Most Likely to Score

She exhales. “I’m not going to massage words. We both know this is incredibly risky for my job and for your deal. You’re aware of that, but it has to be said.”

“It’s not like we’re banging in public.”

“Of course not, but secrets are hard to keep these days. Brands drop athletes like hotcakes for the slightest transgression. For a wrong word, for an old comment dredged up. Paleo Pet signed on for single Jones, and then Ford brought me on to help.” She holds up a finger, her eyes laser sharp. “But Paleo Pet didn’t sign on for the Jones who sneaked into his publicist’s room in Miami and screwed her all night long.”

I drag a hand over my jaw. “Fuck,” I mutter, hating how this time with her would be seen.

“Right now, you’re the wholesome, dog-loving, squeaky-clean guy. You don’t want to be the guy boning his colleague. Such a scandal. That’s how it would be framed if it got out. As a workplace scandal. There’s no other way for the gossip press to spin it.”

I cringe at the way she puts it so bluntly.

She runs her hand along my arm, her voice softening. “You can’t be too cautious when you’re playing that kind of high-stakes game. We could be caught. I’m pursuing a promotion, and I’m trying to rehab your image, but I just did exactly what we’re trying to avoid.”

I furrow my brow. “That’s not entirely true. No one said to go on a sex diet. Just to be careful.”

“Fine, true. But I’m your publicist.”

“Does the team have rules against you dating players?” I ask, genuinely interested. I’ve no clue if she’s crossing some sort of formal line in an HR handbook.

She shakes her head. “No, there isn’t a specific rule against it. The only fraternization rules involve getting involved with direct reports and vice versa. I can’t date my boss or any of the PR supervisors who report to me. We’re not forbidden from dating players, though.”

I curve up my lips. “Well, that’s good, right?”

“Yes, technically, but there’s so much more at stake. Even if I’m not violating a rule per se, think about how it would look, especially while I’m up for a promotion. While you’re trying to land new deals. While we’re working on those deals together. Here I am, trying to craft a good-boy image for you—one you rightfully deserve—and meanwhile, I’m on my hands and knees as you slam into me.”

Against my better judgment, I groan, “I like you on your hands and knees.” But then I turn more serious. “But I hear you. It’s risky.”

“It’s dangerous.”

Scrubbing a hand over my jaw, I ask, “Do you think it shouldn’t happen again?” Part of me is hoping she’ll laugh and say, No, take me again now and tomorrow and over and over.

“Do you think it should happen again?”

“I want it to,” I answer honestly, because as far as I’m concerned, everything is in the open tonight. I don’t want to play any more games with Jillian, and I won’t toy with her emotions, or my own. Given the way I’ve stored everything until now, like a pressure cooker that only needed the smallest spark of jealousy to spill over, I’ve no interest in keeping my feelings private. “I know you might find this hard to believe, but I like you. Really like you. If I could, I would date you. I would take you out. I would romance you. I would do all the things I haven’t done before.”

Her breath flutters over her lips, and her eyes shine. She wiggles her body closer to mine. “Really?”

“Would you want that?” I ask softly.

She nods, that flash of vulnerability back in her brown eyes. “Of course I want that.” Taking a deep breath, she looks away, swallowing tightly. “But we can’t have it.”

My shoulders sag. My chest is heavy. “We can’t, can we?” I say with a sigh, an acknowledgment that she’s right. That Trevor was right. That I need to focus on football and business only. That Jillian needs to do the kick-ass job she’s always done, without a guy like me complicating her life. Trevor’s words blare in my ears, the reminder of my track record. I’ve never had a relationship last longer than a month, and I detest the thought that her reputation could be called into question if she dated me. I care about Jillian far too much to let her be a question mark everyone has about me.

Her fingers trace my chest. “If we did that, we’d have to sneak around, and sneaking around is lying. No good can come of it.”

“Then we agree that this can’t happen again?”

She screws up the corner of her lips, clearly thinking. “As a publicist, I’m always looking for angles, so maybe we agree that when we go back to San Francisco, we can return to being player and publicist.”

I grin wickedly, liking her clever mind. “Your angle is sharp. And since we return in two days, that means tomorrow I can get you on your hands and knees again so I can fuck you like the animal you say I am?”

“Jones . . .” It comes out like a purr.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

She nods. “Yes, then we go back to how it was.” Her expression turns apologetic. “I love what I do, and I don’t want to chance losing it. My career has always been important to me. It was that way for my mom, too. I learned it from her.”

I can’t help but smile when she mentions her mom. I love that she’s such a family gal. “Why was it that way for her?”

“She always said that true contentment comes from what you do. She’d say don’t go looking for happiness in a man or in a relationship. Find it in your work. Find it, and when you do, it’ll feed your soul.”

“Does publicity feed your soul?”

“This might sound weird, but it does. I love sports, and I love using the platform the team has to do good. Sometimes, athletes get a bad rep,” she says, and I huff, knowing that reality too well. “But in most cases, the public just needs to see the other side. And with so many young people looking up to athletes, it’s great to show them doing amazing things for the community. I love that I can do that. I love that the great work you do on and off the field can inspire some young boys and girls to work harder, to be better, to be the best they can be. That does feed my soul, in a way, and I think I’m good at it.”

Running my fingers through her soft locks, I nod. “You’re not just good at it. You’re great at it.” I slow my strokes, making sure she meets my eyes. “I love knowing there’s a piece of your mom driving you on, even when she’s not here.”

Jillian whispers, “Me, too.”

“You miss her, don’t you?” I ask.

She bites the corner of her lips, nodding. “I do. I’m used to it, but I do miss her.”

“How could you not?” Dropping my hand from her hair, I loop my fingers through hers.

“But sometimes, I think she lives on.”

“In what way?”

“In my superstitions. My good luck charms. She was like that. She believed you make your own luck, but she also loved all the symbols of luck, too. She was so very American, but she really embraced the Chinese culture and introduced me to it. She wanted me to grow up knowing it, even if I wasn’t there anymore.”

“I love that. She wanted to honor where you came from.”