“Well I’m nothing if not generous.” I mean it to be flippant, to continue this game we’ve set up, but when I meet his eyes, my playful fa?ade floats away. My breath hitches in my throat as a current of anticipation jolts through me. I feel locked in his gaze, emboldened by it.
I look away first, tucking a stray hair behind my ear and refocusing on the skyline. The lights of Atlanta still wink at me, urging me to join in the wishes of a whole city for a better new year. Out of all the proclaimed and broken resolutions of years past, sleeping with a baseball player never made the list. But that doesn’t mean a girl can’t go in for extra credit.
“So.” I recover somewhat. “What brings you to Atlanta for the holiday?”
“I own a couple of bars with my friends,” he says, “this one included.”
It clicks then. Cooper Knox is the silent partner in my brother’s business ventures. The one who’s never here but fronted the money for the first bar.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Leave it to me to find the one guy who is completely off limits. And not just in Jackson’s Code of Conduct. If Knox’s head gets put on a pike, Jackson will have help from Ryder, Cash, and Parker. The guys are pretty adamant about this sort of stuff. I’ve been adopted by all of them and the last thing they want for their little sister is a Sexy Bastard.
“Speechless?” Knox gives me a nudge and it sends shivers down my spine. “What have I done now? Is bar-owning right up there with baseball?”
I look into his eyes again. The fear of all the guys becoming furious melts away and is replaced by Knox—and the incredible night we could have. I can already feel his arms around me and picture the way we’ll fit together. This is gonna be bad, I think, followed quickly by, This is gonna be epic.
I put my game face on. “Not at all,” I say. “In fact I think you should introduce yourself always as Cooper Knox, bar owner. Much more respectable than Cooper Knox, Yankee.” I inject the word “Yankee” with a playful venom.
He stands straight and holds out his hand again. “I’m Cooper Knox and I own a bar.”
I lace my hand with his. Heat emanates from where our skin touches, rising up my arm to my chest. His grip is firm, but not overkill like some of the guys you meet in sports. “I’m Shelby and I’m the PR director for the Atlanta Falcons.”
“That explains your love of football.”
“Indeed.” I try to sound professional and dignified, but I can’t help but smile. It’s my dream job and I happen to be pretty good at it. Football players are cool. It’s sort of like hanging out with the Sexy Bastards, only I get paid. The downside is that it’s rough on the dating life—on top of all of the problems I already have. Just like I’m Jackson’s baby sister here, at work the Falcons also consider me to be under their protection. At some point, I’ve got to be allowed to make my own choices.
“Your football friends would be scandalized to see you with a ball player, wouldn’t they?” Knox teases.
I play along. “Afraid so.”
“So let’s make a compromise.” He sweeps an arm around me, his palm firm on the small of my back. I lean into him, hungry for more contact, for the heat growing between us. “I’m just a guy who owns a bar and you’re just a girl who works in PR.”
I meet Knox’s gorgeous green eyes, knowing that there are endless reasons to resist my attraction to him, knowing that he’d be as good as dead if the other Sexy Bastards found out. But how can I resist the most attractive man I’ve ever seen suggesting a night of purely anonymous fun? What the guys don’t know can’t hurt them. I place a hand against his perfectly chiseled chest and say, “Just for tonight.”
It’s a fairytale that’s bound to break apart in the New Year, but for now…Why the fuck not?
CHAPTER THREE
Knox
“So how did you really end up alone on a roof on New Year’s Eve?” I ask. In New York, Shelby would be hip-deep in men practically begging to make her scream until the early hours of the morning. I may have been absent from the Atlanta scene for some time, but I can’t imagine it’s that different here.
She looks over her shoulder again at the door and I follow her gaze. I’ve noticed her do this a few times. Zones out, looks over her shoulder like she’s expecting someone to walk through the door and rain on her parade.
“It’s…complicated…” she says, choosing her words carefully. Her teeth catch her bottom lip and she finally takes her eyes off the door. “What about you? What’s a bar owner doing up here? Don’t you have guests?”
“It’s complicated,” I say, mimicking her response. She laughs, throwing her head back.
“Try me.”
Her body is so close to mine, the cutouts in her dress teasing. The heat between us is so intense that she’s not even shivering in the brisk winter chill. Damn, how much I wish I could rip that dress off right here. “Well,” I begin, “in your perfect world, I’m just a guy who owns a bar—even though some women find that other career appealing. Unfortunately that’s the only thing they find appealing.”