of jealousy I do when I watch her with other men. There’s always too much laughing and touching. Too many of those boneheads thinking they’ve got a real shot with her.

I shake my head. “With me, in public, you’re not.”

“All right. I’ll do my best to control myself.”

Her dry tone tells me exactly what she thinks of that.

Good.

“Rule number two: if your ex contacts you, you tell me right away.”

Her expression shifts, all amusement fading. “Is that really necessary? I can handle Dakota on my own.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be here now, would you?”

She releases a slow breath.

“I want to know if he texts, calls, shows up, or tries to get in touch with you in any other way,” I add. “You no longer handle it on your own. We’re a package deal now.”

Her eyes narrow. “You do realize this relationship is fake, right?”

“Yup.”

“Then why are you acting like I need a bodyguard when I just need you to look pretty on my arm?”

Because the thought of that guy showing up anywhere near her makes me want to put him through the nearest wall. She walked into my place tonight tense as hell, all the while pretending she wasn’t, and I’m not buying her easy smile for a single second. I don’t trust him because I’d be out of my fucking mind if I were the one who lost her. And maybe I don’t trust her to take this as seriously as she should.

Instead of purging all of that from my system, I keep it to myself.

“Luckily for you, Hollywood, I’m capable of doing both.” I shoot her a grin before continuing. “Rule number three: I want your location on at all times so I know exactly where you are.”

The second the stipulation leaves my mouth, I realize I’ve crossed into borderline unhinged territory. She studies me for a beat, and I can practically see her reassessing the entire conversation, as if she’s realizing these aren’t just fake-boyfriend rules.

They’re something else entirely.

Well, that’s too damn bad. I’m in this now.

Her eyes widen. “Seriously?”

For half a second, I consider walking it back and telling her I’m kidding. But then I picture her somewhere in the city with her ex blowing up her phone—or worse, showing up in person—and I double down.

“One hundred percent. Here’s what you need to know about me: I’m a possessive boyfriend.”

“Don’t you mean possessive fake boyfriend?”

“Yup.”

She just stares, which I can’t blame her for. If our positions were reversed, I’d probably think I was out of my damn mind as well.

Who knows? Maybe I am. That’s exactly what Cheyenne fucking Benson does to me.

“All right, fine. I’ll agree to your so-called rules. Does that mean you’ll actually go through with this?”

Even though it’s a shit idea, what other choice do I have? The thought of her walking out that door and texting Brooks, or any other male with a beating pulse, has my jaw locking so hard it aches.

“Yeah,” I grumble. “I’ll do it.”

Her eyes narrow. “You don’t have to sound so thrilled.”

“Trust me, I’m not.”

She nibbles her lower lip and her shoulders droop. “Look, I’m not interested in dragging you into something you clearly hate. Let’s just forget it.”

Like hell we will.

I take a step closer before forcing myself to stop. It’s so damn tempting to lay my hands on her. “It’s a done deal, sweetheart. For all intents and purposes, I’m your boyfriend.”

“Fake boyfriend.”

“Sure.”

She looks up at me, and without the constant sniping, the energy between us turns charged.

Which isn’t any better.

In fact, it’s a hell of a lot worse in a different kind of way.

I cringe, forcing the next question out. “Do you need a place to crash?”

The thought of her sleeping under the same roof as me is enough to set every nerve ending on edge.

“Nope. I booked a suite at the Regency.”

Thank fuck.

It’s bad enough we’ll have to spend time together. Her living here would push me straight past my limits, ending in disaster. I’m not sure I have enough self-restraint to keep my hands off her if she’s sleeping across the hall from me.

“So, unless you’d like to tack on a few more rules, I’m going to head out.”

“Nope. I think we’re good for now. Although, if I come up with anything else, I’ll text you.”

She glares. “Perfect. This is going to be so much fun. I can hardly wait.”

I nod as she turns to the couch, picks up her purse, then beelines for the elevator. I can’t help but trail after her like a lost puppy. The most confusing part is that, as much as I need her to go, I want her to stay.

She presses the button, and we stand awkwardly in the entryway while waiting. The silence is different now. Thicker. Tense in a way it wasn’t when I first found her in the living room. Twenty minutes ago, I’d been fighting back surprise.

Now I’m fighting awareness.

Of her.

Of me.

Of the fact that this fake arrangement already feels like a disaster waiting to explode in my face.

I stuff my hands into the pockets of my pants and shift on my feet. “I guess we’ll talk tomorrow?”

“Yup.”

Just as the elevator chimes, I slip a hand from my pocket and hold it out. “Give me your phone.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pretty sure you heard me the first time.”

With a huff, she digs her cell out of her purse before slapping it against my palm. The warmth of her touch lingers long after she pulls her hand away.

“That isn’t necessary.”

“You’re wrong about that. Plus, you already agreed to it. Let’s not forget rule number four.”

“It’s three. There aren’t four rules.”

I lift a brow. “I could certainly come up with another one if you’d like.”

When she presses her shiny, entirely too kissable lips together, I chuckle and hit the side button. “What’s the passcode?”

Surprisingly, she doesn’t fight me.

“Zero-six-one-two.”

My fingers still over the screen. “June twelfth?”

She shifts. “Avery’s birthday.”

I glance at her. “I know my goddaughter’s birthday.”

“What kind of godmother would I be if it weren’t my passcode?” she fires back. “A terrible one.”

“Yeah. Same.”

Her brows pull together. “Wait. Are you saying that’s your passcode too?”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously?” she echoes.

I stiffen before grunting. “She’s my goddaughter too.”

“Huh.”

“Huh what?”

She lifts one shoulder. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the sentimental type.”

“Ever consider you don’t know me half as well as you think you do?”

Her brow furrows as she looks up at me.

When she remains silent, I add in a softer tone, “Family is everything to me.”

Her expression softens. “Guess I never really thought about it like that, but I suppose it makes sense.”

A quiet beat stretches between us.

Avery is Colby and Britt’s first kid. The first grandchild in both our families. I still remember how it felt when her tiny fist wrapped around my finger in the hospital, and the way Chey cried harder than Britt when Avery was born. She refused to hand her over for nearly an hour, like she’d already fallen in love with the little girl.

It shouldn’t hit me so hard that we picked the same numbers for our passcode.

But it does.

I take her phone and unlock it. After a few quick taps, I hold it out to her.

She frowns at the screen. “I can’t believe you’re actually doing this.”

“Believe it, Hollywood.” I don’t release the phone right away. “Hit share.”

“For how long?”

I pull my own phone from my pocket. “Indefinitely.”

Her brows lift.

“Now I’ll always know where you are.”

There’s no way in hell I’m going to examine why I find that thought so damn satisfying. She doesn’t comment as I check my phone, making sure the request went through. When her cell buzzes between us, she glances down at it.

“You’re taking this a little too seriously, McNichols.”

I shrug. “Guess you should have considered that before you involved me in this situation.”

She studies me for a moment longer than necessary, her gaze lingering, as if she’s trying to sort through something in her head. The elevator dings, and the sound slices through the growing tension.

With that, she pulls her phone from my grip. “Night, Knox.”

The doors slide open behind her.

“Text me when you get to the hotel,” I say automatically.

She rolls her eyes. “Sure thing, Dad.”

My jaw tightens.

That shouldn’t do anything to me.

So tell me why it does.

Maybe because it makes me sound controlling as hell, which is fair. Or maybe because she says it like a tease when I’m already hanging on by a thread.

“Chey.”

With a smirk, she gives me a little wave with her fingers before stepping backward into the elevator. Once the doors close, silence settles over the penthouse as I stare at the empty space where she stood a few seconds ago. The place already feels too damn quiet without her presence. Her beachy scent continues to linger in the air, as if she left a part of herself behind just to fuck with me. Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past her.

Zero-six-one-two.

I unlock my phone.

We picked the same numbers for the same reason.

It hits me all over again just how much trouble I’m in where this woman is concerned.

5

Cheyenne

It’s the buzzing of my phone that wakes me the next morning. I grab it off the nightstand and glance at the screen before swiping to answer.

“Hey.”

“How’s my favorite runaway?” my older sister asks.

I smile despite myself. “You heard, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” Britt says with a laugh. “Mom’s furious, by the way.”

Of course she is. I would expect nothing less from Sharon Benson.

Not wanting to talk about our mother, I ask instead, “How are you feeling? Baby number three is right around the corner.”

“Actually, I feel pretty good.”

“And the other kiddos? How are they?”

“Avery refuses to wear anything that isn’t pink, and Maddox tried to feed the dog a Pop-Tart this morning. So, to answer your question… it’s just another normal day in the McNichols household.”

I laugh, and some of the tension from yesterday falls away. “I miss the little hellions.”

“The little hellions miss you too,” Britt says. “So, what are you doing in Chicago?”

I hesitate. There isn’t much I keep from my sister, but I’m not ready to disclose the real reason for ending up here.

“Oh, you know. I just needed a little break.”

“A break from the Dakota situation or a break from everything else?”

Both.

The show.

The cameras.

The constant scrutiny.

The way everything in my life feels staged. Including my relationships.

“I don’t know if I want to do the show anymore,” I admit. “I’m tired, Britt. It all feels so fake and a little pointless.”

There’s a pause.

“I get it,” she says. “It wasn’t all that long ago I went through the same thing.”

I know she does. Except Britt didn’t just take off. She totally disappeared. She walked away after wrapping the season finale where her boyfriend at the time proposed and ended up enrolling at Western University where she met Colby McNichols. One drunk Vegas wedding later, and their love story is history.

“But you figured it out,” I say wistfully. “You were brave enough to carve out your own path.”

“You’re right, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t scary at the time. Or that I didn’t have second thoughts, afraid I was making a huge mistake. You’re allowed to do the same, Chey. You don’t have to keep living this life if it’s not what you want. Despite what Mom says, you’re old enough to make your own decisions.”

Thick emotion clogs my throat because deep down, I know she’s right.

But it’s terrifying.

Britt’s a talented singer, and the long-running reality show our family has become synonymous with was originally built around her. After she left, Mom shoved me center stage, pushing me to sing, as if I could somehow fill the void my sister left behind.

“I don’t know what life without the show looks like yet.” I barely remember what it was like before we started filming. In a way, it feels like I grew up in front of the cameras.

“The good thing is that you don’t need to have it all figured out right now,” she replies. “Just don’t let Mom force you into something you don’t want.”

Easier said than done.

“I won’t. Once I make a decision, I’ll deal with Mom.”

“She won’t tell you to take as much time as you need, but I will. This is your life, Chey. You’re allowed to question whether or not it makes you happy.”

Tears prick the backs of my eyes. No one ever says things like that to me. We talk about contracts, filming schedules, branding deals, and how much of myself I’m expected to hand over before people are finally satisfied. Hearing Britt say it so simply, as if my happiness actually matters, makes my chest ache.

“Thanks, Sis.”

“Anytime. And I mean that.”

“Love you.”

“Love you right back.”

As soon as we hang up, I lie in the king-sized bed for a few seconds and stare at the ceiling. My heart feels too full and too unsteady all at once. Kind of like I’ve been standing on the edge of a cliff for a while and only just realized I might jump.

My phone lights up again. For just a second, I think it’s Britt until I see the name flash on the screen.

Sharon Benson.

Momager extraordinaire.

My stomach tightens. Instead of answering, I let it go to voicemail. A second later, my cell rings again before an incoming text chimes.

Mom:

Call me ASAP

I huff out a sigh, and wish that at age twenty-six, I wasn’t still intimidated by my mother.

Hey, I give the woman a lot of credit. She was working as a nurse when a video of Britt singing and playing the guitar went viral, and she’s the one who parlayed that into a reality show centered around our family. Think Keeping Up with the Kardashians but bigger. Younger me was enamored of the spotlight. Now, it’s a monster I just want to escape from.

If I talk to her now, she’ll pull me right back in before I’ve had a chance to think things through. And I don’t want that.

I need some time and space.

Instead of dealing with her head-on, I pull on a pair of leggings, a sports bra, and a sweatshirt. Then I throw my hair into a ponytail, and skip the makeup routine altogether. When I glance at myself in the mirror, I barely recognize the person staring back at me.

Good. That’s exactly what I want.

Gone is the woman with glossy hair, perfect skin, and a carefully chosen outfit that photographs well.

It’s just me. Or, at least, the closest version I can manage at the moment.

I grab my keycard and slide it into the pocket of my leggings before heading to the door and slipping into the hallway. A few minutes later, I’m striding through the lobby. Even though it’s early, there are a dozen or so people milling around. Not a single one of them glances in my direction.

The moment I step outside, the cold air hits my lungs. Without stretching, I take off at a slow jog. It’s one foot in front of the other. The rhythm is familiar and predictable.

And it feels so damn good.

There aren’t any cameras, stylists, or expectations.

Without a face full of makeup and the latest couture, I’m just another woman jogging through the city.

Invisible.

There’s no way Dakota will look for me here. No one expects me to be in Chicago. For the first time in weeks, I finally feel like I can suck in a full breath.

Three miles in, my lungs are burning and my thoughts have quieted. Running always does that for me. It’s become my drug of choice. By the fourth mile, my sweatshirt is tied around my waist and the breeze stings my cheeks. My legs ache in that satisfying way that quiets everything in my head. Like if I just keep moving, I can outrun all of it.

The show.

My mother.

Dakota.

My own uncertainties.

As I push through the revolving door of the hotel, sweat dampening the back of my neck, I feel so much lighter. That is until I catch sight of Knox sitting in one of the plush armchairs near the lobby windows, long legs stretched out in front of him, arms folded across his broad chest. He scowls as his gaze lands on mine.

The harsh expression is almost enough to make me stumble.

All I can say is that the man does not look pleased.

Then again, he’s looking at me, so what else is new?

Still… there’s something about finding him at the hotel that sends an unexpected jolt through me.

I force myself to close the distance between us before pulling out my earbuds. “What are you doing here?”

He rises to his feet, towering over me. “Your location was on the move.”

I blink, wondering if this is a riddle I’m supposed to solve. “And?”

“You were gone for almost an hour.”

“I went for a run.”

“Alone?”

It’s tempting to roll my eyes. “Yes. I went alone.”

His jaw tightens. “You should have let me know.”

Something flickers low in my stomach.

Annoyance, probably.

It’s definitely not anything else.

Like attraction.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but that wasn’t part of the rules,” I say lightly as we move through the lobby.

“That can be rectified, Hollywood,” he says, falling into step beside me. “Just say the word.”

I glance at him, expecting to find a teasing light in his eyes or humor in his expression. Instead, he actually looks concerned. As if he’s been sitting here, silently working himself into a lather while waiting for me to show up.

Which is ridiculous.

And yet…

Before I can snap out a response, the receptionist at the front desk waves me over. “Miss…?” She glances at the computer. “Ms. Scott? A delivery just arrived for you.”

“For me?” My brows pinch together as my belly dips. “Are you sure?”

She glances at her computer screen again. “Anna Scott? Room 608, right?”

I checked in under a fake name. Not because it’s cute or clever. But because living under this kind of microscope teaches you early on that privacy is mostly an illusion, and aliases are one of the few things that still feel like an extra layer of protection.

My steps slow. “Yup.” I clear my throat as Knox side-eyes me. “That would be me.”

The receptionist hands over a large arrangement of blood-red roses. There must be at least two dozen of them with lots of greens and baby’s breath.

My heart sinks as I stare at the flowers. Before I even glance at the card, I know who they’re from. I don’t realize my hands are shaking until I pluck the envelope from the arrangement and try opening it. When I fumble the flap for a third time, Knox wraps his fingers around mine, giving them a gentle squeeze.

My gaze darts to him in surprise.

“Let me do it.”

Instead of arguing, I jerk my head in a tight nod as he carefully opens the envelope, and we peer at the card.

We’re soulmates, Chey. There’s nowhere you can run I won’t find you. —D

For just a second, the noise in the lobby disappears and I have the strangest sensation of being underwater where everything sounds far away. All I see is the neat handwriting that swims in front of my eyes. The freedom I felt just ten minutes ago vanishes so completely, it’s as if it never existed.

“He knows you’re here,” Knox mutters. “And he’s obviously aware of your alias.”

“I—” My mouth turns bone dry. “It’s the one I always use when checking into hotels. It’s Julia Roberts’s character from Notting Hill.” My brows furrow. “I don’t understand how he found me so quickly.”

With a scowl, Knox stares at the roses. “Pack your bags.”

I blink, thrown off by the comment. “What?”

“You’re not safe here.”

“Knox—”

“I’m not going to argue about this, Chey.” He holds up the card. “You’ve been here less than twenty-four hours and he already found you.”

I glance at the flowers and then the note. My hands won’t stop shaking. More than that, I hate that Knox is seeing just how bad the situation has become.

“I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not.”

I shift, searching for an alternative. “Maybe I⁠—”

“Pack your bags, Hollywood. That’s what’s happening.”

There’s no arguing with his gruff tone. What makes even less sense is that standing next to a vase overflowing with unwanted roses, my ex’s note clutched in my hand, Knox feels like the safest option.

With a swallow, I nod. “Okay.”

6

Knox

The elevator ride up to Cheyenne’s hotel suite is made in silence. I can’t stop staring at her reflection in the mirrored wall. Beneath the flush of her cheeks from her run, she’s pale, and her brow is furrowed with concern.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen Chey scrubbed clean of makeup and her hair pulled up in a messy ponytail. She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt and leggings. Somehow, she looks even better like this than when she’s all made up.

I wouldn’t have expected that.

What can’t be denied is that she appears wrung out. Like the roses and note stripped away whatever armor she’d managed to wrap around herself this morning.

She’s unfiltered and real in a way I’m not usually privy to. Raw, tired, and looking much too human. My chest constricts as I continue studying her reflection. Maybe it’s because I’m used to seeing her put together and untouchable. Every inch locked down tight.

When she wraps her arms around herself, it takes every ounce of control not to pull her against me. Although, it’s highly doubtful she’d welcome the comfort.

Especially from me.

It’s a relief when the doors slide open on the sixth floor and Chey steps out. I trail behind her, watching as she fumbles with the keycard against the lock before the light flashes green and the door opens.

“Give me ten minutes,” she mutters, beelining for the bathroom. “I need to shower first. Then I’ll pack everything up.”

The door closes behind her, and a second later, the water starts running.

With her distracting presence gone, I take the opportunity to glance around the room. For a hotel suite, it already feels like her. Not because there’s clothing tossed over a chair or a half-zipped makeup bag on the counter. It’s the light, beachy, and feminine scent that has already permeated the air. The very same one that’s been fucking with my head for years.

On the vanity sits a small bottle of perfume. Before I can think better of it, I lift the crystal container to my nose. It smells exactly like her. Sunshine and salt air, with a hint of floral sweetness underneath. I love this damn scent. Ever since I met her, it’s been lodged in my head like a splinter I can’t dig out.

The thought hits me a second too late that I’m standing in Cheyenne Benson’s hotel room, sniffing her perfume like some kind of psychopath. That’s all it takes for me to set the bottle back exactly where I found it and rake a hand through my hair before staring out the window, trying to get a grip on my emotions.

This already feels like too much.

Being in her space, breathing her in, and seeing little signs of her everywhere I turn, is intimate in a way I wasn’t prepared for. And it’s only going to get worse with her living in my penthouse.

The shower cuts off, and a minute later, the bathroom door opens. Chey steps out wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders in auburn strands. My gaze drags over her before I can stop it. She’s all long legs and bare shoulders as water glistens against her skin.

She freezes. “I, ah, forgot to bring clothes in with me.”

My throat dries, making it impossible to swallow. Every instinct tells me to look away. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I stare a beat too long before forcing my gaze to her face and then somewhere over her shoulder. If I keep looking at the way that towel hugs her body, I’m going to close the distance between us and⁠—

That thought is derailed by the ringing of her phone. She glances at the screen on the bed, and her expression tightens.

When she doesn’t make a move to answer it, I blurt, “What’s wrong? Don’t want to talk to your mom?”

“Not really,” she says with a sigh. “Although, I should probably bite the bullet and just get it over with.”

Before I can ask what that means, she picks up the call.

“Hey, Mom.” After a quick glance in my direction, she turns away and lowers her tone.

Even though she’s not on speakerphone, Sharon’s voice booms across the line loud and clear.

“Cheyenne Marie Benson, you need to stop playing games and get your butt home right now,” her mother snaps without preamble.

Chey’s shoulders hunch. “I told you, I need a few weeks.”

“There are contractual commitments to think about. You don’t just get to disappear on a whim like some nobody.”

My jaw clenches.

“It’s not a whim. Dakota⁠—”

“For goodness’ sake, you’re making too big a deal out of that situation. The show comes first. You know that.”

Irritation floods my veins. Only now does it become clear that Cheyenne didn’t come here just to get away from Dakota but everything else as well, including her family.

The woman on the other end of the phone should be worried that her daughter was scared enough to run from her own home. Instead, all she cares about is filming schedules and contracts.

“I need a break. Just for a few weeks,” Chey says, her voice growing thinner and smaller with every word.

It pisses me off that Chey seems to fold in on herself with every clipped response from Sharon. More than that, I hate the way she clutches the phone tighter while wrapped in nothing but a towel, looking young, tired, and cornered in a way I’ve never seen before.

The Cheyenne I know is sharp-tongued, polished, and can hold her own against anyone. Especially me. This version is wilting before my very eyes.

“Mom—”

Without realizing it, I stride across the room. There’s a split second where even I know I’m crossing a line, but that’s not enough to stop me. I hold out my hand, and for a brief moment, Chey’s eyes widen. It’s almost a surprise when she allows me to take the slim device.

“Hey, Mrs. B,” I say smoothly. “It’s Knox McNichols.”

My gaze stays pinned to Cheyenne. Her eyes are huge as her fingers tighten along the edge of the towel wrapped around her chest. A flush rises in her cheeks. I can’t tell if it’s anger, embarrassment, or the aftershock of everything that’s happened in the past hour.

“I just wanted you to know that Chey is with me.”

There’s a moment of silence from the other end before Sharon’s tone does a total one eighty. “Knox, darling. I had no idea you and Chey were even in contact.”

I keep my expression neutral even though disgust crawls down my spine. “Sure, we’ve always been friends. Chey will let you know when she’s ready to return. Sound good?”

“I—”

I don’t give her a chance to respond before ending the call.

Rude?

Probably.

But I’m irritated at how this woman is treating her daughter.

The room is plunged into silence, thick with everything I just set into motion.

Chey stares at me in shock before whispering, “I can’t believe you just did that.”

Honestly? Neither can I.

I glance at the phone in my hand before passing it back to her. Her fingers brush mine as she takes the cell, and I catch the smallest tremor there.

She’s still shaken. But there’s something else in her expression.

Relief. Probably a fair amount of disbelief. And maybe even a little bit of gratitude, although it’s doubtful she’d admit to it.

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Looks like there’s no turning back now, Hollywood.”

Still clutching the towel like it’s the only thing holding her together, she lets out a huff that might have passed for a laugh on any other day.

The truth is, Dakota or not, there’s no version of this scenario where I walk out of this hotel suite and leave her here alone. That should be my first red flag. Instead, all I can think about is how having her sleep just across the hall from me is going to test my restraint in ways I’m not ready for.

Still… I don’t hate the idea.

Not even a little.

If anything, I want this woman closer.

Which is probably the biggest red flag of all.

7

Cheyenne

Knox carries my suitcase while I take the overnight bag and try not to think about the fact that I’m moving into this man’s home. Even if it’s temporary and our relationship is fake.

It’s still happening.

He stands close enough for the heat of his body to radiate through my sweater without us actually touching. Somehow, that feels even more dangerous. Like all it would take is one shift and suddenly there’d be no space left between us at all.

The doors of the elevator slide open, revealing his sprawling penthouse with its floor-to-ceiling windows. It hits me all over again that I’m not sneaking in with his parents’ keycard at ten o’clock at night. I’m actually moving in.

The place is all dark wood, polished stone, and sharp edges. It’s gorgeous in a way that doesn’t need to try too hard.

Just like him.

And now I’m stepping into the middle of it with my duffel bag and drama.

“You can take the guest room.”

I trail after him as we pass by the kitchen and living room before turning down another hall. Even the way he moves through this place is different than it was in the hotel. He’s more at ease here, like the space fits him in a way that makes me painfully aware it doesn’t fit me at all.

He pushes open a door and steps aside so I can enter first. The room is beautiful, with pale-gray walls and a king-sized bed. There’s a private bathroom with a window that overlooks the city.

He nods toward the room across the hall. “Mine’s right there.”

I glance into his bedroom, barely able to suppress a shiver. The space separating our rooms feels much too narrow.

I set my bag on the bed before turning toward him. The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Are you sure about this? I can always find a different hotel. Maybe something outside of the city.”

There’s the briefest hesitation as emotion flashes across his face. It’s there and gone before I can name it. Not annoyance exactly. Or even reluctance, which I was prepared for. It’s something heavier. As if he’s already regretting the decision.

“No, it’ll be fine.”

“Knox—”

His expression hardens. “You’re safer here.”

I glance around again, suddenly feeling small in the massive space. It makes me acutely aware of how much room he’s making for me. How much of his life I’m stepping into for reasons that have nothing to do with him and everything to do with the mess that followed me to Chicago.

“There’s a Railers event this weekend,” he says, neatly changing the subject. “Some charity thing. We can debut this new relationship there.”

My stomach flips. “Already?”

It’s not just the idea of cameras, press, or gossip sites photographing us together that makes my nerves jump. It’s the idea of pretending Knox and I are intimately involved. Of standing beside him, smiling for pictures, and letting people believe he’s mine while trying not to think too hard about how nice it might be if it were actually true.

“It’s the best way to sell this relationship. Plus, even if your mother hates the idea, I’m sure she’ll blast it all over the internet.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, as if we’re discussing practice schedules instead of a fake relationship that feels all kinds of dangerous.

“Knox…” I hesitate, trying and failing to find my equilibrium. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

His gaze sharpens as his attention turns penetrating.

When he remains silent, I force myself to continue. “I hate that I’ve dragged you into this mess.”

“You didn’t drag me into anything, Hollywood.”

Maybe not literally. But it still feels like I’ve shown up with all my problems and expected him to rearrange his life around them. He didn’t ask for this fake relationship that now includes me sleeping across the hall from him and walking into a charity event on his arm. For all I know, he’s seeing another woman. Or, at the very least, had plans to take someone else.

“Maybe I should just go back to LA and honor the commitments I made. Then I’d be out of your hair.”

He’s on the move, eating up the distance between us in three long strides, before the words are completely out of my mouth. His fingers slip beneath my chin, lifting it until there’s no other choice but to meet his steely gaze. Even though the contact is light, it sends a jolt straight through me.

“You’re not going back to California. You’re staying right here.”

My pulse pounds in my ears as I’m sucked into the deep blue of his eyes. When his thumb shifts against my jaw, I feel the reverberation of it all the way down to my fingers and toes.

“I’m not about to let you dump me before I’ve had the chance to show you what a kick-ass fake boyfriend I can be.”

Whatever tension had been building within me dissolves as an unexpected laugh slips free. “Kick-ass, huh?”

“Yup.”

Even though his lips tip upward at the corners, the look in his eyes never softens. I get the strange feeling he actually means it. As if the joke is there to make me smile but the promise beneath it is real.

“Trust me, you’re going to be impressed.”

Neither of us moves as the air grows heavy. For a split second, I wonder what it would feel like to be in a real relationship with him. To have him touch me because he actually wanted to.

Because I’m his.

The thought is so disturbing, I immediately shove it away.

It’s a relief when his hand drifts back to his side. Or it should be. Instead, the loss is almost devastating.

“Think about what you want for dinner tonight,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “Any preferences?”

The shift in topic is so abrupt, it takes me a second to catch up. One moment his hand is on my face, and the next he’s asking what I want to eat when both of us seem to be struggling to breathe normally.

I swallow. “Nope. Anything’s fine.”

With a nod, he takes a step in retreat, putting some much-needed distance between us. “Go ahead and settle in. I’ll take care of the rest.”

As he walks out of the room, I have to remind myself this is fake. It’s just a way to get Dakota out of my life. Contrary to what he told my mother, Knox and I aren’t even friends.

So why does this feel like a situation that could easily spiral out of control if we’re not careful?

8

Knox

Here’s what I can tell you—Chinese wasn’t part of the plan. Neither was Cheyenne Benson sitting cross-legged on my couch in black leggings while a cropped sweater rides up every time she reaches for the carton of lo mein.

But here we are.

I told myself this would be awkward or maybe even strained. Instead, it’s oddly comfortable. And that’s a major problem. It shouldn’t feel so natural to have this woman curled up on my couch and stealing my food.

Except that’s exactly what it is. Like she’s the missing piece that fits seamlessly into my life. And if I let myself think about that for too long, I’m going to do something I shouldn’t.

She tucks her legs beneath her and laughs at something on the TV, chopsticks held midair over her food, her hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. Every time she shifts, I’m inundated with the beachy scent that clings to her. I really hate just how much I want to inhale her like a drug. She hasn’t been here for a full two hours, and the situation is already messing with my head in ways I was unprepared for.

“You’re staring,” she says without glancing in my direction.

“What I’m doing is assessing the situation,” I lie.

“And what situation would that be?”

“Whether you’re the kind of woman who steals the last egg roll.”

She narrows her eyes before snatching it. “You snooze, you lose, McNichols.”

Since I don’t actually give a damn about the egg roll, I let her have it. She wipes her fingers on a napkin and leans against the cushions, one leg brushing mine. The movement isn’t intentional. She barely seems aware of me, which is kind of hilarious.

The contact shouldn’t matter.

It’s hardly a graze.

But my body reacts as if she climbed right into my lap, and every muscle goes whipcord tight. Heat rushes through my veins, and all at once, I’m aware of her beside me. And her scent? I can’t seem to get away from it. The way she touches me without realizing how much I’m affected by it might be the worst part of all.

If she stared at me with a calculated gleam in her eyes and flirted, I could handle this situation a hell of a lot better. But this casual, thoughtless, domestic kind of intimacy?

I have no idea how to deal with it.

I ease my leg away before I do something embarrassing, like groan out loud. Or pounce on her.

Can you even imagine her reaction?

She’d probably scream and beat me away with a pillow.

“So,” I say, forcing my brain to safer terrain. “Do you have a dress for Saturday?”

Her gaze slices to mine. “You mean the event I literally just found out about?”

“Yup, that would be the one.”

She shrugs. “I’ll pick something up tomorrow while you’re at practice.”

I shake my head. “Think again, Hollywood.”

Her brows lift. “Excuse me?”

“Haven’t we already been through this? Your friend, Idaho, obviously knows you’re here in town.”

She side-eyes me. “It’s Dakota.”

I wave off the correction. “Whatever.”

“You’re very bossy for a fake boyfriend. Do you know that?”

My gaze drops to her mouth before I can stop myself. Her lips are slightly glossed. The million-dollar question is, are they as soft and plush as they look?

I hate how tempting it is to find out.

The teasing glint fades from her eyes as her breath hitches. Her fingers tighten around the carton in her lap before she sets it aside, as if she suddenly needs both hands free. It’s one of those moments that feels like we both know something is shifting between us but neither is exactly sure what to do about it.

If I leaned in just a bit and angled my head⁠—

I drag my gaze away and straighten, shaking myself out of whatever the hell that was.

Nope.

That can absolutely not be allowed to happen.

I’m not about to kiss the woman I’m fake dating while she’s living under my roof because I’m too wound up to handle dinner on a couch. It’s only the first night, for Christ’s sake.

“Get your shoes,” I say roughly.

“What?”

“I want to introduce you to someone.”

There’s a moment of silence. “Right now?”

“No better time than the present.”

If we stay here a second longer, I’m either going to kiss her or say something I can’t take back, and I’d rather not implode on night one. We’ll save that for night two.

Wanting Chey is a problem all on its own. Getting used to having her here, taking up space like she belongs, is a whole different kind of trouble. And I have no idea how to handle either of them.

She studies me a moment longer before shrugging. “All right.”

I pull out my phone and shoot Laiken a quick text.

Me:

You home?

Goalie Man:

Yeah. Why?

Me:

We’re coming over

Goalie Man:

We?

I don’t bother with a response as I pocket the cell. Laiken and Kia are safe options. They’re steady. And Elody is even better. A few minutes around that kid and it’ll be damn near impossible to stay twisted up inside.

Chey watches me. “So, are you going to fill me in on where we’re going?”

I straighten to my feet. “Just a friend I want you to meet.”

She rises, following me to the elevator. The top three floors of our building are penthouses. Mine is on one level, and Laiken’s is directly above it.

Even though the ride up is made in silence, my insides remain a jangled mess. I couldn’t be more aware of the woman standing next to me.

What doesn’t make sense is that I’ve never been like this around the opposite sex. I’m usually smooth. Women don’t make me nervous. Not even when I was a teenager.

I cut her a sidelong glance because there’s no denying this one does.

And I hate even more that, on some level, she probably senses it. Whatever game I usually play vanishes the second Cheyenne steps too close, her delectable scent wrapping around me, blowing a hole through my confidence and self-restraint.

When the elevator car shifts, her shoulder brushes mine. The touch is accidental, and yet it’s enough to have everything inside me leaping to life.

How am I going to make it through a few weeks living together? How am I going to survive her wandering around barefoot at night or sitting on my couch with takeout or brushing against me in the kitchen, as if none of it’s a big deal?

Just when I don’t think I’ll be able to take another second in this fucking box without pouncing, the elevator stops and the doors slide open.

Elody hops from one foot to the other in the entryway. “Uncle Knox!”

I crouch automatically, and catch her as she throws herself into my arms. “Hey, wild thing. Causing your usual madness and mayhem?”

She grins as I lift her up and toss her gently into the air. Her infectious laughter echoes off the walls. It’s exactly what I needed to break the tension coiled inside me.

Laiken appears behind her. “You two are going to break something.”

“Nah. It’ll be fine, old man,” I say.

Kia moves from behind him as her gaze settles on the woman at my side. Her smile brightens. “Hi, I’m Kia.”

Chey steps forward. “Cheyenne. It’s nice to meet you.” She glances at me. “Sorry to just barge in like this.”

“No worries. I’m glad Knox brought you over. Come in,” Kia says, waving us inside.

Elody continues clinging to me like a baby rhesus monkey.

“Is that your friend?” she whisper-yells, studying Chey like she’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Although, have I ever considered us friends?

Not really. That word doesn’t fit. It’s much too simple to describe whatever this is.

I glance at Kia. “Chey’s coming with me to the Railers charity event this weekend and needs a dress.”

Color floods Cheyenne’s cheeks. “I can shop on my own.”

“Oh, I need one too,” Kia says. “We should go together.”

Chey blinks, clearly thrown by the unexpected offer. “Really?”

“Of course,” Kia says. “It’ll be fun.”

Laiken gives me a penetrating look. It’s the kind that says he’s filing this situation away for later.

I shrug, knowing there’ll be questions.

Elody tugs on my shirt. “Do you want to play Go Fish?”

“Sure. Go set up the game.”

When Chey arches a brow, I admit, “The kid’s a bit of a card shark and usually ends up wiping the floor with me.”

Her lips tremble with a smile.

Not because this is new. She’s seen me on the floor with Avery and Maddox building LEGO towers, all the while getting bossed around by tiny dictators with sticky fingers.

“Now this I’ve got to see,” she says.

“It’s the only game I lose, Hollywood.”

A laugh slips out of her. “We’ll see about that.”

It doesn’t take long for my muscles to loosen. Having Chey here, in my teammate’s home, is a hell of a lot easier than sitting on my couch, one accidental touch away from losing my mind.

Getting us out of my penthouse was supposed to fix the issue.

Instead, all it’s done is show me how easily this woman fits into my world.

9

Cheyenne

Kia couldn’t be any sweeter. There’s something about her that’s warm and easy. She’s the kind of person who makes you feel included without any effort. As much as I’m trying to focus on our conversation, my attention keeps getting snagged by Knox stretched out on the floor with Elody.

They played a few rounds of Go Fish, and now he’s helping her build something out of brightly colored blocks while she talks a mile a minute about preschool, dragons, and how she’s going to be a big sister. He listens intently, like every word matters, and even though I try to stop it from happening, my insides melt.

When the little girl gets frustrated and the tower tips over, he doesn’t sigh or tease. He helps rebuild it so it’s bigger and better than the previous one.

“Try again, wild thing. You’ve got this.”

She beams at him like he hung the moon.

It’s not a surprise that he’s so good with Elody. He’s always been amazing with Britt and Colby’s kids. I’ve seen him down on the floor at family gatherings, letting Avery braid his hair or Maddox chase him around the backyard with a Nerf gun.

But seeing him here, in someone else’s home, in this quiet, everyday way, hits differently. Maybe because there’s no audience or noise. He’s not trying to charm anyone or captivate the room. He’s just sitting on the floor in jeans and a T-shirt, helping a little girl rebuild a block tower like it’s the most important job in the world.

He’s both patient and present. Those aren’t words I would’ve used to describe Knox McNichols before.

Kia nudges my arm. “He’s such a softie. Elody adores him.”

I glance at her. “Pretty sure he has that effect on females of all ages.”

She laughs. “Isn’t that the truth.”

We make plans for tomorrow—shopping first and then coffee. She tells me about a little boutique on the Magnificent Mile that her soon-to-be sister-in-law, Rina, took her to that has an amazing selection of gowns.

“That sounds fun. I can’t wait.”

Strangely enough, I mean it.

It occurs to me that, other than the occasional outing with my sisters, I’ve never done something this ordinary with another woman. I’ve never gone shopping, grabbed coffee, or just hung out.

I don’t really have friends in LA. I have acquaintances. Most of them are catty and competitive, and I’m never quite sure if what they say to my face is real or if they talk behind my back the second I leave the room. After being burned a few times by women I thought were my friends, I’ve learned it’s easier to keep my distance.

No one would ever guess that a life filled with shows, teams of assistants, and fans could feel lonely, but most of the time, that’s exactly what it is.

Which is what makes this feel so strange. Kia doesn’t want anything from me. She isn’t sizing me up or waiting for me to slip so she can call TMZ. She’s just offering kindness. It’s so simple and unexpected, I’m almost not sure what to do with it.

Tomorrow shouldn’t matter as much as it does. But the idea of spending a few hours doing something normal with a woman who feels easy to be around fills me with a quiet kind of happiness I’m not familiar with.

When it’s finally time for Elody to go to bed, she throws her arms around Knox’s neck.

“You’ll come back and play again, right?” she asks.

“Of course,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The heartfelt way he says it softens my insides.

After saying our goodbyes, we step into the entryway. As soon as the elevator doors slide closed, sealing us inside the small space, silence descends. Without Elody’s exuberant chatter or Kia talking about the stores we can visit, there’s nothing to distract from the fact that it’s just the two of us again, standing too close in a box of mirrored walls while his clean, masculine scent teases my senses.

I clear my throat as the car descends through the building. “Thanks.”

He glances at me. “For what?”

“For introducing me to your friends. Kia seems nice.”

“She is.”

“And now I won’t be alone while shopping since you don’t trust me out in the world by myself,” I add.

He side-eyes me. “I trust you.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“It’s Denver I don’t trust.”

I huff out a laugh before I can stop it. “Dakota.”

“Whatever.”

I turn just enough to take him in. He’s standing with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders relaxed, expression inscrutable. What I’m starting to understand is that unreadable on Knox doesn’t mean unaffected. The man notices everything. Plans things without making a big deal out of it. Decides what needs to transpire and then maneuvers it into happening.

I think about the way he texted Laiken earlier, not hesitating to introduce me to his teammate and wife. The way he made sure I had someone to go shopping with tomorrow without making a big production out of it.

It’s unexpectedly thoughtful, and more than what I expected.

It’s not that Knox isn’t hot, arrogant, or bossy. I’ve known that for years. It’s the quieter parts that catch me off guard. The way he makes room for me without drawing attention to it. The way he takes care of things without making me feel weak for needing help.

It occurs to me that Knox might not be as easy to dismiss as I’ve always told myself.

Which could be a problem.

Keeping my distance was simple when I could write him off as nothing more than a handsome playboy. But now…

He’s revealing himself to be so much more than that.

When the doors slide open on his floor, he gestures for me to step out first. As we walk into the penthouse, I’m hit with a realization that makes my pulse kick up.

Our relationship might be fake, but the way he’s handling all of it—the care, the thoughtfulness, the quiet way he keeps stepping in—feels surprisingly real.

10

Knox

The puck slides across the ice, and I’m on it before anyone else. My stick is down, shoulders low as I drive through the neutral zone, cut inside, and snap a shot high glove side. Laiken slides, but he’s a fraction too late, and it slams into the back of the net.

“Jesus, McNichols,” Jax calls from the blue line. “Who the hell pissed in your Cheerios this morning?”

I don’t bother with a response.

Coach blows the whistle. “Reset.”

We line up again. During the next rep, I finish my check harder than I probably should. The boards rattle and Zane grunts.

“What the fuck, McNichols? You see this face? It needs to stay pretty for the cameras.”

I ignore him and keep skating.

“Easy,” Coach warns.

I jerk my head in a nod but go just as hard during the next drill. I’m wound tight in a way I don’t like, and no matter what I do, I can’t shake it off. It’s like there’s an itch beneath my skin, and the only way to get rid of it is to skate until my lungs burn and my muscles are a boneless heap of exhaustion.

It doesn’t work. Nothing does.

The problem isn’t my body. It’s my head.

With Cheyenne right across the hall and her scent lingering in the air long after she went to bed, I barely slept a wink. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her on my couch. In my guest room. In my space. Apparently, the only way I know how to deal with that is by trying to outskate my own damn thoughts.

We run another scrimmage drill, and I crash the crease, taking a rebound before burying it at the back of the net.

River skates past, bumping my shoulder. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” I mutter.

He laughs. “Nothing my ass.”

We switch lines.

Jax leans in as we glide to the bench. “Seems to me like someone woke up this morning and chose violence.”

I wipe sweat from my face with the back of my glove and say nothing.

Coach has us skate sprints from the blue line to the goal line and then back again.

I win the first, second, and the third time.

“Okay, psycho,” Zane pants. “Take it down a few notches.”

Jax skates up beside me, breathing hard. “Wanna know what I think?”

“Actually, I don’t.”

He continues anyway. “That you need to get laid.”

Laughter ripples across the ice as I stare straight ahead.

“It’s science,” Jax continues. “If a man goes that hard, he’s got a lot of pent-up aggression and isn’t getting any.”

Zane’s nod is solemn. “Truth.”

Not that I’m going to tell these bozos, but it’s been way longer than any of them realize. And the streak isn’t going to get broken any time soon. That’s for damn sure.

The problem isn’t a lack of options. It’s that none of them are Cheyenne Benson. The only woman I want is sleeping under my own damn roof, and there’s no way anything can happen between us.

My brother would fucking kill me. Plus, it would make everything messy in a way I can’t afford. Family dinners. Holidays. Britt. The kids. The whole tangled knot of our lives.

As we reset for another drill, I glance down the ice and catch Laiken watching me. He isn’t grinning or chirping. Just silently observing. I get the feeling he knows exactly what’s going on. Hell, he probably started piecing it together the second I showed up at his place last night with Chey in tow.

When I meet his gaze, he lifts one brow before kicking away a stray puck.

Great.

By the time practice is over, I’m still twitchy. There’s too much restless energy thrumming beneath my skin. The locker room is loud with music blasting through speakers and guys joking around, giving each other shit.

I drop onto the bench to unlace my skates.

Jax throws a towel over his shoulders. “Bro, I was serious out there. You need to get laid.”

“Hey, I have an idea. How about you mind your own damn business for a change,” I fire back, hoping it’ll shut down this conversation.

Oliver laughs from across the room. “He doesn’t have any business. That’s why he’s all up in yours.”

Jax gives him the finger before turning back to me. “You should’ve taken that hot redhead home when you had the chance. You’d be way more relaxed.”

My fingers still on the laces.

“The one at VYCE,” he continues. “She was practically climbing in your lap.”

Zane smirks. “What’s wrong, McNichols? Couldn’t close the deal? Need a few pointers? I’d be happy to assist with that.”

Jax grins. “Nah, he sent her packing without a second thought.”

The guys laugh and joke around as the showers run, but everything in my head goes quiet. How the hell was I supposed to take that woman home when she reminded me too damn much of Cheyenne? Honestly, it doesn’t even matter if they’re a blonde, a brunette, or a redhead. The second they start getting too close, my brain automatically stacks them up next to Chey.

And they lose.

Every fucking time.

Laiken’s gaze shifts to me again as he pops a brow.

Yup. He definitely suspects.

Maybe taking Chey to his place and introducing them wasn’t such a great idea after all. But what else was I supposed to do? There was no way I could let her wander around the city alone.

Not with her ex tracking her every move.

I finish unlacing my skates and pull them off before pushing to my feet and stripping out of the rest of my gear.

“Maybe you should have done us both a favor and taken her home,” I say evenly.

“Nah, we all know I have a thing for a feisty brunette with a sharp tongue and even sharper claws,” Jax says with a smirk.

The guys around him howl with laughter.

“I’d steer clear, Wilder,” River calls out from across the room. “Sloane will rip you apart with her teeth.”

“God, I certainly hope so. I got a masochistic streak in me a mile wide,” he tosses back.

River shakes his head. “You’re so fucked, dude.”

He only grins in response.

