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I lean forward and press my forehead to the cool wood of the desk, breathing deeply and slowly. I can do this. I can go the rest of the night without thinking about him.

This is just another night, and Harrison Stafford is just another spoiled athlete.

Why is he occupying so much of my mind? I let my head thunk against the desk one more time. The vibration reverberates all the way through my skull, but it doesn’t erase Harrison Stafford.

Marcy, the best bartender in Texas as well as my bestie since grade school, slips in the door and slams it shut.

“Why are you hiding out in here?” Marcy stares at me with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t tell me hockey boy really got to you.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you that,” I mutter.

She drops down into the chair across from my desk. “Oh, good Lord, Daisy Duke.” I used to hate that stupid nickname. Who am I kidding? I still do.

“You can say that again, Marcy Moo.” I thunk my head on the desk again just for good measure.

“Damn. You do have it bad. You only call me that when you’re really ticked off.” Marcy’s mouth twitches. “He came up to the bar to ask about you.” She leans in.

I have no doubt Marcy handled it for me. “What did you say?”

“I told him only immature idiots ask a stranger for a kiss in a crowded bar.” Nice. I’d laugh, but my stupid body isn’t cooperating right at this moment. “Then he asked me for your name. I hate to say it, but I felt sorry for him. He looked like a whipped little puppy dog, so I told him your name, and I told him you own the bar.”

I sit back in my chair and shrug. “I’m not in the mood to deal with hockey boy or his friends tonight. Can you get Lynette to take over their table?” I say, voice low. “I just… I don’t need the drama.”

Marcy arches an eyebrow. “It’s not like you to run from trouble.”

“This is different,” I say. “Don’t ask me how, but it just is.”

Marcy stands up and leans over to mess up my hair like she used to in grade school. “I got you.”

“I know you do.”

CHAPTER THREE

HARRISON

It’s 3 a.m. and sleep is a myth. I roll over and pound my fist into the pillow. Fucking hell. Every goddamn time I shut my eyes, I see Daisy Castille walking away from me. It was like pulling teeth, but I managed to get the bartender to tell me her name.

The ceiling is gray and blank and endless. Kind of like my thoughts, which have been running the same damn loop since I left The Sin Bin. I can picture Daisy’s green eyes, the color of rolling Kentucky hills. Her mouth curved and merciless, like she was born to knock guys like me right on our asses. The way she moved through that chaos, every step telegraphing confidence, zero room for negotiation. The sight of her luscious curves in those tight ass jeans and clingy shirt sent all the blood in my goddamn body straight to my cock.

I haven’t been able to shake her. Not for one minute.

I roll over. The pillow’s cold for half a second until I punch it flat, trying to drive every last molecule of her out of my skull. No dice. Under the sheets, my cock’s still at half-mast just from thinking about her.

Christ. I turn over again, facing the window this time. Downtown’s just a dark outline. I moved in three months ago, right after the trade, but it doesn’t look like anyone actually lives here. I could fix the place up, fill it with shit I don’t need, but why bother?

Every time I close my eyes, I see the look she gave me. Not even a challenge. Just total, bored indifference.

Yeah, I’m losing my mind.

I shove my fist into the pillow again. Doesn’t help. There’s this restless energy in my chest, this itch I can’t scratch. I’m used to wanting things and going after them, no brakes, no hesitation. But with Daisy, I don’t even know what the next move is. She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever met.

I kick off the sheets and sit up, dragging my palms over my face. I’m not even tired, just wired and frustrated and horny and pissed. The city outside is starting to lose its edge, night draining out until it’s just the dull blue of not-quite-morning.

I head down to the gym on the second floor and work out until my muscles burn and my body hums. Then I drag my ass back up to my apartment to hit the shower. After turning the water as cold as I can stand, I stand under the spray, but it doesn’t do shit to cool the adrenaline. I scrub myself twice before toweling off. I yank on my favorite black henley and the first pair of jeans I grab from the dresser. I run a hand through my hair and stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. Still me.

The urge to see Daisy again gnaws at me, but I have to get to morning practice.

After a grueling practice, I drive straight to The Sin Bin. The bar doesn’t open until late this evening, but I’m counting on her being there earlier since she’s the owner.