"Okay, you look really nice. Hot, even." Again, he looks me over, this time lingering on my top. "Totally, smokin' hot."

A flush of heat rushes over my body, settling between my legs, and I'm the one doing the throat clearing. It doesn't stop the slow tide of unexpected l.u.s.t that makes my steps unsteady. What the h.e.l.l? It's just Gray. "I like to dress up now and then. Don't look so shocked."

"I'm not shocked." Gray takes hold of my elbow, a light touch, and guides me toward the back of the club. "I'm grateful."

"Grateful?" I ask blankly. He's still giving me sidelong glances as if he's convinced the scenery will change and doesn't want it to.

Gray just shakes his head and leans in until his lips brush my ear. His warm breath and deep voice caress my skin. "Mac, I'm a healthy heteros.e.xual male. Anytime a girl looks hot, I'm f.u.c.king grateful."

Lips pursed, I make no further comment. It's ridiculous how much his admiration pleases me. And disconcerting, as if I've taken a shot of hard liquor that's gone straight to my head. I am still a bit dizzy when we reach the large circular booth that holds Gray's friends.

They all smile at me with varying degrees of interest, as if they've been waiting to get a good look.

"Ivy," Gray says, giving a nod in my direction by way of introduction. "Diaz, Rolondo, Dex, Marshall, Johnson, Cal, Drew, and Anna."

Anna, the curvy redhead and the lone girl at the table, has the widest smile. She gives me a little wave. "Hey, Ivy. We've heard a lot about you."

Clearly. I'm like the new exhibit at the zoo. "Hey. I've heard a lot about you guys too." I slide into the s.p.a.ce left open next to Anna as the guys say h.e.l.lo.

They're all huge and probably intimidating to anyone not used to being around football players. To me, though, it's a bit like coming home. My whole life I've been around male athletes, strong guys who use their bodies as a musician would an instrument. Oftentimes they behave like overgrown boys, no matter what age they are.

Gray takes the seat opposite me, his muscular forearms resting against the table. For a second we just smile at each other, and happiness floods my veins like pink champagne.

Then Drew leans in. "I've been meaning to thank you, Ivy, for letting Gray borrow your car." His tone is sincere, but there's a gleam in his light brown eyes.

"I didn't let Gray drive my car," I clarify, even though I know I don't have to. But I'm willing to mess with Gray just a bit. "In truth, it p.i.s.sed me off. I kind of wanted to kick his a.s.s."

"She talks a good talk but she loves me," Gray a.s.sures everyone.

"You didn't hurt the car," I say, "so I'm feeling more charitable toward you, yes."

Gray winks at me, and I laugh.

The gleam in Drew's eyes grows. "Gray would never damage that car. I mean, he looks so good driving it."

The guys all chuckle. And Gray coughs out, "a.s.shole."

Drew ignores this and leans back with a laugh. The guy is ridiculously good-looking in a chiseled, clean-cut way with light brown hair and eyes. Gray and Drew sitting side by side, with their muscled physiques taking up a good portion of the booth, look like a comic book come to life.

They catch me staring and both say, "What?" at the same time.

Smiling, I shake my head. "Nothing. I just had this image of Thor and Captain America having a beer."

They both color at the same time. Which is kind of cute.

"Ha!" cries Anna at my side. Her cheeks plump with a wide grin. "I had that Captain America thought about Drew too."

Drew perks up. "You did, huh?"

Gray snorts. "Dude, I've just been compared to Thor. I totally win."

"What the h.e.l.l does Thor have? A little hammer?" Drew waves a hand as if to say, please.

But Gray smirks. "At least he isn't hiding behind a wussy shield. Thor is a G.o.d. Enough said."

"A boring G.o.d with the personality of a post," Drew volleys.

"And you're saying Captain America isn't boring? Dude. He doesn't even understand modern culture. He's like a 1940s Boy Scout."

Drew and Gray eyeball each other for a second. Then Drew relents with a laugh. "Touche."

"And Thor reigns victorious in battle!" Gray throws up his arms in a touchdown gesture.

All the guys groan. Someone lobs a balled-up bar napkin at Gray, who neatly bats it away.

"Are they always like this?" I ask the table.

"Always," Anna mutters, but she's laughing.

Dex, who is ma.s.sive and wears a full beard, shrugs. "Sometimes they slap each other's heads around too."

"Quiet down there, Bruce Banner."

Dex rolls his eyes at Gray.

"You disagreeing with that a.s.sessment, Cupcake?" I ask, grinning.

Instantly Gray groans loud and long, and his friends start to choke on their shock. And then my mistake hits me. Oh, s.h.i.t. I ought to know better. Give a bunch of football players a new nickname to play with and they'll eat it up.

"Ivy," Gray chides. But it's too late-all his friends are on him now.

"Cupcake?" says Rolondo, the hot, lean guy with the dreads sitting in the middle of the round booth. His smile is blinding. "Oh, h.e.l.l no, I'm not letting that one go."

With another groan, Gray presses his face into his ma.s.sive hands.

"Glamour Cupcake. Sounds about right."

"Cuz he's sweet, pink, and oh, so pretty."

