Page 4 of Playing Mr. Perfect

“It sure is,” he says low and deep, the edges of his lips tipping up.

“From so many people in a tight space,” I clarify.

“Exactly. One hot body makes all the difference.”

My cheeks heat, and I’m vaguely aware of my siblings’ chatting as the elevator descends, but Clay’s presence holds me captive. The feeling of being under anyone’s spell is so foreign to me, I’m not sure I breathe the rest of the way down to the lobby.

When the doors open, I hurry out, relieved for the space, but at the same time, I want to chase that rush of adrenaline he caused. Which is precisely why I need to put distance between us.

Clay has a way of making me feel like the swoony-eyed teenager I left behind a long time ago. At least when he shows up at community events in my hometown, I can claim a work emergency and hightail it back to Charlottesville, where I live. Then the most I have to deal with are texts from him, which I simply ignore. But I can’t jump in my car and drive home from Paris.

I steal a glance at him as he talks with Axsel. He must sense my gaze, because he looks over and our eyes connect. My body tingles and burns again. I know better than to be sucked into that enticing vortex, but it taunts me like only an equation with a missing parameter ever has.

“There they are,” Morgyn calls out, bringing me back to the moment. She’s waving to her husband, Graham Braden, one of Clay’s cousins, who is standing by the entrance with Dash and Trace. The three of them look like they walked out of a lifestyle magazine, tall, built, handsome, and as different as can be. Graham is wearing a worn MIT baseball cap and a Henley, Dash is in a crisp button-down, and Trace is wearing a flannel shirt over a plain-white tee, his ever-present cowboy hat firmly in place.

As we head in that direction, I snag Amber by the arm, tugging her traitorous butt back to me as the others forge ahead, and lower my voice. “Why did you invite Clay?”

“His team didn’t make the Super Bowl. We thought this would lift his spirits.”

“Hasn’t he won a few Super Bowls?”

“How do you…?” Amber’s eyes widen. “Have you been googling him?”

“No.” There’s no way I’ll admit that. It was only once, and I never made it past drooling over pictures of him. “You guys rave about him like he’s some kind of hero. It’s hard to miss.”

“I know football isn’t your thing, but he is a hero to his fans.”

I roll my eyes as we make our way across the posh lobby toward the others. “The whole thing is ridiculous. He gets a ring and worldwide notoriety for throwing a ball, and I get a pat on the back for building life-saving medical devices.”

Amber looks amused. “Are you jealous?”

“No.” I realize I sound like I am and nip it in the bud. “I’m just annoyed that he’s here. I wish you’d given me a heads-up.”

“I didn’t think you’d care. You take off every time he’s around.”

I give her an imploring look, whispering as we near the others, “Doesn’t that tell you something?”

A mischievous grin curves her lips. “Actually, it reminds me of how I used to avoid Dash, and now he’s the best part of my life.” She beams at her husband, who’s looking at her like she’s his world.

“There’s my gorgeous wife.” Dash draws Amber into his arms and kisses her.

I glance at Graham and Morgyn holding hands, their foreheads nearly touching as they talk, and Brindle and Trace, his arm around her like he never wants to let her go, his hand resting on her butt. I might not be a starry-eyed romantic like Amber or Morgyn, or a sexpot like Sable or Brindle, but watching my sisters fall in love, seeing them change and grow with their partners, has brought a longing that takes effort to ignore.

“They almost make you want it, don’t they?” Axsel asks as he sidles up to me.

Yes, hangs on the tip of my tongue, but I notice Clay heading our way, and that tingling starts low in my belly again. The past slips in like a ghost, reminding me of what those feelings can lead to, and I tuck that yes down deep. “Almost. You?”

“Oh yeah,” Axsel says. “But only for a night.”

I laugh.

Clay lifts his chin. “Care to share?”

“Hell yeah.” Axsel eyes him lasciviously. “My room or yours?”

“Dude, if I swung your way, I’d be all over that,” Clay says without missing a beat.

“My loss,” Axsel says, and heads for the others.