I awaken to a terrific headache and the deafening sound of the hotel phone blaring in my ear. I roll over and look at the clock as I pick up the receiver. Five forty-five a.m. No wonder I feel like shit.

“Jasalie,” Bill barks into the phone. “Meet me in the coffee shop next door in twenty minutes. The three of us need to go over a few things about the party tonight.”

I groan as I get up and reach for a bottle of aspirin.

I slide into the booth next to Lilla and pour myself a cup of black coffee.

She and I sit silently while Bill goes on and on about the “surprise” final event we’re supposed to cover this afternoon. “Damn owner never mentioned it once. I thought it was just another night at the hotel bar. But no—Hal wants to do something outdoorsy, so he rented a freaking football field. At the state university campus. Don’t know how he expects us to do a bang-up job with just a few hours of warning, but ‘we’ll get it done’ I said. What choice did I have?”

He glares at me as he says it.

“What do we need to do to prepare?”

“You two confirm that the catering is in place.” He slides a list across the table. “Here are the companies, the food and drink list, and anything else you need to know about. I’ve emailed you each a copy as well so you’ll have the info on your phones. The event will just be for a few hours, and it’s casual dress. So no business attire for this—you’ll look like idiots.”

Good to know.

He glances at my casual outfit of jeans and a t-shirt. “But dress up more than that, for God’s sake.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks, Bill.”

He smirks before continuing. “The team is having a raffle with the winnings going to a few of the players’ favorite charities. Plus, a group of kids from the area foster home will be coming to the football field for about an hour.”

I choke on my coffee.

Lilla pats my back.

“She’s okay,” she says to Bill. “Kids in need always choke her up.”

Bill’s hardly listening. “The foster kids are coming due to Dylan Wild’s charity—the guy loves helping underprivileged kids. So the kiddos will toss the football around with a few of the players, then they’ll form a line to get some autographs, pictures, and signed paraphernalia. Then they’ll get back on the bus for home—”

Home. He means their foster homes. Who knows how long these kids have lived there or how much longer they’ll be able to stay? A foster home isn’t a permanent home. No one knows that better than I do.

“…and the players will be free to drink and be merry until five,” Bill says. “That’s when everything shuts down and we’re home free.”

“Sounds great,” I get out.

Bill nods. “While you two are getting the party pieces in place, I’ll work on the business end of things—I want a contract signed with the Cougars before I step on that plane back to L.A. tomorrow morning. This last event better seal the deal—I had a date with Meagan this afternoon, and now we have to change the time.”

I so do not want to know about Bill’s love life.

But Lilla jumps on it. “That’s great, Bill. I’m glad you and Meagan are hitting it off.”

“Yep,” he says, and he actually sounds half-normal for a moment. “Seems better than my ex-wife, but you know…” He takes a sip of coffee. “It’s only just started. So time will tell. But there is a fire between us.”

“Seems like love is blooming in the desert.” Lilla winks at me.

I kick her under the table, but she’s not done.

“I love watching people fall in love. I wish you all the best.” She’s looking at Bill, but she grabs my hand under the table and squeezes it.

Bill’s bombshell is exploding on a loop in my head as I return to my room.

Foster kids are coming to the event this afternoon.

When the door closes behind me, I feel numb. So I do something I haven’t done in quite a while.

I pick up the phone and call my first long-term foster mother, Ilene.

Always an early riser, I know I won’t wake her up.

“Darling, how’ve you been?” she barks in a husky voice only someone who’s smoked two packs a day for thirty years can have. “Where are you?”

“On a business trip in Arizona,” I tell her. “Ever been here?”

“No, can’t say that I have. But my sister gave me a calendar of different places one year for Christmas, and Arizona was on it. Looked beautiful.”

“It is.” I sit in silence then, not having a clue what else to say to her. Really, I called just to hear her voice, to reassure myself there’s somebody out in the world who knows of my existence, who will recognize me as Jasalie Gordon, and who might be just a little bit sad if I were to disappear off the planet.

“It’s the same as always in Los Angeles,” Ilene says, trying to keep the chat going. “Smoggy and crowded.”

Sounds like her place when I lived there. Ilene liked collecting things—“I’m a collector!”—she said proudly, and whether it was kids, pets, or antiques, there was too much stuff in that one-story ranch house. There were four of us foster kids running around, the oldest fifteen and me the youngest. I lived there until I was eleven when Ilene broke her leg, and I was sent to stay with a new family.

After we hang up, I can’t stay still. I jump up and nearly run out of the room and to the elevator. When I reach the lobby, I walk quickly, praying I won’t see anyone.

Afraid paparazzi will be lurking out front, I go out the back of the hotel and take a seat on the stone wall facing the desert. I stare at the horizon until it’s blurry, and I realize I’d forgotten to blink. But once I start to blink, tears follow. I wipe my face with my hands, but the tears don’t seem to want to stop. They come down my cheeks like a waterfall, and I let them fall.

I pull my notebook out of my purse.

