From my vantage point on the counter, I watched him walk into the kitchen with people trailing after him like love-sick puppies. I could get so much done if I had people following me around all day. “You there, make me lunch, and you, fan me with tiny blades of grass.” It’s weird that I had no one applying for the job…

His eyes skimmed the crowd until he found his teammate, the one who'd just given me a jell-o shot, and then his eyes looked 37/890

up and found me. Oh god. I was staring at him as I wore a lopsided birthday crown and held a bag of ice to my face… and it wasn't like I could do anything about it since he was already heading over toward us.

Could I trick him into thinking the ice pack was an elaborate way to get drunk that all the hipsters were using lately? Like I was absorbing alcohol through my pores? Most likely not…

The guys were talking in front of me, but I didn’t hear a single word. I was watching Liam as he moved, trying to keep my tongue from detaching from my mouth. He had on a black short-sleeve shirt. Tattoos peeked out from beneath the sleeve on his left arm. The inked design traveled down to his forearm, 38/890

completing the entire package along with his rugged facial hair and piercing grey eyes.

All right, enough.

"Can I have another jell-o shot?" I asked, shaking myself out of my delirious Liam-filled haze.

"You might want to slow down, birthday girl. You zoned out for like five minutes there," Oliver answered with a sly smile.

"Oliver, c'mon you're going to deny the birthday girl another shot?" one of his friends chimed in. Ha! I knew his name had been Oliver the entire time.

"Yeah! Listen to him!" I laughed and winked at the new guy.

I didn't actually want another shot; I just wanted something to do while Liam stepped closer to us. He'd seen me staring at him and 39/890

he probably thought I was yet another girl in his growing entourage. I mean I would have been, gladly, but he didn't need to know that.

Oliver moved to go grab another shot just as Liam stepped up to the group.

"Hey Wilder," everyone cheered, reaching out to do that male-handshake thing while I pretended to be interested in my fingers on my lap. Yup, I still had all ten. That’s good.

"Oh, I didn't see you there man, you want a shot?" Oliver asked as he returned and handed everyone a small plastic cup.

I looked up just in time to see Liam shift his gaze away from me. He’d been looking at me. His eyes had been glancing in my general direction. I felt hot and sweaty all over, as 40/890

if I needed to cool my face with one of those paper fans like a 1900s debutant.

"Nah, I'm not drinking tonight. Looks like the birthday girl has had enough though."

What?

"Excuse me?" I asked with a scowl.

"Are you even legal?" he asked with a bemused smile.

What an arrogant asshole.

I prepped my jell-o shot and slung it back, never taking my eyes off of him. The edge of his mouth perked up, and I knew he enjoyed the fact that I was challenging him.

I held the empty cup out in front of me, and as he motioned to take it, I let it drop to the floor between us. His dark eyes followed the trail of the cup’s decent to the floor and 41/890

then came back up to my face. When his gaze locked with mine again, a slow smirk uncurled across his lips.

"I think your posse needs you." I tilted my head to the side and pointed to the gaggle of people waiting for him to see them standing behind him.

He ignored them.

"What happened to your cheek?" he asked, stepping forward and effectively breaking every social code. His teammates had been standing in a circle around me on the counter, so when Liam stepped in front of me, he cut off the circle and pretty much ended the conversation.

The other guys shrugged and laughed, turning to reform their own group and leaving me alone with Liam. I couldn't decide if 42/890

that was a good or bad thing, but the shots were starting to multiply in my system, so I couldn't be held accountable for my actions.

As Liam leaned forward to inspect my cheek, I remembered his question. "It's kind of a long story, but it involves gyrating hips and a car console."

He smiled at my answer, but he didn't take his eyes off my cheek. His hand reached up and he gently nudged my chin to the side so he could see the bruise better. I tried to keep my breath under control while he touched my skin.

"It's seriously not that bad. I'm just being a baby and icing it so I don't end up with a swollen cheek tomorrow." I needed him to step back. His cologne was practically hijack-ing my ovulation cycle and I had to fight the 43/890

urge to let my face collapse onto his shirt and inhale.

"Ah, yeah, I think you'll survive to see another birthday," he smirked as he crossed his arms.

"Oh good. This one's been pretty lame until now," I murmured, realizing how depressing the statement sounded only after I'd already said it. Where the hell were Emily and Becca anyway? Was the toilet some kind of portal to another dimension?

He tilted his head to the side, his gaze unwavering. “What did you get for your birthday?”

I’m still holding out that you’re actually a stippergram for me.

“Well,” I looked down at my empty hands, “I got this birthday crown?” I said it 44/890

like it was a question because I wasn’t sure that it counted. “My mom always gets me something elaborate, but her package didn’t make it here today from Aspen.” Wow, I really did sound pathetic by that point.

He nodded with narrowed eyes, but he didn't respond to the comment. He crossed his arms tighter, forcing my gaze down to his sexy tattoos. They stretched across his bicep on either side, but only the ones on his left arm dipped below his shirt sleeve. It was a tantalizing glimpse, but I wanted to see more. I knew from photos that they drifted up to his chest and back.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," I murmured cheekily, referring to his tattoos, of course.

45/890

I was seriously playing with fire, but that's what happens when I drink too much and the world puts me in front of the sexiest man alive. No, seriously, I think last year People Magazine named him Sexiest Man Alive.

"I don't think that’s a good idea," he said.

Wow. Completely denied. That stung more than my face smashing into the car console. So why was he still standing in front of me, blocking me from talking to anyone else? It was all too confusing for my intoxic-ated brain to understand.

"That's good. I couldn't show you where mine is anyway," I answered with a sly grin.

Even he was caught off guard by that comment, but relax, I don't have a tattoo on 46/890

my who-hah. It's just along my bra line; a simple line of text that runs horizontally under my arm. But wow I was laying it on thick.

I glanced down to ensure that I wasn't humping his leg. Nope, but my black dress had ridden up a bit, exposing more of my tanned thighs.

“That’s not the reason,” he smirked.

“Starting tomorrow I'll be one of your coaches at ULA, so I think that would violate the rules, don't you think?"

My heart stopped beating at the word

"coach".

Chapter Three

I narrowed my eyes. Had my drunken ears heard him right? Coach?

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

His eyes hardened and his jaw ticked once back and forth. "As of tomorrow, I'll be helping out the ULA women's soccer team for a few months."

No. No. No, thank you. That's not possible. He couldn't be my coach. He was too busy licking models to coach a soccer team.