Page 65 of Exes Don't

“I’ll be here.”

And dang it if I don’t wish she means always.

24

Do Your Job

Rose

Poppy is tittering about, talking a mile a minute about the game and about Anton and how incredible he played. “I’m serious, Rosie. Your man’s out there like a real-life Superman.”

“Poppy, if you don’t stop calling himmy man, I’m not letting you meet him,“ I scold. “We are co-workers. Less than that. I am interviewing him. He’s my subject material.”

“We can all imagine how you’d pore over him.” Noli wags her brows.

“With attention to every single detail.” Poppy grins.

“A fine-tooth-comb style treatment.”

I look to Collin and Mack. “Can’t you two do something about them?”

The men glance at each other and then back to me. Collin shrugs. “They’re not wrong. Even I have a little bit of a guy-crush on Anton.”

“Think he’ll sign my jersey?” Mack asks.

I tip my head back.

My spy world and my real world are on a collision course, and it’s got me completely off balance. I can’t even blame my sisters. I was lulled into a false sense of security. I got caught up in watching Anton play as a fan of the game—as a fan of his—until I got a text message from headquarters during Anton’s post-game interview, saying that Duke had given his assistant, aka the man put in place to keep an eye on him, the slip. Fortunately, another text came through shortly thereafter, giving the all clear.

Still, it was a sobering reminder that I need to keep my focus. I’m about to meet Duke in person for the first time, and I need to be on my game. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do that with my sisters all but planning my wedding to a man I absolutely cannot fall for (again) and my brothers-in-law wanting to be his bestie.

The door to the team’s private area swings open, and Anton appears, trailed by Duke and his good-for-nothing right-hand man. Seriously, the guy has one job. How does he lose his mark?

Anton’s eyes sweep from Poppy, who’s standing starstruck, to Noli, who gives him a small wave, to Collin and Mack, who chin-check him, and then they settle on me. His practiced smile melts into something more natural when his gaze connects with mine.

I, for one, have to work to keep breathing at regular intervals. Anton looks incredible. He’s dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit coat and slim-fit trousers. He’s got on a simple white V-neck t-shirt that’s stretched to dangerous lengths across his broad shoulders. His collar bones seem to glisten. It’s weird that I find his clavicles attractive. I get that. But here we are. There’s something about the fact that all this muscle and bone coalesce to make a man who is so fully capable on the field and so willingly kind and helpful off the field. It’s a deadly combination. One that apparently has me salivating at the mere sight of his collar bones.

His hair is damp from his shower, and it’s curling on top, with that one strand dangling over his forehead in a perfect curlicue. My fingers itch to reach out and twirl it around. I drop my gaze. His feet are bare beneath snake-print loafers, and I bite back a smile. I make a mental note to ask him if his sockwear preference has changed since moving to a colder climate. Somehow, I doubt it, judging from his elected footwear tonight.

“My face is up here, Ms. Kapser.” Anton’s deep voice holds a smile.

I spring my gaze up to meet his laughing eyes.

“I know that.” I sound defensive.

“Just teasing you.” He grins at me. “Though, I have been told I’ve got excellent taste in shoes.”

“You definitely do.” Poppy steps forward and tucks her hand under my elbow, reaching out her opposite arm toward Anton. “Poppy Bradley. I’m Rose’s older sister.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Poppy. I’ve heard nothing but good things.”

Poppy smiles, shooting me a look as if to say,He’s heard of me, and until today, I had no idea you two were ever a thing?

I ignore her, motioning instead for Mack to step forward. “This is Poppy’s husband, Mack. And you remember Noli and Collin from California.”

Anton greets them with his characteristic warmth. They chat easily, and I try to ignore how well he fits right in to the group of us by turning my focus to Duke.

Also known as public enemy number one—to me, at least.

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