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And what I need to ask her is sort of serious.

I arrive at the home shared by Maverick Jennings and Everleigh Bradley-Jennings, or whatever she goes by now that she’s married to the star quarterback of the Vegas Aces, and I debate if I should sit in the car and wait for Ivy to come out. Ultimately I know that’s not the most respectful action, so I get out of my car and head toward the door.

I’m thankful when it’s Ivy who answers.

And she sort of knocks the breath right out of me. She’s fucking gorgeous but in what seems to be a totally effortless way in a silver tank top and black leather pants. A little black purse hangs from a chain on her shoulders, and she’s smiling at me.

I feel like a scrub in my usual black shirt and backward hat next to her.

“You look fantastic,” I say.

Her smile widens. “So do you.”

I lean in and press a kiss to her lips. It feels like the natural thing to do despite the fact that we haven’t had a conversation about any of this yet.

Her cool hand moves around my neck, and she holds me in place for a beat. My cock stirs to life. Jesus, what this woman does to me.

I pull back with a heavy dose of reluctance. “You ready to eat?”

She looks like she’s as much in a daze as I feel, but she nods.

I help her into the passenger side of my truck, and we head toward the restaurant.

“How was your day?” she asks.

I reach over and set my hand on her thigh. The leather is soft under my hand, and fuck, I want to get her out of these things and feel what other soft things are hidden beneath them.

I clear my throat as she sets her hand over mine. “Fine. I worked out. Talked to my mom and my publicist and avoided everyone else, including my agent, who left me several scathing voicemails. How was work today? Did you make it on time to your meeting?”

“I did, and Everleigh still reamed me for not being early enough.” She shrugs. “And somehow I messed up voice recording the meeting, so I had to type out everything from memory.”

“Is it hard working with your sister?”

“It’s hard working and living with her. I mean, it’s been, what, ten years since we’ve lived together? And now it’s living and working together, and it’s just a lot.”

Move in with me.

Now’s not the time, but if we’re faking this marriage thing, well…she should be living with me.

I don’t mention it. Yet. We’re not at that part of the conversation, and I want to be sitting at a table looking at her when I give her my proposition.

“I can imagine,” I murmur.

“You said you talked to your mom?” she asks.

I nod.

“Are you close with her?”

I nod again. “Yeah. When we lost my dad, it was just the two of us. Felt like nothing could bond two people more than grief.”

“We lost my mom in December,” she says softly.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know. Were you close with her?”

She keeps her eyes forward as she answers. “I was closer to her than any of my siblings, but she wasn’t the kind of person who let any of us really get too close.”

“That’s tough. What about your dad?” It’s as I ask the question that the thought of her dad comes to mind. Who he is. How he fucked me over.