Mom,

Could you stop my tears, or did I drive you away with them? Maybe you didn’t know how to hold me when I cried. Maybe I drove you crazy when I was scared, or sad, or lonely.

I wish you’d been around for me, to hold me till I fell asleep at night, to pick me up when I fell down. I’ve fallen down a lot in the past twenty-plus years, and I never knew where to find you. All I knew was that you weren’t by my side once. And I missed you every second.

But I’m going to make things right for you. I’m halfway to making sure you never feel as homeless as I have.

We’ll be okay. Both of us.

When I hear Dylan call my name, it’s too late to make a run for it. I turn my head away from the direction his voice came from, but he’s too close already. So I stuff my notebook back into my purse just as he reaches me.

“Jasalie.”

Hard as I try to keep my face in shadow, the sun shines brightly on my tears.

“Shit.” He takes a seat on the wall next to me. “What’s the matter?”

I’m too ashamed to tell him the truth, that I have no family and I just called up a fake one to try to make myself feel less lonely. I wipe my eyes and sigh. “Oh, crap,” I say. “This is embarrassing.”

“Why?” he says.

He’s got on Cougars sweatpants, a team sweatshirt, and a Dodgers baseball cap. He looks so cozy and relaxed that I’m envious. I’m incredibly strung-out and that coffee didn’t help matters.

I bang my heels against the stone wall. “Because I barely know you, and this is not the way you want someone you just met to see you.” In truth, I never want anyone to see me like this. I feel fragile like I could break if someone pushed a little too hard.

“Did something happen?” Dylan puts his arm around me.

“I just…” I struggle to come up with a response. “I spoke to someone back in L.A., and it made me sad.”

“I’m sorry.” He pulls me into his chest for a hug.

I linger against the softness of his sweatshirt and wrap my arm around his waist. He smells so darn good. Smelling good is very important. It means a lot.

“The rest of the money will be in your account by tonight,” he murmurs into my ear.

I freeze. That means our time together is nearly over. The very concept shatters me. But the money in my account…it means I can go see my mother and hand her the check in person.

“That’s…good news,” I get out. “Thank you so much.”

He kisses my head. “Thank you for taking a chance on a guy you didn’t know at all and for trusting me.”

Emotions clog my throat.

“I can’t tell you how much it’s meant to me, Jasalie—spending time together like this.” His voice is harsh, almost like he’s feeling things he didn’t expect to feel.

Maybe Dylan and I are less different than I thought.

“For me, too,” I say softly.

He clears his throat. “You look exhausted,” he says. “Go take a nap and I’ll call you after my workout. I won’t let you sleep all morning, I promise.”

I tell him that I’m fine, but as soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m asleep.

When the ringing phone wakes me for the second time today, I open my eyes gingerly, not sure I want to get up and face the world again this morning. But my headache’s gone, and I groggily grab the phone.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Dylan’s sexy voice comes through the receiver.

“Hey.” I struggle to sit up and look at the clock. Shit, it’s already after nine.

“Can I come by?” he asks me. “I have a surprise.”

“Um…” I glance at my rumpled clothes. “I need to shower first.”

“I’ll be by in a half hour. See you then, baby.”

Baby. He just called me baby. That scares the freaking daylights out of me, and yet—

I fight a smile as I head for the shower.

Thirty minutes later

After I finish drying my hair, I quickly dress in black jeans and a lace cami and pull on the lone sweater I brought with me—a deep violet color. I love that I won’t need a jacket even though we’ll be outdoors. I’ve always loved warm climates, and Tucson is hotter than L.A. Even in February, despite the cool breezes and lower temperatures, the sun is always shining.

I call the catering company to confirm everything is set for this afternoon. Then I look at the list and freeze at what’s next—Red Rock Foster Care, Inc.

I text Lilla and ask her to make that call instead.

As I sit down on the bed, I glance at the clock.

Dylan’s late.

I exhale in relief when I hear a knock on the door. To be blown off at this stage in the game would not feel as easy as a no-strings affair should.

I open the door to a smiling Dylan, along with a waiter and room service cart.

“Hey.” Dylan steps inside my room, followed by the cart and waiter. “This is Joaquin, the head server. I hope you didn’t eat breakfast yet.”

“Wow.” I wave at the smiling Joaquin. “No. What did you get me?”

“Us.” Dylan takes the bill from Joaquin and signs it. “Breakfast for us. And Joaquin will show you. It’s his favorite part.”

“This is true.” Joaquin beams at me. “For the lady: French toast, scrambled eggs with tomato and feta, and a cranberry juice.”

I turn to Dylan. “How’d you know I like scrambled eggs with tomato and feta?”

“Little sleuthing.”

“Did you interrogate Lilla?”

“Only if you call asking her what you like for breakfast interrogating,” he answers me.

Joaquin interrupts. “And for the gentleman—eggs Benedict, bacon and sausage, stack of cakes, and an OJ.”

“Thank you, Joaquin.” Dylan hands him back the bill. “Have a great day.”