I grab my towel and head for the showers. Steam fills the air as water pounds against the tile. I let it hit the back of my neck as I close my eyes. Thoughts of last night roll through my head, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to turn them off.

Chey sitting on my couch. Flashes of her belly driving me to distraction every time she shifted. Her mouth parting slightly when I stared too long.

I exhale.

It’s fine.

No big deal.

It’s a temporary situation that’ll be over with before I know it. A couple weeks, tops, and then she’ll be out of my penthouse, out of my head, and everything will go back to normal.

At least that’s the bullshit I keep telling myself.

When I walk back out, I grab my clothes and check my phone, watching her location pop up. Looks like she’s at that boutique Kia mentioned last night.

Which means she’s safe.

My shoulders loosen. It’s as if an invisible hand reached into my chest and untied a knot I didn’t realize was there.

Under normal circumstances, I’d hang around after practice and lift or watch film. Maybe grab something to eat with my teammates. Today, I shove my phone into my pocket and pick up my bag.

“You taking off already?” Steele calls out.

“Yeah.”

“Hot date?” Jax asks.

“Nailed it.”

“At least something’s getting nailed,” he shoots back with a smile.

“It’s gonna be your face if you don’t keep your thoughts to yourself, Wilder.”

He chuckles, not bothered in the least by the threat.

The truth is, I just want to be home when Chey returns.

And I’m nowhere near ready to examine what the hell that means.

Although, if I had to take a guess?

It means I’m screwed.

11

Cheyenne

I hate to admit there’s a small part of me that wonders if I’ll actually hear from Kia. Sure, she was sweet enough last night when we were introduced, but does that really mean anything?

From my experience, people are always nice to your face. It’s all hugs and air kisses until you turn your back and they stab you in it.

So it’s a surprise when my phone buzzes.

Kia: Hey!

If you’re ready to go, I’ll drive. Meet me in the garage.

I don’t realize I’m smiling until I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror.

After grabbing my bag from the dresser, I head for the elevator. Without Knox beside me, the ride down feels quieter and far less charged. Still, I’m oddly aware that I’m living in his building, becoming a part of his world in a way I hadn’t expected when I boarded a plane bound for Chicago.

The garage smells faintly of concrete and oil as I step inside and glance around. Kia waves to me from beside a black Escalade.

“Ready to go?” she asks.

“Yup.” I smile, beelining toward her. “Thanks for letting me tag along. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem. I’m glad to have the company. My soon-to-be sister-in-law is going to meet us and one of her friends. They’re also attending the Railers event, so you’ll get a chance to meet them ahead of time.”

I force a smile, a little disappointed this turned into a group activity. “Sounds fun.”

She nods as we settle into the Escalade before starting the engine. “Don’t worry, it will be.”

There’s something about the breezy way she says it that makes me almost believe her.

“Knox mentioned your sister is married to his brother,” she says, pulling onto the busy street and navigating morning traffic.

“Yes, for about six years now.”

She glances over briefly. “Actually, my older brother, Hayes, is friends with Colby. They played on the Wildcats hockey team together. He was there when they got married in Vegas.”

“Apparently, it was one of those woke-up-married-the-next-morning kind of nights,” I say with a laugh. “Two kiddos later with another on the way and they’re still going strong.”

“Relationship goals,” she says with a smile.

I nod. “They really are.”

I’m thrilled my sister found her happily ever after. It just makes me wonder if I’ll get one of my own. Or if I’ve spent so long in front of the cameras with semi-scripted storylines and everyone else’s expectations that I wouldn’t even know what the real thing looked like if it showed up in front of me.

It’s a disturbing thought.

The boutique Kia takes me to is just off the Magnificent Mile. It’s all sparkling glass and understated elegance. There aren’t any obnoxious logos, velvet ropes, or security barring the entrance. Just tall windows, dark wood floors, and muted lighting that makes everything inside glow.

Mannequins are spaced deliberately, dressed in pieces that feel less like trends and more like statements with silk, satin, clean lines, and eye-catching colors.

Inside, it’s quiet in a way that feels intentional. Plush rugs muffle our steps as subtle music hums in the background. Racks of stunning dresses are arranged by color instead of size, each piece looking expensive without announcing it.

It’s the kind of place where no one rushes you or looks twice even if you’re a recognizable face.

In LA, stores like this always come with expectations. The salespeople are haughty or fake-sweet, depending on how much your charge card can handle. Stylists hover. Assistants carry armfuls of curated options no one asked for, offering compliments that feel more like strategy. And for me at least, there was always this sense that shopping wasn’t really about what I wanted. It was about image. Content. Labels. What would photograph best and get talked about the most.

Even though I’ve only just stepped through the door, this boutique already feels different.

Kia waves to the woman behind the counter. “Hi, Melissa. This is Cheyenne. She needs a dress for the event on Saturday.”

That’s it. I’m not introduced as that reality star from the show everyone loves to hate on or Britt Benson’s sister.

Just Cheyenne.

It shouldn’t matter, but it does.

We browse for a while. The racks are filled with jewel tones and sleek silhouettes. I run my fingers over the fabrics, feeling slightly out of my depth without a stylist waiting nearby. And yet, it’s unexpectedly freeing. I can choose what I want, and no one is going to nudge me in a different direction.

The bell over the door jingles and two women breeze in.

“Tell me we’re not late,” the blonde says.

Kia grins. “Nope, right on time.”

She hugs Kia before turning to me with a friendly smile. “Hi, you must be Cheyenne. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Lilah.” She points to a brunette. “And that’s Rina.”

I glance between them. “It’s nice to meet both of you.”

Lilah is all warmth, bright eyes, and easy friendliness.

Rina is sharper, although not standoffish. Just observant in a way that makes me feel like she notices everything and files it away for later. She studies me for a second longer, as if trying to take me in. I can’t help but brace, wondering what she sees.

“Okay. I get it now,” she says with a smirk.

“Get what?” I ask, thrown off by the comment.

“One of the team owners mentioned that Knox was playing like a man possessed at practice. And I’m pretty sure I’m staring at the reason for it.”

Heat creeps up my neck, and I shake my head with a forced laugh. “I doubt that had anything to do with me.”

The idea that Rina could be right sends a shiver racing down my spine.

Lilah chuckles before elbowing her friend. “Ignore her, please.”

“I’m not wrong,” Rina says matter-of-factly.

The conversation thankfully ends there as Lilah pulls a dress from the rack and hands it to me. “This is gorgeous. You definitely need to try this one. With your coloring, it would be perfect.”

It’s a deep emerald-green silk that’s both chic and elegant. Maybe a little bolder than what I would’ve chosen on my own.

“Agreed. That definitely has your name written all over it,” Kia adds.

“I don’t know,” I hedge. “It’s a little⁠—”

“Perfect,” Rina interrupts. “Go try it on. You can thank us later.”

With a huffed out laugh, I retreat to the dressing room before I can think better of it. The fabric glides over my skin, skimming my curves without clinging, the neckline dipping just enough to reveal a hint of cleavage.

When I finally step out, all three women stare in silence.

Kia’s eyes widen. “Wow.”

Lilah presses a hand to her chest. “Okay, you look amazing.”

A slow smile curves Rina’s lips. “Knox isn’t going to know what hit him.”

My pulse stutters. “You really think so?”

“Yes,” all three say in unison.

I turn toward the mirror and study my reflection. For a moment, I don’t see the woman from the reality show. The one who wears heavy makeup under bright lights.

I just see me.

“You’re going to buy it, right?” Kia asks. “You really do look stunning.”

I stare in the mirror for a moment longer. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“You won’t be sorry,” Lilah adds. “It’s the perfect choice.”

I meet Kia’s gaze. “What about you?”

That’s when I realize none of them have pulled gowns.

“We’ll try on dresses at the next store,” Lilah says.

I raise a brow. “The next store?”

“Yeah, there’s a maternity shop down the street,” Kia adds.

I turn toward them in surprise. “All three of you are pregnant?”

Color blooms in Lilah’s cheeks. “Yup.”

“Wow.” I pause. “Is there something in the water I need to know about? Or should I just not drink it at all?”

“Railers players are dangerous,” Rina throws in dryly. “That’s what you need to know.”

Lilah’s hand settles on her stomach. “Truth.”

My phone buzzes from the velvet chair next to Rina. I gravitate in that direction before picking it up and staring at the gossip alert that flashes across the screen.

Sharon Benson announces new spin-off show for daughter, Cheyenne. Read all the juicy details here!

My stomach knots until it becomes painful.

Even here, in a quiet Chicago boutique with women who don’t want anything from me, the machine still finds a way to reach in and remind me that my life isn’t entirely my own. I swipe the notification away before any of them catch sight of it.

“Hey, are you okay?” Kia asks.

I force a smile. “Yeah. Just work stuff. No big deal.”

It’s a relief when no one pushes, asks invasive questions, or tries to pry the story out of me. They just let it go. And somehow, that nearly undoes me more than if they had.

Fifteen minutes later, I buy the green dress along with a backup option, because apparently that’s what you do when you shop with women who want to make sure you feel confident.

After browsing a few more stores, Kia suggests stopping for coffee.

“Let’s head over to Lakeshore Sweets,” she says. “You can meet Callie and Sloane.”

As soon as we step foot inside the bakery, a warm, sugary scent wraps around me. A pretty woman stands behind the glass display case, flour dusting her apron, blonde hair pulled into a messy bun. A bright smile lights up her face when she spots us.

“You must be Cheyenne,” she says, stepping around the counter and pulling me into a hug.

I freeze for half a second before returning the embrace.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” she says, drawing away just enough to meet my gaze.

“Same.”

A petite, dark-haired woman appears from a swinging door in the back as she wipes her hands on a towel. She gives me a cool once-over before nodding.

“Congrats,” she says. “Looks like you survived the shopping excursion with these three.”

I can’t help but laugh as the tight knot between my shoulder blades loosens.

That constant need to brace for judgment, snark, or hidden motives eases just a little.

They ask about my plans while I’m in Chicago before the conversation turns to the gala on Saturday.

As we sit with our drinks and pastries, Lilah asks, “So, are you ready for your first official Railers event?”

“I feel like I should say yes, but I honestly don’t know what to expect.” As many openings as I’ve attended, this feels different.

“All I have to say is that the guys better be on their best behavior, or they’ll answer to me,” Rina cuts in without hesitation.

Callie smiles over the rim of her coffee cup. “I’m sure they will be.”

“Please. If the team is there,” Sloane says dryly, “then it’s just a bunch of Neanderthals in fancier clothes.”

A smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it.

Lilah laughs. “Okay, that’s fair. But it’ll be fun too. There are usually appetizers, drinks, some auction items, and the guys roam around, being their charming selves.”

“Um, they think they’re charming,” Rina corrects.

“Oh, they can be pretty charming,” Kia says.

Sloane snorts. “You only say that because you’re sleeping with one of them.”

Kia chuckles into her tea. “I’m not the only one.”

Rina and Lilah clink the rims of their mugs together with a grin.

“I’m more interested in the ongoing saga of hot Hugh and Evelyn. I need my fix, and I’m hoping to get it this weekend,” Sloane adds.

With a raised brow, I sip my cappuccino. “I’m sorry, did you just say hot Hugh?”

Callie smiles. “She means Hugh Landry. One of the Railers owners.”

“And Evelyn Kingston is the other,” Lilah adds before leaning forward a little. “They have history.”

“Ancient history,” Rina adds. “The kind with loaded stares and enough unresolved tension to power the whole city.”

I blink. “Seriously?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Kia says. “You can feel their intensity every time they’re in the room together. Get too close and you’ll lose your eyebrows.”

Sloane tears off a piece of muffin. “Watching those two circle each other is almost better than the murder podcasts I’m addicted to.”

I laugh, surprised by how easy it comes. “Almost?”

“Well, I do love a good murder plot,” she says with a smirk. “I figure that one of these days, they’re either going to do us all a favor and get it on or Evelyn will finally take out Hugh, and I’m dying to know how she’ll do it. I can certainly give her a few pointers if she needs them.”

Kia nearly spits out her tea.

Rina’s shoulders shake. “Girl, you really need to get out more. You’re actually starting to scare me.”

Sloane grins before shrugging. “Am I wrong?”

“No, you’re not,” Rina admits. “The eye contact alone is enough to make me hot and bothered.”

“Not to mention, weirdly invested,” Lilah adds.

Kia nods. “Extremely invested.”

I glance between them with amusement. “So everyone just knows about this?”

“Knows?” Rina echoes. “Please. Half the fun of those events is pretending not to watch them while absolutely watching them.”

That pulls another chuckle from me.

Callie smiles. “You’ll be fine on Saturday. Just stick close to us if you need a break from the testosterone overload.”

“Or from Knox,” Rina adds blandly.

Heat creeps into my cheeks. “Pretty sure I can handle Knox.”

Sloane pins me with a look over the rim of her coffee cup. “It’s adorable that you think so.”

Lilah snorts and reaches for another blueberry muffin. “She’s impossible before caffeine. Don’t take it personally.”

“I’m just saying,” Sloane adds. “Men like him always look more lethal in a tux.”

Rina’s lips twitch. “That’s one hundred percent true.”

I shake my head, laughing again, grateful for how easily they’ve made space for me.

On the drive back to the building, the skyline stretches across the horizon.

In LA, I have everything. Or at least the version of everything people think I want. The show. Exposure. A platform. The polished illusion of a high-profile life.

Here, I have coffee at a bakery with women who seem to mean it when they tell me I look beautiful. And a man who’s turning out to be different from the one I thought he was.

I came to Chicago to hide.

What I didn’t expect was to feel like I belonged.

12

Knox

I shift in the elevator, impatient to arrive at the penthouse and⁠—

We’ll just leave it at that.

Even though I’d fully intended to head straight home after practice, Coach and a few of the trainers pulled me into a meeting that dragged on forever.

It’s almost a surprise to hear Chey’s voice as I step into the entryway. I pause for a moment and listen. It almost sounds like she’s talking on the phone.

Every muscle tenses.

It better not be with her ex.

Just as I get ready to stalk inside, I realize she’s not talking so much as projecting her voice. It’s steady and controlled, a little breathless at the end of each phrase. There’s something different about the way she’s speaking. It’s not casual or one of those playful tones she uses when she’s trying to get a rise out of me. There’s a structure to it. Emotion layered carefully beneath the words.

A few seconds later, she finishes with an exhale before attempting it again, stronger this time.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was running lines.

But why would she do that?

From what Zane has inundated me with about filming his show—trust me, I haven’t asked—he just kind of ad-libs in front of the cameras, saying whatever shit comes to mind. Sure, there might be a direction or topic, but that’s about it.

So, if this isn’t for her reality show, what’s it for?

I carefully round the corner, peek into the living room, and find Chey standing near the windows in black leggings and another cropped sweater. This one is fuzzy and pink. The hem rides up every time she gestures with her arms, revealing that same maddening strip of bare skin above her waistband.

Those damned cropped tops will be the death of me.

Her long auburn hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, and a few strands have escaped to frame her face. Her lips are pursed as she studies the papers in her hand. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Chey look so focused. It doesn’t take long to realize I could stand here in the shadows, soaking in the sight of her. I don’t care if she’s staring at a paper or reciting lines.

When I take a step closer, the wood creaks beneath my feet and she startles. Her head whips in my direction, and she quickly tucks the papers behind her.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you’d gotten back.”

“Yeah, you seemed pretty involved in what you were doing.”

She shifts as her gaze flits away and color rises in her cheeks. “Um, yeah. Guess I was.”

There’s something in the clipped way she says it that makes it clear she has no intention of telling me what she was doing. The fact that it chafes my ass as much as it does is just one more blaring warning sign I choose to ignore.

“So, what were you doing?”

She hesitates for a second before shrugging. “Just something for the show.”

I lean one shoulder against the wall and study her. Even though I don’t know Cheyenne well, I get the feeling she’s lying. Or at least not telling me the whole truth.

I don’t like it.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup.” She pops the P at the end of the word before crossing her arms, trying to play it casual.

I nod once, disappointed when she refuses to divulge anything more.

Instead of pushing, I ask, “How’d shopping go this morning?”

Relief flickers across her face, so swiftly I almost miss it.

“It was good.” There’s a brief pause before she tacks on, “Different.”

“Different how? Isn’t shopping for clothes the same wherever you are?”

Her lips twitch as she huffs out a quiet laugh. “In LA, shopping with women could be considered a competitive sport. Everyone’s pretending to compliment you while mentally tearing you apart.”

That sounds terrible.

“And here?”

“Here, they actually wanted me to look good.” Her lips curve. “So, yeah… weird.”

A dull ache spreads through me at the admittance. I fucking hate that for her.

“But you had a nice time with them?”

“Yeah, I did. Thanks again for introducing me to Kia.”

“No problem. I’m glad it worked out,” I say.

Her gaze stays locked on mine as I push away from the wall. “Did you end up finding something for Saturday?”

“I did.”

I jerk a brow. “Do I get a sneak preview?”

A mischievous smile dances across her lips as she shakes her head. “Nope. You’ll get to see it on Saturday along with everyone else.”

I close the remaining distance without thinking, stopping just short of her. Close enough for her faint, beachy scent to inundate my senses.

It’s equal parts heaven and hell.

I glance down at the papers clutched in her hand. “The lines you were running sounded pretty intense for a reality show. I didn’t realize it was so scripted.”

A shadow passes over her expression. “They can be, to a certain degree.”

“Whatever you were reciting didn’t sound like a scene from your show.”

She shrugs. “You only heard a few seconds of it.”

“I’d like to hear more,” I admit.

Disappointment fills me when she remains silent.

With a cock of my head, I search her eyes. “You don’t have to hide what you’re doing from me.”

Her chin lifts a fraction. “I’m not hiding anything.”

Yeah, she is, and that knowledge crawls beneath my skin. What I want is to know her secrets along with the other parts she keeps tucked away where no one can touch them.

Cheyenne shifts, and her sweater rises again, exposing that narrow band of sun-kissed flesh. That’s all it takes for my gaze to drop. After a moment or two, I realize I’m staring, and clear my throat, dragging my attention back to her face.

“You sure like wearing those midriff-baring shirts, don’t you?”

She smirks. “Yup. I have a closet full of them back home. Luckily for you, I brought a bunch with me.”

“Great.”

This woman is seriously trying to kill me. One midriff-baring top at a time.

In a surprising twist, she steps closer. “What’s wrong? You don’t like them?”

Now that we’re standing inches apart, I can see the faint flush staining her cheeks along with the steady rise and fall of her chest. The sunshine-beachy scent that slyly wraps around me is distracting as hell. All I want to do is lean in and suck in a lungful of her. It feels like I’ve been starving for her all damn day.

“Did I say that?” My voice comes out low and gruff.

Her gaze drops to my mouth for half a second before snapping back up again. The shift is subtle, but I still catch it. And fuck if that doesn’t send something hot and reckless spiraling through me.

Without thinking, I reach up and brush a loose strand of hair away from her face. My knuckles graze her jawline before sliding along the curve of her cheek. She stills, and her breath catches. That tiny sound lands low in my gut as her gaze stays fastened to mine. For one careless moment, I’m tempted to turn my hand and cup her cheek. All I’d have to do is tilt her face toward me and⁠—

I drop my arm.

Control.

I’ve always prided myself on having it in spades. On being the guy who walks away first. On not getting tangled up in something that can’t be undone or will only lead to future problems.

This woman has been here for less than forty-eight hours and she’s already setting fire to every ounce of my self-control.

I almost kissed her. Another second and I would’ve actually done it.

“I’m, ah, going to take a shower.”

Her brow furrows, confusion flickering across her expression. “Don’t you guys do that at the arena before you leave?”

Well, hell.

“Yeah, but I need another,” I mutter.

As I head down the hall, I can practically feel the heat of her gaze burning a hole through my back. If I stay here another minute, I’m going to forget every self-imposed rule. And that can’t be allowed to happen. Not when I’m supposed to be helping her out of a bad situation with an ex.

There’s no need to complicate matters any further than they already are.

I shut the bathroom door behind me and brace my hands on the marble counter before staring at my reflection in the mirror.

Get it together, McNichols.

All you are is a fake boyfriend. She’s here for a week. Maybe two. Then it’s over. She’ll go back to her life in LA, and you’ll go back to yours.

I repeat the words like a mantra, hoping that if I think them enough times, they’ll finally sink in.

Temporary.

That’s all this is.

Then I turn on the shower and let the water pound down on me, attempting to wash away something that has absolutely nothing to do with practice.

13

Cheyenne

We’re halfway through the movie when it occurs to me that I have no idea what’s happening on screen. There’s an explosion of some sort, and one of the characters is crying. Dramatic music plays in the background, but I couldn’t tell you why. I’ve completely lost track of the plot.

The only thing I’m aware of is Knox sitting beside me and the solid warmth of his thigh as it brushes against mine every time one of us shifts. Or the way his arm is stretched along the back of the couch. Even though he’s not quite touching me, it’s close enough to feel the heat of him near my shoulder.

It’s ridiculous.

No, I’m being ridiculous.

We’ve been sitting here for over an hour, and it feels like you could cut the tension in the room with a knife.

One minute, the couple on the screen is arguing, and the next, they’re locking lips. The kiss is intense and messy. My breath catches, and Knox stills before carefully shifting. Now all I can think about is what it would feel like to have Knox’s mouth sliding over mine. Holy crap, I can’t believe that just popped into my head. Unfortunately, once it’s there, dislodging it becomes impossible.

I stare at the television a second too long before clearing my throat. “Do you, um, think we’ll have to kiss?”

His head snaps toward me. “What?”

My cheeks heat as I push out the question. “Do you think we’ll need to kiss on Saturday? You know… so it looks like a real relationship.”

He stills. “No.” A beat passes before he amends, “I don’t know. Maybe?”

I swallow. “Should we, like, practice or something?”

The words hang between us, heavy and impossible to take back.

Slowly, he turns his body more fully to mine. “I’m sorry. You want to practice kissing?”

Oh my God. Why did I say that?

“It’s not like I want to,” I blurt as heat climbs up my neck. “I just— If it happens, we don’t want it to be awkward.” I tuck my legs beneath me, trying to look unaffected when I’m anything but. “It won’t be very convincing if it looks like we’ve never actually kissed before.”

The silence that falls over us is thick and suffocating. Just when it feels like it’ll shatter, his gaze drops to my mouth, and my breath catches before his attention returns to my eyes.

When his jaw flexes, I think he might actually agree. Anticipation spools low in my belly, my body going still in response.

With an exhale, he drags a hand through his hair. “No.”

Everything inside me crashes at the flat response.

“Right. Yeah.” I nod, as if he didn’t just annihilate me on the spot. “It was just an idea.”

I turn back to the TV, pretending to watch, all the while silently plotting a way out of this embarrassing mess.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

My eyes widen as I glance at him. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t know… Maybe you’re right. We might have to kiss. It’s probably a good idea for us to practice.”

Our gazes lock, and my pulse stutters. He doesn’t smile or crack a joke as he repositions himself on the couch before lifting his hand and tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers graze my cheek, and it’s tempting to lean into his touch. I shift, trying to scoot closer. It feels like my heart will pound right out of my chest before his lips ever touch mine.

Why am I so nervous?

It’s just a kiss.

No big deal.

He doesn’t rush the moment. It’s almost as if he’s giving me time to pump the brakes and put a stop to it. But that’s not going to happen. Over the years, I’ve wondered what it would feel like to kiss Knox McNichols.

So now that I have a legit excuse to do it, I’m going through with it. I’m dying to know if he’s as skilled as all the tabloids claim.

Unsure where to place my hands, they tentatively settle on his chest. And, yes, it’s just as hard as I suspected it would be. His blue eyes darken as he leans in, stopping less than an inch away, until I can feel the warmth of his breath ghost across my lips.

Everything inside me quiets as his thumb rests lightly along my jaw.

“One kiss,” he murmurs.

Yes. One kiss. That’s it.

I’m sure it’ll be bad, maybe awkward, and I’ll never think about it again.

In the end, this will be a good thing.

When he doesn’t move, I take the initiative and close the distance between us until my mouth can feather across his.

It’s a soft, barely-there caress.

I inhale, and the sound seems to ripple through him.

His lips linger against mine, and the rush of sensation that spirals through me is almost dizzying. When the velvety softness of his tongue sweeps along the seam of my lips, I open. It’s not a conscious decision. More like instinct. With a groan, his fingers slide into my hair, threading through the thick strands as he tilts my head just enough to deepen the kiss.

With my palms pressed against his chest, I’m able to feel the heavy beat of his heart. The world narrows to the warmth of his mouth and the way he fits against me. A low sound escapes him when my fingers drift to his shoulders.

That’s all it takes for me to forget this is about practice.

He kisses me like he’s been holding back for years and is doing his best not to lose control. Heat floods through me and my breathing turns unsteady. My fingers curl into his shirt, as if it’s possible to anchor myself to him and the moment unfolding between us. If I don’t, I’ll probably float away.

Knox makes a rough sound before jerking back. There’s a rush of air between us as I blink up at him, feeling slightly dazed as my lips continue to tingle.

He clears his throat. “I think that’s enough.”

My thoughts spin as I stare at him. All I want to do is lean in and kiss him again, just to see if it would feel as good as the first time.

“Are you sure?”

His jaw tightens as my hand lifts to graze my lips, trying to steady myself. But it’s impossible.

“Yeah, I am.” He pops to his feet. “Actually, I’m pretty beat. I’m going to call it a night. Feel free to watch TV for as long as you want.”

Before I can even open my mouth, he turns, disappearing down the hallway. A second later, the soft click of his bedroom door echoes through the space.

What the hell just happened?

The bigger question is… do I want it to happen again?

14

Knox

I stare at the ceiling, wondering how it’s possible to feel both exhausted and wired at the same time. I slept like shit. Each time I managed to drift off, an image of Cheyenne slid behind my eyes, followed by the memory of what her lips felt like beneath mine.

Soft and warm.

Too damn responsive.

The little sound she made when I’d deepened the kiss echoes through my head. Or maybe that had been me. At this point, I don’t know.

I scrub a hand over my face and blow out a slow breath.

One kiss.

That’s all it was supposed to be.

Proof that Cheyenne Benson isn’t any different from the other women I’ve been with.

Proof that I’m still in control.

Instead, all it did was blow a massive hole through those theories.

I spent half the night replaying that kiss in my head like a highlight reel I couldn’t shut off. The way she’d melted into me for one reckless second before everything had gone still. The way my hand had threaded through her hair. The way I’d wanted to drag her closer and⁠—

I sit up before the thought can finish forming. There’s no point lying here and pretending I’m going to fall back asleep. The clock on the nightstand says it’s barely after six.

It’s too early for her to be awake. I could use a few minutes to get my head on straight before I have to face her and pretend that kiss didn’t shift everything between us.

I shove out of bed, yanking on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt before heading to the kitchen. The penthouse is quiet, the city beyond the windows just beginning to stir as pale morning light bleeds between the buildings. For a few blissful seconds, there’s nothing but silence and the low hum of the coffee maker as I fill it with water.

Coffee.

That’s exactly what’s needed here. Something bitter and strong that will cut through the haze in my brain.

I lean against the counter while it brews and drag a hand through my hair, trying to talk myself down from the ledge. This is a temporary situation. Once her ex gets the message and backs off, we can end this charade and go our separate ways. I’ll see her once or twice a year, at most. Maybe then I’ll finally be able to stop thinking about her so damn much.

With a scowl, I take a long swallow of coffee as soon as it’s ready. And swear under my breath as it burns the entire way down. Every muscle goes rigid when a door opens down the hall. I glance up just as Cheyenne steps into the kitchen.

Fuck.

She’s wearing black yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt that slips off one shoulder. Her hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail and her face is bare of makeup as the lingering softness of sleep clings to her features.

The sight of her shouldn’t hit me like a gut punch.

Early sunlight touches her face, and my stomach plummets like I’ve just stepped off the edge of a building, falling a hundred stories to the ground.

“Morning,” she says.

Her tone is careful. It’s not cold or even awkward. Just… careful. Like she’s tiptoeing through a minefield, afraid one wrong step will blow everything apart.

Is she remembering what happened on the couch?

Did she spend all night tossing and turning, obsessing about that damn kiss the way I did?

My gaze drops to her lips before I can think better of it. They’re full, pink, and slightly parted.

I jerk my attention away before she catches me staring.

“Morning,” I mutter.

Silence stretches between us. It’s not long. Maybe two seconds. Three at the most. But it’s loaded. Heavy with everything neither one of us is willing to voice out loud.

Chey crosses to the fridge and reaches in for a water bottle. The sweatshirt shifts with every movement, riding up just enough to expose the narrow strip of skin at her waist.

It’s impossible not to stare. “You’re up early,” I force myself to say, trying and failing to sound like my normal self.

She twists off the cap and takes a drink before glancing at me. “I’m going for a run.”

“Alone?”

Her brows lift. “That was the plan.”

I set my mug on the counter with a thud. “I’ll come with you.”

A small laugh slips from her. “Knox, you don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

She studies me for a second. “You actually want to run?”

My face scrunches. “Fuck no.”

That response startles a smile out of her that’s quick and unguarded. My chest tightens at the sight.

She tips her head. “Then why bother?”

“Because your safety is my number one priority.”

Her gaze flicks over my face. “Are you absolutely sure? You don’t look like you slept well.”

“I slept just fine,” I grumble.

“Okaaay.” She stretches out the word, as if she doesn’t believe me.

Smart woman.

“It really isn’t necessary,” she says. “I won’t be gone long.”

“If I’m not going with you, you’re not going at all.”

One brow arches. “Is that so?”

I plow a hand through my hair and force myself not to snap. “It’s six in the morning and you’re in a city you don’t know. You’ve also got an ex who tracked you to a hotel two thousand miles away. So, yeah, I’m not wild about the idea of you out there on your own.”

Her expression softens, but only slightly. “Knox⁠—”

“He knew where to find you,” I cut in, more quietly now. “That’s not something to fuck around with.”

I can see the exact moment it all comes tumbling back to her. The hotel. The flowers. The note. The way her ex keeps slipping past lines he has no business crossing.

She lowers the bottle from her mouth, and I brace for an argument, because she’s stubborn enough to give me one on principle alone.

Instead, she examines me in silence before her shoulders lower. “Okay. Fine.”

Relief hits hard enough to weaken my knees.

“But only because you look two seconds away from having a coronary,” she adds. “And that’s not something I want on my conscience.”

I huff out a laugh. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready.”

I dump the rest of the coffee down my throat, knowing I’m going to need every drop of caffeine, before heading to my room to get dressed. By the time I return, Cheyenne is stretching near the elevator.

She’s bent forward with her palms pressed flat against the floor. The hem of her sweatshirt slides up again, exposing that same tempting strip of skin. My gaze locks there for one beat too long before I force it upward.

“Ready?” I ask.

She straightens before meeting my gaze. “Yup.”

The entire ride down to the lobby, I wait for her to bring up the kiss.

She doesn’t. And neither do I.

I’m not even sure what I’d say. It certainly wouldn’t be the truth.

The electricity sizzling between us continues to ramp up with every floor we descend. I’m barely holding on by a thread when the doors open to the lobby. It’s a small blessing when the frigid morning air slaps at my cheeks. The city hits us all at once. There’s traffic whizzing by, a few pedestrians on the street, and the sun rising over the buildings.

Chey glances at me. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

She takes off at an easy pace and I fall in line beside her. It only takes half a block to realize she’s not screwing around. Her stride is smooth, efficient, and strong.

When I glance at her, she catches me looking. “Problem, McNichols?”

“Not at all.”

“Interesting, because your expression says otherwise.”

I grunt, not bothering with a response.

A laugh slips out of her. “You didn’t think I was a serious runner, did you?”

“Did I say that?”

She smirks. “You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”

I stare straight ahead. “I was just assessing the situation.”

“Mm-hmm. Sure.”

I side-eye her. “What?”

“Not much of a morning person, are you?”

“And here I was thinking you might be too much of one,” I shoot back.

When she flashes a grin, awareness coils low in my gut.

A few more blocks pass before she glances my way again. “You’re good with five miles, right?”

I scoff. “Of course I am.”

It’s official… I’m going to die.

Five miles?

Who the hell voluntarily runs five miles before sunrise?

Cheyenne Benson, that’s who.

We head toward the lake, our footsteps falling into an easy rhythm on the sidewalk. The wind off the water whips at my face, but Cheyenne doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. If anything, she grows more energized with every stride. Her shoulders are looser and her breathing is steady. Once or twice, she tips her face toward the sun like she’s actually enjoying herself.

“Kind of looks like you’re hating life, McNichols,” she says after another block.

“Not true at all.”

She gives me a skeptical look.

I glare back. “You might not have realized it, but I’m an elite athlete.”

“You play hockey.”

“Exactly. Everyone knows it’s the superior sport.”

“That is so adorable.”

When I bark out a laugh, she glances over, as if startled by the explosive sound just as much as I am. We continue running along the lake. At some point, the silence between us shifts. It stops feeling like something we’re navigating around, and it settles in, becoming comfortable.

I’m used to attraction and tension. To wanting a woman and moving on before it has the chance to turn into anything real.

But this?

It’s different.

Like falling into step beside her is the most natural thing in the world.

A cyclist comes up fast on our left, not bothering to call out until the last second, and I react without thinking. My hand closes around Cheyenne’s arm and I tug her toward me, guiding her out of the way as the bike whips past with an irritated mutter from the rider.

She stumbles half a step into my side, and my hand lingers on her arm longer than necessary. I’m all too aware of her beneath my grip.

“Are you okay?” I ask, breathing hard.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Almost reluctantly, I release her, forcing myself to take a step back. “People are idiots.”

She stares at me for a second, emotion flashing in her eyes as her tone turns teasing. “I guess you really meant it, huh?”

I frown. “Meant what?”

“That you’re not taking any chances with my well-being.”

This woman has no idea that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.

Instead of telling her the truth, I force a shrug and try to keep it casual. “You’re staying with me. It’s kind of hard not to feel responsible.”

As soon as the comment is out of my mouth, I realize it’s complete bullshit.

Cheyenne’s lips curve into a smile. It’s not a full-blown one by any means, but something softer. I get the feeling she sees straight through me and is choosing not to call me out on it.

By silent agreement, we start moving again.

I’m more aware of her beside me now than ever. Of the cadence of her breathing and the sound of her shoes hitting the sidewalk. Every time she glances at me, my gut tightens.

After another mile, she says, “For the record, I’m glad you came with. This is nice.”

I glance at her, surprised by the admittance. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A beat passes before she adds, “But don’t let it go to your head, McNichols.”

I snort. “Impossible. My ego’s enormous, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

She smiles again, and, damn, I like it.

Way more than I should.

After that, we pick up the pace. It doesn’t take long before I’m sweating, mildly annoyed by the existence of long-distance running, and fighting the urge to stare at her every five seconds.

Cheyenne, meanwhile, looks reinvigorated. Her cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, there’s a damp sheen at her temples, and a few wisps of hair have loosened from her ponytail to curl around her face.

She looks beautiful. Not in the polished, camera-ready way most people probably notice first. But in a real way. I force my attention back to the street. This is exactly why spending time alone with her is a terrible idea.

Under normal circumstances, I’d hate every second of this. I hate running, mornings, and being dragged into anything before coffee has a chance to do its job.

But with Chey?

I don’t hate any of it.

Which is bad enough.

What’s worse is that somewhere between her laughing, falling into step beside me, and admitting she was glad I came, this stopped feeling like an obligation and started to feel like something else entirely.

The realization that I wouldn’t mind getting up and doing this again tomorrow is the moment I know I’m well and truly fucked.

15

Cheyenne

Lake Michigan stretches out in front of us, its surface rippling beneath the pale wash of early morning light. Behind us, the city rises in steel and glass, gleaming against a blue sky. Even though the wind coming off the water lashes at my cheeks, I barely notice it.

How can I when the view is this spectacular?

I slow, my lungs burning with the satisfying ache that comes after a hard run, and Knox matches my pace without a word. It’s strange how easily he falls into step beside me, like it’s nothing, like we haven’t spent the entire morning pretending there isn’t tension crackling between us after last night’s kiss.

For a few seconds, we stand shoulder to shoulder, breathing hard, staring out at the water.

The silence isn’t awkward.

And that’s the problem. It would be so much easier if it were.

Instead, it feels charged and far too comfortable. I’m painfully aware of the heat rolling off his body and the rise and fall of his chest. Then there’s the way he jumped into action, tugging me out of the path of an oncoming cyclist before I even realized the guy was about to run me over.

My skin still tingles where he touched me.

I hug my arms around myself, more for something to do than because I’m cold. “It’s gorgeous.”

“It certainly is,” he says, voice low and rough from the run.

I make the mistake of glancing in his direction only to find that he’s not staring at the water but at me. A second later, his gaze flicks away, and I can’t tell if I imagined the entire thing or not.

This man is impossible to read.

I turn back toward the lake before I can embarrass myself. “I like it here.”

The words slip out before I’ve had a chance to fully think them through.

He stills. “You do?”

“Yeah.” I shrug, even though there’s nothing casual about it. “It feels real in a way my life doesn’t back home.”

That’s the only way to describe it. Chicago doesn’t shimmer the way LA does. It doesn’t feel polished within an inch of its life. Out here, nobody seems to care who I am. No one gives me a second glance or stares, trying to place me.

There’s a freedom here I didn’t realize I’d been craving.

Here, I just feel like a person. Not a product or a brand. Or someone who needs to be managed.

Knox looks back out over the water with his hands braced on his hips. “Could you see yourself living here permanently?”

“Yeah, I could.”

What I don’t mention is that it might not be as far-fetched as it sounds. If my plan works out and the audition leads where I hope it does, there’s a real chance I could wind up here for more than a visit. A flicker of hope stirs in me before I can tamp it down.

For a few seconds, the only sounds are the wind whistling by and the water slapping against the shoreline. I watch him from the corner of my eye, trying to get a read on his expression, but it remains carefully blank.

Does he like the idea of us being in the same city?

Or hate it?

Does it even matter to him?

Probably not.

His jaw flexes once before he says, “That’d be a pretty big move.”

That’s it. There’s no surprise or curiosity. No sign that the possibility of me staying affects him at all. It’s just a careful, neutral observation that gives nothing away.

The tiny spark of hope inside me gutters.

Why do I keep forgetting that what I do doesn’t matter to Knox McNichols?

Last night flashes through my mind. The look in his eyes before he kissed me. The way his hand stroked my jaw. How everything between us shifted for one heated, dizzying second before he pulled back as if he’d touched a live wire.

It’s so tempting to ask if it meant anything.

Or was it just practice?

Did he regret it the second it happened?

Questions climb up my throat, but pride shoves them down as I force my gaze away. If Knox wants to pretend that kiss didn’t scramble the molecules in the air between us, I can do the same.

I force a lightness into my tone I don’t necessarily feel. “We should probably head back. It’s getting late.”

He nods once before we fall into an easy jog again, the lake receding in the distance. The streets are busier now, filled with more cars and pedestrians. The wind carries the scent of coffee, lake water, and the faint bite of exhaust.

Despite the tightness lodged in the center of my chest, I love it.

Unable to help myself, I glance at Knox. He’s all controlled lines and steady strides, and suddenly I can’t stand another second of the quiet, careful strain building between us.

Desperate to break it, I announce, “Last one home cooks breakfast!” Then I take off before the challenge is fully out of my mouth.

There’s no universe where I’ll willingly make breakfast after running five miles.

From behind me, Knox mutters a curse that makes me grin. A second later, his footsteps pound harder against the sidewalk as he surges forward to catch me. I can’t help but laugh as he pulls alongside me, then pushes just enough that I have to work to stay even.

I manage to dig deeper, pumping my arms harder as he does the same.

We’re neck and neck, flying down the sidewalk, and for a few glorious seconds, everything else falls away—the awkwardness, the questions, the ache of wanting something from him that I have no right to expect.

There’s only the race, the rush, and the wild, ridiculous delight of trying to beat him.

We round the corner toward his building, and a prickle slides down my spine when I catch sight of a guy gesturing wildly at the doorman. The harsh edge of a raised voice cuts through the morning air as it carries across the sidewalk, and my pace falters.

“Don’t you know who I am? I’m Dakota Fleming! I want to see Cheyenne right now! I know she’s here! Let me in!”

I stutter to a stop so abruptly, my shoes skid on the pavement and I almost trip. It takes half a second for my brain to catch up with what I’m seeing.

Dakota.

He’s standing at the entrance to Knox’s building, arguing with the doorman.

My stomach drops until it feels like the ground has disappeared beneath my feet.

Beside me, Knox stops too. Without hesitation, he slips an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side.

His gaze stays locked on my ex. “Is that him?”

I swallow. “Yes.”

As if sensing our presence, Dakota’s head snaps toward us. His gaze lands on Knox first before darkening. Then it shifts to me, and something feverish flares in his expression.

My muscles freeze as he stalks toward us. There are shadows under his eyes, and his hair is sticking up in every direction, as if he’s been dragging his hands through it for hours. He looks rumpled and wild. Not at all like the polished version of himself he normally presents to the world.

My skin crawls at the fact that he was once again able to figure out where I am so quickly.

“Cheyenne!” he yells. “Why are you ignoring me?”

Knox’s arm tightens around my shoulders, his strength steadying me just enough to allow me to breathe. As tempting as it is to stay tucked against him, I force myself to step away.

“Dakota,” I say, relieved my voice comes out sounding steady when my pulse continues to riot. “You need to stop doing this. We’re not together anymore.”

His expression crumbles. “Chey, I love you. Whatever happened between us, we can fix it. Just give me another chance.”

My stomach twists.

What started as attention became expectation and then pressure. There was guilt every time I wanted space or didn’t answer the phone quickly enough. Boundaries weren’t something he understood. Instead, he just kept pushing until it felt like I was suffocating.

And now, even after the breakup, he’s still doing it. Still trying to force his way into a life I no longer want him in.

“I’m sorry,” I say, tone firm. “It’s not going to work between us. You need to find a way to move on without me.”

He shakes his head, as if I’m the one being unreasonable. “There’s no way for me to do that. Don’t you understand how much I love you? How much I’ve given up for you?”

There it is again.

The guilt and obligation.

The same old trick of making me responsible for his choices, his feelings, his spiraling.

“I didn’t ask you to give up anything for me.”

Before the conversation can continue, Knox steps forward. Not enough to completely block me but enough that his bigger body becomes a barrier between us.

“Look, man,” he says. “Cheyenne already told you she’s not interested in reconciling. You need to accept her decision.”

Dakota doesn’t spare him a glance, and it unnerves me more than if he’d started shouting.

Gaze pinned to me, he jerks a thumb toward Knox. “Did you dump me so you could hook up with some meathead hockey player?”

“Dakota,” I warn.

His eyes flash. “Were you cheating on me? Is that what happened?”

“No. Of course not.”

His breathing turns ragged as his gaze shifts to Knox. The hatred in his expression is enough to make my blood run cold. “You’ll last a week,” he snaps. “Maybe two.”

“It’s time for you to go,” Knox says. Even though his voice remains calm, I hear the danger simmering beneath it.

Dakota gives a strange, slow nod. “You’re right. I should go.”

Relief flickers through me when he turns as if he’s going to leave before quickly pivoting and taking a swing. It all happens too quickly for my brain to process as his fist slams into Knox’s face with a sickening thud that echoes in the crisp morning air.

I gasp as Knox stumbles back a step. “Dakota!”

Without another word, my ex takes off down the sidewalk without so much as a backward glance, disappearing around the corner before anyone can stop him.

For one stunned second, the world goes silent before sound rushes back in all at once. There’s the pounding of my heart, the distant blare of a horn, and the doorman shouting behind us.

I’m on the move before I realize it, rushing to Knox’s side. “Oh my God.” My voice quivers. “A-are you okay?”

He straightens slowly, pressing his fingers to the darkening skin beneath his eye. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” My hands shake as I reach for him. “You were just sucker punched in the face.”

Knox catches my wrists gently before I can fuss too much. “I’m okay. Really.”

I can’t help but stare at the bruise already forming beneath his eye, and guilt slams into me so hard I can barely breathe. This happened because my ex followed me to Chicago and I didn’t realize how serious the situation had become. Some part of me kept telling myself he was heartbroken and struggling to let go.

I glance down the street in the direction where he disappeared, and the last of my denial shatters.

Heartbroken men don’t show up at apartment buildings and scream at doormen. They don’t ignore every boundary you set and blame you for their choices. And they sure as hell don’t throw punches when they don’t get their way.

A chill skates over my skin, colder than the wind off the lake.

Dakota isn’t devastated. And he isn’t just too intense or overly emotional.

For the first time, the reality of my situation sinks in.

Dakota isn’t heartbroken. He’s unhinged.

16

Knox

Motherfucker.

I really should’ve seen that coming. The second Dakota nodded and pretended to turn away, I should’ve known the little prick was about to do something stupid. Instead, I let my guard down for half a second, and now my vision pulses on the left side each time I blink.

That’s on me.

I straighten slowly, jaw locked, and blink through the sting. Chey stands in front of me with both hands over her mouth, wide eyes filled with horror.

“Oh my God.” The words come out shaky and thin.

And just like that, the adrenaline roaring through my veins shifts. I still want to go after him. My whole body strains in that direction, every instinct I have screaming to take off down the sidewalk, catch the bastard, and return the favor.

