Page 2

They’re standing outside a dingy club, the kind of place that smells of rancid smoke, cheap beer, and meaningless sex. I should know. I’ve been here once or twice for bachelor parties and those kinds of things. My friends would call it a titty bar. But my friends are mostly pro football players, and their manners leave a lot to be desired.

The place isn’t really a strip club, more like a topless bar where beautiful women serve drinks in their underwear. It all seemed flirtatious enough until now… until a sinking feeling washes over me as I watch this woman get propositioned in the street as she’s trying to leave work.

The guy laughs, the sound abrasive, like he doesn’t believe her. “Three hundred bucks. Come on, baby. It’ll be fast.”

She chews on one of those pouty lips as she weighs his words, contemplating what looks to be a life-changing decision… and not life-changing in a positive way.

Don’t do it, lady… just say no to what this asshole is offering you.

Part of me knows I need to mind my own business. This guy just wants a quick transaction, and she’s a grown woman who can make her own choices. Who am I to play hero at midnight on a random street corner? I’ve got my own problems: a contract to protect, a coach running out of patience, an agent who literally just spent an hour telling me to keep my head down and stay out of trouble. To be a ghost.

Walk away, Alexei. This isn’t your fight.

But the other part of me—the part that grew up with three sisters, the part that watched my father work double shifts to make sure his girls were safe and warm and never, ever put in a position like this—that part won’t let my feet keep moving.

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, and I catch the slight tremble in her shoulders. She’s freezing. And this guy isn’t budging.

I walk over, my legs moving of their own volition.

“Excuse me,” I say, interrupting them.

Her gaze swings over to mine, and the guy she’s with does a double take. I tower over him by at least half a foot. Now that I have a better look at him, I see the guy is middle-aged, round in the midsection, his hair graying at his temples. I also know I can take him if it comes to that.

He shoots me a look that’s half pissed off that I interrupted his bargaining session and half panicked that I may kick his ass. The latter is definitely what he should be more concerned about if he tries any shit. I may just decide to do it anyway, despite the fact I just promised my agent I’ll behave myself and not end up on any more tabloid news sites.

So much for being a ghost.

“The lady said to leave her alone. I suggest you get out of here.” I glare down at the guy—not even flexing, just using every inch of my height and the width of my shoulders to make a point.

His eyes narrow, but he takes a step back and holds up his palms. “Fine. Going.”

He takes off down the street and disappears around the corner, leaving me standing across from the woman. She’s probably no more than five foot three, a hundred twenty pounds soaking wet. No way she could have defended herself against someone his size. More importantly, she shouldn’t have to defend herself from that prick.

“Were you really going to go home with that guy?”

She shakes her head. “No. He didn’t want to take me home. Just wanted a little private show in the back seat of his car. Use your imagination for the rest.”

I wait to see if she’s joking, but sadly, I can tell what she’s saying is the truth. She delivers it so matter-of-factly, like this is just another Tuesday for her, and that bothers me more than the actual words.

Then she looks at me, with the prettiest shade of blue eyes I’ve ever seen, and my heart almost stops. “For the record—guys are gross.”

I chuckle at her surprising honesty. “Not denying that.”

Men can be real creeps. I’ve seen the evening news. Sadly, there’s just no arguing against her logic. Some of us are still good guys, but I don’t say this to her. I just let her believe what she wants.

“I’m Alexei,” I say, offering her my hand.

I have no idea why that name comes out of my mouth. Everyone in my life calls me Alex—my teammates, my agent, the media, every interviewer and fan and woman I’ve ever taken to dinner. Everyone except my mother and my sisters. Alexei is the name my parents gave me, the one whispered over my crib in Russian, the one my mother still uses when she’s proud of me or angry with me. I haven’t introduced myself that way in years, and I have zero explanation for why I’m doing it now, standing outside a dingy club with a woman I met thirty seconds ago.

For a second, she just looks at my hand, and I don’t think she’s going to take it. But then finally, after deciding that she can trust me—at least for something as simple as a handshake—she places her small palm in mine.

She’s freezing. Her fingers feel like ice against my warm skin, and something about knowing she’s been standing out here in the cold while that guy haggled over her makes my jaw clench hard enough to hurt.

“I’m Ryleigh. Thanks for, um . . . saving me.”

I haven’t done anything yet. I wanted to punch that guy in the jaw when I heard him propositioning her. Instead, I let him walk away unscathed. Lucky prick.

“Do you work here?” I lift my gaze to the neon sign blazing above our heads in the darkness. I scrub a hand over my face as I picture the petite woman standing before me, scantily clad and serving drinks to a group of horny men with grabby hands and fat wallets.