But I told her that we could just be friends, so I'll have to settle for my imagination. In fact, I might have to settle for my imagination several times tonight before I'll be able to go to sleep.

She pushes my sleeve up, tucking it into the neck of my T-shirt, so that my shoulder is bared to her.

"How many hours a day are you working out?" she asked.

I shrug, and her hands stay with me through the movement.

"Depends on the day."

"How many hours today?"

"Somewhere between six and seven."

"Seven hours! Carson, are you crazy? How are you not dead asleep right now?"

I throw her a sly grin. "There are other things that are more appealing than sleep at the moment."

Her lips fall open just barely, not in shock, but just for a slow inhale.

"Are most days like that?" she asks.

I shrug again. "Give or take. Not game days, obviously. And less on Fridays when we have to travel. But I try to squeeze in at least five hours on most other days. Since it's open week, and there's no game to worry about, I've been going extra hard the last few days."

Her hands slip down and circle my bicep, just holding on to me. "Carson, you're going to wear yourself out. Or injure yourself. No one can keep up that kind of schedule, especially not when you've got school and homework on top of that."

"I'm okay, Dallas. I promise."

Her lips purse, perfectly kissable.

She kneads at my muscles, and I flinch a little, sore and caught off guard. Her touch softens, and she leans down to brush a light, apologetic kiss across my shoulder, and I release her ankle immediately, not trusting myself to keep from flipping her over until her back is against this couch and her legs around my hips.

My voice is little more than a growl as I say, "You cannot do things like that, Daredevil, and expect me not to pull you onto my lap and kiss you senseless."

Her answering look is contemplative. Her gaze drops to my shoulder again, and d.a.m.n it, I can see her thinking about it. That right there is almost enough to make me say screw it all and take as much as she'll give me.

But the moment pa.s.ses and she just replies, "Okay."

Then she goes back to working on my arm, and I continue my slow descent into madness courtesy of Dallas Cole.

Chapter 15.

Dallas In hindsight, it might not have been the best idea in the world to give Carson a ma.s.sage. I already knew his arms were my weakness, and if seeing them filled me with l.u.s.ty thoughts, touching them made my previous urges saintly by comparison.

Two days have pa.s.sed, and I should have my head on straight. I should not still be obsessing over how strong and devastatingly s.e.xy he is.

I should be kicking in that backup plan and walking away for good.

Tomorrow, I will likely need another powwow with my old pal's hindsight and stupidity, since I just ditched Stella at her art party in favor of hanging out at Carson's place again.

I just . . . I was sitting there at that house party listening to discussions on artists and techniques that sounded like gibberish to me. A pretty cute guy in thick, black-framed gla.s.ses and a mop of curly brown hair was. .h.i.tting on me, and I was bored out of my ever-loving mind.

When I started thinking about one of the history essays I'd read two days prior at Carson's house, that's when I knew I was in trouble.

It's the team's open week, so it's the only Sat.u.r.day for a long while that Carson won't be busy, and I want him to spend it with me.

Insane! Of the certifiable sort.

He doesn't answer when I text, even though he told me earlier today I could come over if I got bored. His apartment community is gated, but the gate automatically opens if a car pulls up close enough. Not exactly a stellar security measure. He's in building ten, and there must be a party happening in one of the other apartments, because the parking lot is completely full. I have to circle back around and park down by building six just to find a s.p.a.ce.

I should probably be nervous, but somehow in all the jumble of things I'm feeling . . . nerves are nowhere near the top of the list.

Stella's stupid painting is in my car, and really, I blame it for the reckless way I'm feeling. Well, it can share the blame with Carson's killer arms anyway.

When I pa.s.s building eight, my suspicions of a party are confirmed. There are half a dozen people outside on the sidewalk smoking, and I can hear music trickling out of a closed door behind them. One of the guys smoking catches my eye and nods a h.e.l.lo as I pa.s.s. I smile, but then focus my head forward and down toward the sidewalk, walking a little faster.

I don't expect anyone here to recognize me, but I'd prefer to get to Carson's quickly all the same. There had been one too many times in my life when a complete stranger had approached me at the mall or the grocery store or wherever to proclaim, "You're the Cole girl, aren't you? Spitting image of your dad."

I'd never understood that. I didn't think Dad and I looked anything alike. My red hair came from the mom I never knew. Dad's is a dark brown, peppered with strands of gray. He is hulking and huge, and my figure could barely rival that of a telephone pole. Our height, I guess, could be it. I'm tall for a girl. And maybe our noses and eyes are similar, but how that could allow a total stranger to pick me out in public as his child, I'll never know.

My phone buzzes with a text as I come up on building ten. I drag it out, expecting it to be Carson. It's Stella.

Would you hate me forever if I

hooked up with Silas Moore?

Silas? As in, the dude who's

friends with Levi and tried to sleep

with me at the frat party, Silas?

Yep. That's the one.

Jesus Christ.

Did he show up to your art

party? I don't understand.

Nah. I got bored after you left, and

hopped to another party.

You do know he's slept with like

half the girls on campus.

And I've not heard any of

them complaining.

Are you kidding? I've seen at least

two girls cry over him, and I don't

even do the party scene.

They're not crying because he's

bad in bed. They're crying

because they thought they'd be

the one to tame him. I have no