One good sprint, and I’d have him.

One solid punch, and we’d be even.

But I don’t move because Cheyenne is standing here looking scared as hell, and whatever satisfaction I might get from chasing him down isn’t worth leaving her alone for even a second.

Not now.

Not when I can see the exact moment it slams into her that this isn’t just some dramatic ex who can’t let go. This is something altogether different that has the potential to explode.

I glare at the corner he vanished around, my hands curling into fists before I force them open again.

“We should go inside,” she says, voice trembling. “You need ice before that turns black and blue.”

My gaze darts to Chey. Her face is pale beneath the flush from the run, and her breathing is a little too erratic. Her body is stiff, as if she lets go for even a second, she might come apart at the seams.

Fuck.

“Yeah,” I mutter, because right now, getting her inside matters more than anything else.

The doorman stares at us, as if he’s unsure what to do.

I turn to him. “If you see that guy again, you call the police. Immediately.”

His eyes widen. “Yes, sir.”

Chey presses her lips together, but she doesn’t argue.

Good. I’m not in the mood to soften this or call it something it’s not just because the truth is uncomfortable.

We step into the lobby, and the blast of warmth does nothing to quell the uneasiness that clings to both of us. The elevator ride to my place is quiet except for the low mechanical hum and the faint ringing still bouncing around in my skull.

Cheyenne keeps sneaking peeks at me. I catch them in the mirrored panel. Each time, she quickly jerks her gaze away, as if she doesn’t want to get caught looking.

I don’t say anything. Mostly because I’m pissed at myself for allowing this to happen. The punch replays in my head on a vicious loop. Underneath that irritation is a deeper emotion. Every time I glance at Chey, I see the fear she tried to hide on the sidewalk. The way she froze when she spotted him, her body going rigid. The need to keep her close feels less like a choice and more like instinct. I’ll be damned if I allow anything to happen to her.

The elevator doors slide open, and I wait for her to step out before following as she moves through the penthouse to the kitchen.

“Sit down,” she orders.

There’s enough of an edge in her voice that I almost smile. Instead, I do as I’m told and drop into one of the kitchen chairs while she grabs a dish towel from the drawer, crosses to the freezer, and fills a bag with ice. Her movements are efficient, but I notice the small things. The faint tremor in her fingers when she presses the zipper on the bag shut, or the way she draws in a steady breath before turning back to me. She’s doing everything she can to be strong in order to get through this moment.

When Chey steps between my knees, every thought in my head short-circuits. She’s close enough for me to feel the heat of her body. Close enough for me to catch the clean scent of soap and sweat along with the faintest trace of her shampoo. Close enough that if I shifted forward even an inch, my face would brush the soft fabric stretched over her chest.

She lifts the ice to my eye, and I hiss at the contact.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

Her free hand slides into my hair, pushing it away from my forehead so she can get a better look at the damage. Her touch is gentle, and without thinking, I lean into it. Just a little. But it’s enough to feel her still for half a beat before her fingers start moving again against my scalp.

This probably shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

Even though pain throbs behind my eye, all I can focus on is Cheyenne as she stands between my legs and runs her fingers over me. My body responds to that in ways that aren’t helping one damn bit.

“I really am sorry,” she murmurs.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

Guilt fills her eyes as they settle on mine. “This is all my fault.”

I catch her wrist loosely with my fingers. It’s just enough to still her hand in my hair. “No, it’s not.”

“If I hadn’t⁠—”

“Stop.” I lower the ice pack so I can look at her properly. “This is on him,” I say, each word clipped and deliberate. “Not you.”

Her mouth trembles. “Knox⁠—”

“No.” I tighten my hold on her wrist, wanting to stop the thoughts from spinning in her head. “You’re not going to take responsibility for his choices. That’s what guys like him do. They push too far, then act like it’s your fault for making them feel something they can’t handle.”

For a second, she just stares at me before her eyes become shiny. They’re not quite tears but close enough to make my chest twist.

Her fingers relax in my hair, turning into more of a caress. The urge to lean farther into her touch is almost overwhelming, and it takes effort to fight back.

“I don’t want you hurt because of me,” she says softly.

A humorless huff leaves me as I force myself to release her wrist and lift the ice back to my face. “You think I’m scared of that guy?”

She studies me for a second. “No, I don’t.”

Good answer.

“But,” she continues quietly, “I’m starting to realize he’s not stable.”

“All the more reason to be careful, don’t you think?”

Her gaze drops as she worries her lower lip between her teeth. “Maybe I should skip the charity event.”

As soon as I set the ice pack on the table and rise to my feet, she takes a quick step in retreat. “No.”

“Knox—”

“Absolutely not.”

I’m standing close enough that she has to tip her chin up to look at me. I see every emotion as it moves across her expression. The worry, uncertainty, and lingering guilt she hasn’t let go of.

“You broke up with him,” I say. “He doesn’t get to dictate what you do, where you go, or who you spend time with.”

Her throat works on a swallow.

I take another step toward her. “We’re not hiding out in my penthouse because he decided to show up at my building and throw a punch when he didn’t get what he wanted.”

Her eyes search mine, looking for hesitation.

Well, she’s not going to find any.

“This guy needs to understand something,” I say.

Her brows pinch. “What’s that?”

There’s half a second, maybe less, where I could choose something that sounds more strategic and less like the claim already burning its way through my blood.

“That you’re my girl now.”

The words land between us like a crack of thunder, and everything goes still as Cheyenne’s lips part.

The full impact of what I blurted slams into me a beat later.

My girl.

Jesus Christ.

I should really want to take that back, smooth it over, make it more about the plan and less about the fact that some primitive part inside me just stood up and planted a flag.

But I don’t. And that’s the problem. Because I don’t hate it at all. If anything, it feels like the truth. Like this stopped being pretend somewhere between kissing her on my couch, running beside her at sunrise, and seeing fear flash across her face when Dakota stalked toward us.

“Knox…”

I drag my hand over my jaw as my gaze stays pinned to hers. “This isn’t about pretending anymore. It’s about making sure your ex understands you’ve moved on.”

That’s the excuse.

The clean version.

The one I should probably stick to.

Even as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re complete bullshit. This is no longer about Dakota getting the message. It’s about me wanting her by my side. And wanting him to know we’re together.

No. It’s about wanting every man who looks at her to understand there’s a line they no longer get to cross. I want the privilege of protecting her in a way that feels a hell of a lot less temporary than this arrangement was ever meant to be.

“So he can do the same,” I finish.

Her gaze is wide and searching as it holds mine. “If you really think that’s best, then we’ll go.”

“I do.”

It’s the truth, but not for the reasons she believes. Last night, I told myself that if I kissed Cheyenne, it would settle this thing in my head once and for all. It would prove she’s no different from any other woman. That whatever is happening between us could be controlled, compartmentalized, and easily dismissed.

Instead, I’ve got a black eye and a possessive streak that’s a mile wide where this woman is concerned.

And the worst part?

Standing here with her close enough to touch, the taste of last night lodged in my memory, and the sound of her sighs echoing in my head⁠—

I don’t regret a damn thing.

17

Cheyenne

For approximately thirty seconds, I miss my glam squad. That’s how long I stand in front of the bathroom mirror with eyeliner in hand, debating whether I should attempt a bolder wing or play it safe.

In LA, there’d be three people in this room with me right now. One would be styling my hair as the other applied my makeup. Another would adjust the fall of my dress while reminding me to stand taller, roll my shoulders back, lift my chin, and angle slightly left when the cameras start flashing.

Armor.

That’s what it always felt like.

At every appearance, red carpet, and publicity event, someone was always there helping build the version of me the world expected to see. But tonight, there’s no team. No one fussing or telling me what image I need to project. It’s just me in the quiet of Knox’s penthouse.

I lower the eyeliner and lean closer to the mirror, studying my reflection.

I can do this.

I’ve been walking red carpets since I was eight years old. I know how to paint on confidence. I know my best angles, which side of my face photographs better, and how to smile with just enough warmth to seem genuine.

Still, this feels different.

Maybe because I’m doing all of it myself and I’m not getting ready for an opening or an awards show or some carefully manufactured reality-TV moment designed to stir up headlines.

Maybe because a few hours ago, Knox stood in his kitchen and told me I was his girl now, and I still haven’t figured out what to do with the way those words lodged deep inside my chest.

I smooth a hand over the emerald gown hugging my body. It’s fitted and elegant, structured through the bodice before narrowing at the waist and skimming over my hips in a way that feels sophisticated. It doesn’t hide my curves in the slightest, but the cut is too refined to feel obvious. The rich green makes my eyes look brighter and my hair more auburn than brown.

I turn slightly, inspecting the silhouette before facing myself again. For a moment, I just breathe.

Tonight is supposed to be about optics. About convincing people Knox and I are together. But the thought of spending the evening with him sends my pulse skittering anyway, and not for the first time, I wish I could separate him from the lie we’re selling.

Was it my imagination, or had his voice been filled with possessiveness once we got back here earlier? Then there was the way his gaze held mine as he said words that shouldn’t have sounded so real yet somehow did.

I press my lips together and set the eyeliner down before I stab myself in the eye with it.

This evening is supposed to be simple. We show up together so Dakota can see that we’re really over and he’ll finally leave me alone.

That’s the plan.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

After the fury on Dakota’s face and the bruise darkening Knox’s eye, none of this feels quite as simple as it did when I first let myself into his home and suggested the arrangement. If I’m being honest, an unsettling amount of my focus has shifted away from Dakota and toward Knox. Toward the way he makes me feel when we’re together. More than that, I feel seen with him. I’m not Cheyenne Benson, reality TV star or a shiny product meant to be paraded around in front of cameras.

I’m just me.

Cheyenne.

And that feeling?

It’s totally new and far more addictive than I could have imagined.

I square my shoulders, take one final look in the mirror, and step out of the bedroom. Knox is waiting in the living room with a drink in hand. For a second, I forget how to breathe.

He’s wearing a black tux tailored so perfectly it looks like it was made for him, with sharp lapels, a crisp white shirt, and a bow tie. His broad shoulders seem even wider wrapped in formalwear. The bruise under his eye is darker now, marring the edge of all that polished masculinity in a way that shouldn’t make him more attractive.

And yet… it does.

How’s that even possible?

He catches sight of me while lifting the glass to his mouth. The tumbler pauses for a beat before he lowers it again. His gaze drifts over me. It starts at my heels before moving slowly upward with a deliberate heat that feels more like a physical caress by the time it reaches my face.

I get the sense he’s able to strip away every layer I painstakingly covered myself with in the bathroom, exposing all the cracks I’m careful to keep hidden beneath the surface.

Warmth climbs up my neck.

For one suspended moment, neither of us says a word as his gaze stays pinned to me.

He clears his throat. “You’re absolutely stunning.”

The words hit like a lightning strike. Maybe because there’s no teasing within them. No easy grin or playfulness. Just raw male appreciation that makes my belly swoop.

It’s shocking to realize that some small, foolish part of me is pleased that he likes what he sees.

“Thank you.” I force a smile. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”

His gaze lingers another second before lifting to my eyes. “I understand why he’s upset about losing you.” Before I can figure out a response, he adds quietly, “I would be too.”

Heat blooms beneath my skin as my pulse stumbles, then kicks harder.

The compliment sounds almost as if it slipped out before he could think better of it, and somehow, that almost makes it worse.

Or better.

Maybe more dangerous.

I don’t know at this point.

What I do know is that I can’t allow myself to sit with those words for too long, or I’ll start wanting things I can’t afford to want when it comes to Knox McNichols.

“Luckily,” I say, aiming for light and breezy, and praying it comes across that way, “you don’t have to worry about that since this is all for show.”

His jaw tightens. The shift is slight, but I still catch it.

“Right,” he says, voice flatter now. “For show.”

The comment should settle me. Instead, it only makes the blood thrum even faster through my veins.

He crosses the room before stopping in front of me. My breath catches when he reaches out and adjusts the thin strap of my gown where it rests against my shoulder, his fingers grazing my skin in the process. The touch is light. And yet it manages to send sparks shooting through me.

His gaze meets mine. “Ready to go?”

I nod, afraid if I try to speak, my voice will come out sounding like a squeak. When he offers me his arm, I take it. We head down to the lobby where a sleek, black sedan is waiting at the curb. The driver climbs out and opens the rear door, but I’m far too aware of the way Knox’s hand lingers on the small of my back as he guides me forward.

“After you,” he says.

I slide onto the leather and settle on the far side of the seat, smoothing my dress with shaking fingers. Knox follows seconds later, his bigger body bringing with it a rush of warmth and that woodsy, expensive scent that makes my belly flip.

The door shuts, and the vehicle glides smoothly away from the curb. I turn toward the window, watching Chicago drift by in streaks of light and steel as I try to refocus my attention. But it’s no use. I couldn’t be more aware of the man beside me if I tried. Of the quiet between us and the subtle tension that radiates off him. Of the fact that if either of us shifted the slightest bit, our knees would brush.

I keep my hands folded carefully in my lap as I continue staring out the window. I’m trying very hard not to focus on the possibility that his mouth will be on mine again before this night is over. That thought alone is enough to make my pulse race.

Have I ever been this attracted to a man?

I stare harder out the window.

It’s probably best not to answer that question.

By the time the sedan pulls up to the venue, I’ve almost convinced myself I’m calm and under control. Then the door opens and the world detonates with both light and sound. Flashbulbs explode the second we step out. Voices crash over us in waves. My body reacts instantly, years of conditioning snapping into place without a second thought.

Shoulders back.

Chin lifted.

Smile ready.

I know how to step onto a carpet and become the version of myself people expect to see. Although, standing beside Knox changes the equation in a way I’m unable to explain.

“Knox!”

“Cheyenne!”

“Over here!”

I slip into publicity mode, but it feels less practiced tonight because his hand is firm at my waist as he guides me forward. Every flash seems brighter with him next to me. Every shouted question louder. Every camera more apt to catch the feelings I’m trying to keep buried beneath the surface so I can pretend they don’t exist.

Zane and Gigi are already halfway down the carpet, posing like they’ve rehearsed every angle. The second Knox appears, attention shifts our way. You can see the moment the couple realizes they’ve lost the crowd’s interest.

Gigi frowns at us before stalking away.

A reporter calls, “Knox! Are you dating Cheyenne Benson?”

And there it is. The question we knew was coming.

I turn slightly toward him, my smile fixed in place. The air shifts before I fully understand what it means. His arm tightens around me, drawing me closer until my side is pressed against his.

The crowd erupts as the voices grow more frenzied.

He leans closer, warm breath brushing my ear. “Are you ready, Hollywood?”

This time, I know exactly what he means, and my heart trips. When I look up, he’s already watching me.

Everything slows.

The cameras.

The voices.

The city.

It all fades to the background as I stare into his eyes and realize he’s giving me a choice in the matter. A split second to decide. A chance to pull back and keep this safe, to let tonight stay inside the boundaries we’ve been pretending still exist.

I don’t take it. The most startling part is that I don’t want to.

His hand slides along my waist as he pulls me closer right before his mouth settles over mine. The first brush of his lips sends a hot, electric jolt straight through me.

Nothing about this feels tentative or rehearsed.

The kiss from last night had been explosive in its own way. It was unexpected, intimate, and charged with all the things we hadn’t yet said.

This one is bolder.

More of a claim.

The crowd reacts instantly. There’s shouting as shutters flash in relentless bursts, but the noise disappears the second his mouth moves against mine. I’ve been kissed on camera enough times to know how to fake chemistry when necessary.

This isn’t one of those times.

There’s nothing staged about the way my body lights up beneath his touch. And there’s certainly nothing practiced about how I melt against him. When his tongue sweeps across the seam of my lips, every coherent thought vanishes as I open for him.

A soft sound catches in my throat as his tongue slides against mine, and for one dizzying, impossible moment, it feels like we’re alone despite the hundreds of eyes on us. It’s like the world has narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the press of his palm at my waist, and the hard line of his body against mine.

By the time he pulls back, my pulse is pounding so hard, it echoes in my ears. He doesn’t move far, his arm staying planted around me, almost as if he has no intention of ever letting go.

We answer a few questions, or rather Knox does most of the talking while keeping me tucked against his side like he’s trying to make a statement out of our proximity alone. Then he guides me toward the entrance, effectively shutting down everything else as we step through the door.

The sounds from outside dull immediately, replaced by music, polite applause, and the buzz of elegant conversation. Crystal chandeliers throw golden light across the room. Servers weave through the crowd with trays of champagne balanced on their palms.

For a second, I stand beside Knox before sneaking a glance up at him, expecting… something.

Some sign that what just happened hit him as hard as it did me.

But his expression gives nothing away.

It’s controlled.

Unreadable.

As if he didn’t just kiss me in front of the world like he meant every single second of it. He maintains his hold on me, and if I’m being honest, it’s what has me unraveling. Not the cameras or the questions. Not even the fact that the internet is probably melting down right now.

It’s the steady weight of his palm and the fact he hasn’t let go.

For the first time tonight, it truly sinks in that, yes, we came here to send Dakota a message.

But whatever that kiss was…

Whatever it meant…

I’m no longer sure it had anything to do with the cameras at all.

18

Knox

The ballroom doors swing open, and the noise hits like a wave. There’s the low strain of music, the murmur of conversation, and the clink of glasses. Cheyenne’s fingers are still curled around the arm of my jacket. For one disorienting second, all I can think about is her taste as it continues to linger on my lips.

The kiss on the red carpet had been meant to sell the story. That’s what I told myself, anyway. But the second I touched her, it stopped feeling like strategy and started feeling like something else entirely.

Something that was hotter and hungrier.

It was much too real for a crowd of cameras and shouted questions.

I force air into my lungs and try to get my head on straight.

It shouldn’t be so difficult.

“You ready to do this?” I murmur.

She glances up at me, emerald silk hugging every curve, auburn hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders.

“I hope so,” she says with a small smile.

Even though it’s in no way full-blown, it still manages to catch me right in the chest. I don’t understand what it is about this woman that crawls under my skin. I just know no one else has ever managed to do it.

My grip tightens around her before I can think too much about it, and together we step farther into the ballroom. The space is packed with players, donors, sponsors, and enough money to fund a small country. Laughter drifts from one side of the room while a string quartet plays near the far wall.

River is the first to spot us.

His brows rise as his gaze zeroes in on the bruise beneath my eye. “What happened to you?”

Humor dances in Steele’s eyes as he turns toward me. “You get jumped in a dark alley?”

“Nah, it’s nothing,” I say, waving off the questions.

Cheyenne stills beside me. The reaction is subtle enough that no one else would notice, but I do. It’s there in the way her body tightens and her fingers flex against my sleeve. I shift my hand more firmly against her waist. It’s a small movement meant to reassure.

Oliver leans in, joining the conversation. “Funny, ‘nothing’ usually doesn’t look like a right hook.”

A passing waiter stops nearby, and I grab two drinks off the tray before handing one to Cheyenne. Her fingers brush mine as she takes it.

“Would you believe I walked into a door?” I ask.

River snorts. “Only if the door had hands.”

I take a swallow of my drink before giving them enough truth to get them off my back. “A guy caught me off guard and then took off. End of story.”

That wipes the humor off their faces.

Steele’s brows slam together. “Some guy just hit you for no reason and then ran?”

“It’s been handled,” I say easily. “It’s not a big deal.”

Cheyenne shifts beside me, as if uncomfortable with the lie.

“Handled how?” River asks, unwilling to let it go.

“I told the doorman to call the cops if he shows up again.”

Oliver studies me for a second before clapping me on the shoulder. “Next time, try ducking.”

“Thanks,” I mutter. “That’s super helpful.”

Steele’s attention shifts to Cheyenne. “Are you going to introduce us to your date, McNichols?”

“Not if I can help it,” I say dryly, earning a few grins before I do exactly that. “Cheyenne, this is Steele, River, and Oliver.”

My teammates say hello before Lilah pulls Cheyenne in for a hug. “It’s good to see you again.”

Some of the tightness drains from Chey’s shoulders.

Good. That’s exactly what I was hoping for.

Callie smiles. “You look incredible. Lilah was right, that dress was made for you.”

The woman isn’t wrong. The gown is enough to bring any man in this room to his knees.

I know because I’m halfway there.

Oliver whistles. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look way too good to be on this clown’s arm.”

Rina elbows him in the ribs. “Ignore him. You look stunning. Even better than when you tried it on in the store.”

Kia smiles from where she’s tucked against Laiken’s side. “It’s nice to see you again.”

I wasn’t prepared to see Cheyenne standing here with my friends and teammates, fitting in so seamlessly. The women are so welcoming, and instead of that feeling strange or forced, it feels right.

Way too right.

Cheyenne’s smile grows more genuine with each exchange, and I realize I’ve been bracing myself for her to feel out of place or find it necessary to perform the polished reality-star version of herself.

She doesn’t.

Not with them.

When she relaxes, I do too.

Laiken says nothing about my eye. He just pins me with a look over the rim of his glass. It’s one that conveys exactly what he’s thinking.

You’re in deep, motherfucker.

I ignore him. Mostly because he’s right.

Across the room, Sloane stands behind the dessert table, arranging tiny pastries. Jax loiters nearby, doing his best to look casual and failing miserably. When one of the rookies wanders over and attempts to flirt with her, Jax inserts himself into the situation until our teammate takes the hint and disappears.

That guy really has it bad. From what I’ve heard, Sloane wants absolutely nothing to do with him. It’ll be interesting to see if he’s able to change her mind.

“Come on,” I say to Cheyenne, my hand settling at the small of her back. “Let me introduce you to the owners of the team.”

I guide her across the ballroom toward the older couple.

“Cheyenne, this is Hugh Landry and Evelyn Kingston.”

Evelyn smiles, polished and effortless as always. Hugh, however, seems far less interested in us than in the woman standing beside him.

“We’re thrilled you could join us tonight,” Evelyn says with regal ease. “I hope you have a lovely time.”

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you,” Hugh adds, though his attention shifts back to Evelyn almost immediately, as if he can’t help himself. He clears his throat. “I was wondering if you’d⁠—”

“If you’ll both excuse me,” Evelyn cuts in smoothly, “there’s a sponsor I need to speak with.”

And just like that, she’s gone, gliding into the crowd with a practiced smile, all composure and grace. For a brief second, disappointment flickers across Hugh’s face before it’s smoothed away and he trails after her.

Before the moment can settle, Zane and Gigi appear.

Gigi smiles before giving Cheyenne an air kiss. “What a surprise to find you here. When you disappeared from LA, I figured all the speculation was right and you were off detoxing at some posh retreat.”

Cheyenne’s smile never wavers. “Nope. I’ve been right here in Chicago.”

Zane’s gaze drops to my arm around her waist. “Yeah, had we known, we could’ve planned our entrance a little better.”

“I don’t think that was really necessary, do you?” I ask.

Zane has always been more interested in his reality star dreams than hockey. Too bad he’s so talented on the ice.

“There’s a lot of talk around the possibility of a spin-off show,” Gigi says, sidling closer to Cheyenne. “Any truth to the rumors? You can trust me. I won’t tell a soul.”

“Sorry,” Chey says. “I don’t know anything about that.”

Gigi’s eyes harden for a fraction of a second before her smile widens. “Of course you don’t, babe.”

Even though the woman at my side stiffens, she remains controlled and polished. For the first time tonight, it’s like she’s slipping into protective armor. And I hate she feels the need to do it. My hold on her tightens, pulling her closer.

Not for the cameras or appearances, but for her.

With one last fake smile, Gigi turns before sauntering away. Zane follows like an obedient lapdog, doing his best to keep up.

“Well, that was fun,” I mutter. “I didn’t realize you two were friends.”

“‘Friends’ would probably be overstating the relationship,” Cheyenne says with a sigh.

I snort. “Funny. I feel the same way about Zane.”

Our gazes meet, and her expression softens.

A familiar voice cuts through the crowd. “Well, well, well… look who it is.”

I turn and do a double take as my family makes their way toward us. I wasn’t expecting to see Mom, Dad, Colby, and Britt here tonight.

A grin spreads across my face. I love my family and don’t get to see them nearly enough.

“What are you all doing here?” I ask.

Mom is the first to reach me, her arms wrapping around me in a hug. Dad hangs back, already taking stock of the room as Colby grins.

“Surprise,” my older brother says by way of greeting, slapping my back. “Just thought we’d crash your Railers event.”

“The real surprise is that you made it past security,” I shoot back.

He scoffs. “Seems like they let just anyone into these things. Not like my team. Your ugly mug would never make it through the door.”

“Fuck off,” I say with a laugh. “We both know I’m the better-looking brother.”

“Language,” Mom interjects.

Colby smacks the back of my head. “Yeah, language, dumbass. Don’t embarrass the McNichols name.”

“I was talking to both of you,” Mom says with a shake of her head, even though the corners of her mouth twitch.

Dad slips an arm around her waist before kissing the top of her head. “Want me to put them in time-out, babe?”

Her smile grows. “You might have to if they can’t behave themselves.”

Cheyenne’s still tucked against my side, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of that fact when my mother’s gaze lands on her.

Mom’s eyes brighten. “Well, this is certainly an unexpected surprise. Cheyenne, honey, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Chey says.

Mom’s attention bounces between the two of us with curiosity. “Are you two here together?”

The question hangs in the air as Cheyenne glances at me, the answer sticking for half a second longer than it should. Before either of us can respond, Britt grins, saving us both from further interrogation.

“Would you mind coming with me to the bathroom?” she asks her sister, one hand resting on her belly. “Pretty sure this baby is sitting directly on my bladder.”

Cheyenne chuckles. “Sure.”

With that, she slips from my side, moving toward her sister. It only takes a moment before I notice the absence of her warmth and miss her hand on my arm.

I have to fight the urge to track her through the crowd, as if I’ve suddenly forgotten how to stand here on my own.

Chey glances back to meet my gaze as Britt loops an arm through hers, steering her away. The emerald silk sways with every step she takes, and more than one guy turns to watch them go. The possessiveness rising within me isn’t in any way normal.

Dad follows my line of sight before looking back at me. “We had no idea Cheyenne would be here with you.” With a tilt of his head, he assesses me carefully. “Nice shiner, by the way. Did that happen on the ice?”

Mom frowns. “Hockey is such a brutal sport.”

“No,” I mutter, hoping there won’t be more questions. “It didn’t.”

Colby’s mouth twitches. “Can’t say I haven’t wanted to do the same.”

“Pretty sure you have,” I say. “Several times, if memory serves.”

“Is that so?” Mom asks, raising a brow as she glances at my brother.

Dad’s arm tightens around her. “Should I separate them just like when they were kids?”

Her lips bow. “Only if it becomes necessary.”

Colby slings an arm around my shoulders. “Please. That’s all behind us. We’re the best of friends now.”

I side-eye him. “You sure about that, bro?”

“Yup, pretty sure. You know we enjoy ganging up on Brooks.”

“Well, that’s true enough,” I admit.

Mom shakes her head. “You two are terrible.”

Dad cuts right through the nonsense. “So… back to Cheyenne.”

Damn it.

His gaze settles on me. “Is she here with you?”

There’s no way to dodge the question.

“Yeah.” I glance toward the crowd where Britt and Cheyenne disappeared. “But it’s not what you think. Her ex has been harassing her, so I’m just helping out by pretending to be her boyfriend. That’s it. No big deal.”

The explanation comes out a little too quickly and maybe a little too practiced. From the way my parents exchange a look, they realize it too.

Dad’s eyes narrow. “Does you pretending to be her boyfriend have anything to do with your black eye?”

Nothing gets past Gray McNichols. Even when he was on the road playing pro, he always knew when one of us was full of shit.

I shrug. “It might.”

“Fake dating, huh?” Mom glances at Dad with a knowing look. “That sounds awfully familiar.”

One corner of his mouth slides upward. “Good times.”

The story of my parents’ fake dating is legendary in our family. Mom supposedly couldn’t stand him at first. When their parents started seeing each other, neither wanted the possibility of becoming stepsiblings, and somehow fake dating turned into a thirty-year marriage with four kids.

When Dad’s phone chimes, he slips it from his pocket and glances at the screen.

One brow arches. “Does part of this fake dating scheme involve kissing Cheyenne on the red carpet?”

He angles the phone just enough for me to catch a glimpse of the photo. My arm is wrapped around her waist, her body turned into mine, and our lips are locked together.

All I can say is there’s nothing about that kiss that looks calculated for publicity. What it looks more like is that I couldn’t help myself.

“How else are we supposed to sell the relationship?” I ask, attempting to keep my tone light even though every muscle is filled with tension.

Colby leans in to look at the screen before giving a low whistle. “Didn’t realize you were such a good actor, bro.”

I grunt. “What can I say? Everyone thinks I like you, don’t they?”

He punches my arm. “You’re hilarious.” Then his expression shifts just enough to show me he means the next part. “But seriously. You mess with my wife’s sister, and there’s going to be major problems. I’ll make that shiner look like nothing.”

“Like I said, I’m just helping out a friend. That’s it.”

Mom tips her head. “Since when are the two of you friends?”

And there it is. The hole in my story. I open my mouth and realize I don’t have an answer. Cheyenne has always been on the periphery of my life because of Britt. Familiar but not mine. Someone I noticed and then told myself not to think about too much. Somewhere along the line, she stopped being Britt’s younger sister and became Cheyenne.

A woman I can’t stop watching.

A woman I kissed once and then again in front of the world.

A woman who no longer fits neatly under the category of friend. But then again, did she ever?

Colby nods before pointing at our mother. “Excellent question.”

Mom studies me carefully. “Are you sure feelings aren’t involved?”

My hesitation stretches a beat too long as the kiss on the red-carpet flashes through my mind along with how good her body felt against mine under a storm of camera flashes. The way I wanted her to stay pinned to my side for safe keeping.

With a forced shrug, I shove the thoughts deep down where they belong.

“Nope,” I lie. “Feelings aren’t involved at all.”

Mom doesn’t look convinced.

Across the ballroom, the sisters reappear. My attention zeroes in on Cheyenne as she throws her head back, laughing at something Britt says. The sound doesn’t reach me over the music and conversation, but I don’t need to hear it to feel it.

Everything in me settles at the sight of her.

The smile is wiped from my face when one of my teammates steps up to her, looking like he’s going to strike up a conversation. When he grins, she smiles back politely. My entire body goes taut as a wave of jealousy crashes over me with so much force, it nearly knocks the air from my lungs.

I might have tried to convince my family this relationship is fake. But the way my jaw tightens as I watch another man edge a little too close to her?

That, unfortunately, is all too real.

19

Cheyenne

My sister’s fingers lock around my wrist as she pulls me toward the ladies’ room.

“Well, this is certainly an interesting turn of events,” she says, weaving through clusters of guests in glittering gowns and tailored tuxes.

A helpless laugh slips from me. “I knew you’d think so.”

The bathroom door swings shut behind us, muting the noise from the ballroom to a distant thrum. Inside, everything is marble counters, gold fixtures, and lighting designed to make everyone look airbrushed and flawless.

The second we’re alone, Britt turns toward me. “You and Knox are everywhere.”

My stomach dips. “What do you mean?”

She’s already digging into her clutch for her phone. A second later, she shoves the screen in my face.

And there it is.

The kiss from outside.

My pulse stutters. For one second, a traitorous thrill runs through me before embarrassment follows quickly on its heels. The whole world is speculating about a moment I’m no longer sure was entirely fake.

“That kiss on the red carpet is already going viral, and Mom has been blowing up my phone for the past ten minutes.”

Heat creeps up my neck as I smooth a hand over my hair, even though not a strand is out of place. “Knox offered to help me out,” I say, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. “The whole point was to make it look convincing.”

Britt glances down at the photo again. “Mission accomplished, because that’s extremely convincing.”

I drag in a breath. “Then hopefully it works and Dakota moves on without any further incidents.”

An image of him standing outside Knox’s building looking wild-eyed, furious, and unsteady flashes through my mind.

When my sister continues to study me, I add, “Don’t worry. There’s nothing going on between us.”

“I hope not. I love Knox, but he’s not ready to settle down.”

With a nod, I force a smile. “Completely agree.”

As much as I remind myself this situation is temporary, the last few days have been unexpectedly nice. Running beside the lake at sunrise. Ordering in Chinese food. Watching movies curled up on his couch. Easy conversations, charged silences, and the quiet comfort of being with him in ways I never imagined.

Knox has never given any woman a permanent place in his life, and it would be foolish to pretend I might be the exception.

Britt studies me, as if she can hear every thought I’m trying not to say out loud. “Are you sure feelings aren’t involved?”

“Yup,” I say a little too quickly. “It’s all for the cameras.”

Her brows lift, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, she pulls out her compact and checks her face.

“Well,” she says lightly, “you two look like a real couple to me.”

I turn to the mirror and dab at my lipstick, grateful my reflection appears far calmer than I feel.

“We should probably get back,” I say, wanting to shut down this conversation.

Britt snaps her compact shut. “Lead the way.”

Before walking out of the restroom, I pause for one steadying breath and square my shoulders. As we step back inside the ballroom, sounds crash over us all at once. Music. Laughter. Clinking crystal. Somehow the crowd has doubled in size while we were gone.

We barely make it a dozen steps before a woman in a navy gown stops Britt with a gasp.

“Oh my gosh, I loved your last album. We were lucky enough to snag tickets for your Denver concert.” Her attention shifts to me. “And I have to say, your show is one of my guilty pleasures.”

Britt and I smile automatically. It’s muscle memory at this point. We’ve spent years in the public eye, putting on a front while feeling something entirely different beneath the surface.

We pose for a quick photo, thank her, and move on.

Mom would be proud.

“Cheyenne?”

I turn to find a handsome man in a tailored tux with broad shoulders and an easy grin heading my way. Hockey player, if I had to guess. There’s a certain confidence in his stance and swagger.

“Hello,” I say.

“I had no idea you were this stunning in person,” he says smoothly. “I love your show.”

I smile. “Thank you.”

“I was going to have my agent reach out to yours and introduce us. But this is much better.”

From beside me, I see Britt’s mouth twitch, and I shoot her a quick look that says don’t you dare.

We exchange a few harmless words. It’s the kind of conversation I’ve had a hundred times before. Easy enough to smile through without taking seriously.

After a few minutes, awareness prickles across my skin, and I lift my gaze to find Knox. Even though he’s standing across the room, talking to his family, his attention remains locked on me.

When he lifts a brow, I shrug.

My pulse jumps as he cuts across the ballroom with the kind of purposeful stride that makes the crowd part around him without even realizing it. By the time he reaches us, my heart is beating way too fast. His arm slides around me with one smooth movement, pulling me close enough to catch his woodsy scent.

He glances at the other man. “Hey, Callahan. Mind if I steal my girlfriend?”

Girlfriend.

The word lands low in my gut.

The other man grins before raising both hands. “All yours.”

Knox’s grip tightens ever so slightly as he steers me away from his teammate. Britt’s gaze flicks between us, and the knowing look on her face has heat rising to my cheeks.

“I’m going to find Colby,” she says, already turning away. “You two have fun.”

And just like that, we’re left to our own devices. I’m far too aware of his hand on my body as he guides me through the crowd.

“Are you actually leading me to the dance floor, McNichols?” I ask as he turns me toward him. “Well, color me surprised.”

He shrugs as one hand settles at the small of my back. “I figured it would be a good photo op.”

There’s no reason his response should sting. We’re here for optics and appearances. Still, the disappointment welling inside me is more than I’m prepared for.

I force a smile. “Right.”

The music is slow enough that we sway more than dance as the heat of his palm burns through the thin fabric straight down to my flesh. Under the ballroom lights, his black eye looks even darker than before, and the sight twists my insides every time I glance at it.

Knox is hurt because of me.

Or at least because of the situation.

“Should I be surprised you’re this smooth on your feet?” I ask, wanting to distract myself from those thoughts.

A crooked smile tugs at his mouth. “Nah. It’s just another thing I’m good at.”

I laugh softly. “At least you’re not cocky.”

“Nope. Never that.”

I catch sight of his father leading his mother onto the dance floor. It’s sweet how easily they move together.

“Did you know they’d be here?”

His expression softens as he glances in their direction. “Nope, total surprise. But it’s nice to see them.”

“It is.” I force my attention back to him. “I’ve always liked your family.”

“They like you too.”

My pulse flutters again. “I assume they were surprised to find us together?”

“That would be an understatement.” After a beat he adds, “Although, I filled them in on what’s going on, so no worries on that front.”

“Good,” I say, keeping my smile firmly intact. “I let Britt know too. Now everyone’s on the same page.”

The words sound tidy.

Neat.

Reasonable.

A lie in their own way, because maybe everyone understands the explanation, but emotionally, Knox and I are nowhere close to being on the same page. Not when he says that I’m his girl and looks at me with something in his eyes I can’t quite name, only to toss out words like photo op as if none of it means anything at all.

His gaze dips to my mouth, and the shift in the air is brief, but I still feel it everywhere.

His teeth catch on his lower lip before his eyes lift again, and the memory of the kiss slams back into me with humiliating force. The red carpet. The cameras. The way his mouth slanted over mine had felt anything but fake.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Same page.”

When his arm tightens, pulling me closer, I rest my head against his chest. The moment I do, my muscles loosen. His body is warm and solid beneath the crisp lines of his tux. His heartbeat is a steady thrum under my ear. The scent of him wraps around me as we move together. It’s slow and close enough that it would be intimate even without everything else humming between us.

This shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

Or as natural.

And it definitely shouldn’t make me want to forget this is temporary. For one fleeting moment as I’m held against him, I almost do.

Movement at the edge of the dance floor catches my eye. I blink as a familiar profile with a medium build and dark hair melts away. My heart slams against my ribs as I scan the crowd. Guests shift and laughter rings out as servers weave between tables. I search the room again, but the face I thought I saw is nowhere to be seen.

Was he ever there?

Or is Dakota so far inside my head that every dark-haired man in a crowded room is enough to send me spiraling?

I hate that I can’t tell the difference.

“What’s wrong?” Knox asks.

I look up and find him frowning, his attention fastened to me.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “For just a second, I thought I saw Dakota.”

His posture immediately changes, going on high alert, as his gaze sweeps the room. “Where?”

I nod toward the edge of the dance floor. “Over there, I think, but it’s possible I imagined it. Maybe my mind’s playing tricks on me.”

He doesn’t laugh or dismiss my concerns. That alone makes me feel better.

“We should go,” he says.

“What? We just got here.”

“I know.” His arm remains wrapped around me. “But I’m not about to take any chances with your safety.”

The certainty in his voice cuts through all my doubts.

“Your ex isn’t thinking clearly,” he continues. “And what he proved this morning is that he’s dangerous.”

A photographer calls out Knox’s name, probably hoping for one more picture, but he ignores him completely. Another guest smiles like she might stop us, but one glance at Knox’s face is enough to make her step aside.

His focus never wavers as his hand settles at my lower back and he guides me off the dance floor and through the crowd. His gaze sweeps the room like he’s ready to throw himself between me and any threat that dares to get too close.

With Knox’s body a solid, steady presence beside me, I feel safe.

Safe enough that I can already feel how easy it would be to get used to this.

And that might be what scares me most.

20

Knox

As soon as we step inside the penthouse and the elevator doors slide shut behind us, the pressure in my chest releases. Not all of it. But enough for me to notice the difference.

Out there, everything felt exposed. There were too many people and too many cameras. Too many blind spots. The thought of Dakota slipping into the ballroom, lurking in some shadowed corner while watching Cheyenne, has been gnawing at me since the second she said his name.

I drop my keys onto the console table and then shrug out of my jacket.

Chey slips off her heels near the entryway and lets out a small breath, her shoulders sagging, as if the effort of holding herself together all night has finally caught up with her. She’s still standing tall, but I can see the weariness in her posture now that we’re alone.

The emerald gown clings to every curve, as if it was designed specifically for her, but it’s not the dress I’m staring at.

It’s the woman wearing it.

It would be impossible to miss the faint exhaustion in her eyes or the way she wraps her arms around herself like she doesn’t quite know what to do now that the noise, lights, and attention have disappeared.

She looks tired. Not weak, just wrung out.

For some reason, seeing her like this has every protective instinct shooting to the surface.

“Thank you,” she says.

“For what?”

“For everything.” Her fingers drift over her bare shoulders. “Tonight. Earlier. Leaving when I thought I saw him. I know this wasn’t how you planned for the evening to go.”

I release a breath through my nose. “I don’t give a damn about any of that.”

Not the charity event, the sponsors, or the networking opportunities. None of it means shit if she’s uncomfortable, scared, or lying awake tonight wondering whether Dakota is going to show up somewhere else in her life. The only thing I care about is whether she feels safe standing here right now.

Cheyenne studies me for a second, as if trying to decide exactly how much of that I mean.

The answer is every damn word.

“I feel bad for dragging you into this mess,” she says, her gaze flicking to the bruise under my eye. “And that he hit you.”

My jaw tightens. “He caught me off guard. Trust me, it won’t happen again.”

That part still pisses me off. Not because he hit me. But because for one split second, I thought he was backing off instead of being the unstable little prick he is.

Guilt flashes across Cheyenne’s expression, and I hate it.

“This isn’t on you,” I say. “It never was.”

Her lips part, as if to argue.

“I mean it. You’re not responsible for Dakota’s choices. He is.”

Her shoulders ease just a fraction as she takes one step toward me before hesitating. I can almost see the moment she changes her mind and decides to close the distance between us.

“Still,” she says, voice quieter now, “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

She rises onto the tips of her toes. For half a second, I’m unsure what she’ll do right before her lips brush across my cheek.

It’s a light, quick kiss.

Certainly nothing like the one on the red carpet or the couch.

My body reacts as if she just pressed a taser against my skin, and every muscle locks up. Her beachy scent wraps around me, and for one reckless second, I almost turn my head and catch her mouth with my own.

Almost.

My hand flexes at my side, fingers curling into my palm.

The memory of her mouth explodes in my head all over again. The softness of it along with the heat. The way she melted for that one split second before I forced myself to stop.

I remain perfectly still. If I move one damn inch, I’ll do something I won’t be able to take back. Something that changes everything between us.

It’s not that I don’t want to feel her lips again.

I want it too damn much.

The problem is that she’s standing in my penthouse after a night that rattled her, thanking me while gratitude shines in her eyes. The last thing I want to do is take something she never meant to offer.

So, I lock myself down tight and stand perfectly still. Cheyenne pulls back before I can betray myself.

“Good night, Knox.”

It takes effort to keep my voice level. “Night.”

With one last smile, she turns and walks down the hall, the silk of her dress whispering around her legs. I watch as she slips into her bedroom and closes the door. The silence that follows is deafening.

“Jesus,” I mutter before dragging both hands through my hair. I’m frozen in place for a full ten seconds, staring down the empty hallway, willing myself not to go after her.

Eventually, I force myself to move. Once in my room, I strip off the tux. Shirt first, then belt and pants. Everything gets tossed aside in a careless pile as I beeline for the bathroom. What I need right now is a shower. Hot water and steam. Something to wash away the lingering feel of Chey and whatever the hell this tight, restless energy simmering inside me has become.

After turning the knob, I wait for the water to heat before stepping under the spray and bracing my palms against the tile as it pounds over the back of my neck.

It doesn’t help. Not even a little.

My brain is stuck in a vicious loop. Chey on the red carpet, gaze lifting right before I kissed her. The feel of her on the dance floor and the way she rested her head on my chest, as if it was always meant to be there. Her mouth opening beneath mine on the couch. Her lips brushing against my cheek just now.

It’s not just the physical intimacy running through my head. It’s her laugh when she beat me to the building after our run. The way she looked tonight when we got back here—tired, yes, but trusting me enough to let the walls slip a little.

I shut my eyes, blowing out a slow breath. For one brief second, I consider taking matters into my own hands and dealing with the tension myself. With how tightly wound I am, it would probably take less than thirty seconds.

Already, I know it won’t work. This has nothing to do with being turned on and everything to do with the woman sleeping across the hall from me. A quick release won’t fix the fact that I want more than just her body. When it comes down to it, I want her laugh in my kitchen, her bare feet on my hardwood floors, and her curled up on my couch at the end of each day.

That’s the real problem.

I shut off the water with more force than necessary, grab a towel, and scrub it over my hair before dragging on a pair of boxers and climbing into bed. Then I reach for my phone. I don’t scroll for more than thirty seconds before realizing that photos of us are everywhere. Red carpet shots and close-ups of the kiss. The two of us looking like we’d forgotten there was an audience.

Headlines are already popping up.

Is the Railers’ Bad Boy Off the Market?

Someone’s created a hashtag.

#KnoxAndChey

Another one follows right after.

#EmeraldAndIce

I let out a humorless huff.

Cute.

I toss the phone onto the nightstand and stare at the ceiling. This was supposed to be simple. I was just helping her out.

That’s it.

I was never supposed to get obsessed.

All right, maybe I’ve always been a little obsessed with the woman. Her living in my penthouse has just made it impossible to ignore.

I roll onto one side, then my back before flipping onto the other, but sleep refuses to come. Every time I close my eyes, I feel her against me all over again. The way she fit in my arms, turning pliant when I touched her. The way she looked standing in my living room with gratitude radiating from her, and that goddamn dress wrapped around her body like temptation.

My brain takes a turn for the worse, picturing her across the hall, curled up under the covers with her long auburn hair spread out across the pillow.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

That’s exactly the image I don’t need in my head right now. Eventually, I give up pretending there’s any chance I’m going to fall asleep, and shove the covers back, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The floor is cool beneath my feet as I move down the hall, keeping the lights dim.

