Ihated math.
Always had, from the moment I’d seen my first quadratic equation in ninth grade algebra. Unlike June, who played Sudoku like it was a game of Candyland, math and I had never seen eye to eye.Or should I say, pi to pi?I much preferred theNew York Timescrossword, though even then, I had never completed a puzzle past Wednesday.
At least not without cheating.
In a surprising turn of events, I had found myself the subject of a different kind of puzzle altogether—a logic puzzle. One of those brain teasers where you had to figure out what each person wore to the wedding and what song they requested from the DJ. So long as it wasn’t white or “The Chicken Dance,” who cared?
My puzzle went a little something like this:
The sexual tension between Nessa and Jared has been mounting for weeks. If she decided to give in to the urge to fuckhim—which she wouldn’t, butifshe did—where would it happen and in what position would he take her?
I had yet to determine a solution.
Maybe Lindsay Lohan was right; the limit does not exist.
Yet here I was, standing outside his house, ready to take him up on his offer to help with the Buns of Steel bachelor auction. So long as he opened the door.
I fired off a quick text to both him and Dani while I waited. During one of our many phone calls, Jared had told me about his home—the larger of the side-by-side townhomes—but this was my first time seeing it in person.
It was smaller than I might have expected a professional baseball player to have, especially one whose signing bonus alone was more than I would make in a lifetime, but it came with one hell of a view of the Columbia River.
My phone vibrated in my hand.
Dani
Around the back and down the hill. Look for the sunflowers.
Easier said than done. The adjoining houses were surrounded by three hundred and sixty-five degrees of yard. Nonetheless, I rounded the house and started down the hill, treading carefully on the steep slope.
I wandered through the never-ending field of wild grass, stopping only to smell a sprig of lavender, until I reached a clearing. Just ahead, a dozen or so sunflowers taller than most NBA players lined a cobblestone path. It reminded me of something straight out of a children’s book, one where the path led to a portal to another universe or perhaps something even more astounding, a happily ever after.
I had to know what—or who—was waiting at the other end.
I heard him before I saw him, singing along with a Christmas song popularized by my favorite 90s boy band. And why not? There was nobody around to see or hear him. We were at least half a mile away from the next house.
I only hoped he was wearing clothes.
Kind of.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said, announcing my presence as I came out of the sunflower tunnel.
I nearly swallowed my tongue when I saw him on his knees, elbows deep in a raised garden bed. The sleeves had been cut off his T-shirt, exposing his intricate tattoos and bare abdomen. A discarded hoodie lay next to his thick thighs, covered in dirt and weeds. Sweat dribbled down his face from beneath his backwards baseball hat.
Fuck.Was there anything sluttier than a backwards baseball hat?
“It’s, um, a little early for Christmas, isn’t it?”
Yes, go with that.
Christmas music was a safe conversation topic. Christmas music didn’t make me want to roll around in a bed of carrots or—
“Only if you’re on the naughty list.”
Damn it.
He climbed to his feet and brushed himself off. I tracked the movement from the corner of my eyes, but otherwise never looked away from his hooded gaze. I physically couldn’t. Jared had bewitched me, body, mind, and backwards baseball hat.
“And you’re not on the naughty list, are you, angel?”