“Thank you, sir. Madam.” Joaquin bows at me, and I wave as he lets himself out.

I sit down on the edge of the bed, and Dylan takes a seat next to me.

“Thank you for doing this.” I raise my water glass to him in a toast. Then I catch myself. “Shit. Bad luck.”

I can’t believe I forgot.

“Thrown off?” he asks me with raised eyebrows.

I carefully fold my napkin over my lap.

Dylan leans back on his elbows. “You don’t have to answer me. I know.”

His dimples are on full display, and I resist the urge to kiss one.

I smile at him. “I was just surprised. No one’s given me breakfast in bed before.”

Dylan sits up and reaches for a piece of bacon. “A surprise you deserve. But I’m sorry I’m late. Joaquin was running behind.”

“That’s okay.” I sneak a look at him snarfing down his bacon. “This was really sweet of you.”

“How was your nap?”

I dreamed about being in bed with Dylan. Actually, I dreamed about being in a multitude of places with Dylan. The shower, the couch, the floor, and the bed just for good measure. Not once was what we were doing G-rated.

“Great.”

His eyes brighten. “Good dreams?”

I take a bite of my French toast and roll my eyes. “Uh-huh.”

His gaze shifts to my mouth as he grabs a slice of bacon.

I smile as he shoves it into his mouth. “You must be starving.”

“Comes with being a professional athlete. You should see me eat during the season. This is nothing.”

“Will you tell me what it’s like?” I ask him as I dig into my French toast.

“What? Playing?”

“Yeah. It must be quite a rush to be the quarterback of a professional team.”

Dylan’s mouth is so filled with food he can’t answer me for a minute. When he does, his answer surprises me.

“It’s not the fame or the fortune that’s the rush,” he says. “Those things can be nice, and I’m incredibly grateful every day. But all the fame gets tiring. People harassing you, everybody wants a piece of you—here, there, everywhere. What I love are the games. They’re my escape, frankly.”

I wrinkle my brow. “What do you mean your escape?”

“I mean that until I met you, I was starting to think I’d never be comfortable anywhere other than on the football field. And that scared the hell out of me.”

I stop eating and stare at him. “So you feel alone and scared sometimes even though you have everything?”

“Jasalie, everybody feels alone and scared sometimes,” he says. “And no one has everything. Not really. Everyone’s always reaching for more.”

I take a sip of juice. My head is racing with questions. I’ve never been around someone so successful, so together, and here he is telling me it doesn’t change your life.

Dylan’s watching me closely. “It’s amazing,” he says. “Having your dream. Don’t misunderstand me. I just have more dreams in me than being a football player. Before this weekend, I haven’t hung out and relaxed like this since before the season started.”

“Isn’t that what you guys do all the time when you’re not on the football field?”

“We have a lot of time off when we’re not practicing. But it feels like I’m always either studying tape, procrastinating from studying tape, or trying to get some sleep. Quarterbacks have to watch a lot of film.”

“But the season’s over. You must have free time now.”

“That’s what these days are about,” he agrees. “And I’m going to Montana to see my cousins soon. Brayden’s the only one who still lives there, a few towns over from where I grew up, and it’s his birthday.”

We eat for a bit, and I enjoy the food and the company. I’m starting to realize that Dylan seems to enjoy everything. Most people are so sarcastic and negative.

“What are you thinking?” he asks me.

I break my stare. “Only good things.” I suppress a yawn. “Sorry. I’m still waking up. Bill rousing me at the crack of dawn has me all thrown off.”

“Let’s lie down and rest together.” He’s already moving toward the top of the bed.

Against my better judgment, I agree. “Okay.”

I crawl up next to him, he hands me a pillow, and I fall asleep almost immediately.

I wake up before Jasalie does. For a few minutes, I lie next to her and watch her sleep. She looks younger, more at peace. That whole “back off or I’ll make you” look is missing from her face when she’s asleep and relaxed. I swallow hard as I brush a stray hair off her flushed cheek. My heart’s in my throat suddenly.

I don’t know how the hell this is going to work between us. I wanted to get to know Jasalie so badly this weekend that I never stopped to think I could actually fall for her. The way she makes me feel—like I have no control over my desire to be with her—overwhelms me. I’ve dated too many women to count, and I’ve never come close to falling in love. I don’t know why, except that nobody I dated made me want to put her over football. The truth is, none of them even came close to meaning as much to me as football does. So every one of those relationships ended, some after a few hours, some a couple of weeks.

And except for one, all ended painlessly.

I suck in a breath, not wanting to go there right now.

I turn my attention back to happier things, specifically to the woman next to me. When I’m with Jasalie, I actually stop thinking about football. Not completely, and I can’t wait to get back onto the field this summer. It’s just that for the first time, I actually care about something—someone—other than the sport I’ve been obsessed with since I was five years old. And that fact is terrifying as much as it is exhilarating. This is uncharted territory for me, and for someone who’s used to making sure he always wins, I don’t want to screw this up.