The baby grand sits near the wall of windows, black and glossy against the Chicago skyline. I stop in front of it for a second before settling on the bench. Playing the piano is something I learned as a kid when hockey wasn’t enough to burn off the restless energy building inside me. Dad claimed it was good for discipline.

For control.

I let my fingers move over the keys without thought or plan.

Just instinct.

The first notes are low and steady. Simple chords that fill the room and float through the quiet of the penthouse. After a few minutes, my shoulders begin to loosen. The tightness in my chest eases as the melody builds, and for a few minutes it almost takes my mind off her.

Even as the music carries through the dark, there’s one thought I can’t outrun.

Chey is here, in my home, filling a space I’m no longer sure I want to live alone in. My hands continue moving over the keys, but the pressure building inside me is too much to pass off as simple lust.

This isn’t just about wanting her.

It’s about wanting more.

More time.

More moments.

More of this closeness that was never supposed to exist between us in the first place.

And I’ve never wanted anything to feel less temporary than Chey Benson.

21

Cheyenne

I roll from one side of the bed to the other until the sheets are twisted around my legs like restraints. Every time I close my eyes, Knox’s face flashes in my mind. The bruise blooming beneath his eye. The way his jaw flexed when he told me he was fine, like he could will the whole encounter into nothingness if he said it firmly enough.

This was supposed to be simple. Instead, the man now has a black eye because of me.

And the worst part?

I’m not just lying here feeling guilty; I’m thinking about him and wondering if he’s awake. I’m wondering if his eye hurts, and if he’s replaying tonight in his head the same way I am.

When faint strains of music drift through the quiet, I still. At first, I think I’m imagining it. Until I hear it again.

A piano.

It’s soft, low, and achingly beautiful.

I hold my breath, listening more intently as the melody floats down the hallway, before shoving the covers back and sliding from the bed. I don’t bother throwing anything over my athletic bra and panties. The wood is cool beneath my bare feet as I ease open the bedroom door and step into the hallway.

The music grows louder the closer I get to the living room. I round the corner and stop short when I spot Knox sitting at the baby grand near the windows, silvery moonlight spilling over him. It washes across his bare shoulders and the powerful sweep of his back, carving every hard line and plane into sharp relief. He’s wearing nothing but black boxers, and for a second, I can only stare.

Not because he’s half naked. Although, yes, that’s definitely part of my fixation. In the darkness, he looks less like a man and more like a sculpture. Like a piece of art carved from strength, control, and restraint.

This version of Knox doesn’t resemble the hockey star who has the NHL world at his feet. He doesn’t look like the handsome playboy who has a different actress or model on his arm every time the cameras flash.

He just looks like Knox.

Private, unpolished, and heartbreakingly real.

Somehow this version of him feels far more disarming because I’m catching a glimpse of a moment I was never meant to witness.

A shiver skates down my spine as I remain in the shadows, letting the music wash over me. Unable to help myself, I tiptoe closer. If I were thinking clearly, I’d turn around and go back to bed before he catches sight of me. But I don’t. Can’t. It’s like there’s an invisible thread pulling me toward him, reeling me in one step at a time. I’m halfway across the room before he finally looks up. His hands still and the music cuts off mid-note. The silence that follows is jarring.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to intrude. Please don’t stop.”

The way his gaze drags over me is enough to have heat blooming low in my belly. I’m acutely aware of what I’m wearing. Of my bare legs and stomach. The look doesn’t last long. Maybe a second or two. But it has the power to change the energy within the space.

After a long moment, he turns back to the keys and begins playing again. The melody is different this time.

Softer and less haunted.

I step close enough to see the way his fingers move over the keys. His hands are so big and strong. They’re the same hands that throw punches on the ice, yet tonight they curled carefully around my waist. They’re the same hands that held me protectively when I thought Dakota might have crashed the event.

My throat tightens with emotion.

When he finishes, the words tumble out in a rush. “I had no idea you could play like that.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Mom insisted.”

I smile faintly, picturing Whitney McNichols lining up her boys and making sure they learned more than just hockey and swagger. The fact that Knox stuck with it long enough to become this good impresses me in ways I never expected.

It peels back yet another layer, allowing me to see more of who this man really is.

When he begins again, I close my eyes and let the music drift over me. He says more with his fingers on those keys than he does in conversation. There’s emotion within the notes. Something raw and unguarded.

As I listen to him play, moonlight spilling across the room, it’s impossible to pretend this man is only who the headlines claim he is.

When the final note lingers in the air before fading into silence, he swivels on the bench to face me. Up close, the bruise under his eye looks worse. Darker and angrier. A jagged reminder of everything that’s gone sideways since I showed up in his life.

My tongue darts out to moisten my lips. “So, I’ve been thinking…”

Even though his expression never changes, he stills.

“I’m going to head back to LA in the morning,” I tell him. “I can stay with my family and hide out there until this mess with Dakota dies down. Then you’d be off the hook.” I force a small smile. “No more black eyes.”

I expect him to readily agree. All my presence has done is complicate his life. It was far simpler before I showed up. Instead, he looks at me as if silently trying to sort through what I’m saying along with all the things I’m not. It’s impossible not to shift under the heavy weight of his stare.

“I never thought Dakota would take it this far,” I blurt when the silence grows unbearable. “I hate that I dragged you into this. And God knows if he’ll try anything else.” My voice falters. “That shouldn’t be your problem.”

He tilts his head. “Is that what you want, Chey? To go back to California?”

As I turn the questions over in my head, I realize he’s asking something much bigger than that.

Do I want to leave?

Do I want to distance myself from him?

Do I want this to end?

The answer rises so swiftly it nearly steals the air from my lungs.

No, I don’t want to leave Chicago or put two thousand miles between us. I don’t want to go back to pretending we barely know each other.

I came here for a reason. One Knox knows nothing about. But along the way, I found something I never expected.

Him.

My throat constricts. Before I can stop myself, I take another step closer and lift my hand. I hesitate for a second before brushing my fingers through his hair. My thumb skims his forehead, careful around the bruise, while my fingers linger against his skin.

The touch is intimate. And yet it feels strangely natural. As if some part of me has been drawn to him far longer than I realized. His hand rises, and for one suspended heartbeat, I think he’ll reach for me. Maybe pull me closer. But then he stops himself, and the loss is immediate.

His jaw flexes. “Chey.” My name comes out low and rough enough to send heat spiraling through me.

I almost take it all back and tell him I don’t want to leave. That the thought of putting all that distance between us makes my chest ache in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with pretending.

Instead, I let my hand fall back to my side. The silence that settles between us feels as if it’ll burst with everything I’m unable to put into words.

22

Knox

The warmth of her fingertips disappears as her hand drops from my face. The absence of her touch hits harder than the punch to my eye.

“You didn’t answer the question. Is that what you want?”

The thought of waking up and not seeing her face or stepping into the living room and not finding her curled up on the couch has a tight, unfamiliar knot forming at the bottom of my gut.

I don’t believe this is what she really wants.

And I know for damn sure it isn’t what I want.

She’s standing in front of me in nothing but a sports bra and panties, her hair mussed, her eyes wide with a kind of resolve that doesn’t match the tremor in her voice.

She swallows. “It makes sense. I can stay with my family, and you won’t have to deal with⁠—”

“I don’t give a shit about any of that.”

Her mouth snaps shut, and the silence that stretches between us is thick enough to choke on.

I hold out my hand and hope like hell she’ll take it. For a beat, she hesitates before placing her fingers in my palm. The contact is enough to make my pulse jump. My grip tightens before I give her a gentle tug.

She stumbles forward half a step before landing in my lap. Her arms slip around my neck, and suddenly she’s close enough for the perfume she wore this evening to tease my senses. Close enough that everything I’ve been trying to keep buried starts pushing to the surface, threatening to break loose.

One arm slips around her back to steady her.

Chey’s eyes widen as she sucks in a breath. “Knox⁠—”

“You’re not going anywhere, Hollywood.”

It comes out like a fact. Not a suggestion or even a question.

Her lips part, probably to argue, but I don’t give her the opportunity.

“I don’t care about this.” I gesture toward the bruise. “It’s nothing.”

Guilt, regret, and something else I’m unable to name flash across her expression.

“I can handle Dakota,” I continue.

What I don’t mention is how much I want her. How she drives me crazy. Or how no other woman has tempted me the way she does.

My hand tightens at her back when she shifts. “What you’re not going to do is run back to LA and hide. You’re going to stay in Chicago and live your life.”

Her throat works. “That’s not⁠—”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what it would be because he’s not giving you a choice.”

Silvery moonlight spills through the windows behind her. She looks so damn beautiful sitting on my lap, all soft skin and messy hair and that stubborn tilt to her chin.

She wants to run and make a clean break. To put distance between us so she can pretend none of this matters. But it matters to me. The idea of her going back to California, where I can’t see her in the morning, make sure she gets home safely at night, or be there if something goes wrong…

It’s enough to send panic crawling down my spine.

I lift my chin and meet her eyes. “I’ll be the one who keeps you safe. Not your family or security. Me.”

The words hang between us, possessive as hell. I hear them for what they are, and I’ll be damned if I take them back.

Surprise flickers across her face before her gaze drops to my bruise and then dips lower to my mouth. Her breathing hitches, and the air between us turns electric.

My attention settles on her lips.

Christ.

I want to taste her again so badly I can barely think straight. Is her mouth as soft as I remember? Would I be able to coax another sound from her as my lips rove over hers? Would she cling to me as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear?

My hand flexes at her waist, fingers digging in just enough to make her inhale before I force them to loosen.

Here’s what I know—if I kiss her right now, there’s no turning back. The first kiss was practice. The second was for show, to convince everyone we’re together. A third, alone together in the dark of night, would be something else entirely.

There’d be no pretending this thing between us is harmless anymore.

No pretending I’m not already in too deep.

I drag my gaze back to her eyes, and it takes every ounce of control I have to keep my voice steady. “We should probably get some sleep.”

She blinks, as if surfacing from somewhere deep.

My pulse pounds in my ears as she shifts on my lap, sliding against me. The movement is enough to make my jaw lock. I swear under my breath, helping her to her feet before I do something I’ll regret. I’m not thinking clearly, and my hands linger at her hips a second too long before I force myself to let go.

We walk down the hallway, and the silence that settles around us isn’t awkward. It’s loaded and on the verge of combusting. When we reach her door, she turns to me. Her lashes cast faint shadows against her cheeks as I brace one hand on the frame above her head, needing something solid to hold on to.

“Good night,” she whispers.

My mouth turns cottony. “Night, Chey.”

She lifts her hand, and her fingers slide along my cheek with a featherlight touch. I’m pretty sure it does far more damage than any kiss would’ve. I freeze, and it’s so damn tempting to lean into her palm, but I know exactly what will happen if I do. Disappointment and longing flood through me when her hand falls away and she slips into her room.

The door closes between us.

For a second, I stand here before leaning forward and resting my forehead against the molding, forcing myself to exhale.

I want this woman so much it hurts.

That truth settles deep into my bones until it becomes a permanent part of me.

I shove away from the door and head back to my room before I do something I shouldn’t, like knock.

My bedroom is dark as I cross to the nightstand and reach for my phone. That’s when I notice a text from an unknown number. I hesitate before opening it. A photo of Chey and me on the red carpet fills the screen. Our arms are wrapped around each other and we’re caught in the middle of a kiss.

Unknown Number:

She will never belong to you

23

Cheyenne

My phone starts ringing before I’m fully awake. For a split second, I don’t know where I am. The ceiling above me isn’t mine, the sheets smell like laundry detergent instead of the expensive linen spray my mom insists on, and the room is too quiet.

That’s when it all comes rushing back.

Knox’s penthouse.

The Railers event.

Him playing the piano before he pulled me onto his lap and wrapped an arm around me. Then there’s the way he looked at me right before he said we should probably get some sleep.

My stomach flips at the memory.

The phone continues ringing from its spot on the nightstand. With a groan, I grab it without checking the screen.

“Hello?”

“Cheyenne.”

That’s all it takes for my eyes to snap open.

Damn… Mom.

I hate when she catches me early in the morning and I’m too groggy to think clearly.

I push up onto my elbows, wide awake now. “Hi.”

A long, dramatic sigh floats through the speaker. It’s the kind she uses when she thinks I’ve made her life unnecessarily complicated.

“Please tell me you’ve seen what’s going on.”

My stomach tightens. “What are you talking about?”

“The photo, Cheyenne. The one of you and Knox on the red carpet. It’s everywhere.”

I scrub a hand down my face and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Yeah, that was all part of the plan, Mom. Dakota needs to see that I’ve moved on.”

There’s a long pause. “Are you sure that’s all this is?”

My grip tightens on the phone. “Of course. What else would it be? He’s helping me out.”

“So there’s nothing to it?”

The question gives me pause. To be honest, I’m not sure what’s going on with Knox. A week ago, I would have snorted and said absolutely nothing, but now…

I’m none too sure.

Is it all one-sided?

I look out the window across the room before forcing the words out. “Nope, nothing to it.”

“Good.” The relief in her voice is obvious. “It’s time to come home, Cheyenne.”

My head jerks up. “What?”

“You heard me. Filming starts soon, and we need you here. The network already wants promo shots, and production is asking questions. This little break you took was fine, but it’s over now.”

I stare at the wall, the words sticking in my throat before I force them out. “I’m not sure I want to do the show anymore.”

That comment is met with silence.

When Mom finally speaks, her voice is softer. Which is so much worse.

“Cheyenne… this is how we make our money.”

I swallow.

“You know that, darling.” Her tone shifts into that calm, patient cadence she uses when explaining something obvious to a child. “This is what the fans expect from us. They’ve followed our lives for almost twenty years. They feel like they know you. Like they grew up with you.”

My grip tightens around the phone. I’ve heard versions of this my whole life. The fans. The brand. The business. What sells. Somehow there’s never much room in that conversation for what I actually want out of life.

“Haven’t you learned by now that you need to stick with what works?” she continues. “That’s how our business survives. That’s how we survive.”

My head swims as I remain silent.

She sighs again. “What I’ve learned in the twenty years we’ve been doing this is that you give the fans what they expect. What they want. You don’t pull away when things get uncomfortable. You lean in.”

The familiar words land one after another.

“You’ve worked so hard to get where you are, baby. Don’t ruin it now by taking your foot off the gas pedal. Okay?”

Emotion wells inside me as I stare down at my bare legs. “I’ll think about it.”

It’s the safest answer. The only one I can give at the moment.

There’s a pause, like she’s deciding whether to push harder, before she finally sighs again.

“That’s all I’m asking. For you to think it over.”

“I will.”

“We’ll talk later. And, Chey?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you said there’s nothing between the two of you. But do yourself a favor and don’t fall in love with Knox McNichols. We both know you have terrible taste in men. Hence the Dakota debacle.”

The line goes dead before I can come up with a response. I sit there for a long moment, the phone gripped in my hand, the silence in the room deafening.

I let out a soft laugh that doesn’t feel like a laugh at all.

Well, the woman isn’t wrong. I do have terrible taste in men.

Unfortunately, I suspect her warning in regard to Knox might’ve come a little too late.

I drag myself out of bed and head for the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face before pulling on leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. My hair goes up in a messy bun, and I don’t bother with makeup. Going without it the last few days has been nice. More than nice, actually. It feels like finally being able to breathe.

By the time I open my bedroom door, I’m still scraped raw from the call with my mother.

That’s when the smell hits me.

Coffee. Along with something warm and sweet.

My stomach growls as I step into the hallway and follow the scent into the kitchen, stopping short when I find Knox standing at the stove with his back to me. He’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants that hang low around his hips, and nothing else. His hair is still damp from a shower.

There’s a plate on the counter with French toast.

For a second, I stare in confusion.

Knox knows how to cook?

I definitely didn’t expect that.

He glances over his shoulder. “Morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Um… good.” My brain struggles to catch up with the sight before me. “You made French toast?”

He turns back to the stove and shrugs like it’s nothing. “Not just French toast. But Nutella-stuffed French toast.”

My heart lodges in the middle of my throat. No one has ever made me breakfast before. At least, not someone who wasn’t paid to do it.

I step farther into the kitchen, my gaze drifting over the plate again. “Wow. That’s my favorite.”

“I know.”

I grind to a halt. “I don’t understand. How did you know?”

“You mentioned it to my mom that weekend we were both at the house for Avery’s first birthday.”

It’s hard to believe he remembered something so random after all these years.

I have no idea what to make of that.

I slide onto one of the stools at the island as he sets a mug in front of me. “Can I get sugar and milk?”

“It’s already been added, Hollywood.”

I stare at him, thrown off for the second time in as many minutes. No one’s ever paid attention to me like this. Not in the little ways that matter. That’s all it takes for warmth to spread through my chest. Being here with Knox feels too easy.

Too intimate.

Too real.

How does this man keep surprising me at every turn?

I stare at the coffee for a second before glancing up. “My mom called.”

His expression never falters. “Oh?”

“She saw the photo from last night.”

“Did you get angry Sharon or I-can’t-wait-to-spin-this-in-the-press Sharon?”

I snort. He hasn’t spent much time around my mother, but somehow, he still has her number.

“Neither, really. She wants me to come home.” There’s a pause. “Filming starts soon.”

Instead of jumping in or telling me what he thinks I should do, he merely looks at me and waits. For some reason, that makes it harder. There’s no pressure or expectation in his expression.

Just space.

I pick at the edge of the French toast. “She was kind enough to remind me that this is how we make our money. And it’s what the fans expect from us. From me.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, I realize how ridiculous they sound. Kind of like I’m reciting someone else’s script.

Knox leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his bare chest. His biceps bulge in the most distracting way, and it’s hard not to eat him up with my eyes.

“So… What is it that you want?”

The question throws me for a loop. Which seems to be the general theme this morning.

I open my mouth, unsure what to say, before snapping it shut again. Maybe what I want is more time here and mornings like this. More of the woman I get to be when no one is telling me who to become.

Maybe what I really want is more of Knox McNichols.

I stare down at the coffee in my hands, because there’s no way I can say that out loud.

24

Knox

The silence stretches before she admits, “I don’t know. Maybe something else. Something different.”

My brows tug together. “What do you mean?”

She hesitates before glancing away, and I get the feeling she’s trying to decide how much she wants to tell me.

“The reason I came to Chicago… It wasn’t just to get away from Dakota.”

“Okay,” I say carefully. “Then what was it?”

“There’s an audition in a few days. For Broadway.”

All I can do is stare.

Broadway.

I don’t know what I expected her to say, but that wasn’t it. And yet, hearing it makes perfect sense. She didn’t just come here to hide. She came here for an opportunity.

“Oh, wow. That’s… huge.” I give my head a slight shake. “You never mentioned it.”

“I didn’t tell anyone. I wanted to see if I could even get an audition. And I was afraid if I told my family, they’d try to talk me out of it. Or tell me I’m not good enough. Or remind me how unrealistic it is and why I should just stick with what people expect from me.” Her voice catches at the end. “So I kept it to myself.”

My chest constricts. Not because I don’t believe she can do it, but because she’s spent way too long surrounded by people who make her doubt her worth and what she’s capable of.

And I really fucking hate that.

“You’re good enough,” I blurt.

Her eyes widen as they lock on mine.

Color rises in her cheeks as she tries to shrug off the compliment. “I don’t know if I am or not. But I want the chance to find out. I want people to take me seriously.” Her tone dips. “I want to take myself seriously.”

It’s the first thing she’s said this morning that actually sounds like her. Not her mother or the network. Just her.

I push away from the counter, moving closer before settling onto the stool beside her. “It kind of sounds like you already have your answer.”

She blinks. “What?”

“You go for it,” I say simply. “Not the show or whatever your mom thinks you should do.” I tip my head toward her. “But what you actually want.”

She stares, as if waiting for me to list all the reasons it won’t work.

When I remain silent, she says, “I don’t even know if I’ll get the part.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

She frowns. “Of course it does.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Getting the part isn’t the point. Going after it is. Doing something because you care about it, and taking the chance to make your dream a reality… that’s what matters.”

A dozen emotions flicker across her face. It’s like she’s trying to decide whether I actually mean it or if I’m just saying the right thing to sound supportive.

“Whatever happens,” I add, my voice lower now, “I’ll be here for you.”

Her breath catches, and the surprise on her expression hits like a gut punch. I get the feeling she’s not used to hearing that. It makes me wonder if the support she’s gotten in the past came with strings attached. Conditions. Expectations. Trade-offs.

What Cheyenne needs right now is to get out of her head. Away from the looming specter of her mom, the show, and everything trying to drag her back into a life she’s no longer sure she wants.

And I know exactly where she can do that.

I straighten and grab my coffee. “Finish your French toast, Hollywood.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re going on a little field trip.”

Her head tilts. “We are?”

“Yup.”

“Are you going to tell me where?”

I take a sip of my coffee, one side of my mouth hitching. “Nope. It’s a surprise.”

Her eyes narrow. “Knox.”

“Get dressed,” I say, already heading toward the hallway. “And wear comfortable shoes.”

A laugh slips out of her, and just like that, some of the heaviness hanging in the air disappears.

“You’re really not going to give me a hint?”

I glance back, holding her gaze long enough to see some of the tension in her shoulders ease.

“It’s where I go when I want to be alone,” I admit. “Or when I need to think.”

The truth of that comment lands hard, because this isn’t a place I bring people.

And that includes women.

Especially one I’m trying not to fall for and failing miserably at.

Her expression softens, as if she understands exactly what I’m saying even though I haven’t spelled it out.

“All right, McNichols. Consider me intrigued.”

I huff out a small laugh. “I knew you would be.”

25

Cheyenne

Even after we settle in Knox’s Maserati, I refrain from asking questions. Mostly because I’m still thinking about what we discussed in the kitchen. And then there’s the fact that Knox looks entirely too pleased with himself, with one hand draped over the wheel while the other rests on the center console.

The bruise under his eye has darkened into a deep purple, but it doesn’t make him look weak. If anything, it makes him look rougher. More formidable. Which isn’t helping my ability to think clearly when it comes to this man.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I comment, watching as the city slips past the windows.

He glances at me, his mouth twitching. “Enjoying what?”

“The fact that I have no idea where we’re going.”

“Maybe.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “You realize this is how people end up being discussed on true crime podcasts, right?”

He snorts. “Relax. If I were going to kidnap you, I wouldn’t have bothered to feed you first.”

“That’s not actually comforting.”

“It should be. I made Nutella-stuffed French toast. That took major effort on my part.”

I try not to smile. I get the feeling this is how Knox shows he cares. He doesn’t make big speeches or grand gestures. He saw that I was stuck in my head, and did something about it.

He turns onto Cannon Drive before pulling into a parking lot a minute later. I look up, confused for half a second until my gaze lands on the sign.

Lincoln Park Zoo.

I blink. “You brought me to the zoo?”

This isn’t what I was expecting.

He cuts the engine and looks at me like it’s the most obvious place in the world. “Yup.”

“You’re actually serious?”

With a shrug, he glances at the entrance. “Kind of hard to spiral when you’re looking at goats.”

I laugh. “Goats?”

“Sure. They’re pretty cute.”

My chest already feels lighter than it did fifteen minutes ago when we climbed into the car. The air is cool and the sky bright blue. It’s the kind of day that makes the city feel crisp and alive. Families walk by with strollers, and kids tug on their parents’ hands as couples wander without any obvious destination.

It’s ordinary.

Normal.

There aren’t any cameras, assistants, or handlers. No one’s telling me where to stand or who to smile at. It’s just a zoo on a weekend with Knox. And somehow that feels more surreal than any red carpet.

We fall into step and head toward the entrance. For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. As we pass through the gate, Knox reaches over and takes my hand. His fingers lace through mine, and my heart stutters. I glance around, scanning faces, looking for phones or cameras.

“Is someone watching us?” I ask under my breath.

Instead of slowing or looking around, he keeps walking. “Nope. But that’s kind of the point.”

I frown. “What is?”

“There aren’t any cameras or reporters. No fans screaming your name.” He gives my hand a light squeeze. “It’s just us.”

It’s a strange thought. I can’t remember the last time it was just me and another person without an audience. I glance around again, half expecting someone to jump out from behind a tree with a telephoto lens. But there’s just a dad trying to wrangle two kids in matching jackets, and a couple arguing quietly over a zoo map.

I huff out a breath. “Aren’t we supposed to be convincing people you’re my boyfriend?”

“We are.” He nods toward a couple of kids sprinting past us, screaming like tiny maniacs hyped-up on sugar. “We’ll start with them.”

I snort-laugh. “I’m pretty sure they care more about the pretzel cart than our fake relationship.”

“Well, I can’t blame them for that. Zoo pretzels are top-notch.”

I angle a look at him. “Wow. Bold claim.”

“Stick with me, Hollywood. I know where all the best soft pretzels are in the city.”

My lips twitch. “That might be the weirdest attempt at flirting I’ve ever heard.”

“And yet you’re still holding my hand.”

I glance down at our joined fingers, then back up again. “Maybe I’m just here for the pretzel.”

His grin turns slow and wicked. “Then I guess I better buy you one and make sure it’s unforgettable.”

“That’s a lot of pressure for a snack food.”

He leans closer. “Luckily for you, I’m not afraid of a challenge.”

Heat creeps up my neck, and his smirk only deepens as he walks without letting go of my hand.

We wander past the first enclosure and stop to watch a group of kids press their faces to the glass while a sleepy snow leopard ignores them completely. One little boy is narrating the animal’s life story to anyone who’ll listen.

Knox leans on the railing beside me. “You ever come here before?”

I shake my head. “No. Zoos weren’t really part of my childhood.”

He glances over. “Seriously?”

“Yup.”

We start walking again at a slower pace with no real destination in mind. He keeps my fingers enveloped in his, like he forgot they’re there. Instead of pulling away, I let myself enjoy the warmth of his hand wrapped around mine. It’s comforting in a way I can’t explain.

“So, if you didn’t go to zoos, what was your childhood like?”

I shrug. “A lot of sets, cameras, hotels, events.” I pause. “And more cameras.”

He grimaces. “That sounds terrible.”

“Yeah,” I say with a small laugh. “But it was normal. At least I thought it was. I didn’t know there was any other way to grow up.” The realization tumbles through my head. “I guess part of me still doesn’t.”

After a while, we stop near a food stand, and Knox buys two hot dogs, a pretzel, and a soda without asking what I want. It should annoy me, but instead it feels weirdly easy. Like he already knows enough about me to understand what I like.

We settle at one of the picnic tables, knees bumping beneath the metal top. For a few minutes, we simply eat and watch people stroll by. A family of four passes with matching zoo cups. A little girl in pigtails drags a stuffed giraffe by one leg. Somewhere behind us, a kid cries because he wanted the blue balloon, not the red one.

It all feels wonderfully ordinary.

“What about you?” I ask, breaking off a piece of the pretzel. And, yeah, it’s delicious. “What was your childhood like?”

“Probably more ordinary than you’d think.”

“How so?”

He wipes his hands on a napkin. “When we were little, Dad was still playing in the NHL and on the road a lot. We’d travel to watch him when we could, but once we got older, that wasn’t always possible. Colby, Brooks, and I all played hockey, and Annabelle was into horses. So there were lots of practices and carpools.”

With a smile, I picture what it must’ve been like. “Sounds idyllic.”

“It was, but there was plenty of chaos. Friends were always over. My mom made sure our childhood felt normal. We had rules. Chores. Family dinners. All that stuff.” His mouth tilts up at the corners. “Summers were always the best. No school or travel. It was just us being kids. Street hockey. Backyard barbecues. My brothers trying to kill each other every five minutes.”

“Poor Whitney. She must have had her hands full with all of you,” I say with a laugh.

“Pretty sure she wanted to tear her hair out by August.” He studies me for a second. “You seem pretty close with Britt. Have you always been that tight?”

I glance down at my hands for a moment before answering. “Not always. When we were teens, it felt more like a rivalry.”

“With Britt?”

“Yeah. She’s got natural talent and became an overnight success.” I shrug. “I worked through it eventually, but when you grow up in a family where attention feels like its own kind of currency, it’s easy to view each other as competition instead of the people who are supposed to have your back.”

“I can understand how that could happen,” he says quietly. “I’m glad you’re close now.”

I nod. “We are. She’s my best friend. There aren’t many people who understand what it’s like to grow up in the spotlight, performing from a young age, and she does.”

He studies me for another second, as if he realizes there’s so much more I’m leaving out.

“Do you remember what life was like before the show?”

I open my mouth and then close it again as my brain tumbles back in time.

“Not really,” I admit. “I mean, I know there was a before. But everything prior to the cameras showing up is sort of a blur.” A breeze lifts a strand of hair across my cheek, and I tuck it behind my ear. “When I have kids,” I say without thinking, “they’re not going to grow up the way I did.”

I still because that just came out of nowhere. Or maybe not nowhere, but from a place I don’t talk about much. I stare past him toward the enclosure across from us.

“Yeah?”

I nod. “I don’t want them under a microscope 24/7 or feeling like they have to be on all the time, as if their life belongs to everyone but themselves.” My throat constricts. “And I want them to be kids for as long as they can.”

Silence settles over us, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels like we’ve peeled back even more layers.

“You’d be a good mom.”

The comment robs the air from my lungs. “You don’t even know me. Not really.”

His gaze stays pinned to mine. “Kind of feels like I’m starting to.”

Butterflies wing their way to life at the bottom of my belly. I can’t remember the last time that happened with a man who wasn’t Knox McNichols. The scary part is that he’s right. In the past week, I’ve learned more about him than I have in years of seeing him at family parties and gatherings.

And he’s gotten to know more about me too.

The real Cheyenne Benson. Not the one splashed across Page Six. Or the one my mother has spent years trying to shape into someone else.

The most surprising part is that I like who I am when I’m with Knox. I like how easy it feels. How normal and real we can be with each other. Not wanting to examine that thought too closely, I push back from the table and pop to my feet with the urge to move.

“You haven’t even shown me the goats after totally talking them up.”

A lopsided smile tugs at his mouth, and it lands square in the center of my chest.

Once we start walking again, slower this time, he slips my hand into his. He pulls me a little closer as we pass a group of people, his arm brushing mine, his body warm against my side.

My pulse picks up for no reason.

Or maybe it’s for all the reasons.

We stop near the railing of another enclosure, and when I turn, I find him closer than before. Close enough for his masculine scent to wrap around me, making it difficult to think.

When he stares, I shift, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

“What?”

Instead of answering, his gaze drops to my mouth. The world seems to pause for one suspended second as his hand settles on my hip before tugging me closer. His grip is firm but careful as his lips hover over mine, and the warmth of his breath makes my stomach twist.

From the corner of my eye, I spot a man standing a dozen feet away with a phone angled toward us. My brain barely has time to register it before Knox kisses me.

The first press of his lips is hard and fast. A mixture of heat and pressure that feels like it’s been building for days. His hand on my hip tightens while the other slides up to cradle the back of my neck, holding me still.

For just a second, I remember the camera.

That’s what this is all about, right?

Our fake relationship.

Making sure Dakota understands that we’re over.

His lips move against mine, slower this time, before the kiss deepens. Whatever part of this started out for someone else’s benefit disappears completely, until the only thing I’m aware of is Knox.

The taste of him.

The way my fingers curl into his sweatshirt, only wanting to pull him closer.

And the worst part?

Somewhere between noticing the phone and getting lost in his kiss, I stopped caring about our audience altogether.

Fake or not…

This no longer feels like acting.

26

Knox

By the time we return to the building, Chey looks different. Not in any obvious way. She’s still in the same leggings and sweatshirt, her hair twisted into that messy bun that kept coming loose every time the wind kicked up at the zoo. But her shoulders aren’t drawn tight anymore. Her mouth is softer, and her laugh comes a little easier.

She’s still chuckling at something I said about one of the goats trying to eat my sleeve, her eyes bright in a way they weren’t this morning.

Happy.

That’s what she is.

And, Christ, I like it.

More than that, I like knowing I’m the reason that tight, watchful look has eased from her expression. I like that somewhere between the petting zoo, her naming a goat Kevin, and the two of us arguing over whether alpacas are creepy, she started to relax.

Spending the day with her felt uncomplicated in a way I can’t explain.

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to the penthouse.

Chey steps out first, still smiling, before swinging toward me. “Just so you know, you’ll forever be that guy who took me on a zoo date.”

With a smirk, I follow her out. “You loved it. Don’t even try to tell me differently.”

“I did not love it.”

“Please. You fed a goat and named him Kevin.”

“Tell me he didn’t look like a Kevin.”

I laugh and shake my head. “He did.”

I don’t get more than a step when I spot a box sitting on the floor a few feet from the elevator. It’s black, glossy, and wrapped with a big silver bow. Every ounce of amusement drains out of me as the fine hairs at the nape of my neck prickle.

Chey follows my line of sight. “Did you get a delivery?”

I move without thinking, stepping in front of her just enough to block the view.

“Looks like it,” I say, keeping my tone light even though I’m already on alert. “The front desk drops packages off all the time.”

I crouch and turn the box just enough to check for a label, but there’s nothing.

No name, delivery slip, or card attached to the ribbon.

My muscles tense. “Do me a favor and stay over there.”

“Knox.” Concern floods her voice.

“It’s probably nothing to worry about, but just let me check it out, okay?”

There’s a beat of silence. “Yeah.”

I undo the ribbon carefully and then lift the lid, pushing past tissue paper. I keep telling myself that I’m overreacting. Gifts are sent to me all the time from sponsors or companies hoping I’ll be photographed with their products. It’s part of the job.

At first, my brain doesn’t fully process what I’m seeing.

Then it clicks.

A shattered picture frame with glass cracked in all directions, splintered like someone drove a fist straight through the center of it. Beneath the broken glass is a photo of Chey standing beside Dakota on a red carpet, both smiling for the cameras.

My stomach drops. It’s not just creepy, it’s violent.

A message wrapped up like a gift and left in a place where she’s supposed to be safe.

A piece of paper rests on top of the broken glass. I pick it up, knowing I’m not going to like whatever’s written on it.

The words are in thick, jagged handwriting.

You broke my heart.

Now I’m going to break yours.

Ice floods my veins. This isn’t heartbreak or a dramatic plea for attention.

It’s a threat. A very real one.

Chey takes a step forward. “What is it?”

Even though I try to cover the note, I’m too late. Her gaze slides past my hand to the frame in the box, and the color drains from her face so quickly it’s like someone flipped a switch.

“Oh my God…” Her hand flies to her mouth. “No… No, that’s⁠—”

I set the note back in the box. My heart thunders as every instinct snaps to attention with the emerging pattern.

Flowers at the hotel.

The punch outside my building.

Possibly slipping into the Railers event.

And now a shattered picture frame and note.

This guy isn’t spiraling, he’s escalating. And I’m done pretending otherwise.

I straighten and turn toward Chey, only to find her rooted in place. She’s staring at the box with wide eyes, as if it might detonate at any moment.

“Chey,” I say, wanting to capture her attention.

Her gaze lifts to mine, and there’s fear in it now. Not discomfort or unease. But actual fear.

“He… He never…” She swallows hard. “He never acted like this before.”

I close the distance between us and pull her into my arms before she can say anything else. She fists the front of my sweatshirt, clinging as if she needs something solid to keep her upright.

I tighten my hold. “It’s okay,” I murmur, even though I know it’s not true. “I’ve got you.”

“I can’t believe he’d do something like this. I can’t believe he sent that here.”

And there it is. The part that makes this so much worse. It’s not just a threat. It’s a violation. He managed to get something inside my home, in a place where she should feel safe.

“He’s not…” She shakes her head against me. “He’s not like this.”

My jaw locks because, yeah, he is. Maybe she hadn’t seen it before or he’d just been better at hiding it when he still thought he was in control.

But this is exactly who that guy is when he starts losing his grip.

Unstable.

Obsessive.

Volatile.

“He is now,” I say quietly.

She stills. “I thought he was just upset.” Her fingers tighten in my shirt. “To send a shattered photo of us here with that note? That’s not normal.”

“You’re right.” It takes effort to keep my tone calm as rage burns at the bottom of my gut. “It’s not.”

She pulls back enough to stare at me with glassy eyes. “I didn’t think he’d ever try to scare me like this.”

I slide one hand up to cradle the back of her head and the other to her cheek, cupping her face and forcing her to refocus on me.

“Hey.”

Her lashes flutter.

I carefully sweep my thumb beneath her eye. “Look at me.”

It takes a moment for her gaze to settle on mine.

“You’re safe here,” I say. “He’s not getting anywhere near you. Not ever again.”

Her breathing is too fast, too shallow.

My hand remains on her face as I rest my forehead against hers. “I mean it. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

For a second, she just stares before squeezing her eyes shut and nodding.

I pull her against me, holding her tighter than before, one hand spread over the back of her head, the other rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades while my gaze catches on the box over her shoulder.

This guy is more obsessed with Cheyenne than I realized. What he’s not going to do is reach into my space and scare the hell out of her.

I press a kiss to the top of her head, then lean away just enough to meet her eyes. “Come on.”

She swipes at the wetness on her cheeks. “Where are we going?”

“To the bathroom.”

Her brows knit. “Why?”

“I’m going to run you a bath.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, I think you need to relax.” I take her hand again, threading my fingers through hers. “Warm water. Quiet. No phones. No thinking about him or the show or anything else for a while.”

Her lips part, surprise breaking through the fear. “You don’t have to⁠—”

“I know,” I cut in gently. “But I want to.”

Her gaze drops to our joined hands before lifting to mine again, and some of the strain in her expression drains away.

“Okay. That sounds nice.”

I squeeze her hand and lead her down the hall. Behind us, the box sits where it was left, black and glossy and taunting. I’ll deal with it later.

Just like I’ll deal with him.

But first, I’m going to take care of Cheyenne the way she needs me to. After this stunt, I’m done underestimating how far Dakota is willing to go to get to her.

No matter what it takes, I’ll keep Chey safe.

27

Cheyenne

My hands are still shaking when Knox turns on the water. The bathroom fills with the rush of it as steam curls toward the ceiling. The muted light from the sconces makes everything feel hazy, as if the world outside this room no longer exists.

Except… all I can see is the box.

The shattered glass inside it.

The note.

You broke my heart.

Now I’m going to break yours.

My stomach twists again, and I press my lips together, trying to keep the emotion buried deep down inside so it won’t break loose.

Nowhere feels safe anymore.

Knox moves around the room without saying much as he tests the water before adjusting the faucet. He grabs a fluffy towel from the rack and sets it within reach. Then he disappears for a few minutes, returning with a glass of wine and setting it on the counter.

“Here,” he says quietly. “Hopefully this helps take the edge off.”

My gaze drops to the glass before slanting back up at him. “You don’t have to do all this.”

“I want to make sure you’re okay.”

My chest tightens all over again, but for entirely different reasons.

After the tub has been filled, he shuts off the water and takes a step in retreat. “All right. It’s ready for you.”

When he turns toward the door, panic spikes. “Knox… wait.”

He swings around, his brows pulling together. “What’s wrong?”

I swallow, feeling foolish. “It’s just… I…”

The words stick in my throat.

He steps closer. “Do you need something else?”

Even though it’s hard, I force out the truth. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

For a moment, he stares at me. “You don’t?”

I shake my head, my fingers twisting together in front of me. “No. Not right now. I just…” My voice dips. “I feel safe with you.”

Surprise flashes across his expression before it shifts into something that’s both fierce and protective. “Are you sure?”

I nod, my heart pounding. “I am.”

“Okay, then I’ll stay.” Slowly, he pulls the T-shirt over his head before tossing it onto the counter and pushing his sweatpants down his hips. He moves without a trace of swagger, as if this has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with taking care of me.

That’s all it takes to make me realize this was the right decision.

I turn away and slip off my sweatshirt and leggings, folding them with unsteady hands. My bra comes next and then my panties.

Neither of us says anything or lets our gaze linger on the other for too long.

I step into the tub before overthinking it. The water is hot enough to make my skin tingle, the warmth sinking into muscles I didn’t realize were wound tight. I lower myself gradually, releasing a breath it feels like I’ve been holding since Knox found the box in the entryway.

A second later, the water shifts behind me as Knox steps in, settling into the tub with a quiet exhale. It’s spacious enough for both of us, but not by much, and the heat of his body radiates against my back before he even touches me.

I hesitate and then slide back between his legs.

For the first time since seeing Dakota’s gift, the thought of being held feels like the only thing that might make the shaking stop. Instead of immediately pulling me closer, he allows me to settle.

When I finally lean against him, his arms wind around me, draping over my stomach and holding me in place. His chest is solid against my back, the steady rise and fall of his breathing grounding me in a way nothing else could.

For a while, the only sounds are the faint slosh of water and the quiet hum of the bathroom fan. My head tips back against his shoulder, and he shifts slightly so I’m more comfortable as one hand drifts along my arm.

“You’re going to get through this,” he murmurs.

His voice vibrates through his chest and straight into my back, settling deep inside me.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” I whisper.

“You will,” he says again, firmer this time. “And I’ll be here every step of the way.”

My throat tightens with emotion. No one’s ever made that kind of promise to me before. The most terrifying part is that it sounds like he means it.

“You don’t have to say that. I’ve forced myself into your life and complicated everything, and I’m sorry for that.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Here’s the thing you need to know about me—if I say something, it’s because I mean it.” His voice dips. “And with you, I do. Every damn word.”

Moisture stings my eyes. I blink and stare down at the water.

After a few minutes, he reaches for the washcloth resting on the edge of the tub.

“Sit forward a little,” he murmurs.

I do as he asks, my heart beating faster now for an entirely different reason. This side of Knox still catches me off guard. The tenderness and patience. The way he keeps showing me pieces of himself I didn’t know existed.

He runs the cloth over my back with slow, unhurried strokes. The heat of the water and the glide of his touch send a million tiny shivers skating across my skin. It’s not overtly sexual, but that almost makes it worse. It’s intimate and entirely too easy to get lost in.

It wouldn’t take much to fall for the man Knox is revealing himself to be.

His hand moves in slow circles over my shoulders, down my spine, and back up again, as if he’s trying to wash the tension out of me one caress at a time. I close my eyes, allowing my head to fall forward.

When he’s done, his hand lingers at my shoulder, his thumb brushing over my skin.

“Are you okay?” There’s a beat of silence. “It’s understandable if you’re not.”

Without responding, I turn to meet his gaze and find his face inches from mine. Damp strands of blond hair fall across his forehead, and the bruise under his eye seems darker in the muted light. His attention drops to my mouth for a split second before lifting back to my eyes.

Neither of us moves as the humid air seems to thicken, turning charged. It’s like the moment at the zoo all over again, only quieter and more intimate. And that makes it so much more precarious because there’s nowhere for either of us to hide.

“This is crazy,” I whisper.

“You’re right. It is.”

In that moment, I realize I could stop this. I could lean back or shift away. We could both pretend this moment doesn’t feel inevitable.

Instead, I turn in the water until my hand can rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm. His arm tightens around my waist, and when my gaze drops to his mouth, his eyes darken.

I lean in, and Knox meets me halfway. His lips are firm beneath mine. My fingers curl against his pecs, and his hand slides up my back, pressing me closer as the kiss deepens. The heat has nothing to do with the water and everything to do with the combustible energy that’s been building between us for years.

This feels real in a way very little in my life ever has.

I have no idea how long we kiss before finally pulling apart, our foreheads resting against each other, both of us breathing harder than we were a minute ago.

It feels like we’re standing on the edge of a moment that could change everything.

As terrifying as that is, part of me is relieved. There’s no backing away or acting as if we haven’t crossed a line.

And I’m not sure I’d want to even if I could.

28

Knox

Other than the faint slosh of water from the tub, the bathroom remains quiet. For a long moment, neither of us moves. Cheyenne is still half turned toward me, her lips swollen from the kiss, her eyes a little dazed, as if she’s not entirely sure where the line is anymore.

Which makes two of us.

All I know is the second I stepped into the bath with her, our relationship shifted. And it feels a hell of a lot more real than what we’ve been pretending to be up until now.

She draws in a shaky breath before turning and leaning back again, her spine aligning with my chest. The heat of her sinks into me, damp skin against mine. When my mouth brushes her temple, she melts back against me with a soft sigh. My arm tightens around her waist, keeping her tucked close because letting go is the last thing I want to do.

“You’re beautiful,” I murmur, the words slipping out before I can overthink them.

She stills. “What?”

“I said that you’re beautiful.” My thumb brushes over her skin as I keep her anchored against me. “I’ve always thought so.”

“Even before all this?”

“Yeah, even before all this.”

She turns just enough to meet my gaze, searching it for a long moment. “I want you.”

My body stills, wondering if I misheard her.

When I remain silent, she says, “I want you to make love to me, Knox.”

The words hit hard. Not because I don’t want it, but because I do. Too damn much.

“Chey…” I press my forehead briefly to the side of her head, trying to keep a tight grip on my self-control. “You’ve had a rough day.”

Her fingers curl around my forearm. “That’s not what this is about.”

“You’re upset. Stressed. Your ex just—” My jaw tightens. “I don’t want you doing something you’ll regret.”

I won’t be a decision she looks back on and wishes she could undo.

Her gaze lifts to mine again. “That isn’t going to happen.”

I search her face, looking for signs of hesitation. Instead, what I find is trust.

