Crosby is the opposite of so many men, and I love that he’s not threatened by me. That he admires me rather, and supports me.

Still, once we’re outside, I put on my big-girl pants and say the hard thing.

20

Nadia

Outside the event hotel, I take a step closer to my plus-one and slow the train even though I don’t entirely want to. “I want to invite you over, but I think I’d break rule number three,” I say, my voice low and just for him as I tug my wrap a little tighter around my shoulders, the mercury dipping as the stars twinkle in the night sky.

Crosby heaves a sigh then nods in agreement. “You read my mind. If I’m alone with you tonight, I’m going to have the hardest time keeping my hands off you.”

“It’s not your hands I’m worried about,” I say in a flirty tone as the limo pulls up.

He lets his gaze drift downward, straight to his crotch. “Aw, that’s so sweet of you to worry about my cock.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about your cock at all,” I toss back.

Crosby grabs the door before the driver gets out, shaking his head in admiration as I slide into the long black car. “You’re a woman unleashed. As soon as you say one swear, you’re saying them all.”

“That’s poppy . . . cock,” I say with a wicked grin.

“Speaking of . . . let’s go get a cocktail.”

Fifteen minutes later, we walk into the Spotted Zebra.

The fun decor fits the name perfectly. One wall is pink. Another is black. Yet another is brick. Alt rock plays on the sound system, and hip bartenders and servers in monochrome uniforms circle the joint with drinks.

Low couches with black-and-white stripes beckon patrons, inviting them to lounge.

We swing by the bar, saying hello to Sierra, Grant’s sister, who flashes a grin at us as she tucks a pink-streaked strand of her blonde hair back into its messy bun.

“Hey there.” Ink dances up and down her right arm, and both her earlobes are pierced many times over.

“Hi, Sierra,” I say. “Good to see you.”

“Welcome back, prodigal daughter,” she says dryly, then leans in to give me a quick hug across the bar.

“Ha. That’ll be my new nickname.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t let the boos get you down. We’ll play the Hawks games here.” She nods to the TV blasting a hockey game in the corner. “Well, when it’s not hockey season.”

“Hello? How about baseball?” Crosby chimes in.

Sierra yawns, big and over-the-top. “Baseball is sooo boring.”

Crosby clutches his heart. “You’re killing me.”

Sierra slaps some napkins down on the bar. “What can I get you two?”

Crosby orders me a wine, then a beer for himself, and when Sierra hands us the drinks, we grab a spot in the corner, settling onto a striped couch.

He already shed his jacket and bow tie in the car, so now he rolls up his shirtsleeves, showing off his strong forearms. I admire the sight of them for a second, imagining how they’d look with him braced over me, his arms pinning me.

Wild sensations kick through me, a hot rush of adrenaline. I cross my legs, trying to keep my desires in check.

He lifts his glass. “Let’s drink to . . .”

“To not calling the Maldives?”

His lips curve up in a naughty grin. “So tempting though.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

I take a sip of the wine, then set it down. He does the same with his beer. “I was impressed by you onstage,” he says. “You are poise personified.”

I beam, grateful for the compliment. “Thank you. That means a lot to me. Especially considering what other men have thought about my job.”

“Fuck them,” he scoffs. And that’s all. That’s literally all he has to say. “You have your plate full, and you still handle yourself like the badass you’ve always been.”

I smile. “Stop, or you’ll make me blush.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not a blusher. I know you.”

“True. I’m not a blusher at all.”

He leans a little closer, his voice dipping to that low and husky range that I love. “But are you a blusher in the bedroom?”

Tingles spread across my shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll both find out.”

He laughs, then moves a little closer. But rather than whisper, he clears his throat. “So, have you never met a man you wanted to have sex with? Were you waiting for a relationship? Or was the timing never right? Or was it something else entirely? Which, of course, I guess raises the question of . . . why now?”

I love the lack of judgment, the genuine interest in the elephant in the room—the why.

But I slide in with a joke first. “You mean other than your prowess and pure masculine raw sex appeal?”

He gives a casual shrug. “Well, yeah, obviously that.”

I tell him the basics, about college and the lack of men there, then about my focus on classes during my master’s program, and finally about the matchmaker woes last year, though he mostly knows those details.

“But more than that,” I finish, “I’ve never wanted to go there with anyone before. I never felt the desire intensely enough. Don’t get me wrong though—I have a lot of sexual desire.”

His eyes glint. “I can tell.”

“And there are plenty of things I want to do. There are plenty of things I fantasize about. And, hey, my toys get quite a workout.”

He drags a hand across his brow as if wiping off sweat. “You’re not helping with keeping rule number three tonight.”

I lean my head back and laugh. “Trust me, it’s hard for me too. Whatever the case before, I’m very interested in sex now. And I’m very interested in sex with you.”

He waves a napkin like a white flag. “I surrender.”

I swat his arm playfully. “What I’m trying to say is this—I wasn’t holding on to my virginity because it’s some precious thing, or because I have some notion that I’ll walk down the aisle in five years, or whenever, still a virgin.”

“Five years? Is that the wedding plan?”

A surge of embarrassment rushes blood to my cheeks. “I don’t have a wedding plan. I was just throwing that out there.”

“So no pressure, then, for you or your future hubs.” His grin is playful, but he catches my gaze on those last couple of words, almost like he’s testing them out.

I wince a bit, not entirely sure why that gnaws at me—future hubs. “Sure,” I say. “He can just deflower me on our wedding night,” I say, making a big old joke about whoever the future hubs might be because that’s easier than dealing with this nagging sensation. Instead, I turn more serious. “But yes, I do want, someday, what my parents had. Not now, but down the road. I want what your parents had. What Brooke and Eric have.” I draw a breath, letting it fill me. “Right now though? I have my work cut out for me with the team, so I like this thing you and I have. And I don’t want to keep having sex with myself anymore,” I say, our eyes locking with want flaring between us, like a shimmering heat mirage.