“Fine. I sat down at Jack’s table because I thought he was Greg. He had a blue shirt on, and he was alone and broody, and you know I don’t follow football. Daisy is so small we never even had a football team growing up. Plus, no TV . . .” My hands cover my face for a moment of embarrassment. “It’s ridiculous! You’d think I would have at least recognized his face from . . . somewhere . . . like a bar TV, and he did seem a bit familiar, but I just assumed it was just Greg—that I’d caught him on TV before.”

He laughs. “You fucked the baddest, sexiest jock in Nashville. Do you have any clue how women have chased him his entire life? I hear he even needs security.” He grabs his diary from the coffee table. “I’m writing this down. It’s going in that great American novel I’m going to write—”

“Not a good idea,” I mutter, recalling the NDA. I stand up and pace as he eyes me, frowning.

“Do you plan on seeing him again?”

“One-time thing.”

He looks crestfallen, slumping back against the cushions. “Was it good, at least? Is his lower body proportional to the rest of him?”

My face flames as my entire body clenches, recalling the orgasms I had. Oh boy. He did deliver on that front. The first one in the kitchen with him on his knees; the second time on the floor in the master bedroom, him behind me; the third time, we finally made it to the bed—

I suck in a breath.

“Your face is redder than a stop sign.” Topher chuckles.

“Here’s the kicker: Jack didn’t tell me who he really was, and he left before I woke up.”

He winces, closing his notebook. “Ouch. That is not diary worthy at all. Asshole.”

I exhale, thinking again about how I assumed he was Greg. “He mentioned my blog, and I assumed he meant where I post my designs, but I wonder if he thought I was another blogger . . .” I frown. “Why wouldn’t he just tell me he wasn’t my date? Why keep it a secret?”

He shrugs and waggles his eyebrows. “You wore your naughty things?”

“Unicorn set.”

He lets out a low whistle. “Nice.”

“And he kept the panties.”

“Not nice. We need to get those back.” Topher knows how important my work is, how much I love creating fanciful pieces, things I want to wear. Not those ill-fitting, basic, run-of-the-mill scraps of lace sold in stores. I yearn for unique clothing, something eye catching and sexy yet quirky. Made for full-figured women with moxie.

Topher’s frown turns into a scowl, deepening. His feet shift around as he stands, walking over to me. “Elle, honey, I have other news, and I want to tell you before you find out some other way.”

I groan. “Please tell me it’s nothing to do with Mama or Aunt Clara.” They are constantly popping over. I’ve even taken to locking my sewing room.

He shakes his head, his pretty hair swishing around his shoulders.

“Okay, tell me.”

“I ran over to the Cut ’N’ Curl to get a Sun Drop a few minutes ago. You know they have those from the distributor, when we can’t even buy them at the Piggly Wiggly. Giselle was there . . .” His voice trails off, and my stomach drops.

“She saw me with Jack.”

He watches my face. “She didn’t say a word about you and Jack . . .”

“But?”

He grimaces and takes a big breath, his eyes soft and careful. “She was showing everyone her ring. Flaunting it around, waving it in people’s faces. I’m so sorry.”

A huge chunk of lead lands on my heart, and I wrestle to throw it off, to eviscerate it from my chest and make it go away. I feel winded. “Ring, huh?”

He sits on the arm of the chair. “Preston proposed last night. Had the ring hidden in the cheesecake. So stereotypical. What a snooze fest.”

I clasp my hands together. Part of me knew this was coming. It was apparent in the Sunday lunches where I’ve been forced to sit across from them. Giselle can’t keep her eyes off him. She’s completely enamored with him.

I recall how she waltzed into my Fourth of July party and met him for the first time. She’d been living in Memphis, and somehow the two of them had never crossed paths in the six months I dated him. Tall, leggy, and blonde, she’s three years younger than me—and beautiful with her heart-shaped face and baby-blue eyes.

I recall that sinking feeling when I introduced him to her, the way his eyes flared when he took her hand in an energetic handshake.

I barely notice as Topher dashes to the kitchen and returns with a splash of bourbon in a glass. “I think this calls for the expensive stuff.”

I take a small sip. “Nana’s twenty-year Pappy. So much for never drinking again.”

“She’d want you to have it. Lady was a rebel. Like you.”