“I won’t regret it,” she murmurs. “Not with you.”

Fuck.

Whatever defenses I had left, she just blew a hole straight through them.

My grip tightens around her as I release a slow breath. I keep her close, one arm banded around her middle, holding her steady, while my other hand drifts down her belly to her pussy.

One touch and my cock stiffens even more than it already was.

As soon as my fingers graze her delicate flesh, her breath catches and her legs fall open. Gently, I rub her clit before stroking her lips and circling her entrance. It doesn’t take long before her head falls back against my shoulder and her fingers tighten around my arm, nails pressing into my skin.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur, my mouth brushing the sensitive spot just below her ear as my hand moves over her with slow, deliberate strokes.

She melts into me, her back flush against my chest, her head tipping to the side to give me better access as a soft sound slips from her lips. The water laps gently around us, but it does nothing to calm everything that rushes through my veins.

Her hips shift, continuing to search for more.

I’ve imagined this moment too many times to let it slip past in a blur. Every hitch of her breath, and every tremor that moves through her feeds into the careful, controlled way I touch her, allowing the tension to build instead of breaking too soon.

Her body grows more responsive, more restless, until her breathing turns uneven, her chest rising and falling against the water.

“Knox…” My name falls from her lips, and it’s enough to send a pulse of heat straight through me.

I press my mouth just below her ear. “Let go, baby,” I whisper, voice roughened with need. “I’ve got you.”

When she finally comes apart, she shudders as she clutches my arm, pressing into me as if she can’t get close enough. I hold her through her orgasm, my fingers continuing to move with rhythmic strokes. It’s only when she relaxes against me, the last of her tension draining from her muscles, that I wrap both arms around her and hold her tight.

For a long moment, neither of us moves. She stays tucked against me as her breathing gradually evens out. That’s when it hits me how right this feels.

Just when it seems like she’ll doze off, I press my lips to her temple. “Time to get out, baby. You need to sleep.”

She makes a few disgruntled noises as I carefully slip from behind her, rising to my feet and reaching for a towel. I quickly dry myself off before helping her out of the tub and wrapping the thick cotton around her shoulders, my hands lingering as I do the same for her. When I’m done, I hook an arm under her legs and lift her against me.

“Knox—” She lets out a soft laugh, her arms slipping around my neck.

“What?”

“I’m more than capable of walking.”

“Yup, you are. But that doesn’t mean I can’t carry you to bed.”

Without further protest, she rests her head against my shoulder as I stride into the other room. The city lights cast the space in muted shadows as I set her down on the mattress and draw the covers back, easing her beneath them. Then I do the same before gathering her into my arms. She curls against me, as if we’ve done this a hundred times before, her head settling against my chest. I tug the blankets over us and let my hand drift up and down her spine in a slow caress until her breathing evens out. It doesn’t take long before she’s drifting off to sleep.

After that, I stare at the ceiling, one arm wrapped around her, my hand resting at the small of her back. That’s when the truth fully settles in. The second I stepped into that bath, I crossed a line I’ll never be able to come back from. Nothing about the way I feel for Cheyenne is fake.

If I’m being honest with myself, it never was.

I look down at her auburn hair spread across my chest, her face peaceful, as if she finally feels safe enough to let go, and the sight of it nearly undoes me.

Not with lust or even desire, but with something deeper and far heavier. An emotion that knots low in my gut before I’m finally able to put a name to it.

I’m falling for this woman.

And the crazy part?

I don’t bother trying to talk myself out of it.

Instead, I pull her closer and press my lips to the top of her head, my arm tightening around her like I can keep the world at bay if I hold on hard enough.

With a sigh, she curls even closer to me. All I can think about is being the place she feels safe.

The one she reaches for.

For the first time in my life, that thought doesn’t scare me.

If anything, it feels inevitable.

29

Cheyenne

I wake in the dark with a racing heart. For one disoriented second, I have no idea where I am. The air smells faintly of soap and something masculine. Panic spikes before my brain has a chance to fully catch up. The terror hits hard enough to suck me under as everything returns in fragmented pieces.

The zoo.

Laughing with Knox.

Stepping off the elevator and finding the box with a shattered frame and note.

Fear like I’d never known had crashed over me like a wave.

Knox had wrapped me in his arms and held me until everything inside had calmed. He’d run a bath before joining me in it.

The memories are enough for my breathing to calm. I turn my head and realize I’m not alone. I’m in Knox’s bed. His arm is draped loosely over my waist, his chest warm against my back. Heat from his body surrounds me, and with it comes a truth I can’t ignore.

I asked him to make love to me.

My throat constricts. Even after the bath and the way he touched me, kissed me, brought me to orgasm until I was shaking with it, he didn’t take anything for himself. He hadn’t used the moment to get what he wanted, even though I offered myself up freely.

The realization is almost startling.

I lie still for a while, listening to the slow rhythm of his breathing and feeling the solid weight of him behind me before rolling carefully onto my back so I can look at him.

Really look at him.

Even in sleep, the man is ridiculously beautiful.

He’s on his side, one arm stretched across the pillow where my head had been a second ago, his face is relaxed, making him look younger. The bruise under his eye still looks painful. It’s a reminder of everything that’s happened in the past few days.

Emotion presses behind my ribs, but not from fear. It’s something deeper and far more complicated.

It’s impossible not to compare this man to Dakota. My ex would have pushed for more. Not because he wanted me to feel good or he cared whether I was ready, but because taking was how he quieted the insecurities gnawing at him beneath the surface. Even when I was tired or needed space.

Only now, lying here in the dark, do I fully understand how exhausting that relationship was. How much of myself I spent managing his moods, needs, and reactions. How normal I’d let that feel.

And Knox?

Knox had every opportunity to take more. Instead, he only thought about what I needed at that moment. He gave me pleasure and asked for nothing in return.

That alone feels like a revelation.

My mother would have turned Dakota’s unhinged gift into content. The show would’ve needed a moment. A twist. A teaser for the next episode. Everything in my life has always had to become something bigger, shinier, more dramatic than it really was. It all had to feed the machine.

But Knox didn’t make it into a moment. Instead, he made space for me to breathe.

My fingers curl in the sheets as the realization sinks even deeper. This man sees me. Not the brand or the show. Not the polished version of Cheyenne Benson people expect.

Maybe that’s what terrifies me most. Once you know what it feels like to be seen in that way and to be cared for with intention…

There’s no going back to pretending you can live without it.

I shift closer before I can talk myself out of it. My hand slides over his shoulder, lightly tracing the line of muscle, not wanting to wake him. What I need is the reassurance that he’s real. That last night happened and it wasn’t a figment of my imagination.

I lean in and press my lips to his collarbone. Almost immediately, his eyes open. They’re alert and focused. The first thing in them isn’t confusion or desire.

It’s concern.

“Hey, are you okay?”

The tenderness in his sleep-filled voice nearly undoes me.

I nod, my fingers resting against his shoulder. “Yeah, I am.”

He studies my face, as if he can sense there’s more.

“I just…” I swallow. “I needed to touch you. To know you were really here.”

“I’m here,” he murmurs. “I meant it earlier. I’m not going anywhere.”

My heartbeat picks up tempo at the way he continues to reassure me, seeming to mean every word.

“Last night wasn’t a mistake,” I whisper. I want him to understand that I don’t regret any of it.

His gaze holds mine. “Good. I’m glad. I’d hate if you did. And I’d hate it even more if you felt like I took advantage of you.”

Everything in me softens. Even half asleep, this is what Knox is worried about. Not whether he could have had more, but if I regret allowing him so close.

“You didn’t. Not at all.”

His eyes search mine, almost as if he’s trying to pick through my private thoughts.

“You were exactly what I needed in the moment,” I admit.

A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Are you sure?” His fingers brush over my cheek.

“I am.”

He leans in slowly until his lips meet mine in a kiss that feels nothing like the ones we’ve shared. It’s not desperate or heated from the first second. This one is slower, deeper, and filled with intention as I melt into it.

My hand slides up his chest and over his shoulder, my fingers curling into the hard muscle of his back as I pull him closer. He shifts against me, his arm wrapping around me, his body fitting to mine. Heat builds gradually between us as his hand moves along my side, up my spine, then down again in a slow glide that leaves every inch of me clamoring for more. I press closer, wanting to feel the hard lines of his sculpted body. The desire pumping through me is so much more than physical. For the first time, it feels like I’m actually seeing the man buried beneath all the hype. Knox is surprising me in ways I could never have expected.

A breath catches in my throat as my palm slides over the firm planes of his stomach before sinking lower. He catches my wrist loosely in his grip. It’s just enough to stop me.

I blink up at him, my breathing uneven. His forehead drops to mine, and he closes his eyes, as if trying to gather himself before opening them again.

“If we do this,” he says quietly, voice rough, “it changes everything.”

The comment hangs in the air between us. A stark warning that if we cross this line, there’s no going back to what we’ve always been.

“I know.”

His thumb strokes my cheek, his expression torn as he continues to hold himself back. That might be what gets to me the most. Not the fact that he wants me, but that he’s doing his damnedest not to.

I scoot closer before resting my head against his chest. For a long moment, neither of us speaks. His heartbeat is a steady thump beneath my cheek as his hand drifts along my back.

My eyelids fall before I even realize it.

Safe.

That’s the only word that flits through my brain. I’m safe enough to fall asleep without worrying about what comes next.

And that has everything to do with the man holding me.

30

Knox

Practice just ended and the locker room is loud in a way that usually settles me. Sticks clatter into bins. Music blasts from someone’s speaker. Half the guys are talking over each other while stripping off their gear before hurling tape, gloves, and shoulder pads into their stalls.

Normally, this part of the day feels easy.

Today… not so much.

As soon as I return from the shower, River tosses his phone onto the bench in front of me.

“Damn, McNichols,” he says. “You getting domesticated on us?”

I don’t bother looking up. “Not sure what you’re talking about.”

Oliver leans over from the next stall with a wide grin. “Oh, you know exactly what he’s talking about, lover boy.”

With a tap of the screen, he turns it toward me.

I catch the Railers Rumors logo from the corner of my eye. It’s a photo of Chey and me at the zoo. She’s wrapped in my arms as my mouth slants over hers.

My jaw tightens before I can stop it. When I kissed her yesterday, it had nothing to do with the press. In that moment, I forgot all about the fake dating arrangement. I wanted to feel the firm pressure of her mouth beneath mine, so that’s exactly what I did.

Simple as that.

Then again, nothing about that woman feels simple.

Jax lets out a low whistle from across the room. “No wonder you didn’t want Callahan making moves. You had a secret fling going on.” He nods. “Sneaky. I like it.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” I mutter, drying myself off.

River snorts. “Interesting. Because it looks like you’re trying to corrupt innocent children at the zoo.”

A few guys snicker, and I ignore them.

Jax drops onto the bench beside me. “I kind of feel bad for her.”

I glance at him, knowing I’ll regret the question. “Why the hell do you say that?”

He jerks his shoulders. “Come on, McNichols. We all know how you are. She’s hot, you’re into it, and in a couple weeks she’ll be old news.” He flashes a dimpled grin. “Hope she realizes the ride won’t last forever.”

A hush falls over the locker room. Not because they disagree with Jax, but because they don’t.

Which is the problem.

In the past, they wouldn’t have been wrong. That’s always been my MO. No strings or promises. No women sticking around long enough to expect anything serious in return. They come into my life, we have a good time, then we both move on.

It’s clean and easy.

And it’s always worked just fine.

Except when it comes to Chey, none of it feels clean. Or easy. And it sure as shit doesn’t feel temporary. Which is a hell of a thing to realize in a room full of teammates staring at me like they’re all waiting for me to prove them right.

Oliver leans back against his stall. “Damn. Jax might’ve actually said something insightful for once.”

“Not true! I say insightful shit all the time,” Jax fires back.

Zane groans from his locker while dragging a shirt over his head. “Gigi was pissed the night of the event.”

I glance over, brows drawing together. “Why? Because she had you for a date?”

He scowls. “You’re hilarious. No. She wanted everyone to talk about the new dress she designed, and all anyone’s yapping about is you and Cheyenne.”

River barks out a laugh. “Poor Gigi. How devastating not to be the center of attention.”

Oliver presses a hand to his chest. “I’m not sure how she’ll recover. That’s some tough stuff.”

Zane glares. “She’s threatening to boycott Railers events if other celebrities are going to steal the spotlight.”

River and Oliver shake their heads.

“It totally makes sense now why you weren’t interested in the Cheyenne look-alike at VYCE,” Jax says.

I grab my boxers and drag them on, not in the mood for one of his fishing expeditions. “Drop it, Wilder.”

He raises both hands. “Come on, man. How long has this been going on for? Inquiring minds want to know.”

Oliver smirks. “I mean, I’m kind of curious too.”

Steele nods, deciding to jump into the conversation. “In the past, you’ve always been allergic to commitment.”

I pull on the rest of my clothing. “I was never allergic. I just hadn’t found someone I actually wanted to spend time with. Someone who fit into my life.”

The room goes silent as a dozen pairs of eyes continue to watch me.

Well, fuck.

Maybe that came out a little too fast and a bit too honest. And judging by their expressions, my teammates realize it too.

Laiken, who’s been lacing up his shoes in the corner, finally glances up. “And she does?”

I should probably shut down this convo or laugh it off. Instead, I say, “Yeah. She does.”

The silence that follows that admittance is deafening. What’s worse is that hearing the words out loud shifts something inside me because I actually mean them.

River shakes his head. “Holy shit. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“And there you have it, folks, McNichols is officially off the market,” Oliver says with a laugh.

“Hardly,” I mutter, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “Wedding bells aren’t ringing just yet, okay? Take it down a notch. A few of you get wifed up and suddenly everybody else has to follow suit.”

Jax grins. “So, what you’re saying is she’ll be gone by next month?”

My lips press into a flat line. That’s exactly what all of them expect. And if this were anyone else, they’d be right.

“We’re not serious,” I say, even though the words feel like a lie the second they leave my mouth. “We’re just taking everything slowly.”

It’s a ridiculous thing to say about a relationship that was never supposed to be real.

Laiken folds his arms. “Famous last words.”

“Another one bites the dust,” Steele adds.

“Please,” I mutter, heading for the door before this turns into even more of an inquisition. But as I leave the room, Jax’s words stick with me.

She’ll be gone by next month.

Everything inside me pushes back hard enough to be almost physical. And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.

By the time I hit the hallway, my grip on my bag has tightened. The truth is that I don’t know how to explain this situation to myself, let alone anyone else. All I know is I want to get home. That thought hits me halfway down the corridor, and I slow for a second before frowning.

Home.

Not back to my place.

But to her and the space we’re sharing.

That’s new.

I scrub a hand along my jaw and keep walking. Instead of heading for the exit, I turn toward the front offices, stopping outside Evelyn’s door before knocking.

Her voice rings out a second later. “Come in.”

After stepping inside the bright space, I close the door. The team owner sits behind her desk, glasses perched low on the bridge of her nose, looking over something on her tablet. She glances up and smiles when she sees me.

“Well, this is certainly a surprise,” she says, removing the glasses. “Should I be concerned? You only come looking for me when you’re in trouble.”

A lopsided smile tugs at my mouth as I drop into the chair across from her desk. “That only happened a few times during my first season. I’ve matured since then.”

“Debatable.”

I huff out a laugh and rub the back of my neck. “So… I have a question.”

Her brows lift. “All right. Sounds serious.”

“It’s not,” I say automatically, which only seems to pique her interest even more. “I wanted to know if Cheyenne could watch the next game in the suite.”

“Oh?” She leans back in her chair.

I jerk my shoulders, as if it’s no big deal. “With all the attention she’s been getting lately, I figured it’d be easier if she wasn’t out in the regular seats.”

Evelyn studies me for a long moment. “Well, this is certainly a first.”

I frown. “What is?”

“You asking to have a woman in the suite.”

I open my mouth as an excuse hovers on the tip of my tongue.

She’s Britt’s sister.

Practically family.

It’s not that big of a deal.

Instead, I say, “Yeah. I guess it is.”

Her brows rise higher. “I can only assume this woman is special.”

I hold her gaze for a second before sidestepping the comment. “I want her to be safe.”

It’s one hundred percent accurate, but what I don’t say is that I’ll focus better if I know exactly where she is. That I’m already rearranging my world around her. That the thought of her sitting unprotected in a crowded arena has panic rising inside me.

She folds her hands on the desk. “You’ve never asked for something like this before.”

I give a half shrug. “Guess there was never a reason.”

“And now there is?”

Air leaks from my lungs as I consider my response. This woman has known me long enough to spot bullshit from a mile away, and there’s no point pretending she doesn’t see straight through me.

“She’s dealing with some stuff right now,” I say carefully. “And I’m just trying to make things a little easier.”

Understanding flashes across Evelyn’s expression. “I’m sorry to hear that. Cheyenne is welcome in the suite any time she’d like. I’d be happy to have her.”

Relief spirals through me. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

I push to my feet, ready to get the hell out of here before this woman decides to dig any deeper into my personal life. I’m almost afraid of what she’ll find.

I’m halfway across the room when there’s a knock.

Evelyn’s attention shifts past me. “Yes?”

The door opens, and Hugh steps inside, stopping short when his gaze lands on me.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not,” I say quickly, already moving aside.

It would be impossible not to notice the subtle shift of energy in the room.

Hugh leans one shoulder against the doorframe, his attention never deviating from the woman seated behind the desk. “Would you happen to have a minute?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t,” Evelyn says, rising to her feet with one smooth motion. “I’m late for a meeting.”

His brow ticks up. “Are you now?”

“Yes,” she says with a cool smile. “Whatever it is will have to be discussed at a later time.”

Something that looks suspiciously close to amusement flickers across Hugh’s face as he takes half a step farther inside the office. “I think you’ve been avoiding me.”

“That’s not true at all. I’ve been busy.”

“With team business?”

“With life,” she says flatly.

His gaze drifts over her face, as if it’s possible to pick through her private thoughts and figure out the truth. “Those aren’t the same thing.”

For one second, the cool polish in her expression cracks. “I’m sure whatever this is can wait.”

Hugh’s mouth curves, but there’s only sadness in his expression. “That’s the problem, Evelyn. It’s already waited long enough.”

The atmosphere turns even more tense. I just want to escape before the situation becomes any more uncomfortable.

Have I heard rumors about the team owners? Sure. But I’ve never put much stock in the gossip. Only now do I realize I might be wrong about that. These two have enough chemistry to blow the world to smithereens.

Although, I’m not interested in sticking around and watching that happen.

I clear my throat. “So, I’m, ah, going to take off. Thanks again, Ms. K.”

Neither glance my way as I slip into the hall and close the door. For a second, I stand in the corridor before pulling my phone from my pocket and checking the notifications.

No new messages.

The urge to call Chey and hear her voice hits hard and fast. Just to check in and make sure she’s okay. And maybe because I want to.

Fuck.

Instead of giving in to temptation, I shove the phone back into my pocket and head for the exit, picking up my pace.

What I want right now is to get home.

Back to the penthouse.

Back to her.

And the fact that it no longer feels strange?

That might be the craziest part of all.

31

Cheyenne

The penthouse is quiet except for the music floating through the space. I’m standing near the windows with my phone in hand, the instrumental track spilling through the speaker as I repeat the same verse for the third time.

Outside, the city glows in the fading light, but in here it’s just me, the lyrics, and the stillness I’ve been craving all day.

Singing has always been the one thing in my life that makes everything else fall away.

No cameras, producers, or expectations.

It’s just the melody and the way it settles inside me when I stop thinking.

I close my eyes and start again, softer this time. Instead of focusing on the technical aspects, I lean into how it feels. The notes rise, and I let them stretch, filling the room until there’s nothing left but the music and the quiet ache threaded through it.

I hold the last note longer, letting it fade slowly into silence.

“Wow. That was amazing.”

I jump and nearly bobble my phone before spinning around, only to find Knox standing near the kitchen, his bag slung over one shoulder.

My heart kicks hard against my ribs. “How long have you been there?”

He shrugs, setting the bag down on the floor. “Long enough.”

Heat climbs up my neck. “You should have said something when you came in.”

His mouth twitches as he saunters toward me. “You were busy and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

I cross my arms, suddenly self-conscious. Singing in front of a crowd is one thing. Singing bare and unguarded is something else entirely.

“It was a little off,” I mutter in embarrassment.

He stops a few feet away before shaking his head. “No, it wasn’t.” His voice dips. “I’ve heard you sing before, but never like that.”

I blink at the admittance. “You have? Where?”

He glances away, jerking his shoulders. “I might’ve watched the show.”

I stare at him in shock. “I’m sorry. Did you just say you’ve watched the show?”

He shifts. “Maybe a few episodes here and there.”

My brows rise as I cock my head. “A few? What are we talking about? One or two episodes? Or one or two seasons?”

His jaw tightens as he admits, “It might have been a couple seasons.”

“Oh my God.” I laugh. “Are you secretly a Cheyenne Benson fan?”

Even though he snorts, color rises in his cheeks. “Guess it’s turning out to be not so secret.”

The pleasure that floods through me is enough to catch me off guard. Not only did this man notice me before I crashed into his life, he was paying attention.

I grin. “Wow. I never would’ve guessed.”

He’s close enough for me to see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw and the last traces of bruising beneath his eye. That bruise should tug me back toward guilt and fear and everything ugly that’s happened lately. But all I can think about is how beautiful he is standing here, looking unexpectedly vulnerable because he admitted one small truth.

“Well,” he says, one corner of his mouth hitching, “guess the cat’s out of the bag now.”

My belly flips.

Before I can come up with a response, he bends down and reaches into his bag. “Oh, I got you something.”

My brows lift. “You did?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat, suddenly looking less sure of himself, which is very un-Knox like. “It’s not a big deal.”

Curiosity sparks through me as he holds out a crisp piece of blue fabric.

Unsure what it is, I take it carefully, unfolding it enough to see the white lettering stitched across the back. Everything inside me stills.

McNichols.

And then the number eleven beneath it.

I look up, startled by the unexpected gift. “You got me your jersey?”

One hand rises to rub the back of his neck. There’s something almost boyishly uncertain about the gesture, and I feel it straight down to my toes.

“I’d like you at the next game.”

My heart skips a beat. “Really?”

“I talked to Evelyn, and you can sit in the suite. It’s private and security’s tighter. There won’t be random fans around, so nobody will bother you.”

Even though his tone is steady, I hear the protectiveness threaded through it. I almost can’t believe he rearranged things to make space for me in his world. Just like the zoo, it’s unexpectedly thoughtful.

My gaze drops to the jersey again, and my fingers tighten around the fabric. This isn’t just a shirt. It’s him wanting me at his game and feeling comfortable enough to ask.

It’s him putting his name in my hands and saying, without quite saying it, you belong with me.

My throat constricts.

“I figured it’d be safer,” he adds more quietly. “After everything that’s happened.”

I look back up at him and realize that it’s one thing to be wanted by someone, and quite another to feel chosen.

My chest swells, feeling so full it almost aches.

“But if you’re not cool with the crowd,” he adds, studying me carefully, “you don’t have to go. I understand.”

“No. I want to watch your game.” I step closer with the jersey clutched in my hands.

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The words come out sounding more heartfelt than I mean them to, and the look that crosses his face tells me he hears it too.

Before I can lose my nerve, I rise onto my toes and kiss him. It’s meant to be a quick peck. A thank-you more than anything else, but the second my mouth brushes across his, the gesture morphs into something more. His hand slides up to cup my cheek, anchoring me in place. But he doesn’t take over.

Unable to resist, I tilt my head and lean into him as his mouth strokes over mine. The kiss unfurls slowly, every brush of his lips pulling me in deeper. My fingers curl into the front of his shirt as his thumb caresses my cheekbone. When his tongue drags across the seam of my lips, a shiver dances down my spine. My mouth parts without hesitation, and the first sweep of his tongue against mine is enough to have my breath catching in my throat.

Time stretches until I lose track of it.

His other hand settles at my waist, drawing me closer until my body presses against his harder one. Heat pools in the bottom of my belly at the feel of him and the low sound he makes as I return the kiss. By the time we break apart, my lips are tingling and I can barely think straight.

I glance at the jersey and then back up at him, my pulse racing. “And this is what you want me to wear?”

A smirk ghosts over his mouth. “That was the general idea.”

I shrug. “Okay.”

He frowns slightly. “Okay… what?”

Instead of answering, I take a step in retreat. His eyes narrow with suspicion as I hook my fingers beneath the hem of my sweater and lift it. The movement isn’t fast or careless. It’s gradual enough that his gaze drops and stays fastened there. The fabric slides inch by inch over my stomach and ribs before rising higher until cool air kisses my collarbone. With a tug, I pull it over my head and let it fall to the floor beside me.

Knox stills as my pulse thrashes beneath my skin. My gaze stays locked on his as I reach for the waistband of my leggings. The thick column of his throat works as he swallows, his attention locked on my every movement as I peel the fabric down my hips. The expression on his face is enough to undo me all on its own. Hunger, restraint, and disbelief are tangled together.

I step out of the leggings, leaving them in a puddle at my feet. A hush falls over the room as my thumbs slide beneath the edge of one sock and roll it down, then the other, forcing myself to take my time even though my heart is thrashing so hard it’s almost painful. His gaze drags over me again, as if he’s trying to take in all of me at once.

When I reach behind my back for the clasp of my bra, his mouth parts.

“Chey…”

The warning in his voice is mixed with desire.

I unhook it anyway before slipping the silky straps down my shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

His eyes flare before darkening. For one suspended second, I stand before him in nothing but a lacy scrap of underwear.

The desire that floods his expression gives me a secret little thrill before I catch the waistband with my thumbs and ease the panties down too, letting the last barrier slide away before stepping out of it.

His hand comes up to rub his jaw. “Damn, Hollywood.”

My skin feels hot all over as I lift the jersey, glance at him one last time, and carefully drag it over my head. The blue fabric slips over my shoulders, breasts, then my stomach until it settles midway down my thighs. The sleeves swallow my hands. His name is stitched across my back, and it almost feels like it’s burning through the material, branding my skin.

I smooth the front of it with my hands before peeking at him through my lashes. “So… what do you think?”

Instead of answering, he just stares. His gaze starts at my bare legs before climbing upward, taking in the jersey and the way it hangs on me. His jaw tightens. It’s the slowest, hottest look I’ve ever gotten from a man. And it’s enough to weaken my knees.

He releases a rough breath before dragging a hand over the back of his neck. “You look…” His voice dies before he tries again. “You look fucking hot.”

“I do?”

“Yeah.” He takes one step toward me and then another. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to look hotter than you do in your leggings and cropped sweaters with your hair in a messy bun and not a hint of makeup. But I was wrong.”

Every single word ignites a firestorm inside me.

He stops close enough for me to feel the heat radiating off his body. “In my jersey and nothing else? You’re sexy as hell.”

My heart stutters as he reaches out and hooks two fingers beneath the hem, brushing the fabric and then my skin. The contact is feather-light but still manages to send heat skittering up my thigh.

His hand glides a little higher before stopping as he allows the fabric to fall back into place. “It’s taking every ounce of self-control not to throw you over my shoulder and carry you to the bedroom.”

A tremor slides through me. “Do it.”

I’ve never meant anything more in my life.

The muscle in his jaw tics a mad rhythm. “Chey…”

I step close enough for the front of the jersey to brush against his thighs. “In case you haven’t gotten the hint, McNichols… I want you.”

His eyes close for just a second. When they open again, they’re shades darker.

“Before we take this any further, I want to make sure we’re both on the same page.” He lifts a hand, like he wants to touch me again, then drags it through his hair instead. “I don’t want this to be a knee-jerk reaction to everything that’s happened.”

There it is again.

His restraint on full display.

But this time, I understand it better.

It’s not that he doesn’t want me. It’s that he knows if we take this step, neither of us will be able to pretend it isn’t happening anymore. It becomes real in a way we can’t ignore.

And somehow, knowing that only makes me want him more.

Because he’s not stopping out of indifference.

He’s stopping because this matters.

I matter.

That realization has emotion swelling within me.

We stand in the charged quiet, my body draped in his jersey, his gaze locked on mine, as if he’s still trying to decide whether he’s stronger than the temptation standing before him.

Maybe he is.

Then again, maybe he isn’t.

Either way, I understand something now that I didn’t before.

It’s not a question of if Knox wants me.

It’s a question of how much.

32

Knox

As I stand here, soaking in the sight of Cheyenne in my jersey and nothing else, it hits me just how much trouble I’m in. Thousands of women have worn my number. I’ve seen them in the stands and on the Jumbotron while on the ice. At the Rail Yard, parties, and after nights I barely remembered the next morning.

None of them have ever meant a damn thing.

But this?

It’s everything.

Seeing Cheyenne in my jersey awakens something primal inside me, and the sound that rumbles up from my chest is caught somewhere between a groan and a growl.

“I think you might be trying to kill me,” I mutter.

With a tilt of her head, she smiles. “What’s wrong? I thought this is what you wanted.” She lifts her arms and the fabric rides higher up her thighs. “For me to wear your jersey.”

Not like this.

Not where I can see her bare legs beneath the hem. Not where the sight of my name encasing her body makes some possessive part of me sit up and take notice.

Before I realize it, I’m hooking an arm beneath her thighs to lift her up.

A startled laugh spills from her lips as she grabs my shoulders. “Knox⁠—”

“You’re the one who started this, Hollywood. Now I’m going to do what I’ve been dying to and finish it.”

I carry her across the room to the piano that sits in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, where I was playing the night she wandered out half asleep. In hindsight, that was the moment things truly changed between us.

I set her on the polished surface, and the jersey bunches around her thighs.

She sucks in a breath, her green eyes darkening. “Are you finally done pretending?”

Fuck.

She’s right. That’s exactly what I’ve been doing. I’ve been pretending I could keep this contained. Pretending I could want her without doing anything about it. Pretending that if I held out long enough, I could keep this from turning into something real. But standing here with her in my jersey while she stares at me with that look in her eyes?

I can’t do it any longer.

“Yeah, Hollywood. I am.”

My hands slide up her thighs as she fists the front of my shirt, dragging me closer. The second my mouth slants across hers, she opens for me. The kiss is deep and hungry, but there’s something else in it too.

Relief, maybe.

The taste of her goes straight to my head. And the soft sound that escapes her is nearly my undoing.

Cheyenne Benson has consumed my every waking thought for days now.

If I’m being honest, it’s been a hell of a lot longer than that.

Fucking years.

When my lips trail down the slender column of her throat, her head falls back, granting me even more access. I take my time, kissing and licking and savoring before reaching the neckline of the jersey and shoving the thick fabric up her body until her breasts spill free.

Christ, this woman.

I lower my mouth to one pebbled nipple, sucking gently at first, then harder when her fingers delve into my hair, tugging me closer. Her breathing turns ragged as she arches her spine.

Everything about this woman drives me out of my fucking mind.

And the scariest part?

I already know it’ll never be enough.

I ease the first nipple free before kissing my way across her chest. Reaching the other, I take my time, giving it the same deliberate attention. It draws a shiver from her, and the reaction hits me like a freight train.

She’s so fucking beautiful it almost hurts to stare at her.

I slide lower, pressing kisses over every inch of skin I can reach. First her stomach and then her hipbone. The inside of one thigh and then the other.

The last thing I want is for this to be rushed.

I want her to feel adored. I want her to forget about everything outside this penthouse.

I kiss my way down one leg, pressing my lips against the delicate skin behind her knee before sliding lower to the arch of her foot. Her body loosens with each touch, her breath catching as she leans back against the glossy surface, the material bunching above her breasts.

The sight of her nearly steals my breath all over again.

She looks wild and flushed.

Mine.

That’s the only word that rises within me before I try to shove it back down again. But it stays there, refusing to budge.

As I kiss my way back up her other leg, I pause at the inside of her thigh, sinking my teeth into the soft flesh just enough to make her gasp before soothing it with my tongue, leaving a faint mark behind. I don’t allow myself to think too hard about the need inside me that demands I claim her in some way.

“Spread your legs wide, baby,” I say, voice roughened with need. “Let me see every gorgeous inch.”

Her teeth scrape across her lower lip as she does exactly as I ask.

I straighten, taking in the pretty picture she makes with my jersey shoved up around her collarbone so her breasts are on display. Her thighs are parted for me, and she’s already slick with need. Never in my life have I seen anything more beautiful than Cheyenne sprawled across the top of my piano.

When my thumb brushes over her clit, another whimper breaks loose from her.

Unable to hold back for another second, I step closer and lower my face to her pussy. My tongue laps from the bottom of her slit to the top of her clit, licking up all that delicious cream. Her fingers tunnel through my hair to hold me in place. With every stroke, she becomes even more responsive. Her legs part a bit more until she’s spread impossibly wide. When I run the tip of my tongue across her lips, circling them with a maddening slowness, her nails rake against my scalp as she presses me closer.

“Knox…”

“What is it, baby?” The words come out gravelly. “Tell me what you need.”

“For you to make me come.”

“You don’t want me to keep playing with you?” I give her another long lick. “Driving you crazy?”

“No, I can’t take any more.”

My grip tightens, just enough to pull a reaction from her. “Good,” I murmur. “I like when you tell me exactly what you want.” I lean in closer, voice dropping another notch. “Say it again.”

“Please, Knox…” Her voice trembles. “I-I want you to make me come.”

I dip my tongue in her pussy before nibbling at her clit, knowing it’ll shove her right over the precipice. As tempting as it is to draw out her pleasure and continue teasing her, I can’t do it. I want to watch her come undone and hear my name on her lips, knowing I’m the only one capable of making her body sing like this.

Me.

And no one else.

Her muscles tighten beneath my hands as she arches, shattering with a hoarse cry. I continue licking her until the last spasm racks her body and she turns lax. Only then do I press a kiss against her clit before straightening to stare down at her.

There’s a blissed-out look on her face that makes me swell with pride. That’s exactly the way a woman should look after having a man’s mouth and hands on her body.

I lean in, brushing my lips over the softness of her belly. She blinks, her expression still dazed.

“If I didn’t say it before…” I murmur. “You look amazing.”

A smile curves her lips as she pushes herself upright and slides off the piano. The movement has the jersey falling back down around her. It looks just as good on her now as it did when she first pulled it on. Maybe better, because now it’s wrinkled and a little crooked from being shoved up her body.

It’s a surprise when she slides to her knees in front of me. “You don’t⁠—”

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” she says, flicking open the button of my pants and lowering the zipper. “And now I need to know.”

My throat dries. “Know what?”

A wicked glint flashes in her eyes. “What you taste like.”

I groan, my head falling back. “Jesus, Chey.”

Her gaze stays fastened to mine as she stares up at me from her knees. I’ve imagined this a thousand times, but nothing compares to the actual sight. Even the idea of her taking me inside her mouth is nearly enough to make me come all over myself.

There’s no way I’ll last more than a minute or two.

Three, tops.

“You’re sure?”

Her mouth curves as she eases my jeans down enough to free my erection. “You just spent all that time making me feel like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.” Her gaze stays pinned to mine. “Let me do the same for you.”

Her fingers tighten as she strokes me, and it becomes necessary to brace a hand on the piano just to stay upright.

Unable to help myself, I reach down, caressing her cheek with my fingers. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Pretty sure I can guess,” she says with a smirk before leaning in and dragging her tongue over the head of my cock.

A groan slips free as she circles the crown. By the time she licks from root to tip and back again, my teeth are gritted and my pulse is roaring in my ears. Already, I’m dancing on the edge. My body jerks from the rush of heat that surrounds me when she finally takes me into her mouth.

“Fuck,” I hiss between clenched teeth.

It’s ridiculous how turned on I am by this woman. Cheyenne might be the one on her knees, but when it comes to her, I’m the one who’s been brought to mine.

When she takes me down her throat until I’m nudging the back of it, my eyes nearly cross. Nothing has ever felt this amazing.

My hands slide into her hair, needing something to keep me tethered to the earth as she falls into a steady rhythm, working me with a maddening slowness. The way she slides up and down my hard length is pure nirvana.

“You keep that up, baby, and I’m going to come.”

Her mouth turns voracious as she maintains eye contact the entire time.

Less than thirty seconds later, I lose total control. As much as I want to close my eyes and enjoy the feel of her milking every last drop of cum from my body, I can’t bring myself to do it. I need to keep my gaze locked on her, watching every emotion as it crosses her expression.

My release seems to go on forever. It’s the best damn thing I’ve ever felt, and somehow, with Chey, I knew it would be.

As soon as I soften, she releases me. I tuck myself back into my boxers before reaching down to pull her into my arms. My hands rise to cup her face, one thumb brushing her cheek.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” I say, voice low and still a bit uneven. “I hope you know that.”

Her eyes soften as I slip a lock of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering against her skin.

“I can’t wait to see you in the suite tomorrow,” I admit. “Wearing my jersey.”

A slow smile lifts the corners of her lips.

“This isn’t fake for me, Chey. I’m not sure it ever was,” I blurt before I can stop myself.

She freezes, her eyes widening.

“There’s always been something between us.” I swallow down the nerves. “But I wasn’t ready before. I needed time to get my shit together enough to be the man you deserved.”

Her breath catches as her eyes turn shiny, and it gives me the strength to continue.

“But I am now,” I say. “I’m ready to stop pretending this is casual and to prove to you that I can be the man you need.”

I stand before her, stripped bare and exposed. And, if I’m being honest, terrified that she might not feel the same way. But there’s no part of me that wants to take it back. For the first time since this all began, I’m not hiding from what she means to me.

33

Cheyenne

The suite is already full when I arrive with Kia and Elody. For a second or two, I hesitate inside the doorway, my hand still wrapped around the handle like it’s possible to turn around and slip back out before anyone notices me.

My fingers curl into the oversized sleeve of Knox’s jersey, the fabric thick and warm against my skin, carrying the faintest trace of his cologne. It should calm me. Instead, it makes everything feel real in a way it didn’t before.

The glass wall overlooking the ice stretches from floor to ceiling, the arena lights bright enough to make everything feel sharp and electric. Between the hum of the crowd, the pulse of the music, and the echo of pucks snapping off sticks during warm-ups, it’s louder than I expected, even up here.

For a moment, I wonder if I stand out like a sore thumb in Knox’s jersey, surrounded by women who actually belong in this world. Significant others who fit seamlessly into this life and understand the unspoken rules of being tied to a professional athlete.

Before I can overthink my decision to attend, Rina spots me from across the suite.

Her face lights up, as if genuinely pleased to see me. “It’s about time you got here! We were so happy when Evelyn mentioned you’d be watching the game with us tonight.”

The warmth in her voice catches me off guard.

“Thanks for letting me join you,” I say, stepping more fully into the room. “I’m excited.”

Callie glances up from where she’s sitting near the front with a toddler on her lap. The little girl is wearing a tiny Railers hoodie, swinging her feet like she has too much energy for her small body to contain.

When one of the players skates past the glass, her face lights up.

“Da-Da!” she yells, her voice carrying even through the thick glass.

I have no idea if he can hear her, but he grins and lifts a hand in a quick wave as he passes by. There’s just something about a big, strong man turning into a total softie for his kid that melts my insides.

As soon as Callie’s gaze settles on me, a slow grin spreads across her face. “Repping Knox’s jersey, I see.”

Lilah laughs, leaning back against the couch. “I called it. These men like to lay their claim quickly.”

Heat floods my cheeks as my mind tumbles back to the mark he left on my inner thigh yesterday. The memory alone is enough to have warmth curling low in my belly.

I clear my throat, hoping I don’t look as flustered as I feel.

Evelyn heads in my direction, her presence effortless and commanding without trying. She gives me a quick once-over, her expression warm with a hint of amusement.

“You look absolutely perfect,” she says. “And we’re delighted you could join us tonight.”

I hadn’t expected the team owner to be so welcoming.

“Thank you,” I say. “I really appreciate it.”

The door opens behind me and Sloane walks in with three kids trailing behind her. Actually, they don’t all look like kids. The older two are teenagers, and the youngest looks around five or six.

The teens glance around the suite, trying not to look impressed and failing miserably.

“Wow! Look, Sloanie!” the youngest says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “The hockey players are right there!” He rips his gaze away long enough to settle on Elody.

“This is Sawyer, Caleb, and Faith,” Sloane says, dropping into a chair. “My siblings.” She points at them. “Don’t touch or break anything. I’m being serious.”

Faith rolls her eyes. “Chill. We’re not going to break anything.”

“You say that now,” Sloane mutters.

Caleb, however, is already moving, drawn to Elody as if by some invisible pull. “Elody!” he calls, waving his hand.

She squeals, wriggling away from Kia and racing toward him. “Caleb!”

They meet in the middle of the space, as if they’re long-lost friends, before throwing their arms around each other and jumping up and down for a full thirty seconds. As they grin at each other, he pulls a small dragon from his pocket and holds it out to her.

“I brought you this.”

Elody’s eyes widen as she takes the toy, inspecting it carefully, as if it’s the most precious thing she’s ever been given. They start talking over each other, words tumbling out too quickly to follow, completely lost in their own little world.

I can’t help but smile.

“Well,” Evelyn says, glancing at Kia, “They seem like the very best of friends.”

Kia laughs. “It’s like this every time they get together.”

“Barely old enough to tie their shoes and already attached. Mark my words, that’s exactly how it all starts,” Evelyn says with a shake of her head.

Her gaze shifts as an older man steps into the suite. I recognize him from the event. Hugh. Or Hot Hugh, as Sloane called him. He greets a few people, his smile easy, but his attention keeps drifting back to Evelyn.

And when he moves closer, not quite touching but close enough that it feels intentional, something in the air shifts. It’s subtle but impossible to ignore.

It’s almost like watching a conversation unfold without words, as if they’re orbiting each other, caught in something neither of them is quite ready to break.

My attention is pulled back to the ice when the noise in the arena swells as warm-ups continue. Unable to help myself, I step closer to the glass. It doesn’t take long to find Knox. He stands out without even trying as he glides across the ice, his movements smooth and controlled.

He looks so much bigger out there. Somehow, the pads manage to broaden already wide shoulders, and on skates, he’s even taller. I haven’t attended many sporting events, and certainly not hockey games, but I’m starting to understand the appeal.

Knox skates past the glass once and then again. On the second pass, his head turns, his gaze scanning the suite until it lands on me, and a slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face. That’s all it takes for a fluttering sensation to fill my stomach.

His attention stays locked on me as he taps the ice once with his stick as he passes, a subtle acknowledgment that feels like it’s meant just for me. My lips curve before I can stop them. For a second, everything else fades to the background. All I can think about is the way he looked at me yesterday and how his hands felt on my body.

Rina’s laugh cuts straight through my thoughts.

“Oh, girl,” she says, stepping beside me. “You are in so much trouble.”

With a groan, I bury my face in my hands. “I know.”

This isn’t just fun anymore. Or us pretending.

I’m falling.

Hard.

Even though every logical part of me knows I should step back and protect myself, put some kind of distance between us so I don’t end up hurt again, I can’t do it.

This no longer feels like something I can control.

Then again, did it ever?

Rina leans her elbows against the ledge, her gaze following Knox as he circles back. “That man is completely gone for you.”

My teeth sink into my lower lip as I continue watching him. “The feeling is mutual.”

Her eyes flick toward me and her expression softens. “Good,” she says simply. “You deserve that. And so does Knox.”

A knot of uncertainty tightens in my chest. “You think so?”

She studies the ice, as if genuinely considering my question. “Yeah, I do. For as long as I’ve known Knox, he’s always kept women at a distance. Never allowing anyone to get too close. And he’s never brought anyone to a game before.”

My heart stutters.

She leans in before lowering her voice. “So, whatever this is between the two of you… it’s different.”

Different.

The word lingers in the air before sinking deep.

“And just like I’m here for the ongoing Evelyn and Hugh saga,” she adds with a grin, “I’m here for the two of you as well.”

A laugh slips from me, easing some of my tension as I glance at the older couple. “I have to admit I’m totally invested in that situation too.”

“We all are, girl.”

Knox circles around again, his focus split between the puck and the suite. Every time his gaze finds mine, a burst of warmth floods through me.

Chicago was supposed to be temporary. A place to disappear and lie low while I figured out whether a different future might exist for me, even if it never felt entirely realistic.

And this relationship with Knox McNichols was supposed to be fake.

A temporary solution to solve a problem.

But standing here in his jersey, surrounded by laughter, children, and women who are starting to feel like more than strangers, while a man on the ice looks at me like I matter?

It feels all too real.

I glance around the suite—at Callie with her daughter, absently smoothing the little girl’s hair. At Elody and Caleb, so wrapped up in each other, it’s like no one else exists. At Sloane, watching her siblings with quiet affection despite her fatigue. At Evelyn and Hugh, tangled in something complicated, unfinished, and undeniably real.

I’ve spent years feeling like an island, even in a sea of people. But this feels like something I could get used to.

Something I might actually want.

My attention drifts back to the ice before locking on Knox again.

Chicago was supposed to be the place I came to disappear. But standing here now, surrounded by something that feels far too close to belonging, I can’t help but wonder…

What if it became the place I stayed?

34

Knox

The puck drops and the arena erupts. Noise crashes in from every direction. There’s the roar of the crowd, the sharp crack of sticks on ice, the thud of bodies slamming into the boards. The energy in the building is electric. It’s the kind that gets under your skin, making it impossible to stand still.

