Page 2 of The Huckleberry Bookshop

And incapable of remembering her real name.

The edge of a tattoo crept up the left side of his neck, peeking above his collar. Just enough was revealed to make her curious. Were those leaves? An angel? A bird? How far did it stretch down his chest? All the way over his hard pecs?

The peek-a-boo tattoo was certainly intentional. He’d probably sketched it out himself, then asked the artist to ink it, anticipating how women would ask about it, giving him an excuse to rip off his shirt and show them. An opportunity to flex those muscles he worked so hard on in the gym. Lifting weights larger than her head like they were fluffy kittens and not hulking weights she could barely budge.

Yes, she’d tried.

Athena cleared her throat, as well as the vision of Chad in a ragged tee, pumping iron, his almost-black locks damp with sweat, the tattoo still frustratingly hidden.

She really needed to stop finding every conceivable excuse to wander past the arena’s gym. Because the man was an egomaniac who thought he was too good for her and the Dragons. The type her mother should have warned her about. The type she’d fallen for before.

Never again.

He was bad news in an irresistibly attractive package.

So of course she had a crush on him.

What woman didn’t?

And what was it about a brawny, confident man, anyway?

Not her type at all. They were all experienced, Class A heartbreakers.

Man, they were soooo her type.

Which meant she needed a new type if she planned to have a still-working heart by age forty.

She coaxed her body to extract itself from Chad’s way-too-tempting embrace. Although her steadying left hand seemed unwilling to leave his abs. And her traitorous torso kept cozying closer, her lungs inhaling that amazing aftershave he always wore, which she considered to be his signature scent of seduction.

He was half standing, his solid form pressing against her in the small space between her stool and the bar. His face was level with hers, and with one innocent stumble forward she could lay to rest the fantasy of how it might feel to kiss him.

No.

Find the anger. That shield of righteous indignation.

But his body was so warm against hers. So tempting…

“Chadwick,” she said calmly, reminding herself by simply saying his name that he was her enemy.

“Nobody calls me that,” he replied, his voice almost gruff. His arms dropped and she wobbled momentarily.

“And my name’s not Tina. Does the team doctor need to check your head for brain damage?” She snatched a nearby paper cocktail napkin and dabbed at the side of her face.

His lips twitched at her dig and his gaze swept over her, taking in her gown. The asymmetrical neckline, the vintage skirt. Slinky, sensual. She noted he took a second, quick sweep as though confirming what he’d seen the first time: that the dress made her ample curves scream va-va-voom.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I’m part of the team!”

Why did everyone assume that the dietician wouldn’t, or couldn’t, come to the black-tie fundraiser? Did they think she didn’t exist outside her small office in the bowels of the arena? She had a life beyond the Dragons. A big, busy life! She was constantly creating new recipes in her mother’s kitchen for her cookbooks and the players, and would soon open a bookstore with her sister.

She was plenty busy. They were lucky she could even make it tonight.

She snatched a stack of napkins from the bar and swiped them down the beads of moisture on Chad’s retro tuxedo. Damn, he wore it well. Not many people could get away with wearing something so painfully out of style. And yet instead of laughing at his ruffled, baby blue tuxedo shirt she was almost drooling over his wide chest and daydreaming of pirates and wanton escapades.

“Are you—” his eyes narrowed “—petting me?”

Her attention snapped upward. His charming smirk was aimed directly at her, hitting like a solar flare to the gut.

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