Between his fingers, Gray's blue-eyed glare promises retribution. And I grimace, giving him what I hope is my best sorry-I-ruined-your-life look.

"I distinctly recall Gray claiming to have a gooey center," Drew remarks with an evil grin.

"Now, now, pudding cup," Anna drawls at Drew, "you shouldn't throw stones. You're all sorts of gooey inside." She gives me a conspiratorial wink as Drew sits up in his seat with an irate scowl, and the guys laugh.

"Low blow, Jones."

"Ah, but you love me anyway, Baylor," she answers with cheek.

Drew's expression says she's right.

Gray, however, is far from free. Rolondo sits back in the booth. "So, Ivy, aside from hanging with Cupcake, here, you go to school in the area?"

"No, I graduated last spring from Sarah Lawrence. I spent the summer and fall with my mother in London. I'm returning in March to manage one of her bakeries."

Rolondo's brows lift a little and it seems he's struggling not to look at Gray. "That's cool. I don't know how you bakers do it, getting up so early. That would kill me."

"Actually, it kills me too." I hate that part of the life. Going to sleep before nine p.m. and missing a regular social life in the name of baked goods kind of sucks. I've been reveling in staying up late and sleeping in late.

"Better get used to that h.e.l.l schedule, Mac," Gray says lightly, though the lines around his mouth are tight. "It's gonna be your life."

I shrug the comment off, not liking the way my insides do a little uncomfortable dip. "Could be worse, I guess."

"And now you're here with your dad?" Drew asks me.

"The super agent," Johnson supplies.

"Well, I think so." I grin. "But I'm biased."

They all chuckle. Then Marshall leans in, his big body making the table creak. "Hey, if he brings in the dollars come signing, I'm all over that."

But I shake my head. "Good agenting isn't about negotiating professional contracts. Salary caps take care of most of that. It's about life planning."

"You sound like the money manager my parents had come to our house when my dad had a heart attack," Dex says with a laugh.

"But that's what it is, really. None of you will play forever. That's a fact. Prepare for the future, pad your bank account as much as possible, find a way to live after your first career is over." None of them look particularly pleased at that. Athletes like to think of the now, when they feel invincible. It keeps them sharp. But that's not how an agent thinks. "It's an agent's job to protect you so that, one day, you don't end your career penniless. Because you all know that happens."

"She's right," Drew says.

"So how would you protect your client, Mac?" Gray looks genuinely curious.

"What? Me? I'm not an agent."

"If you were," he prompts.

"Well, let's take Drew here as an example. I'd get him voice coaching, for one thing, because the camera loves him. If he wanted it, one day he could be on ESPN, wearing a chunky purple tie and bringing home a nice salary."

They all laugh, but Drew nods. "Yeah, that'd be pretty cool."

"As for you." I look Gray over and begin to chuckle. "You're not gonna give me s.h.i.t, are you?"

Gray's smile is lopsided as he braces his forearms on the table. "Hit me with it, Mac."

"Jockey, Under Armour, anything to show off that body in action."

He turns bright red as the guys roar.

"That goes for all of you, really," I say to them.

"h.e.l.l yes, it does. The world needs to see these abs." Rolondo pulls up his T-shirt, to reveal insanely tight abdominals.

"Nice," I tell him honestly.

Rolondo winks. "You know it."

"Why does Drew get an anchor position and I get underwear?" Gray protests over his friends' laughter.

"Honestly? I don't think you would like sitting still for that long." I give him a soft smile. "Would you really like to be an anchor, having to follow a script? Because they totally do."

Gray tilts his head and regards me. A pleased expression softens his features. "No, I don't think I would." His voice lowers, yet I hear it loud and clear over the music. "You should be an agent, Ivy.

"What? No." An uncomfortable knot forms in my chest. "That's... They're..." I shake my head. "That's my dad's thing, not mine." I can't tell these guys that I've always resented Dad's job and how it took him away, broke my family. In truth, how deeply that anger runs in me is a shock. I hadn't realized until just now, and it chokes me.

My hand shakes as I reach for my beer and take a deep drink.

"I'd sign with you," Drew says, making me sit back with a thud.

"Yeah," Dex says. "I would too. You give a s.h.i.t. That makes all the difference."

"Experience and clout in the industry matter, as well," I say faintly. But the idea of helping them is seductive because I know how satisfying it would be to ensure their safety. Twitchy, I get to my feet. "I love this song," I say to no one in particular. "Who's going to dance with me?"

The guys look like deer in headlights. It takes me a second to even concentrate on what the song actually is. And I bite my lip hard. Madonna's Material Girl is playing. It's a struggle to keep a straight face. Gotta love Eighties Night.

"Uh-uh," Johnson says with a rampant shake of his head. "This is a girl's song."

Drew points to his leg. "I need to rest it. Doctor's orders."

Anna snorts and rolls her eyes before popping out of the booth. "Let's dance, Ivy."

"Looks like we're on our own," I say to her.

"Yeah." Gray leans far back into his seat as though he's in danger of being pulled out. "Maybe the next song."

Anna shrugs and grabs my hand. I follow, perfectly happy to lose myself on the dance floor.

Six.

Gray