Normally, the second I step onto the ice, everything else disappears. That’s how I’ve always played. Focused and locked in.

But that’s not the case tonight.

Every time I skate past the glass high above the ice, my gaze zeroes in on Cheyenne. She stands between Callie and Rina, wrapped in my name and number, her hair falling over one shoulder as she smiles at something one of them says. She looks relaxed. Maybe still a little shy but far more at ease than she was when she first met Kia.

It’s not just that she’s here. It’s that she’s here in my world, fitting in like she belongs. I like it more than I thought possible.

A cluster of fans near the glass behind the bench point toward the suite. A few phones are already out as pictures are taken. I know exactly what that means. By the end of the first period, Railers Rumors will have grainy shots of Cheyenne in my jersey plastered all over the internet with some outlandish headline attached.

No surprise there.

It was all part of the plan.

Fake dating. Public appearances. Let people see us together so they’d talk. And her ex would finally get the message and move on. Her at my game, wearing my jersey with cameras pointed in her direction, was exactly what we signed up for.

What I didn’t anticipate was the way my chest would tighten every time I looked at her or she smiled at me.

That thought ricochets in my head just as the puck slides my way. I react on instinct, cutting across the blue line and snapping a pass to Oliver before the defense can close in. He feeds it right back, and I take the shot hard enough to make the goalie jerk sideways. It clangs off the post and ricochets wide.

“Shit,” I mutter, pivoting and jumping back into the play.

On the next shift, I hit harder, skate faster, and push even more than before.

River glides past me between shifts, a grin tugging at his mouth. “You trying to win this game all by yourself?”

“Nah,” I say, adjusting my gloves. “Just trying to make up for the dead weight.”

He huffs out a laugh. “You’re in so deep.”

Even though I don’t respond, I know he’s right.

He claps a hand against my shoulder pad before heading back out. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

For the first time since I was a kid, I want someone to be proud of me. Someone other than my coach, parents, or teammates. Not even the fans chanting my name from the stands.

I want Cheyenne to watch me out here and see me in a different light. Not as the guy making headlines or the man everyone thinks they have figured out, but as someone solid and dependable. Someone who shows up when it counts. I want her to see that I matter out here. That I’m a difference-maker for the team. That beneath all the noise, there’s something real in me worth believing in.

Maybe that shouldn’t matter to me as much as it does. Maybe I shouldn’t care whether one woman in a suite high above the ice can see past the surface.

But it does.

And I do.

The thought has barely settled in before the whistle blows.

I coast toward the circle, catching my breath, when the guy next to me leans in. Knickerbocker. One of their defensemen. He’s big enough to throw his weight around, and clueless enough to think chirping is actually going to distract me.

He bumps my shoulder. “Putting on a show, McNichols?”

I barely glance at him. “How about you do us both a favor and worry about your own game.”

He chuckles and looks toward the suites. “Didn’t realize you were into reality stars.”

I remain silent even though my jaw locks hard enough to ache. There’s a ref less than ten feet away. It’s not worth taking the bait.

“The whole internet’s talking about her, man. Guess she needed a new storyline, and you’re the lucky bastard who got the job.”

My grip tightens on my stick as I continue staring straight ahead.

He leans closer, voice dropping as a few more players skate into position. “So, is she your new girl or is it just your turn?”

I swivel just enough to pin him with a hard look. “You should do yourself a favor and shut your fucking mouth before I do it for you.”

He smirks. “Touchy.”

The game resumes, and the next few seconds are a blur. Skates, sticks, bodies, and a scramble along the boards. By the time the play stops again, Knickerbocker’s on me like a fly on shit.

He laughs under his breath. “Always preferred redheads myself. I enjoy figuring out if the curtains match the rug. You get that far yet?”

My head whips toward him, and my vision goes red.

He glances up toward the suite before licking his lips. “Or… maybe there isn’t a rug at all. Can’t say I wouldn’t mind finding out firsthand. Think she’d be into a little two on one action? Or, hey, you can just sit back and watch.”

That’s it. I drop my gloves before the ref even finishes blowing the whistle, and my fist connects with his jaw hard enough for his head to snap sideways. The crowd explodes as he swings, catching me in the shoulder before I drive him to the ice. We go down in a tangle of pads and punches, helmets knocking together, the refs yelling as they try prying us apart.

Players on the bench are banging their sticks against the boards. I barely hear any of it over the blood roaring in my ears. He gets one glancing shot in before I pin him, landing another punch.

“Keep her name out of your fucking mouth,” I growl.

A striped sleeve wedges between us and then another. Hands grab at my arms before I’m hauled backward.

He’s still smirking as he spits blood onto the ice. “And if I don’t?”

When I lunge again, Steele hooks an arm around my chest while Laiken catches my elbow.

“That’s enough,” Steele barks.

“Box. Now,” the ref snaps, pointing.

“Cool it,” Laiken mutters under his breath as they drag me toward the penalty box. “Knickerbocker’s not worth getting tossed out over.”

The crowd is a mix of boos and cheers, the noise crashing over me in waves as I climb into the box and drop down on the bench before yanking off my helmet and shoving a hand through the damp strands. Even now, I’m breathing hard as adrenaline surges through my system and anger simmers just beneath the surface. The second I look up at the suite, I catch sight of Cheyenne standing at the glass.

From up there, she wouldn’t have heard a word he said. All she would’ve seen is me dropping my gloves and going after a guy, as if I snapped for no reason. Her eyes are wide, one hand pressed to the glass, the other to her chest. Concern is written all over her face.

There’s a fair amount of confusion too.

The rage inside me cools just enough for reality to settle in. Chey has no idea some asshole used her to get under my skin. And I don’t want her to.

River skates past the box and catches my attention.

“You good?” he mouths.

I nod once.

It’s a lie, and he knows it, but he lets it go.

I wanted Chey here tonight so she could see this part of my life and feel included. So she could sit in that suite, wearing my jersey, and know I meant it when I said this was real. Instead, I’ve given her a front-row seat to me losing my shit. With my forearms braced on my knees, my gaze stays locked on her.

The penalty clock keeps ticking down, but my focus never strays from her. The only thought running through my head is that no one gets to touch her.

Not the press.

Or Dakota.

And certainly not some dickhead on the ice who thinks it’s funny to run his mouth.

35

Cheyenne

The tension that fills the Maserati on the ride home from the game is combustible.

One of Knox’s hands is loosely wrapped around the wheel while the other rests on my thigh. The heat of his palm sinks through the denim and straight into my bloodstream. It’s all I can focus on as the city lights blur past the windows in streaks of gold and white.

The game continues to hum beneath my skin. The noise of the arena. The energy of the fans. The way the crowd exploded when Knox dropped his gloves and lunged at the other player.

I’ve never witnessed anything like it before.

I knew hockey was a brutal sport, but seeing it in person is a completely different experience. The speed. The violence. The way everything can shift from intense game play to full-blown mayhem in the blink of an eye is surreal.

And Knox…

I can still see the moment he lost control. He looked ready to tear the other guy apart limb by limb. A shiver works its way through my system, and not entirely because the memory is unsettling.

That’s the part I don’t quite understand. I didn’t like the brawl itself. I hate fighting. There were a couple times when production tried to engineer screaming matches or push cast members into physical confrontations because they thought it’d make good television and up the ratings. Even when Mom encouraged me to do it, I refused. Manufactured drama is exhausting enough.

Real violence is so much worse.

And yet…

I can’t deny seeing Knox like that affected me, making me feel hot and bothered. It’s definitely not something I’m proud of.

His thumb strokes over my thigh, dragging me from the confusing tangle of my thoughts. I turn in my seat and stare at his profile, taking in the hard line of his jaw and the focused set of his lips.

“Are you going to tell me what the fight was about?”

His gaze stays trained on the road. “Nah. It wasn’t important.”

I raise a brow. “So you guys just throw punches for nothing?”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

When his fingers slide higher, squeezing my leg before continuing their slow climb, my breath catches. It doesn’t take long before he’s too close to the vee between my thighs, and I shift against the leather, not about to let him derail my line of questioning.

My tongue darts out to moisten my lips. “Did he say something that set you off?”

Instead of responding, his pinkie brushes the seam of my jeans, and it’s enough to send electricity shooting through me.

I glance down at his hand before looking back at him. “Are you trying to distract me, McNichols?”

A smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth as he cuts me a quick look. “Aren’t I allowed to touch my girlfriend anytime I want?”

When his fingers press firmly against my center, I can’t hold back a moan.

“Knox.”

He chuckles. “Any other burning questions you’d like me to answer?”

I do my best to glare at him, but it’s difficult when he’s touching me like this and my body is betraying me at every turn.

“Is it… um…” I squirm as arousal pools in my core. “Normal for brawls to just break out like that?”

“It can be.” He glances at me. “In case you didn’t notice, the fans enjoy it.”

His fingers stroke over me again, and I exhale shakily as my head falls back against the seat and my eyes feather closed.

“Maybe hockey and reality TV have more in common than I first suspected.”

That earns a low laugh from him, the sound warm and rough in the quiet of the car. “You think so?”

“Possibly,” I murmur, trying unsuccessfully to gather my scattered thoughts. “Both involve questionable decision-making in front of an audience.”

His hand tightens slightly where it rests against me, the subtle pressure stealing the rest of my breath.

Humor simmers in his voice. “You calling that a bad decision?”

My lips part, but it takes me a second to find words through the haze he’s creating. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Is that so?”

My fingers curl against the seat, my pulse kicking harder, as his hand shifts just enough to make it impossible to focus on anything other than his touch. “I⁠—”

There’s a beat of silence, broken only by the growl of the engine.

“Maybe I need to do something to sway your decision.”

A quiet sound slips out of me, and my head presses harder against the cushion as I lose the fight to stay composed.

“You’re not even trying to be subtle, McNichols,” I manage, though it comes out breathy and weak.

“In case you haven’t noticed, subtle isn’t really my style,” he replies, completely unapologetic.

And the worst part?

It’s working.

His hand slides higher, and this time there’s no pretending he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. My thighs part the barest bit, and the city disappears around us. All I feel is the press of his hand and the heat racing through me.

“I’m serious,” I say, even though my voice has become breathy, undercutting the effect. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Pretty sure you’re not actually focused on that right now.”

“I am.” Sort of.

“You sure about that?” When his thumb grazes me through the denim, my hips jerk in response. “Seems like you’ve got something else on your mind, Hollywood.”

A helpless laugh bubbles out of me. “You’re the worst.”

“No, baby.” His voice sounds like velvet over steel. “I’m just very good at redirecting your attention when needed.”

He pulls into the garage a few minutes later, and the second the engine cuts off, the silence inside the car turns charged.

For a moment, neither of us move. His hand is still on me, slowly stroking and teasing my pussy through my jeans. It’s almost shocking how quickly he can unravel me. How easily he’s able to flip that switch, leaving me gasping and strung tight.

Every subtle shift, every brush of his fingers sends another ripple of sensation through me. It continues to build until I’m teetering on the edge of something I can’t quite reach. My body reacts before my mind has a chance to fully catch up, chasing the feeling, leaning into it despite myself.

It’s overwhelming in the best, and worst, way possible because he never pushes me over. He keeps me dangling on the edge, suspended, my breath uneven, my thoughts slipping through my fingers as heat coils low in my core. I’m so close it’s almost unbearable. Close enough that I’m embarrassingly aware of just how little it would take for me to beg for more.

He turns in his seat, his gaze dragging over my face as desire flares in his eyes.

“Damn,” he says roughly. “You’re so sexy.”

I spread my legs wider, giving him more access. “Knox… you better not be heating me up for nothing.”

“Is that what I’m doing, baby? Getting you all worked up only to leave you frustrated?”

He presses his fingers more firmly against my core, and a helpless moan tumbles free.

“Pretty sure that little pussy was completely satisfied yesterday.”

His filthy words only make everything worse.

When I stay quiet, his fingers rub over me in a way that makes my thighs tremble.

“Well, Hollywood? I’m waiting. Did I take care of that little pussy yesterday or not?”

I’m barely able to force out a response. “You did.”

“Excellent answer.”

When the delicious pressure disappears, my lips part in protest. I’m seconds away from begging him to touch me again when his fingers shift to the button of my jeans, flicking it open and dragging down the zipper with one quick movement.

His hand slips beneath the fabric of my panties, and every thought in my head shatters as I groan. He strokes me slowly, as if we have all the time in the world and we’re not in a public place. I sink back against the leather seat, my body arching into his touch.

“You’ve really made a mess of those panties, haven’t you, baby?”

Heat rushes to my cheeks even as my body burns for more. “Yes.”

“I love how soaked you get.”

My teeth scrape over my bottom lip. “I never have before.”

His fingers slide in and out of me, and his gaze sharpens. “No?”

I shake my head. “Not like this.”

Never like this.

“Good.” His voice turns rough enough to make my pulse skip. “I love that I’m the only one who can turn you on this much.”

A whimper slips from me.

He shifts closer, leaning over me, his mouth brushing across mine before murmuring, “I’m going to teach this pussy to cry on command. All I’ll have to do is look at you and she’ll be wet and waiting for me.”

Oh.

My.

God.

A strangled laugh almost breaks loose at the same time as a moan, because who knew this man could talk so dirty?

A better question would be—who knew I’d like it so much?

It’s one revelation after another with Knox McNichols.

His fingers thrust deeper. “Now, I want you to be a good girl and come all over my hand.” There’s a pause. “Can you do that for me?”

Apparently, I can.

One more stroke is all it takes for pleasure to crest and break. The sensation rushes through me as I cry out. My body reacts instinctively, hips lifting as if chasing the last of it, holding on for as long as I can.

The orgasm hits hard enough for everything around me to disappear. All I can do is breathe through it as I ride out the wave. My teeth sink into my lower lip to keep the sounds trapped inside. By the time my release fades, I’m left unsteady, my thoughts slow to catch up. Knox is still here, his hand lingering, his touch unhurried, as if he’s in no rush to let me go.

When I force my eyes open, I find him watching me.

“Feel good?” he asks before pressing his mouth to mine.

“Amazing.”

He pulls his hand from my jeans and stares at fingers that are slick with my arousal. With his gaze locked on mine, he slips them into his mouth and sucks them clean.

My stomach swoops.

His eyelids feather closed as he savors the taste before opening them again, desire and heat swirling within his blue depths. “So damn delicious. Now,” he says, voice deeper than before, “are you ready to go upstairs and be properly fucked, or do you still have questions about the fight?”

The response is out before I can second-guess it. “I’d really like to be fucked.”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “That works out well because I’m in the mood to fuck you.”

With that, I scramble out of the car. By the time I make it around to the trunk, Knox is already there waiting for me. It doesn’t seem to matter if I just came. I’m turned on all over again.

The second I’m close enough, he catches my fingers and reels me in until our mouths collide. The kiss is hungry, as if every ounce of restraint he’s been clinging to is long gone.

I don’t realize I’ve launched myself at him until his hands are on my ass and my legs are wrapped around his waist as he carries me toward the elevator.

I chuckle against his mouth. “I’m sorry, did I just attack you?”

“Pretty sure you did,” he says, sounding rather pleased about it. “And I’d be okay if you did it any time you felt the urge.”

That only makes me laugh harder before his mouth finds mine again.

Once inside the elevator, he shifts me around and pulls out a key card, sliding it into the panel. As soon as the doors glide shut, we rise through the building. His hands flex against my backside as my mouth skims over his jaw before settling on his lips again. I can’t help but rock against his thick erection, needing the delicious friction.

He groans. “Cheyenne.”

My lips tremble. “What?”

“Behave.”

When I do it again, he bites out a curse, and a little thrill shoots through me.

By the time the elevator chimes at the penthouse level, we’re both struggling for air. He barely waits for the doors to fully open before stepping out, his stride uneven as he carries me into the entryway.

“Knox.” His name falls from my lips in a gasp. “I want you so much.”

“Good,” he mutters, his voice strained in a way I’ve never heard before. “I feel the same damn way. I’ve been trying to hold back and do the right thing.” His grip tightens, as if the last shreds of his control are frayed to the breaking point. “I can’t anymore.”

“I don’t want you to,” I whisper, meeting his gaze.

Unable to stand the layers separating us, I slide down his body and grab the hem of his sweatshirt, tugging it upward. He lifts his arms so I can pull it over his head before dropping it to the floor in a dark heap. And then his mouth is back on mine.

His T-shirt is next. I fist the fabric and drag it up, breaking the kiss just long enough to strip it off and toss it somewhere into the living room as we half-walk, half-stumble our way toward the bedroom.

He reaches for my jeans, hooking his fingers into the waistband. “You never buttoned them back up.”

“Guess I was a little distracted.”

A low laugh rumbles from him as he shoves them down my legs. I have to kick off my shoes before he can finish pulling them free.

His eyes darken as he takes in the scrap of fabric covering my pussy.

“As good as you look in those panties, they need to go.”

With that, he yanks them down. Once the material is in his fingers, he lifts it to his nose and inhales a deep breath. Arousal spirals through me as my entire body turns molten.

“Fuck, baby. You smell damn near edible.”

My belly bottoms out.

“Correction,” he adds, stepping closer, “you’re extremely edible. And I plan to make a meal out of you.”

A shiver races across my skin as I reach for the waistband of his sweats and drag them down. That’s when I realize he’s not wearing underwear.

God, that shouldn’t be so sexy.

Maybe everything with Knox McNichols is just sexy.

Maybe that’s the real problem here.

He kicks off his shoes and steps out of the sweats until he’s completely bare while I’m still standing in his jersey and nothing else. His heated gaze drags over me, lingering in a way that makes my pulse stutter, before he closes the distance between us. There’s no hesitation as his hand curls around the back of my neck, then his mouth is sealed over mine, stealing the air from my lungs.

I melt into him, my fingers spreading over the solid planes of his chest. Every inch of him is firm beneath my touch—all hard muscle and heat. I can’t help but appreciate the hours he spends on the ice and in the gym, every bit of effort evident as I skim my palms over him. He feels powerful and steady. Something I can hold on to when everything else in my life is spinning out of control.

He walks me backward without breaking the kiss, guiding me with an urgency that sends a thrill racing through me. My back brushes the wall, the edge of the hallway table, anything in our path as he keeps moving us forward. By the time we stumble into the bedroom, I’m already unraveling, my body vibrating with anticipation.

We fall to the mattress in a tangle of limbs, our mouths fastened and tongues tangling. He shoves the jersey up just enough to expose my breasts before tugging the cups of my bra down and sucking one nipple and then the other into his mouth.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if you take this off?” I ask, wanting to be as naked as he is.

He pulls back just enough to look at me before shaking his head. “Absolutely not. The first time I sink deep inside your body, it’ll be while you’re wearing my jersey.”

I didn’t think I could get more turned on, but that does the trick as another wave of arousal threatens to suck me under.

His mouth collides with mine as he stretches out on top of me. When I spread my legs wider, he settles between them, his thick arousal sliding against my core. The sensation is dizzying.

“Chey…” His voice is more of a deep scrape. “You feel so damn good.”

“It would feel even better if you were actually inside me.”

“Is that what you want, baby?” He pushes in just enough to make us both groan. “My hard dick?”

When he stills, I grow impatient and wriggle closer. “Why did you stop?”

He exhales as his forehead drops to mine. “I need a condom.”

“No, you don’t. I’m protected.”

He gives one shallow thrust before pulling back again, a pained expression on his face.

“I haven’t been with anyone in six months, but I still want to be careful, okay? Especially with you. I’ll be right back.”

With that, he rolls away, practically diving for the nightstand next to the bed. I stare at him, half dazed and half amused as he yanks open the drawer, then grabs a small packet before tearing it open with his teeth and rolling the condom on with the kind of efficiency that is annoyingly hot.

What can’t be denied is that the man has a gorgeous cock. And watching him slide the latex over his hard length shouldn’t be as much of a turn-on as it is. The second he finishes, he’s back between my legs and pressing a kiss against my pussy, tonguing me just enough to make me arch, before climbing up my body.

This time, there’s absolutely no pause. We both groan when he thrusts inside me with one smooth stroke. My eyes nearly roll back in my head at the delicious girth now filling me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything as amazing.

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters. “Just… fuck.”

“Agreed,” I say on a shaky laugh.

It’s slowly that he starts to move. By the third thrust, I can already see the strain pulling his features tight. His jaw locks, a muscle ticking a mad rhythm as his breathing turns rough and uneven. Every muscle grows taut, as if he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will.

A small, startled burst of delight blooms in my chest. Not in my wildest dreams did I imagine I could affect Knox like this or bring him to the edge so quickly.

He squeezes his eyes shut. “I hate to admit this,” he grits out, voice strained, “but there’s no damn way I’m going to last.”

I press my lips together, trying and failing not to smile. “It’s okay,” I murmur. “You can⁠—”

With a hoarse groan, he cuts me off. “No. I want us to… I want… Fuck.”

The word breaks apart as his control snaps. His movements become sharper, deeper, driving into me with a desperate intensity as my name falls from his lips like a prayer.

It’s over almost as quickly as it began. His body jerks before going rigid as he collapses against me, all that tightly wound tension giving way at once. His face drops into the curve of my neck, his breath hot and uneven against my skin.

“Damn. I’m sorry about that. I really wanted our first time to be memorable.”

My mouth twitches as I bite my lower lip, trying to fight the urge to laugh, but my shoulders shake anyway. “Mission accomplished. It was definitely memorable.”

He lifts his head just enough to peer down at me. “Are you laughing?”

I shake my head, attempting innocence. “Of course not.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re absolutely laughing at me.”

“I’m not,” I insist, which would be far more convincing if I weren’t very clearly doing exactly that.

With a groan, he drops his forehead to my shoulder. “How humiliating.”

I thread my fingers through his hair, still trying to rein in my chuckles. “Knox⁠—”

“No. Don’t you dare ‘Knox’ me.” He exhales heavily. “Now you think I’m a one-pump chump.”

“Definitely not.” I pause, considering. “There were at least five. So really, you’re more of a five-pump chump.”

His entire body goes still. “This,” he mutters into my neck, “is the kind of thing that should happen to Brooks. Not me.”

That does it. A full laugh bubbles up, spilling out before I can stop it as my hand smooths over his back. “It was perfect, Knox. Truly.”

He lifts his head again, squinting like he’s in no way convinced. “She says while actively mocking me.”

“What can I say? I’m a woman of contradictions.”

A reluctant chuckle escapes him as the tension in his body eases. And just like that, something softer settles between us.

Because it was funny.

And fast.

And probably not the smooth, unforgettable first time either of us imagined.

But it was also real.

No cameras.

Or pretending.

Or strategy.

It was just us. Messy and heated and completely unplanned.

I slide my fingers through his hair again, gentler this time. “I can honestly say no one’s ever come that quickly before.”

He buries his face in the crook of my neck. “Fantastic. Love that for me.”

With a laugh, I wrap my arms around him and hold him close. It doesn’t take long for his body to relax, as if being teased isn’t the worst thing in the world. At least not when I’m the one doing it.

And honestly?

It was perfect.

Perfect for us.

36

Knox

I wake up before Cheyenne. For a second, I don’t move or even breathe as last night crashes through my head.

Every damn moment. From the fight on the ice to the ride home to finally getting my hands on this woman.

Damn… that ride home.

Stroking her, distracting her, making her come apart in the front seat of my car.

It’s doubtful I’ll be able to slide behind the wheel again without thinking about Chey coming all over my hand. Fuck, I’ll probably still catch traces of her in the air.

And I fucking love that.

If I thought I couldn’t get any more obsessed with Cheyenne Benson, I was mistaken. She’s lying on her side, facing me, her hair spread across the pillow, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. The sheet is twisted around her waist, her shoulders are bare, and there are faint marks from my hands still visible on her skin.

Something primal rises within me at the sight.

Even though she hasn’t been here long, it’s hard to imagine waking up and not seeing her gorgeous face. For years, I told myself she was the one woman I couldn’t touch. She’s family. Or close enough to count being Colby’s sister-in-law. We have the kind of connection you don’t mess with unless you’re fully prepared to deal with the fallout.

And now, I crossed a line I swore I wouldn’t. Hell, I didn’t cross it so much as bulldoze right over it.

My gaze drifts over her face again, slower this time, taking her in.

All I know is that I’d do it again without hesitation.

Dealing with family isn’t what concerns me, though. Chey heading back to LA is. That’s the part I can’t get out of my head because I don’t know where that leaves me.

Or us.

If there even is an us.

It blows my mind that we got to this place so fast, but lying here with her in my bed doesn’t feel reckless.

It feels exactly right. Like maybe I’ve been waiting a hell of a lot longer for this than I allowed myself to acknowledge.

Her eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, before she blinks and looks straight at me. For a second, we just stare at each other.

Her lips part slightly. “Did last night really happen?”

“Yeah,” I say, voice still sleep roughened. “It really did.”

She studies my face, as if checking for regret. But she won’t find any.

“So… is there a possibility we’ll do it again?”

I can’t hold back the grin. “Pretty sure we will. Especially since I need to redeem myself after that fiasco. Just so you know, I can go all night long.”

Her mouth curves as a laugh slips free. “Yeah, that was, um, really fast.”

I groan. “Can we not talk about it? If something like that were ever to get out, it would totally ruin my reputation.”

That only makes her laugh harder. “Just tell me this… Was I even in the room when it happened?”

“Barely.”

Now she’s really laughing, and, fuck, it’s nice to hear. Even if it’s at my expense. I’d make a total idiot out of myself every day if it meant seeing that expression on her face.

Damn. River was right. I really am in deep. And I still don’t give a shit.

“Sounds like I might need to go on a redemption tour.”

Tears leak from the corners of her eyes. “Is it like a world tour or more of a county fair circuit?”

“You’re hilarious, Hollywood.”

“What can I say? I try.”

She gasps when I pounce, rolling on top of her until she ends up flat on her back, staring up at me with wide eyes and a smile that makes my chest feel too damn full.

“Any chance your redemption tour starts right now?”

I brush a kiss against her mouth. “Yeah, it does.” I roll my hips against hers. “You good with that?”

“Depending on the outcome, I’d be more than willing to write a full retraction on your behalf.”

This woman.

So damn sassy.

And I love it.

Honestly, I love everything about her, and thinking that doesn’t freak me out the way it might have six months ago.

Since neither of us are wearing clothes, there’s nothing to stand in our way. She spreads her legs as the head of my cock nestles against her entrance. Already, she’s wet and waiting for me.

Fuck.

“Remember when I said I’d train your pussy to cry on command?” I drag the tip through her slick heat before pushing in just enough to make her squirm. “We’re already halfway there.”

Color rises in her cheeks. “Pretty smug for a man who went off like a shot less than twelve hours ago.”

I ease a little farther inside her body, taking my time, teasing out her pleasure. “That only happened because I’ve wanted you for years.”

She stills beneath me, her eyes searching mine. “Years?”

I slide all the way inside her before going perfectly still, letting her feel every thick inch that now belongs to her. “Years, Chey. Fucking years.”

“I would’ve never guessed.”

Yeah. That was kind of the point.

“It didn’t seem like a good idea at the time,” I rasp. “So I kept my distance. I buried my need, pretending it didn’t exist.”

“And now?” she whispers, her voice catching when I pull back and thrust in deep again.

“And now I don’t give a shit.” I bottom out, and nearly lose my damn mind. “I can’t give this up.” Another slow stroke. “And I won’t give you up.”

The words are out before I can second-guess them.

And the fucked-up part is I mean every single one.

With a groan, I force myself to pull out. “I need to grab a condom.”

Her nails dig into my arms, stopping me. “Please don’t. You said you haven’t slept with anyone in six months, right?”

I jerk my head in a nod. “I haven’t. Haven’t even wanted to.”

“I trust you, Knox. I want to feel all of you. And I don’t want anything coming between us when we’re together.”

Jesus Christ. I close my eyes for half a second, trying to hang on to what little self-restraint I have left. The way her inner muscles clench around my dick is already pushing me to the edge.

Her hand slides into my hair, fingers brushing over my scalp.

“Are you sure?” I ask, because even with my brain halfway gone, I need to hear her say it.

“Yeah,” she says, angling her hips toward me. “I am.” Her gaze holds mine. “No one else has ever made me feel this good.”

Pride expands in my chest until it’s close to bursting. “Same, baby.”

I drive back inside her slick heat, and, fuck, it feels just like coming home. Now that I’ve experienced what it’s like to be inside her, I don’t ever want to leave. I’ve heard guys talk about unicorn pussy, and always thought it was a bunch of bullshit. Turns out when it’s the right woman, it’s not BS at all.

Because Chey is mine.

It doesn’t take long for us to find our rhythm, and I do everything in my power to keep hold of my control, because if I come early for a second time, I’ll have to retire from the Railers and move out of the country.

It’ll be that fucking embarrassing.

With my teeth gritted, I focus on blue skies. When that doesn’t work, I count backward.

In Spanish.

And when I’m teetering right on the edge, I change the angle of my thrusts, making sure to hit that spot deep inside her that has her breath catching and nails digging into my skin. Her moans grow louder, sweeter, and at this point I’m sweating bullets from the effort it takes to hold back. Pretty soon, I’m going to start shaking.

“Knox… I’m going to come.”

Thank fuck.

The second her inner muscles clamp around me, I’m done. I come like a freight train barreling down the tracks, and it’s hard enough to knock the breath right out of my lungs.

We come together, and it’s so damn good it’s borderline violent. By the time I collapse on top of her, my heart is pounding so fast I’m half-convinced an ambulance will need to be called.

Still, I manage to lift my head and stare down at her before cocking a brow. “Well? Thoughts? Perhaps you’d like to give me a standing ovation?”

She cracks open one green eye and smiles, looking entirely too satisfied. “I’d give it an eight. Although, you pretty much stuck the landing.”

I snort. “Eight, my ass. That was solid ten material.”

“Excuse me? Who’s the judge here?”

Even though I’m already softening, I push back into her just enough to make her gasp. “Guess we’ll just have to go for round two.”

She grins. “Well, you won’t hear me complaining about that.”

I roll onto my side, taking her with me so she stays tucked against me, exactly where she belongs.

I’ve never joked around with a woman in bed.

Never just relaxed like this.

It’s nice.

Nicer than I imagined it could be.

I press a kiss to the top of her head as the moment settles around us. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this content in my life.

That should probably be a warning sign, but it isn’t. Because it has everything to do with Chey and how right she feels in my arms. How perfectly she fits into my life.

It brings me right back to the realization that I don’t want her to leave. The thought settles at the bottom of my gut like a boulder before I clear my throat, trying to keep my tone casual.

“Your audition’s tomorrow, right?”

Her body tenses. “Yeah, it is.”

Even though I suspect the answer, I ask anyway. “Are you nervous?”

What I want is for her to open up and talk to me about what she’s feeling.

She nods, continuing to stare at my chest instead of meeting my gaze. “Yeah.”

I brush my fingers along her cheek, my thumb sweeping across the delicate skin beneath her eye. “Don’t be. You’re going to nail it.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“Sure, I do. You’re so damn talented, Chey. More than you realize.”

Her gaze drops again, doubt flickering across her face. “I’m not sure if I’m talented enough for Broadway.” Her voice grows even quieter. “I’m a reality star, Knox.”

The way she says it has anger bubbling up inside me. At the fact that, at some point, she was made to believe that’s all she is.

“A lot of people see me as a joke,” she adds.

My jaw tightens. “No one sees you that way.”

She presses her lips together before whispering, “Yeah, they do.”

“No,” I say, firmer this time. “They don’t. Not the ones who matter.”

Her gaze lifts to mine, and there’s a rawness there now, emotion she rarely allows me to see.

“If I don’t get this part…” She swallows. “I won’t have any other choice but to return home and do the show.”

My stomach plummets.

Home.

LA.

Too fucking far away.

She looks past me toward the window. “I don’t want to go back to that. I don’t want people thinking I should be accessible twenty-four seven. Like my life belongs to the cameras and the public. To everyone but me.”

That admittance hits harder than anything else she’s said. To a degree, I understand what she’s talking about. I’ve experienced it with my own family and career.

I pull her closer until she’s pressed against me, my hand drifting along her back, only wanting to offer comfort. I need her to realize she’s not in this alone anymore.

“The last thing you are is a joke. And if you’re ready for a new challenge, then that’s exactly what you focus on.”

Her breath catches.

“You’re so much more than what people think. And you’re talented enough to do anything you want, Chey. Broadway included.”

When she squeezes her eyes tight, my fingers slip beneath her chin, tipping her face upward until I can brush my mouth against hers. I want her to feel everything I’m not saying. Everything I probably shouldn’t be feeling so quickly.

She shifts, straddling my body until my cock can slide deep inside her with one smooth stroke.

This time there’s no rush or teasing. No desperate need to prove anything. It’s softer and slower. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize this is probably what making love is supposed to feel like.

My mouth drifts over her shoulder, neck, and collarbone. I take my time, wanting to learn everything about her. The way she breathes. What makes her shiver. The way her hands hold on to me like she doesn’t want to let go.

I don’t want her to let go either.

Not ever.

But that’s not my choice to make.

So I show her instead. I touch her in a way I hope conveys just how much she means to me. We move together as if we’ve done this a hundred times before, the rhythm steady. It’s nothing like the breathless urgency of last night.

This is something else entirely. And it matters more than anything else ever has.

Even more than hockey.

By the time we find our release, I know this is it for me. There will never be another woman like Chey. She collapses against my chest, breathing hard, and I hold her there, my hand sliding over her back as her body relaxes against mine, as if she’s always belonged there.

All I can do is hope like hell that’s true.

37

Cheyenne

I stand in the waiting area of the theater, clutching the sides of my purse a little tighter than necessary while glancing around, hoping it’s not obvious that my heart is on the verge of pounding right out of my chest.

Knox insisted on being here for moral support. Even though he couldn’t come back with me, knowing he’s only a few hundred feet away helps.

There are at least twenty people here for the audition.

Maybe more.

Some are stretching near the wall as they quietly run lines. Others sit with their heads down, headphones in, eyes closed, as if trying to shut out the rest of the world. A couple are marking choreography in the corner, counting to themselves as their feet slide over the scuffed floor.

No one looks like they wandered in on a whim.

They look as though they belong here.

Like professionals.

My stomach twists at that thought.

Okay. This is fine.

Totally fine.

I can do this.

If it goes well, everything changes. If it doesn’t, I already know what’s waiting for me. LA and the show. A version of my life I’m desperate to outrun.

Unable to concentrate, I shift and scan the room again. The more I look, the sicker I start to feel. I recognize a few faces. Not from TV but the stage. From actual productions in New York, Chicago, and London.

One of the women by the sign-in table was in the last Broadway revival I saw with my sister. Another guy was part of a touring company last year. They’re discussing callbacks and directors like this is just another Tuesday for them.

Meanwhile, my palms are sweating like I’m about to take a final I didn’t study for.

Do I really belong here?

The thought slips in before I can stop it, and my chest tightens painfully.

What the hell had I been thinking?

No, seriously.

These people have training. Credits to their name. Real experiences. While I have a reality show and a couple of concerts. My fingers curl tighter around the strap of my bag. There’s no doubt about it. This was a mistake. I should have stayed in LA and stuck with what I know. What I do best. I should have⁠—

“Cheyenne?”

My head jerks up, and I immediately regret it.

Lisa Grant.

We did a workshop together a couple years ago, back before the show took over my life. She’s standing near the table with an audition packet in hand, her brows lifted as if confused by my presence.

“Oh,” she says in surprise. “Wow. Hi. It is you.”

I force a smile as everything inside me nosedives. “Hey.”

She steps closer, giving me that quick, assessing once-over performers do without realizing it. “I had no idea you were auditioning for this production.”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound casual. “I thought I’d give it a shot.”

Judgment flickers across her face. It’s not mean, exactly. But it’s more than enough to sting.

“Oh,” she says again. “I didn’t realize they were seeing, um, outside people for this.”

Outside people.

The words are like a slap. I feel it everywhere all at once as heat rushes to my face. My spine stiffens as my grip tightens around my purse until my fingers ache.

“I mean,” she adds quickly when I remain silent, “it’s just… this is a pretty serious production. You know?”

My smile tightens. “Yeah, I do.”

That’s the worst part. I realize exactly how serious this is. And I understand what it would mean if I got the part.

She nods, still looking thrown by my presence. “Well. Good luck.” There’s an awkward pause. “Break a leg.”

“You too.”

As soon as she walks away, turning toward the other actors, my confidence crumbles.

Outside people.

Reality star.

The words stack in my head until my chest feels too tight to pull in air.

Maybe she’s right and I don’t belong here. Maybe this entire thing is me pretending I’m still the girl who used to spend hours in rehearsal rooms before cameras, contracts, and publicists turned my life into a circus for public consumption.

For a second, I’m seventeen again, standing in a dance studio with my hair in a knot, sweaty and breathless and happy, dreaming about a future that looked nothing like the one I ended up with.

The memory punches the air right out of me. I look down at my hands and flex my fingers, trying to stop the mental spiral before it sucks me under completely.

No.

You want this.

You came here for this.

You don’t get to run because one person looked at you and saw the version of Cheyenne Benson the world thinks they know.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, then another. My heartbeat is still racing, but at least I can breathe again. I picture Knox this morning with his hand pressed against my cheek, his eyes fastened to mine, his voice low and certain.

You’re going to nail it.

A shaky half-laugh catches in my throat. He says things like that as if they’re facts. As if failure doesn’t exist where I’m concerned. As if he sees something in me no one else does.

The people in this room see a reality star. A headline. A woman who doesn’t belong.

Knox sees me.

That thought quiets the insecurities trying to eat me alive. I roll my shoulders back and force my fingers to loosen from the strap of my purse.

You don’t have to be the best in the room.

You just have to be brave enough to walk inside it.

A door opens at the end of the hallway, and one of the assistants steps out with a clipboard in hand.

“All right,” she calls. “We’re ready for the next group.”

Everyone shifts as papers rustle, and my heart lodges in the middle of my throat.

The assistant looks down at the list. “Cheyenne Benson?”

For a split second, I forget how to breathe. The room quiets as everything narrows to this moment. And I realize that if I really wanted to, I could leave. I could mumble an excuse and walk right out the door. No one would stop me. I could save myself the humiliation of trying and failing in front of people who have been doing this for years.

Or I could go through with the audition.

My fingers tighten around my bag again before I consciously relax them.

I didn’t come this far only to walk away without trying.

I force myself to step forward. My boots echo against the floor as every doubt in my head starts screaming at once.

You’re going to embarrass yourself.

You don’t belong here.

They’re going to laugh at you.

My mouth dries and my pulse pounds hard enough to echo in my ears. I smooth my hand down the front of my shirt before lifting my chin and taking a second step. And then another. By the time I reach the door, I’m still shaking.

But I’m here.

The assistant pushes it open. “You can go in.”

I nod once and walk past her into the room. The lights are bright and there’s a piano tucked in the corner. The three people seated behind the table look up in unison.

For half a second, I want to turn around and run.

Instead, I square my shoulders, step onto the mark, and take a steadying breath.

Maybe I don’t belong here. Maybe half the people in that waiting room see exactly what Lisa implied—a reality star playing dress-up in a world she doesn’t belong in.

Except… they don’t get to decide who I am before I have a chance to open my mouth.

With that, I lift my chin, meet their eyes, and begin.

38

Knox

There’s nothing more I hate than waiting. I’ve played in game sevens of playoffs, overtimes, shootouts with everyone in the building on their feet, and none of that gets under my skin the way sitting outside this audition room does.

At least on the ice, I can do something.

Hit someone.

Score.

Shift the momentum.

But here?

I’m stuck in a hallway that smells like dusty books and burnt coffee, staring at a closed door while the woman I can’t stop thinking about stands on the other side of it, fighting for a dream that has the potential to change her life.

And there’s not a damn thing I can do to help her.

I lean against the wall with my arms crossed, trying to remain calm even though I’ve been counting every second she’s been gone.

She didn’t ask me to come for support. I just grabbed my keys and followed her to the elevator.

There was no damn way I was going to let her walk into this building alone with how nervous she looked this morning. Sure, she tried to act like she had it all under control, but I saw the tension in her muscles and the way she smiled, as if already bracing for disappointment.

The door opens at the end of the hall, and another girl steps out, clutching music sheets to her chest. She rushes past me without bothering to look up. A few more minutes drag by before the door opens again, and Chey emerges. The moment I see her face, I shove away from the wall. Her gaze lands on me, and for half a second, her expression eases. Her tight smile tells me everything before she even says a word, and my gut flips.

“Are you done?” I ask.

With a nod, she shifts her purse from one hand to the other. “Yeah.”

When she doesn’t say anything more, I ask, “So, how’d it go?”

Her shoulders lift in a small shrug. “I don’t know.” There’s a pause before she continues, “I really don’t know what to think.”

We head toward the exit. Her steps are slower than they were going in, and I match them without thinking.

“Well, they didn’t throw me out,” she says, trying to make a joke. “I suppose that’s a positive.”

“They wouldn’t have dared,” I mutter. “Or they would’ve dealt with me.”

Her lips tremble before she leans over and presses a quick kiss against my cheek. “I appreciate that. But I’m serious, Knox. There were people in there with real credits. Broadway. Tours. Lead roles.”

“And?”

She glances at me as if the answer is obvious. “And I’m just… me.”

I stop walking.

She takes another step before realizing I’m no longer beside her. When she turns back, her brows pull together. “What?”

“You did it.”

Her frown deepens. “Did what?”

“You walked in there and gave it your best shot.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“The hell it doesn’t.”

She looks at me like she wants to argue, but I don’t give her the chance.

“You went in there even though you were scared. Even though you could’ve easily turned around and walked out. That means something, Chey.”

She remains silent.

As she stands in the middle of that hallway, looking so damn unsure of herself, I realize this is about more than just cheering her up. She needs someone to remind her that what she did today matters.

“We’re going out tonight and celebrating,” I tell her.

Her brows lift. “What exactly are we celebrating?”

“That you put yourself out there and tried something new. You didn’t let your mom or the show or anybody else decide your future.”

She continues to stare at me.

“That’s worth celebrating,” I tell her.

Her expression softens. “You really think so?”

“I know so, babe.”

She hesitates before nodding. “Okay.”

“Good, because I already made reservations.”

“You did?”

“Yup. Gold Coast Table,” I say, starting down the hall again. “Nice place. You’ll like it.”

She huffs out a small laugh, and hearing it loosens something inside me.

By the time we get home, she’s still quiet, not at all like herself, and I hate it.

The second we step out of the elevator, I back her up against the wall and kiss her, slow at first and then deeper, until she stops thinking and starts feeling. Until her hands slide into my hair and the tension in her muscles finally drains.

All that matters is getting her out of her head and giving her something else to focus on. When her breath hitches and her body tightens just before unraveling, I know I’ve done exactly what I set out to.

After that, we finish getting ready and then head to the restaurant. No matter what happens with that audition, tonight is about Chey taking the first step toward the future she wants to build for herself.

The restaurant is the kind of place that has fancy white tablecloths, mood lighting, and soft jazz drifting through the space. We’re shown to a table near the window with views of the city. The conversations around us are low enough that it almost feels private.

Even though Chey stares at the menu, I can tell she’s not actually seeing it.

“Hey,” I say. “You okay over there? Having a hard time deciding between the beef Wellington and the seafood special?”

She looks up, clearly pulled from somewhere far away. “Huh?”

I reach across the table and brush my thumb over her knuckles. “It’s going to be fine. I promise.”

“Oh.” Her attention drops back to the menu. “Yeah… sorry. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all. I’m not exactly good company tonight.”

“This has nothing to do with you being good company. It’s about taking time to celebrate what you did today. You showed up and went after something you wanted. No matter what happens, I’m proud of you for that.”

The waiter stops by our table and takes our order. After the food arrives, Chey barely touches her meal. She just pushes it around with her fork, lost in whatever loop is running through her brain.

I watch her for a minute before saying, “You’re overthinking.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not. Really.”

“You are, babe. I can tell.”

With a sigh, she sets the fork down. “I can’t stop replaying the audition. Every note. Every look they gave me. Every quiet comment they made to each other. Every second I stood there thinking they were going to realize I didn’t belong and ask me to leave.”

The words are like a kick to the gut. What I hate most is that some part of her believes them.

“That’s what you still don’t get. You do belong on that stage. You’re the only one who doesn’t see it.”

Her lower lip quivers before she glances away, trying to wrangle her emotions back under control. “I know you believe that. And I’m so appreciative to have you in my corner⁠—”

I lean forward, cutting her off because this feels too damn important to let her brush aside.

“You know why I believe it? Because I heard you sing. And the way it made me feel…” The words catch in my throat because I’m not great at this kind of shit, but I force them out anyway. “It gave me goose bumps, Chey.”

Her gaze flicks up to mine before dropping again.

“You didn’t see the other women. They’ve been doing this their whole lives. They have training and credits. They know people.” She swallows. “I walked in there, and all I could think was… they’re going to see right through me.”

My jaw tightens. “See what?”

A humorless laugh falls from her lips. “That I’m nothing more than a reality star. A storyline. I’m the girl who cries on TV and starts drama on cue.”

My fingers tighten around hers, and for a second the noise of the restaurant fades until it’s just the two of us.

“You know what I see when I look at you? A woman who walked into a room full of people who intimidate the hell out of her and she had enough gumption to sing anyway. I see someone who’s talented enough to make an entire room go quiet but just doesn’t know it.” My thumb strokes over her knuckles. “And, yeah, I see the woman who’s been stuck living everybody else’s version of her life for too damn long.”

