As close as two people can be, really.
"So he's single," she says.
The team captain glares at her. What about no boys does she not understand? It's not just boyfriends. It's casual sex, dates, and flirting too.
I get it, honestly. If it was anything but my sister's wedding, I'd choose soccer. But Indigo is my favorite person in the world. I'll do anything for her.
Including keeping my hands off Cam.
Yes, I like him. Yes, he's incredibly hot.
Yes, for the last two months, I've fallen asleep thinking about that kiss.
God, I can taste him now. Smell his soap. Feel his hands.
It's a prime entry in my spank bank, but it's not happening.
The wedding is in two weeks.
Cameron Hunt is officially off-limits. Which is fine by me.
We're friends… friendly. That's all. We text all the time, sure, but it's about the pre-wedding festivities. And a lot about London soccer leagues. Honestly, US men's soccer is a travesty. We dominate the world in women's soccer, but does anyone in the States care?
Okay, we compete on our mile time (we're neck and neck, but I'm running in scorching hot New York weather. He gets the crisp London air). And we talk about the TV shows we're watching. Not that Cam watches a lot of TV. Mostly, I recap the events of my latest reality TV show, and he tells me they're ridiculous.
And I fall asleep thinking about his smile.
Or sometimes, thinking about his kiss, and his hands, and his lips on other parts of my body.
Ahem.
Like I said, we're friendly. I don't even notice he's here. I certainly don't care that my shorts barely cover my ass. Or that I'm a sweaty mess and he's cool and composed in his suit.
I'm an athlete who works hard. That's better than looking cute or sexy or glamorous.
I repeat this mantra as I jog to Cam, but it doesn't stick in my brain. My blush deepens. Extends to my chest.
I shrug like it's normal post-game flush. Of course, I'm a little red. I'm running around in eighty degree heat.
He offers a water bottle. A grey aluminum adorned with the London Bridge. "Thirsty?"
"Is that really your hello?"
He nods as he hands me the bottle.
The brush of his fingertips sets me on fire. Thank god the aluminum is chilled.
Mmm, cold water. I drink with greedy sips, but my temperature stays high. He's so handsome and close, and did I mention handsome? But seriously, a suit at a soccer game? That's ridiculous. "You look like a drug dealer."
"Do American drug dealers wear suits?"
I nod. "Haven't you see The Good Wife?"
He chuckles. "You've seen The Good Wife?"
"Why is that funny?"
"It's highbrow for you."
"Oh my god." I push him playfully. My hand against his chest. The soft wool of his suit jacket. "I watch excellent television."
"Ninety Day Fiancée is excellent television?"
My lips curl into a smile. He's teasing. I love his teasing. "People have three months to get married or never see each other again! Those are high stakes!"
"I'll consider that."
He smiles that charming smile of his.
My heart beats harder. He's so handsome. And charming. And off-limits.
And not just handsome.
Smoking hot. Sure, it's hard to make out the details of his body in his suit, but I've seen pictures of him in less.
The man is built like a soccer all-star. Tall and strong and incredibly athletic.
Shit, what are we talking about? "What are you doing here?"
"If you want me to go, I will."
No. God no. "I thought you were still in London."
"Flew in today."
Oh.
"Walked here from my hotel."
"Did you fly in the suit or change when you got here?"
"Oh, I never take it off," he says.
"What about showers?"
"Straight out of the suit and into a new one after."
"Sex?"
He smiles wouldn't you like to know. "Sienna, you know I can't tell you that. It's all you'll think about."
"Uh-huh." Maybe. Probably. Definitely. "And you're here because…"
"I wanted to see your beautiful face."
My blush deepens, even though I know it's bullshit. "Really?"
He nods of course. Motions and—"Ty asked me to collect you. We're going to dinner tonight."
Right. It's Friday. With the wedding the Saturday after next, there's a new festivity every day. "Are we going back to your hotel room?"
He shoots me a nice try.
"I live in their building! Why would he need you to collect me?"
"Apparently, you're often late to family functions."
That's true, but—"Not everyone runs their own company. Some of us are on other people's schedules."
"Be late. Make Ty wait for once."
"I like the way you think." Okay. I like the way he looks too. The way he dresses. The way he flirts.
I like him.
I want him.
But I can handle my desire for two tiny weeks. Even if I'm spending most of my free time in Cam's presence.
And he's even more handsome today than the last time I saw him.
And I'm already thinking about dragging him to my apartment.
It's only two weeks.
So what if I want him more than I've ever wanted anyone?
How hard can it be to resist him?
Chapter Three
Cam
The last time I was at Ty's flat, the place was sparse, lonely. Now, it's filled with touches of his fiancée: a bookshelf of old movies, a tea set on the dining table, a grand piano in the corner.
He's found a home with her.
I'm happy for him. Sure, I'm a mess when it comes to love and commitment, but I can ignore that for a few weeks.
Ty isn't asking me to deal with my fucked-up thoughts.
He isn't asking me to believe in love.
No, it's much worse than that.
Ty is asking me to keep Sienna company.
Her older sister, his fiancée, is the only family she has left. And Ty being Ty, he's worried Sienna is going to feel like she's losing her best friend.
So, I'm here to keep her entertained.
He trusts me with his future sister-in-law.
But here I am, in his flat, picturing her naked.
There are millions of eligible women in New York City alone. Why am I lusting after the one woman who will destroy my life?
Is my self-destructive streak really that strong?
Fuck. I need a drink.
I find a bottle of gin in the fridge, fill a glass with ice, pour, sip.
It's not red wine, but it's not bad.
Alcohol, cardamom, juniper.
Memories of college parties, bad dates, one-night stands.
The night Ty slipped me my first drink.
It's almost too much. Too familiar. Too close to the wound.
Keys jingle in the front door. Sienna.
She showered and dressed at her flat, the one three flights downstairs. Now she's here.
I swallow another sip of gin. Will it to cool my thoughts. To banish Sienna from my mind.