I slump down in the chair, feeling incredibly tired and not like a rebel at all.

“I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again. Preston wasn’t right for you. He’s a pompous jerk with a stick up his ass. I mean, what man doesn’t see you and all the sweet things you do for . . . for . . . even an ugly pig!”

Romeo sticks his head out of the tent and glares at Topher, and his eyes clearly say I know what you said about me.

“He’s smart, you know.” When someone dumped him in the parking lot of the beauty shop a year ago, he was near death, wrinkled pale skin that clung to his bones, so weak and thin, barely breathing. I cried the entire way to the vet’s office, begging the heavens to let the little thing live, promising to take care of him forever.

Topher picks up Romeo and gives him a reassuring pet. “Fine, he’s a little bit cute. And even though he has hooves—freaking hooves, okay—I let him get in my thousand-thread-count sheets last night when he was running around looking for you.”

“Did you give him a bath too?”

“Of course. Hog from Hell likes to make a mess, water everywhere. He also chewed up a rubber duck.”

I smile at that, but I’m not feeling it.

“But seriously, Elena, Preston doesn’t see the woman underneath, all this amazing talent you have.”

“Stop.” I smile wanly.

He gives me a tight hug. “Come on; go put on some comfy clothes, and we’ll pile up in my bed upstairs and read. Later, though, I’m taking you out. You should consider a nap, old lady.”

“I’m only six months older than you, and no, please, I do not want to go anywhere. I just want to hermit-crab and stay home.” Plus, I could get some sewing done, especially if I want to really commit and meet with the lingerie company.

He winces. “You can’t. It’s Michael’s birthday. Remember?”

Ugh. I totally forgot. Michael is one of Topher’s friends from Nashville who periodically hangs out with us. He’s straight, but he and Topher go back to high school days.

He gives me a careful look, and I know he’s still gauging my reaction to the engagement, but I paste on a brave face.

I sigh. Maybe I should go out, forget everything, dance myself silly. “I’m never good at nightclub outfits.”

He presses his hand against his chest. “It will be my pleasure to pick out your clothes.”

I study his face, seeing the merriment he’s barely hiding. “Uh-huh. I know that look on your face. Is this shindig one of your themed parties?”

He nods. “I confirmed with Michael yesterday. It’s Grease, baby. I’m John Travolta, and you’re Olivia Newton-John.” He claps, clearly excited.

I wail. “No, please no. I just want to wear regular clothes.”

“Elena Michelle. We are going to party in style because I took care of your wretched pet. You owe me.”

“Don’t you double-name me. You are not Mama.”

But he’s already waltzing up the polished cherry staircase in the hall. “Look at me, I’m Sandra Dee, lousy with virginity—”

“You are incorrigible!” I call to his back, but he’s still singing. “And now that song is in my head!”

He pauses at the top of the staircase. “Also, later, I demand to hear all details about Jack Hawke and his sexual prowess. You went a little light on the details.”

“Never gonna see him again, so it doesn’t even matter.”

“Evil woman.” He disappears in his room, and I swoop up Romeo, who’s darted back out of his tent, and plant a big kiss on his face. Everything from last night and the news about the engagement settle like rain clouds on my shoulders. I heave out a sigh. “Romeo, what am I going to do?”

He looks up at me and grimaces.

“I slept with a famous football player,” I tell him. “He stole my panties. Plus, Preston and Giselle are getting married, and I guess . . .” I swallow. “I need to be happy for them. What do you think?” I glance down at him.

You’ve got some serious problems, lady, his eyes say.

Chapter 9

JACK

“The vultures are circling,” Lawrence murmurs next to me as we push through the throng of cameras and reporters inside the press conference room, a place with a long table at the front, a row of microphones at each seat. The crowd parts as we walk in, and I keep my gaze straight ahead. I gave myself a good rousing pep talk in the locker room, and I’m feeling like, okay, maybe, just maybe, I can do this.

I take a seat in the middle, and Coach sits on one side of me, Lawrence on the other.

Devon rushes in the room and jogs to the front, giving me a fist bump. “Fear no more. The favorite is here.” He waves at an attractive reporter close to him. “Hey. Good to see you. Call me sometime.”

She blushes. Yeah, he’s probably tapped that.