Tears glisten in her eyes.

“You walked in there today when you could’ve easily turned tail and ran,” I continue. “You did something that scared you. That matters.”

Her throat works as she swallows. “I really don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“Doesn’t matter.” I squeeze her hand. “We’re still celebrating you tonight.”

That pulls a genuine smile from her. It’s small but real. The kind she doesn’t give the cameras. And seeing it feels better than any win I’ve had all season. Better than a hat trick. Better than hearing my name chanted from the ice.

With her hand in mine and hope flickering in her eyes, like she just might believe me, it means everything.

39

Cheyenne

I stare at the man across from me, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Knox McNichols has become my biggest champion. There’s so much emotion swirling inside me, it’s hard to pin down exactly what I feel.

“I’m going to run to the restroom,” I tell him, setting my napkin on the table.

“Okay.” He gives me an easy smile. “I’ll order dessert for us.”

My throat constricts. He’s being so amazing. So steady and sure. It makes me want to cry. Whatever version of Knox I’d carried around in my head for all these years, he’s turning out to be so much more than that.

More thoughtful.

More protective.

Just more everything.

“That sounds good.”

The support he’s shown settles deep, even as the nerves from the audition churn low in my stomach.

I just need a minute. A second to breathe.

As I step into the hallway where the restroom is located, the noise of the restaurant fades behind me. By the time I push open the door and slip inside, the silence feels like a relief. Two women stand near the sinks, talking quietly. They glance at me before going back to their conversation, as if they have no idea who I am. Or maybe they just don’t care.

It’s one of the things I love about Chicago.

The anonymity.

The freedom of not always being watched.

I slip into one of the stalls, lock the door, and lean back against the wall. My heart is still racing. The audition keeps looping through my mind—every note, every expression, every second I stood in front of the panel.

I close my eyes and force out a gradual breath. Maybe Knox is right. No matter what happens, I did it. I walked in and sang my heart out. And that’s worth something.

By the time I finish and push open the stall door, I’ve almost managed to calm myself down. I glance up and then freeze when I find Dakota leaning against the counter. For a second, my brain refuses to process his presence, and my stomach drops.

He looks terrible—unshaven with bloodshot eyes. His clothes are wrinkled, as if he’s been wearing them for days. He looks nothing like the polished, camera-ready version of the man I’m used to seeing.

Unstable.

That’s the only word that blares through my head.

He straightens as soon as he sees me, and unease slithers down my spine.

“Cheyenne.”

My mouth dries. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

He lets out a quiet laugh that ends on a high-pitched note. “I had to see you.”

Every instinct I have goes on high alert.

“There’s nothing left for us to talk about.” I force out the response calmly, even though my pulse continues to thrum. “What we had is over. You need to make peace with that and move on.”

His stare never deviates from mine as he shakes his head. “I can’t do that. I’ve already tried.”

My gaze slices to the door. There’s no way I can get around him.

Left with no other choice, I straighten my shoulders, not wanting him to sense how frightened I am. “I won’t change my mind.”

“If you’d just give me a chance,” he says, his voice rising as he drags a hand through his mussed hair, “we could work it out.”

“It’s too late for that.”

He pushes away from the counter, taking a quick step toward me. “You don’t mean that.”

Another wave of fear slams into me. “I do, Dakota. We’re over.”

He closes the distance between us. “Why don’t you love me anymore?”

My heart hammers against my ribs, turning painful. The truth is, I’m not sure I ever loved Dakota. Not in the way I thought I did. It’s only after having taken a step back that I understand how wrong he is for me.

But there’s no way I can say that when he’s already teetering on the edge. I don’t want to be what pushes him over.

I wish he could see that what he needs is help.

“What we had meant a lot to me,” I say carefully. “It really did.”

The hope that flickers in his eyes is enough to make my stomach turn.

“But it’s over,” I add, gentler this time. “I’ve moved on, and you need to find a way to do the same.”

His jaw tightens. “Knox McNichols isn’t the right man for you, Chey. He’ll never love you the way I do.”

There’s no point in arguing. Not with the look that fills his eyes. Not with the alcohol I can smell on him, even from here.

He swallows up the remaining distance between us until I feel the heat that radiates off his body. “You think he’s so much better than me?”

“Don’t come any closer.” Even though I’m shaking inside, I force myself to remain calm. “You need to back up and give me space.”

Instead, his hand shoots out, his fingers locking around my wrist. Shock ripples through me, and for half a second, I can’t breathe. I stare at his hand now shackled around me, my brain spinning, trying to figure a way out of this situation.

“Dakota—” My voice catches as I try yanking my arm free. “Let go of me.”

“You used to love me,” he says, his fingers tightening. “We used to be so good together.”

Pain pulses through my wrist as adrenaline spikes through my veins.

“Let go,” I say, louder this time, trying to break free from his grip.

“I will never let you go!”

He drags me closer. “Dakota, stop!”

The bathroom door bursts open.

“What the hell⁠—”

Knox.

Relief hits so hard, my knees almost give out. Dakota turns with his hand still locked around my wrist. Knox’s gaze drops to the place where we’re connected, and rage crashes over his expression. Whatever I saw on the ice the other night is nothing compared to the look on his face now.

“Take your fucking hands off her,” Knox growls.

Dakota drags me closer as he turns toward him. “Stay out of this.”

Knox eats up the distance in two long strides before grabbing Dakota by the front of his shirt and ripping him away from me with so much force that I stumble backward.

“Don’t you ever touch her again,” Knox says, voice filled with fury.

Dakota shoves at him. “She belongs to me!”

“That’s where you’re wrong. She never belonged to you.”

Before Dakota can open his mouth again, Knox’s fist connects with his jaw. The crack is sharp, echoing off the tile as he crumples to the floor with a heavy thud.

A startled sound tears from me as my ex collapses between us. The room tilts as my pulse continues to roar in my ears.

The door opens and a woman walks in before stopping dead in her tracks. Her eyes widen as she takes in the scene. “Oh my.” With that, she disappears into the hallway again.

Knox’s gaze stays pinned to Dakota.

When he takes a step toward my ex, I grab his arm before he can do further damage. “Please don’t.”

His body remains taut beneath my hand, and for one terrifying second, I think he might lunge again.

Dakota groans as he spits blood onto the tile, trying to push himself up.

“Chey, please,” he chokes out. “Please don’t do this.”

Knox slips an arm around my shoulders, anchoring me to his side, while I stare at the man lying on the floor. He feels more like a stranger, and it makes me wonder if I ever knew him at all.

“You need help, Dakota.” My voice trembles even though I try to keep it steady. “And I truly hope you get it.”

Knox looks down at me then—really looks at me—like he’s checking every inch for damage.

“Are you okay?”

Even though I’m still trying to catch my breath, I nod. “I’m fine. Really.”

The bathroom door bursts open again, this time with an older man and two security guards.

“What’s going on in here?”

Voices overlap as someone says the police are on the way.

As soon as Dakota rises to his feet, one of the guards grabs his arm.

“You need to come with us.”

“This is bullshit,” Dakota snaps. “She’s my⁠—”

“No, I’m not,” I say, my raised voice cutting through the noise.

Everyone looks at me. When my hands continue to shake, I curl them into fists and force myself to keep going.

“He’s been harassing me for weeks and then followed me to Chicago from LA. He was waiting for me when I came out of the stall and then he grabbed me.”

The guard’s expression hardens. “Sir, it sounds like there’s a lot the police will want to discuss with you.”

Dakota stares at me as if I just betrayed him. “Chey⁠—”

“It’s over,” I say, steadier this time. “And you need to leave me alone.”

It doesn’t take long for the police to arrive and then statements are taken. Knox stays beside me through all of it, his hand at the small of my back. It’s a steady reminder that I’m not going through this alone.

When the officer asks if I want to press charges, my stomach twists. For a second, I almost say no.

Then my mind flashes through everything that’s happened, and I lift my chin. “I’d like a restraining order.”

The words sit heavy on my tongue. Final. Like a door slamming shut and locking behind me.

The officer nods. “We’ll get that started tonight. You’ll need to file for an emergency order, and a judge will have to review it.”

When I finally leave, Dakota stares at me like he doesn’t know who I am anymore.

Good. Truth be told, I don’t recognize myself either. For the first time, that realization isn’t frightening. It’s freeing in the best way possible.

As if I’m finally becoming the woman I was always meant to be.

40

Knox

It’s late by the time we return to the penthouse. Chey is curled against my side on the couch with her legs tucked under mine and her head resting on my chest. She changed into one of those little sets that drive me crazy—sports bra, tiny shorts, and bare feet. I’m in nothing but my boxers, the TV playing something neither of us are paying attention to.

My hand drifts up and down her back in a comforting caress without conscious thought. I can’t stop touching her and making sure she’s really here.

That she’s okay.

I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo as I try to calm the part of me that keeps replaying tonight on an endless loop. Dakota’s hand locked around her wrist. The stark fear on her face. Something inside me snapped the second I saw it.

“I’m so damn glad nothing happened to you,” I tell her.

She shifts, tilting her face to glance at me. “I’m fine.”

“I know.”

Although, that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about how much worse it could have been if I hadn’t gone looking for her when I did. It’s only when her fingers slide over my ribs that I’m pulled out of my head.

“Hey,” she murmurs. “Are you okay?”

For a second, I almost tell her the truth.

That no, I’m not all right. That the thought of something happening to her makes me feel sick in a way I’ve never experienced. That seeing another man put his hands on her in anger nearly sent me out of my mind.

Instead, I huff out a breath. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

She studies me for another second, as if she’s debating whether to push, before her expression softens. “Would you mind playing for me?”

The question catches me off guard. “The piano?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

“Right now?”

“Please? I kind of need it.”

The admission slips past the last of my defenses. Not because she asked, but because she’s allowing me to give her what she needs in this moment.

Without waiting for a response, she sits up and tugs my hand. “Come on.”

I let her pull me off the couch, even though part of me was perfectly content to stay where we were. After turning off the TV, we cross the space and I settle on the bench, flexing my fingers over the keys. Instead of taking the seat beside me, she climbs into my lap, facing me, her knees settling on either side of my thighs as her arms slip loosely around my neck.

I raise a brow. “You expect me to play like this?”

A small smile tugs at her lips. “Consider it an exercise in concentration.”

My hands settle on her hips, steadying her as she shifts closer. “You’re distracting as hell, baby.”

“Not up for the challenge, huh?”

“Where you’re concerned? Probably not,” I say with a snort.

I lift my hands to the keys, and the melody comes easily as muscle memory kicks in. After everything that happened tonight, it feels good to let the music drift over me, washing away the tension.

For a second, she watches me before her eyes feather closed, her forehead resting against mine as the notes fill the room. Time falls away as one song bleeds into the next. The piano has always had the power to calm me, and I love that it does the same for her.

My fingers stroke over the keys one final time before stilling. We sit in silence as the last note reverberates through the air. Her eyes open, gaze locking on mine. She’s close enough for her breath to ghost across my lips.

“That was beautiful.”

My hand slides up her spine, drawing her closer. “Not more beautiful than you.” I hesitate for a beat, then add quietly, “I like you here.”

Her lips curve. “Here?”

“In my lap. In my place.” My thumb strokes up her side. “In my life.”

Her breath catches.

Now that I’ve said that much, I can’t seem to stop. Tonight rattled me more than I want to admit, and hearing her talk about returning to LA has been weighing on me. If I keep playing it safe, pretending this is something I can control, I’ll end up losing her.

She studies my face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I admit. “A lot.”

Her breath stutters. “Knox…”

I should probably slow this down and think it through. Find the right words so I don’t end up scaring her away. But all I can think about is how close I came to losing this moment with her.

If she ends up walking away without knowing how I feel, I’ll never forgive myself.

“I don’t want you to go back to LA,” I rasp. “I don’t want you disappearing from my life again.” I swallow hard. “The thought of losing you… It rips me apart inside.”

Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away. “If Broadway doesn’t work out⁠—”

“I don’t care if it works out,” I cut in. “Or about the show. None of that matters.”

Her hand tightens on my shoulder. “Then what does?”

I hold her gaze. “You.”

The floodgates open, and there’s no holding any of it back. My heart pounds so hard she can probably feel it.

“I’m in love with you, Chey.”

The words hang between us.

Her eyes search mine, as if she’s making sure she heard me correctly.

I force myself to keep going, even though every instinct tells me to shut my damn mouth. “I never meant for it to happen. Hell, I even tried to stop it.” A humorless laugh huffs out of me. “Guess that didn’t work.”

A small smile lifts the corners of her lips.

I push forward before I lose my nerve. “It’s hard not to fall for you when you’re like this.” My hand slides to her waist, pulling her closer. “Perfect. And now that I have you, I don’t want to lose you.”

There.

It’s all out in the open.

Emotion flickers across her face as silence stretches between us. Just as desperation starts to creep in, her arms tighten around my neck, drawing me in until her mouth finds mine.

“I don’t want to lose you, or this, either,” she whispers against my lips.

Relief surges through me as my hands tighten on her hips, unwilling to allow even an inch of space between us.

I’ve spent years dreaming about her.

About this.

And now that she’s here, in my home and in my life, there’s no way I’m letting her go.

41

Cheyenne

Lakeshore Sweets smells like sugar and roasted coffee the second I walk in. Warmth wraps around me as the door swings shut, but it does nothing to calm the nervous energy rushing through my veins.

Callie is behind the counter, arranging a tray of cookies in the display case while Sloane rings up a customer. Rina, Lilah, and Kia sit at the table near the window with mugs and a plate of pastries between them.

“Well, look who finally showed up,” Rina says.

Lilah grins. “We were starting to think Knox had you tied up somewhere.”

“Like the bedroom,” Kia says with a smirk.

“Not today,” I say with a laugh, dropping onto the empty chair.

Lilah studies my face. “How are you holding up?”

I drag in a deep breath. “I’m okay. Just trying not to freak out every time the phone rings.”

“Have you heard anything?” Callie asks, setting a mug in front of me.

My stomach twists. “Not yet. But they said a decision would be made by the end of today.”

Lilah’s expression softens. “That’s good, right?”

“Yeah.” I wrap my hands around the mug. “At this point, I just want to know one way or the other.”

It had been a shock when I got the callback. A good one, but still a surprise. If I get the role, everything changes.

If I don’t… I’m right back where I started, trying to figure out what I’m going to do with my life.

Conversation swirls around me, but it’s hard to focus on any of it. Even when Hugh and Evelyn come up, the comments barely register. It’s the buzz of my phone against the table that makes every muscle in my body lock up.

The voices around me die a quick death as heads turn my way.

Rina glances at the screen as it lights up. “Unknown number.”

My heart thumps so hard I can feel it in my throat.

Callie carefully sets the towel in her hand down. “Go on and answer it. This is what you’ve been waiting for.”

My fingers are numb as I reach for the slim device. It’s ridiculous that so much can hang on one moment. One call. One person on the other end of the line deciding how my future will unfold. It’s enough to make me sick.

I swipe to answer. “Hello?”

“Hi, Cheyenne, this is Merrit from casting.”

It takes effort to keep my voice level. “Hello.”

“We wanted to let you know the team loved your audition and we’re excited to offer you the role.”

For a second, the words echo in my head, but I can’t quite process them. My grip tightens on the phone as the bakery blurs at the edges. Merritt continues talking, but her voice sounds far away. It’s like my body hasn’t fully caught up to the fact that this is actually happening.

“Thank you,” I blurt. “For letting me know.”

“Wonderful. In the next few days, we’ll send over a packet of information and the contract.”

She reviews a few more details, and I murmur something that sounds vaguely coherent before hanging up.

Even though I wanted this—prayed for it, hoped for it, then tried not to hope too much so I wouldn’t end up disappointed—I never truly believed it would happen.

The women stare at me.

“Well?” Lilah says. “We’re dying over here! Tell us what happened!”

I lower the phone as my hand continues to shake. “I got the part.”

There’s a beat of silence before everyone explodes at once.

“Oh my God!” Kia says.

“Should I tell you to break a leg now or later?” Sloane calls from the counter.

“Congratulations!” Rina cries.

“We’re so proud of you!” Lilah adds.

Callie presses a hand to her chest. “Chey, that’s so amazing! I’m so happy it all worked out.”

Rina is the first out of her chair before throwing her arms around me, with Lilah right behind her. Kia joins in next, and Callie scoots in while Sloane hurries over as soon as the last customer walks out the door.

For a second, I’m completely swallowed up by perfume, excited voices, and the solid weight of women who are becoming true friends. The shock dissolves and emotion rushes in so swiftly it nearly steals the air from my lungs.

“I got the part,” I say again, half laughing, half crying now. “I actually got it.”

“You’re going to be on Broadway,” Rina says, eyes filled with excitement.

Emotion swells within me. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Callie squeezes me tighter. “You did it. You really did it!”

And somehow that comment breaks me all over again. Because she’s right. I did it. Even though I was terrified, I walked into that room and laid it all on the line. I stayed when every part of me wanted to run. And now, for the first time in years, it feels like my life truly belongs to me.

The bell over the door jingles, and heavy footsteps hit the floor as male voices fill the sunny space.

“Hey,” River calls out. “What’s going on?”

Oliver looks around. “Did someone win the lottery?”

Jax snorts. “Or maybe Rina found the clearance rack at Saks Fifth Avenue.”

Knox, Steele, and Laiken walk in, bringing up the rear.

Knox stops the second he spots me standing in the middle of the bakery, surrounded by my new friends with tears streaming down my cheeks.

A grin breaks out across his face. “You heard already?”

I nod, barely able to get the words out. “I got the part.”

He crosses the bakery in a handful of strides before tugging me into his arms and lifting me off the ground.

“I told you,” he says, pressing his mouth against mine. “The second they heard you sing, you were a shoo-in.”

With a laugh, I cling to him. It feels like I could float away if I’m not careful. “Thank you for believing in me even when I didn’t believe in myself.”

His grip tightens around me as he lowers my feet to the floor. There’s a mixture of joy and pride on his face, as if this matters to him almost as much as it does to me. As if he never doubted the outcome for a single second.

River claps his teammate on the back. “Looks like your girl is staying in Chicago.”

Knox’s gaze stays pinned to mine. “Yeah, it does.”

That’s all it takes for the weight of this moment to finally settle into place. Not just the role or the relief I feel. But the fact that I don’t have to return to LA. I won’t have to crawl into the version of my life that never really fit just because it’s expected of me.

The future isn’t some box waiting for me to step back into.

It’s wide open and mine to choose.

When I look at the man who believed in me before I knew how to believe in myself, I can’t help thinking that maybe the life waiting for me here in Chicago is bigger and better than anything I could have dared to imagine.

And there’s something magical about that.

42

Knox

As I watch Cheyenne cry and laugh, as if her whole damn world has been turned upside down, I realize how much I want to get her alone.

“Come on,” I say.

She looks up at me, eyes still wide, cheeks flushed and streaked with tears. “Where are we going?”

“Home.”

I take her hand before she can ask any more questions, threading my fingers through hers and tugging her toward the door. She follows without hesitation, still looking half dazed as everyone talks around us.

“Hey, where are you two going?” Rina asks.

“Knox just realized his woman is staying,” River says from somewhere behind us.

I don’t bother turning around.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get everyone together later to celebrate,” I call back, not about to let any of them derail this.

Jax snorts. “Damn right we will.”

I push open the door and we step outside into the cool air. Chey is still shaking by the time we slide into the Maserati. I keep one hand on her thigh the entire drive, rubbing my thumb back and forth as traffic moves around us and the city passes by in a blur.

She looks over at me. “I still can’t believe it.”

“Believe it, baby.”

“I actually got the part, Knox.” She releases a shaky laugh. “I got it.”

“Damn right you did.”

It doesn’t take long before I’m sliding into a spot in the parking garage and cutting the engine. By the time we step into the elevator, Cheyenne is tucked against my side and I’m breathing in the delicate scent of her shampoo, grounding myself in the fact that she’s here with me.

She tips her face toward mine, her eyes bright and a little glassy. “You’re not even surprised?”

“Nope.” I press a kiss to her temple. “Not even a little.”

“How aren’t you?” she asks with a laugh.

“Because you’re so damn talented, Chey. That’s the part you still don’t understand. All you had to do was open your mouth and let them hear how magical your voice was.”

The elevator doors slide open and we walk into the entryway. The second we step inside, she turns to me, still shell-shocked.

“I don’t understand how you could believe in me when I didn’t believe in myself.”

I stare at the woman who has become my everything. Her hair is a little messy and her makeup is smudged from crying.

“Maybe you don’t realize it, baby, but you shine like a star.”

Her eyes fill again. “Not in a million years did I think they’d give me the part.”

“You have so much more talent than you give yourself credit for. Not only am I proud of you for nailing the audition but for having the courage to put yourself out there.”

“The truth is that I almost didn’t go,” she admits, her voice wobbling. “I kept thinking… if I’m not good enough, I’ll have to go back to LA and the show. Back to a life I don’t want.”

My jaw tightens.

Before I can say anything, she continues, “And I kept thinking I’d lose you.”

I lift my hand and cup her face. “You’re never going to lose me.”

Emotion crashes over her features.

“I’ve always been yours,” I add, my thumb stroking over her cheek.

She lets out a shaky laugh. “Knox.”

I lean in until my forehead can rest against hers. “It’s true, Hollywood. I’ve just been biding my time, waiting for you to figure out that what your life was really missing was a hockey player.”

“I’ve never wanted anything more.”

My heart stumbles as she lifts her hand and presses her palm to my chest. “And that includes Broadway.”

I pull back just enough to search her face. “You really mean that?”

She nods, and this time there’s no hesitation. “I do. No matter what happened with the part, we would’ve found a way to make it work. I can’t imagine my life without you anymore.”

The words hit me like a goddamn freight train. All I can do is stare, allowing them to sink in.

She chose me.

Not because she got the role or Chicago was convenient.

But because of me.

I pull her close enough to kiss, needing her to feel every emotion running through me.

Every ounce of love I tried to deny.

Every bit of certainty I’ve finally stopped fighting.

I’m done holding back and playing it safe where this woman is concerned.

I draw away just enough to rest my forehead against hers. “I love you.”

Her breath catches, and for a second, she stares at me as a smile spreads across her face. “I love you too.”

I close my eyes, fighting to keep it together.

“Knox?”

My gaze finds hers. “Yeah?”

“Will you play something for me?”

I smile. “If that’s what you want.”

The truth is, I’d do just about anything she asked.

With her hand in mine, I lead her toward the piano. Once I lower myself to the bench, she climbs into my lap, turning to face me. My gaze stays locked on hers as my hands settle on the keys and I begin to play. The melody comes easily. It’s the same one from the night she found me playing after the Railers event. It’s funny how that felt like the beginning of something even though neither of us understood it at the time.

Her head rests against my shoulder, her fingers bunching the fabric of my shirt.

“You know,” she murmurs against my neck, “if you ever decide to give up hockey, I think you could probably find work as a pianist.”

A laugh rumbles out of me. “Pretty sure that’s not in my immediate future.”

“No? Then tell me, Knox McNichols, what’s in your immediate future?”

I turn my head and whisper the truth in her ear. “You.”

The word comes out easily, without an ounce of fear or hesitation.

I continue playing with her nestled in my lap. The room is quiet except for the music and the soft sound of her breathing.

For the first time since I found her in my living room and she turned my life upside down, everything feels settled in a way I never could have imagined.

And it has everything to do with the woman in my arms.

The one I can no longer imagine a future without.

43

Cheyenne

Usually when something major happens—a show announcement, a tour, a breakup, or a scandal—my phone starts blowing up before I even open my eyes. Mom will call every five minutes, my team starts circling, and my personal assistant will rattle off my agenda, telling me where I’m supposed to be next.

Today there’s nothing.

Just sunlight pouring through the windows of Knox’s kitchen, along with the scent of coffee and the sounds of him making breakfast. I’m filled with a strange feeling that for once, the world isn’t dragging me somewhere I don’t want to go.

My phone rings on the kitchen counter. Without glancing at the screen, I know who it is.

Knox looks over from the stove where he’s making eggs. “You gonna answer that?”

It’s so tempting to let it go to voicemail. Instead, I suck in a deep breath and pick it up.

“Hey, Mom. How are you?”

“It’s been days, Cheyenne. I was wondering when you were going to give me a call.”

I lean back against the counter, my gaze drifting to Knox as he turns off the burner.

“Actually, later this morning. I have some news to share.”

“I already saw the articles.”

I frown. “What articles?”

“The ones about Dakota being arrested. They’re everywhere. You really should have let us know so we could release a statement.”

I close my eyes for a second as my brain somersaults. She doesn’t bother asking how I’m doing or if I’m all right. Her only concern is how we’ll spin the story.

“He showed up at a restaurant and cornered me in the bathroom before grabbing me, Mom. I’m pretty sure he’d been drinking.”

“I’m not saying he didn’t overstep,” she replies smoothly. “But couldn’t it have been handled better? You should have called the team for damage control. That’s what we pay them for.”

My fingers tighten around the phone, the old instinct to brace and swallow it down rising so fast it almost catches me off guard. For just a second, I feel sixteen all over again instead of twenty-six. My mother has a knack for making me feel small.

“I filed a restraining order.”

There’s a pause. “Well, the media will have a field day with that. Perhaps we can roll it into the promo for the new season.”

My stomach twists.

“I assume now that the Dakota issue is taken care of, you’ll be returning home.”

My gaze shifts to Knox. He doesn’t interrupt or hover. He simply watches me with a steady expression that somehow makes it easier for me to breathe.

“Filming starts soon,” Mom continues. “There’s so much for us to do. I’m thinking you get a makeover for the new season. Maybe extensions.”

My chest constricts as she continues talking. For one split second, I feel that old familiar pressure to fold, to smooth it over, to go along so everyone else is happy.

And then it dissolves as I straighten my spine. “Mom.”

“You’ll come home and we can reset. You’ll see, everything will go back to normal.”

Normal.

Normal means pretending to be a version of myself I’ve outgrown, and smiling when I don’t want to. Normal means letting other people dictate my life while I quietly stand on the sidelines.

I glance at Knox again. He gives a slight nod, as if silently encouraging me to tell her the truth.

My gaze stays locked on him. “I’m not coming home.”

The silence from the other end of the line is deafening.

“I’m sorry? What?”

“I’m not coming home,” I repeat, stronger this time.

“Cheyenne,” she says carefully, as if talking to a child who’s about to ruin their life, “you’re upset, and that’s understandable, but this isn’t the time to make emotional decisions.”

The old version of me would have panicked and backtracked. She would have tried to explain herself until my mother approved.

I don’t do that.

“I’m not being emotional.”

“Of course you are. You had a scare with Dakota, and you’re in a different city, surrounded by people you don’t normally spend time with⁠—”

“I auditioned for Broadway.”

There’s a pause.

“You did what?”

I lift my chin, even though she can’t see me do it, as pride swells in my chest. “I auditioned for a part and I got it.”

That announcement is met with silence. I can almost hear her recalculating, trying to figure out how to fit this into the version of my life she already planned out for me.

“That’s… wonderful,” she says finally, but I can already hear the wheels turning. “Think of the exposure. We can work it into the show, maybe even film some behind-the-scenes⁠—”

“I don’t think you understand, Mom. I’m staying in Chicago.”

“Cheyenne—”

“I’m doing the production here,” I continue calmly. “And I won’t be coming back to LA. Not right now. Maybe not ever.”

Her tone sharpens. “You don’t make decisions like this without talking to me.”

For the first time in my life, those words don’t make me feel sick or guilty. They just make me tired.

I release a slow breath. “I just did.”

Fury vibrates through her next question. “This is about him, isn’t it?”

I look at the man I’ve fallen in love with.

His gaze is locked on mine as I admit, “Knox is definitely part of it.”

“You barely know him,” she snaps. “You’re caught up in some love affair. Trust me, it happens to the best of us, but that doesn’t mean you throw away everything you’ve built.”

“I’m not throwing anything away.”

“You’re risking your career. Your livelihood. You need to understand that as soon as you step out of the spotlight, it fades.”

“No,” I say quietly. “For the first time ever, I’m following my heart and doing what I want.”

The words hang between us. They’re true in a way that makes my throat burn.

“You’ll regret this, Cheyenne. I know you will.”

Maybe she really believes that. And maybe the old me would have too. But as I stand in Knox’s kitchen with a life stretched out in front of me that finally feels like mine, I don’t.

“Maybe,” I admit. “But it’s my mistake to make.”

She exhales sharply. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“No,” I say evenly. “We won’t.”

There’s something about finally ending a dysfunctional pattern instead of feeding into it that makes me feel a hundred pounds lighter.

“I love you, Mom,” I add, softer now. “But I’m staying.”

Instead of waiting for a response, I end the call. My hand shakes as I lower the phone to the counter. For just a second, I stand frozen, my heart pounding against my ribs as the adrenaline works its way through my system.

Knox slips his arms around me before dropping a kiss against the top of my head. “How do you feel?”

“Surprisingly good. That went better than I expected.”

His mouth twitches. “Are you telling me that could’ve gone worse?”

“Are you kidding me?” I release a shaky breath. “She could have had a stroke when I told her I wasn’t coming back.”

A quiet laugh rumbles through him as his arms tighten around me. “I’m proud of you, baby. Proud of you for standing up for yourself and following your heart.”

Emotion rises within me. “Thanks.”

I fist his shirt and tug him down until his mouth meets mine. His hands slide to my waist, anchoring me in place as he pulls me in, like he doesn’t want even an inch of space coming between us.

After we finally break apart, he rests his forehead against mine. “I love you, Hollywood.”

I smile through the sting in my eyes. “I love you too.”

His thumb sweeps over my cheek. “Whatever comes next, we’ll handle it together. Promise.”

For the first time in my life, my future feels wide open. And if I’m lucky, Knox McNichols will be standing right beside me for every part of it.

44

Evelyn

There’s something about the arena at night. Especially when the team is on the road. The usual rush of voices, footsteps, and ringing phones has long since faded, leaving behind a hush that settles into the bones of the building. It’s the kind of silence that makes every small sound louder than it actually is. The hum of the overhead lights. The distant groan of old pipes. The faint scratch of my pen across the paper, even though I’ve been reading the same paragraph for the last ten minutes without absorbing a single word.

I should have gone home hours ago. Instead, I’m sitting behind my desk, jacket draped over the back of my chair, heels abandoned beneath it, a half-finished glass of sparkling water on a coaster beside my laptop.

The city glows outside the tall windows, Chicago spread out in glittering ribbons of light. For once, it does nothing to soothe me.

My gaze drifts to the line of framed photographs on the credenza against the wall. Team events. Charity galas. Opening-night fundraisers. Smiling faces frozen mid-laugh, perfectly posed, every image curated to suggest a life that has unfolded exactly as intended.

It’s a lie, of course.

What I’ve learned is that most polished things are.

A muscle tightens low in my stomach. I know exactly why my thoughts refuse to settle.

Hugh.

It’s absurd how easily that man can disrupt my equilibrium even after all these years. A glance from across a room. A murmur pitched low enough for only me to hear. The weight of his stare lingering far too long at dinners, games, and meetings when he should be nothing more than another familiar face in the crowd.

And yet his presence has never felt that simple.

With an exhale, I pick up the file in front of me again, forcing my eyes to focus on the numbers.

A soft knock on the door jerks me from those thoughts. There’s only one other person who’d be in the building at nearly nine o’clock at night.

My fingers tighten around the edge of the folder. “Yes?”

The door opens, revealing the man who refuses to be evicted from my mind. One hand remains curled around the handle as the hallway light spills across one side of his face while the other remains in the shadows. He’s wearing a charcoal suit, the knot of his tie loosened ever so slightly, as though he’s tugged at it at least once before coming here. His hair is touched with silver now, and the lines at the corners of his eyes are deeper, so different than the young man I used to know.

Unfortunately, age suits him.

It makes him look less like the reckless golden boy I once loved and more like what he truly is now—a man who has lived, lost, and learned how to carry the weight of it through life.

I feel very much the same.

His gaze finds mine and holds. “May I come in?”

For one ridiculous heartbeat, I can only stare. Those four small words shouldn’t matter. But there’s something about the restraint in his tone, paired with that deliberate distance, that scrapes against a part of me that has no business still being this tender where he’s concerned.

Even a month ago, Hugh wouldn’t have bothered to ask. He would have barged in, shut the door behind him, and leaned against it with a lazy confidence that would make my pulse skitter.

This man now waits.

And I hate that I notice.

I give a slight nod. “Yes, you may.”

After stepping inside, he closes the door behind him. There’s no swagger or easy charm being deployed like a weapon. It’s just Hugh, careful in a way that feels far more disarming than his arrogance ever did.

I set the folder down. “Whatever you need to speak with me about must be important if it couldn’t wait until the morning.”

“It is.”

I gesture vaguely toward the chair opposite my desk. “Then sit down.”

Instead of taking a seat, he remains standing a few feet away, hands loose at his sides, posture composed, though there’s a tension in it I recognize.

Interesting.

When he remains silent, I clear my throat. “What did you want, Hugh?”

He stares at me for a long moment, as if deciding where to begin. “What I need to discuss has nothing to do with the team.”

“Oh?” I fold my hands neatly on the desk. “Then I have even less patience for this conversation than I assumed.”

A flicker of pain crosses his face. Or maybe I’m wrong and it’s just exhaustion.

“The penthouse is quiet without you there.”

The words land with the force of a blow as I stare at him. Outwardly, I remain still. Inside, though, something shifts enough to leave me off balance.

As much as I don’t want to understand what he means, I do. The intimate dinners he cooked for us. The way we would silently sit in the same room, reading together. The opera tickets he bought because he knows how much I love it. Sleeping side by side, never touching yet always aware of each other.

The steady, inescapable gravity of him these past months left an indelible mark on me. And the quiet has gotten to me too, and that’s the problem. Instead of feeling relief when I left, I just feel…

Lonely.

My chin lifts a fraction. “If you came here to be nostalgic, I’m afraid you’re wasting your time.”

“I came here to say something I should have years ago.”

A chill slides through me as I push back in my chair, unable to sit still. The office feels too small, as if all the oxygen has been sucked from it. I rise and move toward the window, folding my arms as I stare out at the city. Lights shimmer against the dark glass.

“And what is that?”

Silence stretches long enough that I almost turn back before the words rasp out of him.

“When I ended our engagement, it wasn’t because I fell out of love with you.”

The world stops as I slowly turn back to him. Hugh hasn’t moved. He stands exactly where I left him, his shoulders squared.

“I’m sorry?”

His jaw flexes. “I still loved you when I ended our engagement.”

Laughter bubbles up inside me. “That is a spectacularly cruel thing to say after all this time.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for that.”

“Oh?” I take a step toward him before stopping myself. “Do you have any idea what it cost me to survive that? What it took to let myself believe you had simply stopped loving me?” My throat tightens as I force myself to hold his gaze. “Because that was far easier than imagining you’d loved me and left anyway.”

His eyes close briefly, as if each word is painful.

When he opens them again, they’re darker. “It was about survival.”

The air leaves my lungs in a shallow rush as confusion and dread crash over me. It’s a sick, sinking sensation because I don’t know where this is going, only that it’ll rip open the wounds I’d long thought were healed.

I force myself to ask, “What does that mean?”

He exhales slowly. “It means my father wasn’t a good man.”

Some part of me has always known that Malcolm Landry was hard and controlling. He was cold in the way men of a certain generation and breeding often think of as strength. He intimidated rooms by merely entering them, and looked at people like pieces on a chessboard. Valuable only if they could be moved in a strategic way that benefited him.

“And I wasn’t strong enough to fight him when I should’ve.”

The words drop between us like stones.

For a second, all I can do is stare. Despite my best efforts, my voice comes out sounding unsteady. “Fight him over what?”

Hugh’s throat works once. “My father had already arranged it.”

I blink.

Arranged what?

The answer comes before I can ask.

“Dana was never a choice. She was part of a deal.”

For one horrible second, I don’t understand. Even though I hear the words clearly, my mind refuses to assemble them into anything coherent, as if doing so would require acknowledging a reality too grotesque to accept.

“A deal,” I repeat.

He nods once. “A merger. Assets. Land. Political influence. The kind of arrangement powerful men call practical when what they really mean is profitable.” Bitterness roughens the edges of his voice. “My father had been negotiating it for months without my knowledge. By the time I realized what he’d done, the contract was final.”

I stare at him, nausea curling low in my belly. “No.”

“It’s the truth.”

“No.” The word comes out sharper this time. If I allow myself to believe what he’s confessing, the entire architecture of my life threatens to collapse. “You’re telling me that your father bartered your marriage like a business transaction?”

“That’s exactly what he did.”

“And you expect me to believe you had no choice in the matter?”

His gaze never wavers. “He threatened to give Astrid to one of his mafia cronies. There was no way I could risk calling his bluff.”

I press a hand to the edge of my desk, needing to feel something solid beneath my fingertips as the room tilts. “How old was she then? Sixteen?”

“Yes. She wouldn’t have been able to withstand something like that. She’s always been…” He pauses, searching for a word to describe his younger sister. “Fragile.”

I don’t understand how a father could be so cruel to his own children.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

For decades, I’ve lived with a very specific version of how our story ended. Painful, yes. Both humiliating as well as devastating. But simple in that Hugh chose another woman. I built an entire life around surviving that heartache. And I vowed never to be hurt like that again.

And now the man I once loved with all my heart is standing in my office telling me that none of it had been a choice at all.

My gaze snaps back to his. “You still let me believe it.”

He flinches. “I had to.”

I laugh again, but there’s not a drop of humor in the hollowed-out sound. “Did you?”

“Evie—”

“No.” I hold up a hand, cutting him off. “Don’t you dare call me that. Not now.”

His mouth closes.

I turn away for a second, staring blindly at the photographs on the credenza. Smiling faces and beautiful lies. My chest hurts so much, it’s a challenge to pull air into my lungs.

“You let me spend all those years thinking I wasn’t enough,” I whisper raggedly.

When the room remains silent behind me, I turn back to find that his face has paled.

“I never thought that. Not ever.”

“Then why?” I demand, the force of it surprising even me. “Why did you let me carry that?”

His jaw clenches. “I thought hating me would be easier for you than knowing the truth.”

I can only stare.

He gives a harsh shake of his head. “I thought if you believed I’d simply stopped loving you, it would be easier to move on.”

The words feel more like a slap.

“You arrogant fool,” I snap.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.” My eyes burn. “You don’t get to walk in here after all these years and act like rewriting my life was for my own good.”

He blanches. “I’m not asking you to see it that way.”

“Then how exactly am I supposed to see it?”

He drags a hand through his hair, and for the first time since walking in, he looks stripped raw.

“As cowardice.” His gaze holds mine with unflinching clarity. “As weakness and fear. As me failing you when it mattered most.” His voice roughens. “Take your pick, Evie. They all fit.”

Tears prick my eyes. I hate crying in front of anyone. Most of all, I hate crying in front of this man. But there are too many nights I spent questioning my own worth. Too many careful decisions made around an old wound I believed was settled, only to discover decades later that it had been poisoned all along.

“You married her.”

It’s not an accusation but grief.

Hugh’s jaw tightens, a faint grimace pulling at his mouth like the words cost him more than he wants to show. “I did.”

I swallow hard and force out the question. “Did you love her?”

His response is quick, without hesitation. “No.”

Instead of his answer being a balm to my pain, it only makes it worse. Love at least would have made sense. Love would have made me the casualty of another choice. Brutal but understandable. This is so much uglier and colder. A life redirected by men who thought power mattered more than people. A girl abandoned not because she was unloved, but because the people deciding her future never once considered her at all.

When my knees grow unsteady, I sink back into my chair without grace.

Hugh takes a step forward. When I give him a sharp look, he stops.

Good. Let him stand there for once, feeling what restraint costs.

“Do you have any idea what this has done to me?” I ask, congratulating myself for keeping the thin waver out of my voice.

He looks as if he might be physically sick. “No.”

“No,” I say, tears slipping free despite my best effort to keep them contained, “you couldn’t possibly.”

He doesn’t move to comfort me. And somehow that makes the ache even worse. There once was a time that if I cried, Hugh would have crossed any space between us without a second thought. Now, decades later, he finally understands that I might not survive his touch should he try to give it.

Or perhaps he wouldn’t survive my rejection of it.

I swipe at my cheek. “You let me build a life around a lie.”

The words hang between us. For one long second, I think he might deny it or try to explain it away.

“You’re right.”

Simple. Honest. Brutal.

When he doesn’t try to fight the truth, my chest seizes all over again.

He takes a breath. “I’m not asking for forgiveness.”

My head jerks up and I study him, surprised to find that he actually means it. I can hear it in the scrape of his voice and see it in the rigidity of his posture.

“I haven’t earned that,” he admits. “I might never earn it.”

For a moment, the room goes so quiet, I can hear the thudding of my own pulse.

“But I’d like the chance to try.”

My insides tremble, because what he’s asking is worse than begging. Begging would be easier to resist. Easier to dismiss as guilt, loneliness, or age making fools of both of us. His sincerity reaches deep inside me to a place I buried long ago, and that’s what undoes me.

When he moves, it’s not to close the distance between us but to drop down in front of me. His movements are slow and deliberate. Like a man lowering himself beneath the full weight of his own pride.

My breath catches as Hugh falls to his knees on the carpet in front of my desk. For one wild second, I wonder if I’m imagining it. If grief and fury and too many years of unrequited love have finally pushed me over the edge.

But no, there he is. The boy who once broke my heart. And the man who spent years carrying himself like he could withstand anything.

Now he’s on his knees in my office.

His gaze never leaves mine. “I should have fought for you then,” he says quietly, each word landing with crushing precision. “I should have told you the truth.” His throat works. “And I did neither of them.”

A tear slides down my cheek, and this time, I don’t bother wiping it away.

When he reaches into the inside pocket of his coat, my heart stutters. He draws out a small velvet box, worn soft at the edges by time. I know what it is before he opens it, and my hand flies to my mouth. He sets the box gently on the desk between us before flipping back the lid.

My ring.

It’s not one that’s similar or inspired by.

But mine.

The one he slid onto my finger with shaking hands in a garden twenty-eight years ago. The one I thought was gone forever. Sold or buried. Lost to history the way I tried, and failed, to lose him.

The emerald catches the light as I stare at it through blurred vision. “You kept it.”

His voice nearly breaks when he answers. “There was no way I could get rid of it.”

I look from the ring to his face, and realize this isn’t a performance or strategy.

Only love.

Love and regret and ruin and something so enduring it makes my heart ache to witness it.

“I never stopped being yours, Evie.”

The words shatter whatever resolve is left within me, making it impossible to speak or even breathe. I can only stare at the ring gleaming on my desk and the man kneeling before me, and know, with sickening certainty, that nothing in my life will ever be the same again.

Epilogue

Cheyenne

Cast members move around me in a blur of satin, makeup, whispered lines, and quick costume checks. One of the actors laughs a little too loudly as another curses under his breath over a snagged zipper. The stage manager moves through it all with a clipboard in hand and the kind of calm authority I envy with every shaky beat of my heart.

Beyond the curtain, the murmur of the audience swells into a low roar, and my stomach drops. For one terrifying second, I can only stand and stare, my fingers curling around the edge of the dressing table until my knuckles ache.

This is a live production. There aren’t cameras or retakes. No one calling cut and telling me to do it again with a different smile, from a different angle. It’s just me, a packed theater on opening night, and the dream that felt so out of reach, I nearly convinced myself it would never happen.

A laugh ripples through the audience, followed by the rustle of playbills and the muffled hum of anticipation. That’s all it takes for panic to slither down my spine.

Oh God.

What if I forget my lines?

Or freeze?

What if I walk out there and every fear I’ve been carrying turns out to be true?

What if everyone who looked at me and only saw a reality star playing dress-up was right?

I press a shaky hand to my stomach and force myself to breathe, but the inhale catches halfway in.

“Hey, babe. You doing okay?”

Relief rushes through me at the sound of his voice, and my knees nearly buckle. I pivot, and there Knox is, broad shoulders filling the narrow backstage hallway. He’s dressed for opening night in dark slacks and a white button-down that stretches across his chest, the sleeves rolled to his forearms. He’s clean-shaven, and his hair is pushed back as his eyes lock on me.

My throat constricts. “I’m fine.”

When one of his brows lift, I huff out a weak laugh. “Okay, that’s a lie. I’m nowhere near fine.”

He closes the distance between us with a couple easy strides, stopping only when he’s a few feet away. His gaze drifts over me, as if taking in every detail.

His expression softens. “You look the part, baby.”

Emotion rises within me. This costume isn’t flashy the way the things I used to wear on red carpets were. It isn’t built to sell something or catch a camera. It’s elegant and fitted, with cream silk, a soft shimmer, and delicate beading at the neckline.

It makes me feel like the woman I’ve been reaching for my whole life. And Knox looks at me like he understands that.

“Hopefully, I won’t humiliate myself,” I say, trying for lighthearted even as nerves vibrate through every word.

His mouth curves into a devastating smile. “You could walk out there and stand still for two damn hours, and every person in that audience would think they got their money’s worth.”

I snort. “I very much doubt that.”

“It’s true.” He reaches into his pocket. “I brought you something to celebrate opening night.”

My gaze drops to the small velvet box in his hand, and a different kind of flutter works its way through me. “Knox…”

“Go on and open it.”

His voice is gentle, but there’s a quiet thread of command beneath it that always makes my pulse skip.

I take the box carefully, and our fingers brush during the exchange. That tiny touch manages to steady me. When I lift the lid, my breath catches. Inside is a delicate gold necklace. Instead of being overdone or flashy, it’s dainty and understated. Unmistakably expensive because Knox McNichols doesn’t know how to do anything halfway.

At the center hangs a small charm. It’s a star with a sparkling diamond set into the middle.

I look up at him. “It’s stunning.”

His gaze never leaves mine. “Flip it over.”

My fingers shake as I turn the star over, and my heart clenches. Etched into the back in tiny script are the words No more cages.

For a second, everything around me falls away.

The noise.

The lights.

The chaos backstage.

It all fades beneath the weight of those three words.

My vision blurs as I swallow hard, but it doesn’t stop the thick emotion from rising in my throat. “Knox.”

He reaches up and brushes his thumb just beneath my eye before the tears can spill. “You said once that when you were a teenager, you used to look up at the stars and imagine a life that was yours. A life where nobody else got to decide who you were.”

I can barely breathe now, but for an entirely different reason.

I did tell him that late one night while we were curled up in bed. How I used to lie awake and stare out the windows, wishing for something bigger than the life everyone kept trying to push me into. Something that was mine alone.

I never thought he’d remember the exact words.

His hand slides to the side of my neck. “When you walk out there tonight, I want you wearing a reminder.”

“A reminder of what?”

“That no one and nothing owns you. Not your mother, the cameras, or even the past.” His thumb strokes my skin. “You go out there because this is what you chose. It’s the life you were brave enough to create for yourself, and I want you to fully embrace it.”

Another tear slips free, and I let out a watery laugh, pressing the heel of my hand against my cheek. “I think you’re trying to ruin my makeup right before I go on stage.”

His mouth twitches. “Totally worth it.”

I laugh again, handing him the necklace. “Would you mind putting it on for me, please?”

Tenderness flashes across his expression as he steps behind me. I lift my hair, and his fingers brush the nape of my neck as he fastens the clasp. His touch is careful, and the chain settles against my skin with a cool, delicate weight.

His palms slide lightly over my bare shoulders before he turns me to face him again. The star rests just above my heart.

Knox’s gaze drops to it before lifting to my face. “Perfect. Just like you, baby.”

I shake my head, smiling through the sting in my eyes. “You do realize I’m supposed to be focusing on my performance and not the fact that I’m hopelessly in love with you, right?”

He leans in until his forehead can rest against mine. “I guess it’s a good thing you can multitask.”

A shaky laugh escapes me as he angles his head. The kiss is gentle, exactly what I need to quiet my racing thoughts and remind me where my center is.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” I whisper.

His gaze darkens. “We both know I’m the one who got lucky here.”

The stage manager appears at the corner and gestures. “Places.”

Nervousness flares within me again.

Knox leans in and kisses my forehead. “Go shine, baby.”

I smile up at him, because somehow that simple phrase feels more powerful than any pep talk ever could.

It’s only after he disappears that I move toward the curtain. My pulse thunders, but not with panic.

Well, not exactly. It’s a mixture of adrenaline and hope.

Carefully, I edge toward a gap in the curtain and peek out at the packed theater. There are rows of stylishly attired people filling the seats as the orchestra pit hums below, the musicians checking instruments one final time.

My heart stutters as I scan the crowd. Knox is in the front section with our family. Britt and Colby. Gray and Whitney. Some of the Railers are sprawled in their seats like they don’t entirely belong in a theater but showed up anyway because they love me, and Knox would have killed them if they didn’t.

Whitney catches my eye and gives me a knowing smile, the kind that says she knew exactly where this was headed long before either of us did. She was the one who said the best relationships start out by fake dating, and judging by the warmth in her expression, she’s feeling pretty vindicated right about now.

Britt leans into Colby, grinning, while Gray gives Knox a clap on the shoulder. There’s no hesitation or awkwardness there. No one looking at us like we moved too fast or made a mistake.

Unable to help myself, my attention resettles on Knox, the way it always does. He glances toward the curtain, as if he can feel the weight of my stare. Our gazes meet across the crowded theater, and for one suspended moment, everything else falls away.

It’s just him and that unwavering sense of rightness I always feel in his presence. After a moment, he gives me a slight nod. And, somehow, that tiny movement is enough to banish the nerves. My throat wells with emotion as I let the curtain fall back into place and close my eyes for one brief second.

When I open them again, I touch the star resting above my heart.

No more cages.

A smile curves my lips as I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and step into position.

Not as the girl hoping she belongs here, but as the woman who knows she earned her place.

Epilogue

Knox

Applause rings in my ears as I push through the backstage doors. People are everywhere and cast members are still in costume. The crew is moving props around as the babble of excited voices overlaps. There’s an explosion of flowers and laughter. The energy that fills the space is the kind that comes after something big lands exactly the way it was meant to.

I barely register any of it. All I see is Cheyenne standing in the middle of the madness with her arms full of bouquets, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright. She’s smiling at something one of the other actors says, but there’s a dazed quality to it, like she still can’t quite believe this is her life.

I can.

I watched every damn second—from the moment she stepped out there and owned the theater like she was born for it to the final bow she took before the curtain came down. And through it all, she made it look effortless. Especially when I know how much work, fear, and grit it took for her to get here. I watched her stand in front of a packed house and claim the life she used to think was too far out of reach to touch.

And I watched her become the woman she was always meant to be.

As I stand here now, knowing she chose this life and built it with her own two hands, it damn near brings me to my knees. This is the moment that will change everything for her. And through all of it, I get to be the man standing at her side.

Cheyenne looks up just as I reach her, and our gazes lock. For one split second, everything around us drops away. The noise, the people, the flowers in her arms.

All of it.

Before my name even makes it past her lips, my hands are on her waist and I’m lifting her off the floor. She laughs as the bouquets get crushed between us.

“You were amazing,” I tell her.

Her smile wobbles. “You really think so?”

“Baby, you killed it.” I tighten my hold on her. “No, fuck that. I knew you’d be good and that you belonged out there, but what you did tonight…” I exhale, still trying to wrap my head around it. “You walked on stage and took something that was always meant to be yours. You made that whole theater believe in you.”

A mixture of relief and pride flickers across her expression as her eyes glisten with tears.

Her fingers slide into the hair at the nape of my neck. “You really mean that?”

“Chey.” My hand drifts higher along her back. “I’ve never meant anything more in my life.”

She releases a breath before grinning. “Thank you for believing in me and helping me to believe in myself.”

My mind flashes through all of it at once. The months of her running lines. The nights she second-guessed herself. The mornings she needed someone to look her in the eye and tell her she could do it.

That she was already enough.

That this life was hers if she was brave enough to take it.

A smirk tugs at my mouth before I can stop it. “Pretty hard not to when you’re so damn talented.”

She turns her face toward mine until my lips are able to find hers. The kiss is brief, but it’s enough for her to melt into me.

She draws back before whispering, “I love you.”

Those three words bowl me over every goddamn time.

I kiss her once more. “Love you too, baby.”

There’s a long dramatic sigh from behind us.

“All right, McNichols. Give the girl a little room to breathe,” Rina announces. “She literally just brought the house down.”

Cheyenne laughs again as I set her on her feet, though I keep one arm banded around her waist.

Rina narrows her eyes. “You’re still hogging her.”

“That’s because she’s mine,” I shoot back.

Amusement dances in Cheyenne’s eyes.

Rina snorts. “You’re such a caveman.”

“Where this woman is concerned? Correct.”

That earns me an eye roll from Lilah.

Sloane lifts a brow. “Subtle.”

Kia smiles as Callie shakes her head.

But I don’t care. They can give me all the shit they want. I just watched the woman I love walk onto a stage and set the world on fire.

Even though people continue wandering over to congratulate Cheyenne, my hand never leaves the small of her back. It’s a quiet reminder that I’m here and that I’ve got her. No matter how big this gets, she’ll never have to carry it alone.

The afterparty starts forming around us in loose, glittering clusters. Theater people, producers, family, and friends. Cheyenne handles all of it beautifully, gracious and smiling and somehow still entirely herself.

Every once in a while, she glances at me, and my chest tightens in response. It takes everything in me not to hustle her out the door, but it’s important she enjoys this moment.

Her moment.

A few hours later, Cheyenne whispers, “Would you mind if we sneak out?”

I grin. “I thought you’d never ask, baby.”

Rina points a threatening finger at me as we collect the flowers and slip from the crowd. “Don’t kidnap her for, like, a week. The woman just had a breakout moment.”

I guide Cheyenne toward the exit. “Sorry, no promises.”

Chey laughs under her breath. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe so, but you still love me.”

Her smile softens. “One hundred percent.”

By the time we make it to the car, she’s quieter. The adrenaline is still there, but it’s shifted now. It’s less bright and bubbly, more like she’s finally starting to come down enough to feel the weight of the evening.

I open the passenger door, taking the flowers from her and arranging them carefully in the back before helping her in.

“Thank you again for the necklace. I absolutely love it.”

My gaze drops to the gold star resting against her chest. It glints under the streetlights, and something in my chest pulls tight.

“It looks good on you.” I lean down and kiss her. “But then again, everything does.”

The drive home doesn’t take more than fifteen minutes. I keep one hand on the steering wheel and the other on her thigh, the silence between us easy. The second we step inside the penthouse, she kicks off her heels and laughs when she sees how many bouquets we actually brought home.

“This is ridiculous.”

I set the flowers on the counter. “You earned it.”

She wanders farther into the kitchen, touching petals and shaking her head.

My place has had pieces of her in it for a while now. Hair products in my bathroom. A sweater slung over the back of the couch. The tea she likes stocked in the cabinet. A charger plugged in on my nightstand. But tonight, watching her move through the space barefoot and flushed and carrying opening-night flowers, it doesn’t feel temporary.

It feels settled.

Right.

Like the life I’ve been building around her has finally caught up with what I’ve known for a while.

I loosen my tie and toss my keys onto the counter. “Are you hungry?”

She turns toward me with a smile. “A little.”

“I had dinner sent up earlier. Figured you’d want to eat afterward.”

Her brows lift. “You did?”

With a shrug, I move toward the warming drawer. “Yup. Always thinking about you, Hollywood.”

Gratitude flashes across her face. “You’re the best.”

I give her a wink. “And don’t you forget it.”

I plate the food while she puts the flowers in water, and the quiet domesticity of it hits me harder than expected. Chey hums under her breath as I move around her, and when she reaches for a vase, I hand it to her before she has a chance to ask. From the get-go, it’s felt like we’re in sync, and that hasn’t changed.

We settle at the kitchen island to eat, the conversation easy and familiar just like always. She glances around the space, her expression softening in a way that makes my chest constrict.

After a moment, I set my fork down and reach for her hand. “You know this is your home too, right?”

She slides off the stool and steps close enough for my arms to wrap around her.

“I do. Thank you. For everything.”

I rest my chin on top of her head. “I love you, Chey. I really fucking love you.”

“I love you too.”

I narrow my eyes. “But do you really fucking love me?”

With a chuckle, she presses her lips to mine. “I do. So much that it hurts to breathe when we’re not together.”

“Same, baby.”

My mouth settles over hers. The kiss isn’t quick. It’s slow and deep and full of everything we don’t need to say out loud because we just know.

When we finally pull apart, she stays tucked against me.

“You mean everything to me, Knox.”

I caress her cheek with my knuckles. “Right back at you, Hollywood.”

After everything it took for Cheyenne to fight for the life she wanted and still choose to come home to me, a deep certainty takes root within me.

This isn’t a moment or a temporary arrangement.

This woman is my future.

And I can’t wait for it to unfold with her at my side.

Bonus Chapter

Sloane

By the time I get home, my feet are throbbing, my head is pounding, and I’m approximately one crappy comment away from faking my own death.

The apartment looks like a barely contained disaster. There’s a backpack dumped in the middle of the living room floor. Somebody left a cereal bowl on the coffee table near the TV. Math worksheets are spread across the table, and there’s a hoodie draped over the back of a chair. A single sock hangs off the arm of the couch like it gave up halfway through life.

That’s a choice I feel deep in my bones.

I nudge the door shut with my hip, and drop my bag onto the floor before spotting tennis shoes abandoned in the kitchen.

“Sawyer,” I call without raising my voice.

There’s a beat and then a groan from the couch. “What? I put them away.”

I continue staring at the sneakers. “Really? Did they get up and walk to the kitchen on their own?”

“Hey, anything’s possible, Sis.”

I close my eyes for a brief second. After eight hours spent at the bakery, one college class, and half a chapter of reading snuck in during my breaks, I’m running on caffeine, bad posture, and whatever fumes I’ve got left in the tank, which isn’t much.

I kick off my shoes by the door and head to the kitchen. “Move them before they get thrown in the trash. After the day I’ve had, that’s not an idle threat.”

“Wow,” my younger brother mutters. “Hostile.”

“Trust me, you haven’t seen hostile yet.”

That gets me absolutely nothing except a dramatic sigh from him and a snort from the table where Faith is hunched over her laptop, pencil tucked into the messy knot at the top of her head.

At least one of them is doing homework. We’ll consider that a win.

Caleb, unfortunately, is standing on a kitchen chair while rifling through the cabinet. “We’re out of crackers.”

I drop my forehead briefly against the refrigerator. “Sounds like you’ll have to survive without them tonight.”

He groans. “But I like crackers with soup. It’s my favorite.”

“I know,” I say, straightening and reaching for the pot I shoved in the fridge this morning before my bakery shift. “I’ll pick some up at the store tomorrow. Promise.”

“Can’t you go now?”

When I narrow my eyes at him, he flashes a dimpled grin in response.

Damn him.

It’s impossible to stay annoyed with the kid when he’s such a cutie.

I point at the table. “Homework, kiddo. I’m sure you have a math or reading sheet.”

His smile widens. “Nope. We did it at school.”

I don’t even blink. “Liar. Should I call Ms. Jennings right now? You know I have her number.”

With a pout, he hops down from the chair and drags it toward the table.

I move around the tiny kitchen, reheating soup, pulling out bread, and checking the clock on the microwave, all the while mentally running through tomorrow’s schedule. A headache is already brewing behind my eyes as I unscrew the cap on a bottle of ibuprofen with one hand and swallow three pills dry.

Bakery at six.

Sawyer has a math quiz tomorrow.

Caleb needs a permission slip signed.

Faith has dance after school.

I have a paper due Thursday, and an exam on Friday I’ve barely studied for.

Oh, and the electric bill is due in three days.

Which reminds me, I still need to email the financial aid office back.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, I’m supposed to sleep.

Sure.

My siblings don’t ask who’s going to sign the field trip form or pick up crackers from the grocery store. They don’t know which day the rent clears or whether there’s enough detergent left to make it through the week. They just expect me to do it because they’re still kids and life has dealt them a shitty hand.

After Caleb was born, our mother decided that being a parent wasn’t in the cards for her and she skipped town without a word. By day three of her being MIA, I realized she wasn’t coming back.

So I got the job at Lakeshore Sweets and, thank God, it’s usually enough for us to squeak by.

I set bowls on the counter and wave the boys over while balancing my notebook open beside the toaster. My sociology notes stare back at me like a neon accusation.

Faith frowns at her screen. “Can you read this paragraph? I don’t know if it makes sense.”

“Nothing makes sense after eight-thirty at night,” I tell her. “You’re tired.”

“It’s only seven-forty.”

“Then why does it feel like midnight?”

No one answers because they’re too busy eating, arguing over who got more soup, and accusing each other of stealing chargers they absolutely all stole from each other at some point. Disappearing chargers are basically a recurring household crisis.

It’s exhausting.

I sink onto a chair with my own bowl and then read the same sentence in my notes for the third time without processing a single word.

That’s when my eyes start to burn.

There’s still flour dusted on the sleeve of my black shirt from the bakery, and my hair has fully given up on the claw clip I shoved it into at five this morning. Both my shoulders and lower back ache. At this point, even my eyelashes are tired.

Across from me, Sawyer nudges Caleb with his elbow and Caleb shoves him right back.

“Stop it,” I say automatically, not bothering to look up from my notes.

“He started it,” Sawyer says.

“I did not!” Caleb huffs.

“Did too. You breathed on me.”

I lower the paper and glare at both of them. “I swear to God, if either of you makes me referee a breathing argument tonight, you can both wash dishes for the rest of the month.”

There’s a brief moment of silence before Faith snorts into her soup.

I point my spoon at her. “You too.”

She raises both hands. “Hey, I’m innocent in all this.”

“No one in this apartment is innocent.”

When my phone buzzes against the counter, I ignore it. A few seconds later, it vibrates again.

Sawyer glances at it. “Sounds like someone’s trying to get a hold of you, Sis.”

“It’s probably a scam call,” I mutter.

My sister lifts a brow. “Scam calls don’t text memes.”

I give her a sharp look. “Who said it was a meme?”

She smirks.

Traitor.

With the kind of resignation usually reserved for tax audits and root canals, I grab the phone from the counter. Before even glancing at the screen, I already know who it is.

Jax.

The preview is just an image and one line of text:

Annoying Puck Boy:

This cat has your energy

Against my better judgment, I open the convo and find a picture of a tortoiseshell cat in a sweater glaring at the camera.

It takes effort to stop my lips from twitching.

There’s a message beneath the photo.

Annoying Puck Boy:

This is proof that somewhere out there is your spirit animal

I stare at the screen. This is exactly the kind of thing I don’t have time for tonight. Or any night, for that matter. I don’t have time for memes and hockey players with dimples that are used like tactical weapons. I don’t have time for men who flirt like it’s second nature and grin like no one’s ever told them no before.

If I ever find out who gave Jax Wilder my number, I’ll bludgeon them to death.

With pleasure.

Still, the cat flashes in my head again, and the corner of my mouth betrays me.

Faith narrows her eyes. “Wait a minute… Is that… a smile?”

I straighten on the chair. “Absolutely not.”

Her eyes dance with mischief. “Yeah, it was. I saw it.”

“You’re wrong about that.”

Sawyer leans across the table, as if he can smell weakness. “Is that the hockey guy again?”

My answer comes a little too quickly. “No. Of course not.”

Three skeptical faces stare back at me.

I sigh. “Eat your soup.”

Sawyer points his spoon at me. “That’s a yes.”

“It’s not a yes.”

“It’s not a no either,” Faith singsongs.

I glare at the two of them. “Why are you people so obsessed with this?”

Sawyer shrugs. “’Cuz you hate everyone, and you only make that face when it’s him.”

I blink. “I do not make a face.”

He just stares at me.

Faith nods. “You kind of do.”

“What face?” I ask begrudgingly.

Sawyer sets his spoon down. “Like you’re annoyed but also not.”

“That’s not a face.”

“Sure, it is,” Sawyer says.

I inhale a slow breath through my nose. This is what my life has become. I work eight-hour shifts, run a household on caffeine and spite, and get psychoanalyzed by children who still leave wet towels on the floor and shoes in the middle of the kitchen.

Seriously love that for me.

I reach for my phone again, mostly so I can delete the text in front of them out of pure principle, but before I can unlock it, it buzzes for a third time.

Instead of a meme or a text, there’s a voice note.

With a squeal, Faith claps her hands. “Play it for the class, please.”

“No way.”

“Come on, Sloane,” she whines. “Just do it. We all want to hear what he has to say.”

“No.”

Sawyer grins. “Why not? There something you’re not telling us?”

I narrow my eyes at the little shit. “Don’t you have an algebra quiz to study for?”

“Kind of seems like you have a hockey-playing boyfriend you’re trying to hide from us,” my brother says with a devilish smile.

I point at him so fast I nearly spill my soup. “He is not my boyfriend. I barely know the guy.”

Faith and Sawyer exchange a dubious look. That’s when I realize they’re not going to let this go any time soon.

Caleb props his chin in his hand. “Why are your cheeks so red?”

“They’re not red.”

“Yeah, they are, dude,” Sawyer says with a laugh.

I rise so abruptly my chair scrapes loudly against the floor. “You know what? I’m done with this conversation.” I pause and glare at Sawyer. Whoever said the teen years were a nightmare was completely right. “And don’t call me dude.”

Faith and Sawyer grin at one another, like they’re sharing a private joke, as Caleb continues to eat his soup. I snatch up my phone and stalk toward the sink, opening the voice note only because if I don’t, they’ll follow me around, yapping about it until they’re blue in the face.

I keep the volume low.

Jax’s amused voice spills through the speaker.

“Before you get mad, I’d like to officially state that the cat found me, not the other way around. I was selected. Also, you do not look grumpy. You look aggressively unimpressed, which feels both more accurate and somehow hotter. And if you’re currently pretending not to laugh at my jokes, I still deserve points for commitment. That’s all. Night, Sloane.”

My stomach does this weird nosedive thing as I lock the phone again.

Behind me, Sawyer is the first to pipe up. “Well? What’d it say?”

I rinse my spoon under the faucet, trying to sound bored. “Nothing. It was just a bunch of random nonsense.”

Faith hums. “So it was, in fact, the hockey guy.”

I shut off the water before turning around. “You’re all seriously exhausting.”

Sawyer squints at me. “Wanna know what I think?”

“Not really.”

“That you like him,” he finishes triumphantly.

A short, disbelieving sound escapes me. “Please.” I grab a piece of bread from the counter and tear off a chunk. “I can barely tolerate the man.”

“Uh-huh,” Faith says. “Sure.”

“False,” Sawyer adds.

I look at the ceiling and pray for patience. “You know what sounds false? That all three of you don’t have better things to do, like homework.”

“You’re in such denial,” Faith says with a shrug.

“I believe you, Sloanie,” Caleb says as he shoves another spoonful of soup into his mouth.

“Thank you.” At least one of them won’t get booted to the curb tonight.

The topic is thankfully dropped when Sawyer starts scrolling his phone and Faith gets a text from a friend.

What I hate admitting, even privately to myself, is that I don’t know what to do with Jax Wilder.

I know what to do with bills and deadlines. With overtime hours and school forms and grocery lists and exhaustion so deep, it settles into my bones. What I know best is how to survive and keep moving.

What I don’t know how to do is make room for someone who makes me laugh when I’m too tired to feel anything at all. Someone who sends me ridiculous cat memes in the middle of a week that already feels too damn long. Someone who looks at me like he sees past the sharp edges and doesn’t mind getting cut by them.

That’s the part that scares me most.

Not that Jax is charming.

He is.

Ridiculously so.

Or that he’s attractive.

Also annoyingly true.

It’s that when he shows up on my phone, in my head, or in the corner of a room wearing that ridiculous smile, that I stop feeling like the guardian of three kids with too much on my plate. And for a second, I just feel like a woman. At this stage of the game, wanting anything for myself feels pointless. Especially when I’m just trying to tread water without drowning.

My phone rests against the counter beside me, silent for now. I don’t pick it up again. And I don’t delete the voice note either. Which probably says more than I want it to.

Across the room, Sawyer mutters about algebraic equations while Faith corrects him and Caleb digs through the drawer for a pencil.

The apartment is loud, cramped, and messy.

But it’s ours.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, beneath the fatigue, schedules, and the relentless pressure of being the person everyone in this family counts on, there’s this tiny, stubborn spark of anticipation I refuse to examine.

I already know where that road leads, and it’s not one I’m willing to walk down.

I don’t have time to want a man like Jax Wilder. Which is probably why he’s decided to pitch a tent and camp out in my thoughts.

Thank you so much for reading Keep Me Close! I hope you enjoyed Cheyenne and Knox’s story as much as I loved writing it! My favorite heroes to write are swoony men who love their women fiercely, and if you haven’t noticed, I’ve definitely entered my golden retriever era. Want two exclusive bonus epilogues for Knox and Hugh? Along with a Bonus chapter for Jax? Click here to have it delivered straight to your in box!

The Chicago Railers Hockey series continues with Sloane & Jax’s story…

If you’re interested in signed copies, special editions, or direct audio, please visit

https://www.jennifersucevicstore.com

One-click Give Me Tonight now!

Give Me Tonight is an enemies-to-lovers, marriage-of-convenience pro hockey romance featuring a golden retriever hero who falls first—and a black cat heroine who’s spent her whole life standing on her own. He’s determined to prove he’s in it for the long haul… even if she’s terrified to believe him.

New to the Railers Series?

Start here with the FREE Make Me Yours Prequel!

All caught up on the Chicago Railers?

Readers who loved this series are bingeing the Western Wildcats. It’s another addictive hockey world filled with swoony heroes, intense rivalries, and unforgettable love stories.

Want to read Colby & Britt’s’s book? Check out Never Say Never! And read Gray & Whitney’s book- The Breakup Plan!

Turn the page for excerpts from Never Say Never & The Breakup Plan …

Colby McNichols, otherwise known as the baby-faced assassin, is the left wing for the Western Wildcats hockey team.  All he has to do is sign his name on the dotted line and he’ll play for the pros after his senior season.  What I’ve heard from the girls on campus, who aren’t shy about spilling the tea, is that he’s totally earned his reputation.

And then some.

It’s just one of the reasons I choose to steer clear.

Trust me when I say that my life is complicated enough without getting tangled up with a player.

For reasons I can’t fathom, Colby has decided to insert himself in my life.  Everywhere I go, there he is.  Which makes holding him at a distance nearly impossible.  He might be smoking hot but there’s zero point in starting something with this guy.  Especially since I can’t be honest about who I am.

Unfortunately, a weekend spent in Vegas changes everything.

Turns out that our friends weren’t the only ones who tied the knot in Sin City.

I can only hope that what they say is true—what happens in Vegas stays there.

Because if it doesn’t…

I’m screwed.

And not in a good way.

One-click Never Say Never now!

Never Say Never

The guy hasn’t said a single word yet, and already my skin is buzzing with awareness. How is it possible that his steady gaze sliding over my body feels more like a physical caress than anything else?

It doesn’t make the least bit of sense.

I’m not into his brand of handsome.

He’s way too attractive for his own good.

Even worse than that?

He knows it.

And uses it as a weapon of female destruction.

I’m well acquainted with his type.

And I’m not interested.

If only it were possible to stomp out the arousal that has settled at the bottom of my belly like an unmovable stone.

Ever since stepping foot on campus in August, I’ve been inundated with the stories that circulate regarding Colby McNichols. At this point, they’re more like urban legends or Western University folklore. Tales that will be passed down for generations to come. Even if I hadn’t heard about him, it would be impossible not to catch sight of all the girls that cling to the guy like baby rhesus monkeys.

And not one at a time, either.

These chicks don’t care if they need to share him just to get a small taste.

Can you even imagine?

Ummm….no thanks.

In fact, I just threw up in my mouth.

Gross.

On both accounts.

Mr. Too Hot to Handle needs to move it along, because I am definitely not a puck bunny who’ll fall onto her back and spread her legs wide. Or a groupie that’ll hang on his every word, hoping to be chosen for the night. This guy eats girls up like sugary cereal in the morning before moving onto the next thirty minutes later.

I’m probably giving him way too much credit.

More like fifteen.

I bet his starfish impression is dead on.

Sadly, they love him for it.

I just can’t.

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” he says, deep voice smooth and brimming with confidence as he interrupts my conversation with Carina.

I got to know the pretty blonde dancer during the fall semester and really clicked with her. She seems more like a girl’s girl.

Which is refreshing.

And I enjoy her friends just as much. Juliette, Stella, Viola, and Fallyn are all great girls who have welcomed me into their tight-knit group with open arms. This is the first time in almost a decade that I can actually say I have a handful of genuine female friendships. They have no idea just how much that means to me.

Maybe if I ignore him long enough, he’ll get the hint and exit stage left.

A second or two ticks by before he turns up the wattage of his smile. It makes the dimples in his cheeks pop and flash. It takes effort to stomp out the zip of electricity attempting to sizzle its way through my veins.

“What’s your name, beautiful?”

Sigh.

So much for him picking up what I’m laying down.

When it becomes obvious that he isn’t going to get lost until I double down on my disinterest, I flick a steely look in his direction.

One that will hopefully shrivel his balls.

“I’m not interested. So, feel free to move it along.”

Dismissing him, I resume my convo with Carina.

That hard-edged tone is usually enough to cause the most obnoxious of men to deflate like a popped balloon and slink away with their tails tucked firmly between their legs.

I’ve spent years honing it so that it’s razor sharp.

And just as deadly.

I’ve handled men twice my age who are execs in the biz and think that makes me fair game. So, putting this college hockey playing hottie in his place should be a piece of cake.

I wince at the unconscious descriptor.

His brows pinch as he blinks in confusion. “Excuse me?”

I’m forced to turn more fully in his direction before annunciating carefully as if talking to a two-year-old, “I said that I wasn’t interested. Hockey players aren’t my thing. Now, if you’ll⁠—”

The muscles in his face soften as he flashes another dazzling smile that’s even more swoonworthy than the first before giving me an—are you cray-cray look. Confidence drips from every word. “Sweetheart, I’m everybody’s thing.”

Thrown off by his response, my eyes widen as a burst of laughter escapes from me. This guy really is full of himself.

I mean…sure, I’d heard he was, but seeing it in action firsthand is another matter entirely. All I can say is that it’ll be an absolute pleasure to disabuse him of the notion that he can have any girl he wants simply by flashing his dimples. As I reach out and pat his clean-shaven cheek, another surge of desire flares to life before I douse it like an out-of-control kitchen fire.

“I’m sure that you are, pretty boy. But not mine.”

Genuine interest ignites in his eyes as he invades my personal space. It’s tempting to retreat a step, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“Here’s an idea—how about you let me buy you a shot and we’ll see just how wrong you are when I roll out of your bed in the morning?”

Irritation ignites inside me.

This guy has some serious nerve.

I’m barely aware that Fallyn’s jaw has become unhinged as her gaze bounces between the two of us.

Refusing to back down, I shake my head.

Now it’s a matter of principle.

“No thanks.” I point toward the crowded table in the back that buzzes with puck bunnies hoping to get lucky and slant him a cool look. “You seem to have your hands full. My advice is to stick with the groupies. You wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like me.”

A roguish grin slides across his face that makes him look even hotter. “Is that so?”

I lift my chin a notch. “Yup. Accept defeat gracefully while you still have the chance.”

“Oh, I think we’re way past that now. Don’t you, firecracker?”

“Firecracker?” A gurgle of laughter escapes from me as my eyes narrow. “Do the cutesy names actually work for you? Is it so you don’t have to remember someone’s name in the morning?”

His blue eyes flash like lightning in a bottle.

It’s almost mesmerizing.

Before the situation can escalate any further, Fallyn picks up her loaded tray and turns to Colby. “Hey, look—I have your shots. Why don’t you follow me to your table?”

He continues to pin me in place with the heat of his gaze. I can’t tell if he’s ignoring Fallyn or if his focus is so great that her voice isn’t able to penetrate it.

It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone stare at me so intently. Even with the dim lighting in the bar, I have to force myself not to squirm beneath his scrutiny. It’s the first time since stepping foot on campus that I’ve felt unnerved. I shake away the panic that floods my system and remind myself that I couldn’t look more different.

My hair is no longer lavender in hue, and it’s shoulder length. I’ve changed it back to its original rich, caramel color and chopped off about ten inches.

After all these months of living in plain sight, I’ve gradually lowered my guard.

My hand rises automatically before I realize that there isn’t a ball cap to tug over the upper portion of my face. Air gets clogged in my throat as I steel myself for what will happen next.

Just as the atmosphere turns oppressive and I’m seconds away from bolting out the back door, Fallyn taps him on the shoulder to reclaim his attention. The fear holding me paralyzed dissolves when he glances at the waitress.

“Here’s the shots you ordered,” Fallyn presses. “Ready to head back?”

Colby’s gaze returns to me. “Yup. Let’s go.”

With one final look that skewers me to the core, he swings away, moving through the thick press of bodies with the ease of a king walking among his loyal subjects. People scurry out of his way.

Just as a relieved breath leaks from my lungs, he twists back around and recaptures my gaze.

“This isn’t over, firecracker.”

Even though I’m rattled, I force a smile. “Actually, it is. You’ve just been hit in the head with a hockey puck too many times to realize it.” With a tip of my beer bottle, I turn and dismiss him.

Taunting this guy is a terrible idea and yet, I can’t seem to help myself.

It’s almost a surprise when he whips around and follows Fallyn instead of making his way back to me.

The only thing I can say with absolute certainty after that explosive encounter is that avoiding Colby McNichols for the foreseeable future is now at the top of my to-do list.

One-click Never Say Never!

The Breakup Plan

Out of nowhere, a brawny arm slides around my shoulders and hauls me close, anchoring me against a muscular body. Without looking, I know exactly who the culprit pinning me in place is. The woodsy scent is a dead giveaway.

The deep voice confirms my sinking suspicions.

Grayson McNichols.

“Miss me, baby?” he growls against my ear as his warm breath sends shivers skittering down my spine.

There’s an edge of humor simmering in his voice that thankfully kills the unwanted attraction that has leapt to life at his proximity. No matter how much I fight against it, he affects me like this every time. It’s why I’ve made it my mission in life to steer clear of Mr. Hellcat Hockey himself.

Needing to create distance between us before I get sucked any further into his orbit, I ram my elbow into his ribs. It’s not nearly hard enough to do any real damage, or even to separate myself from him so I can make a quick getaway.

Gray sticks to me like glue.

“Sure did. Almost as much as I’d miss a particularly nasty case of herpes.” I brace myself before flicking my eyes in his direction. “No matter what I do, you keep making an unsightly appearance at the worst possible time, just like an incurable STI.” I bare my teeth so he won’t think I’m being flirty.

He smirks.

My acidic comments are like water off a duck’s back.

It’s annoying.

Just like him.

“So, what you’re really trying to say is that I’m persistent,” he waggles his dark brows in a comical manner, “and you find that oddly appealing.”

Please…

As if…

Nothing could be further from the truth. Gray McNichols could eat shit and die, as far as I’m concerned.

He flashes me his trademark smile.

Dimples and all.

Ugh.

Those dimples are a real killer. If I have one weakness, it’s for a guy with Eddie Cibrian dimples. And Gray has them in spades. Now that I think about it, he kind of resembles Eddie Cibrian, circa early 2000’s. I try not to let the smile or—God help me—the dimples affect me, but it’s no easy feat.

I’ve spent years trying to steel myself against his magnetism and charm. To this day, I’m just barely able to hold on to my composure. Most of my behavior is sheer bravado. If he ever pushed me hard enough, the straw house I’ve built around myself for protection would collapse.

Not only is Gray ridiculously handsome, but he’s captain of the Hillsdale Hellcat hockey team, which only ups his hotness factor around campus. My guess is that he’s slept his way through half the female population at Hillsdale. All he has to do is smile and girls drop their panties before falling on their backs and spreading their legs wide.

How do I know this?

Here comes the embarrassing part…

Once upon a time, I was one of those girls.

Yup, it’s sad but true.

I know exactly what it’s like to have all that charismatic attention aimed in my direction. It happened second semester of freshman year. I’d seen Gray around campus and was a smitten kitten. And then, one night at a party, we hooked up.

Needless to say, it was a fuck-and-flee situation—the kind that’s chock-full of regret in the morning. I blame alcohol for my poor judgment.

Surprise surprise, I never heard a peep from Gray again.

Was I stupid enough to expect more?

Guilty as charged.

He fed me all the lines that are hot guy kryptonite to stupid girls like me, and I fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.

I know, I know…

Total.

Idiot.

Trust me, I won’t dispute the title. It may have taken a while, but I’ve come to a place of acceptance. Now, does that mean I’m dumb enough to fall for his easy breezy charm for a second time?

Hell to the no.

Those memories are all it takes to strengthen my resolve.

“What do you want, McNichols?” I hasten my step as we navigate the path that cuts through the heart of campus, but it does no good. I can’t separate myself from him. He keeps me trapped at his side.

People wave and shout Gray’s name, trying to capture his attention. His celebrity status is irritating. I seem to be one of the few students at Hillsdale who wants no part of him. Like a man who’s at ease with his station in life, he acknowledges his clamoring fanbase with a chin lift and a practiced wave of his hand.

What a pompous jerk.

Hillsdale is a Division I hockey school. Every year there are a handful of players drafted to the NHL. There’s no question that the muscular defenseman will get snapped up by the pros.

How could he not?

He’s the lead scorer three years running.

And yeah, that would be off the ice as well as on it.

Everyone at this school loves him.

Hell, the whole town worships him.

It’s nauseating.

He could have accepted a full ride from any top-notch university in the United States—everyone was vying for him—but he chose Hillsdale.

Lucky us.

You’d assume with over ten thousand students on campus, the chances of running into him on a nearly daily basis would be astronomically low.

Think again.

I wasn’t joking when I likened Gray to an incurable STI. Every time I turn around, there he is, in my face, acting like we’re BFF’s.

We don’t live near each other.

We’re not in the same major or in any classes together.

I make it a habit to avoid parties that I suspect he’ll be gracing with his esteemed presence. There are a ton of puck bunnies around these parts, but I’m not one of them.

And yet, I can’t get away from this guy to save my life.

Thank God this is our senior year. Once we graduate in May, I’ll never see Gray again. It’s that knowledge that makes it possible for me to get through moments like this.

“Just checking to see if you’ve changed your mind about us getting together.”

I snort at that little bit of ridiculousness. “Umm, I’m sorry. Did Hell happen to freeze over, and I’m the last one to find out?”

He squeezes my shoulder and a jolt of unwanted electricity zips through me. I gnash my teeth against my body’s natural response to him.

“You know how much I love it when you play hard to get.” He punctuates that sentiment by nipping at my neck.

My heart flutters, and it takes everything I have inside to keep my voice level and not betray the attraction roaring violently through my veins. “I’m not playing hard to get. What I’m playing is I-don’t-want-to-talk-to-you-ever-again. If you weren’t such a meathead, you’d realize the difference and act accordingly.” Before he can sweet-talk me into a situation I’ll end up regretting, I fire off a pertinent question. “And when was the last time you actually took a girl out on a date?”

I’m not a moron. I know the answer, but I want to hear him say it. It’s my ace in the hole, so to speak. Which is a far cry from the ace in the hole he’s hoping to get.

That won’t be happening.

“Never,” he admits cheerfully, “but I’d be willing to make an exception for you, Winters.”

See what I’m talking about?

Hot guy kryptonite for sure.

But I’m way too smart for him. Plus, I’d like to think that I learn from my mistakes, which is a far cry from some of the other girls around here.

We’re about a block away from Thorson Hall, the business building on campus where I’m headed. At this point, I’m practically speed walking. The sooner we get there, the faster I can ditch Gray.

“It’s a tempting offer,” I lie, “but I’ll be taking a hard pass.”

His face falls as he presses his hand against his chest.

And what a magnificent chest it is.

With gritted teeth, I shove that errant thought away before it can worm its way into my psyche and do permanent damage.

“You wound me, Winters. All I want is one date and you’re shooting me down without even considering the offer. Aren’t you the least bit curious where I’d take you?”

Nope.

Not even a little.

“Sure,” I snicker. “Let me guess.” I tap a finger thoughtfully against my chin. “Would it be a little place called Bonetown? I’m willing to bet it is.” I force my voice to fill with boredom. “Been there, done that, have the T-shirt to prove it.”

His laugh is rich and low. It strums something deep inside me.

He tugs me closer. “Have I mentioned how much I love your sense of humor?”

“Please,” I scoff, uncomfortable with the physical intimacy. My left breast is squashed against his side. The last thing I need is for my nip to pebble and him to feel the physical evidence of my desire. That would only encourage him to pursue me more fervently than he already is.

And that, I couldn’t withstand.

I hold my breath, not wanting to inhale anymore of his decadent scent. I need to get away from him before I melt into a puddle. This flirtation is nothing more than a game. It’s what Gray is known for.

Why does he insist on messing with me when I’ve gone out of my way to make my disinterest clear?

Doesn’t he realize that there’s no shortage of puck bunnies who would be more than happy to shower him with adoration? He could easily score with any number of them. Probably at the same time.

I glance around, noticing quite a number of girls staring in our direction.

It’s enough to make me shake my head in disgust.

Get a grip, ladies! This guy is toxic to the female population!

“Have you ever considered,” he says, breaking into my thoughts, “that what I need is the love of a good woman to change me for the better?”

Laughter wells in my throat before bursting free. “You’re so full of shit!”

The love of a good woman, indeed.

Ha!

As if…

Gray grins and his dimples pop in tandem. “Maybe.”

“Oh, there’s no maybe about it, McNichols. You’re definitely full of shit.”

I didn’t think it was possible for him to tug me closer, but he manages to do it before whispering, “Don’t you remember how good it felt when I was buried deep inside you? Come on, Winters. Admit it, you want me.”

And there you have it...

The extent of his interest doesn’t go any further than him dipping his wick.

I need to get away from Gray before he destroys every shred of my resolve. Deep down, I know he’s the worst possible guy for me, but my lady parts are clamoring for his attention.

And that, my friends, would be my cue to leave.

Without warning, I stop and jerk out of his arms. People grumble as they’re forced to walk around us.

“Let me make this perfectly clear.” I harden my voice, refusing to be taken in by his good looks and easy charm. When it comes down to it, this guy is a predator. If he senses a moment of weakness, he’ll take me down before I realize I was being hunted in the first place. And then I’ll be lost. “You’re the last guy on campus I would sleep with. Your stroke game was mediocre at best, and our encounter was entirely forgettable.”

Instead of taking offense, he tilts his head and rubs his chin with his fingers. “Is that so?” He steps closer, his muscular body invading my space yet again, and my body sizzles with the contact. “I find that hard to believe. I’ve never had any complaints about my,” he smirks, “stroke game.” His finger finds its way to the curve of my cheek. “But I’d be more than happy to give you an encore performance so you can reevaluate your verdict.”

I gulp and step away until his hand falls to his side and I can breathe again.

Oxygen rushes to my deprived brain.

Seriously?

How am I supposed to get through to this guy when he refuses to listen to a single word I say?

Unwilling to waste another moment on him, I throw my hands up and stalk toward my one o’clock class.

“So,” he shouts at my retreating figure, “you’re going to think about it and get back to me, right?”

I flip him the bird and keep walking.

One-click The Breakup Plan now!

More Books by Jennifer Sucevic

Chicago Railers Hockey

Make Me Yours (Lilah & Steele)

Hold Me Tight (Callie & River)

Show Me Forever (Rina & Oliver)

Promise Me This (Kia & Liken)

Keep Me Close (Knox & Cheyenne)

Give Me Tonight (Sloane & Jax)

The Campus Series (football)

Campus Player (Demi & Rowan)

Campus Heartthrob (Sydney & Brayden)

Campus Flirt (Sasha & Easton)

Campus Hottie (Elle & Carson)

Campus God (Brooke & Crosby)

Campus Legend (Lola & Asher)

Western Wildcats Hockey

Hate You Always (Juliette & Ryder)

Love You Never (Carina & Ford)

Always My Girl (Viola & Madden)

Dare You to Love Me (Stella & Riggs)

Never Mine to Hold (Fallyn & Wolf)

Never Say Never (Britt & Colby)

Mine to Take (Willow & Maverick)

Break my Heart (Ava & Hayes)

Never Your Girl (Holland & Bridger)

Parent Books for the Western Wildcats

Hate to Love You (Hockey) (Natalie & Brody)

Just Friends (Hockey) (Emerson & Reed)

The Breakup Plan (Hockey) (Whitney & Gray)

The Barnett Bulldogs (football)

King of Campus (Ivy & Roan)

Friend Zoned (Violet & Sam)

One Night Stand (Gia & Liam)

If You Were Mine (Claire & JT)

The Claremont Cougars (football)

Heartless Summer (Skye & Hunter)

Heartless (Skye & Hunter)

Shameless (Poppy & Mason)

Hawthorne Prep Series (bully/football)

King of Hawthorne Prep (Summer & Kingsley)

Queen of Hawthorne Prep (Summer & Kingsley)

Prince of Hawthorne Prep (Delilah & Austin)

Princess of Hawthorne Prep (Delilah & Austin)

The Next Door Duet (football)

The Girl Next Door (Mia & Beck)

The Boy Next Door (Alyssa & Colton)

What’s Mine Duet (Suspense)

Protecting What’s Mine (Grace & Matteo)

Claiming What’s Mine (Sofia & Roman)

Stay Duet (hockey)

Stay (Cassidy & Cole)

Don’t Leave (Cassidy & Cole)

Standalone Football

Love to Hate You (Daisy & Carter)

Collections

Claremont Cougars

The Barnett Bulldogs

The Football Hotties Collection

The Hockey Hotties Collection

The Next Door Duet

About the Author

Jennifer Sucevic is a USA Today bestselling author who has captivated readers worldwide with her sizzling new adult romances. With over thirty novels to her name, her stories of love, heartbreak, and swoon-worthy heroes have been translated into six languages, including German, Italian, and Portuguese, making her a truly global voice in the genre. Armed with a bachelor’s degree in history and a master’s in educational psychology from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, Jen initially worked as a high school counselor before embracing her passion for writing full-time. Her background in psychology lends a depth to her characters that resonates with fans everywhere.

When she’s not crafting irresistible love stories, Jen enjoys biking along scenic trails and soaking up the sun at the beach. She currently resides in Michigan with her family, where she continues to dream up heroes and heroines you’ll want to fall in love with again and again.

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