Sometimes the rules are meant to be broken . . .
‘Fresh, fun and fast-paced’ Becka Mack
‘Sports romance perfection!’
Hannah Grace
KI STEPHENS
PENGUIN BOOKS
Ki Stephens is a romance enthusiast who finds comfort in the happily-ever-after . . . with just a little bit of angst along the way. She has a special interest in works that include neurodivergent characters like herself. When she’s not daydreaming about books, Ki enjoys working with kids, creating art in her backyard studio and spending loads of time with her baby girl, her husband and their three pets.
‘Game On flies high and lands with grace – the kind of sports romance that has you rooting for both leads from the first page until the last’ Simone Soltani
‘Sexy, fun and sprinkled with the best things of a sports romance, I devoured Game On !’ Elena Armas
‘A
spicy and tender romance’ Hannah Bonam-Young
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To my husband and daughter, my greatest loves, and my readers, my greatest gift.
Chapter One
Ella
I soar through the air, core tight and engaged, my body a blur against the backdrop of Oxford blues and whites. The crowd below me roars, their voices blending together in a loud echo of cheers. They’re faceless to me, just a sea of people in an all-too-familiar room.
For a fleeting moment, while I’m high above them all, it’s as though I’m truly flying. My heart pounds in my chest, the thrill of the performance pulsing through me.
I reach the peak of the basket toss, and hit my mark perfectly, my limbs extended, my form flawless. A flash of genuine excitement crosses my face as I survey the room. This is where I come alive, performing on the mat, thriving on the trust, the unity between me and my teammates.
With practiced precision, we disassemble, and I’m gently lowered down, not a single hair out of place. Sweat drips from my brow down the side of my jaw, the tight grips and mounds of hairspray tingling at the base of my neck. The sound of our success is earsplitting, drowning out any lingering thoughts or distractions.
All that matters is the knowledge that we’ve given this routine our all. We’ve conquered our final competition of the season, and this is the happiest moment of my life.
As we take our last bow, joy bubbles up inside of me. It spills out in the form of an uncontrollable smile, radiating from my lips to my fingertips. This is it—the pinnacle of my time with this team.
Soon, it will all come to an end.
In just a couple of short weeks, I’ll be leaving behind everything I’ve ever known—my team, Oxford, my legacy— and heading off to Whitland University in Nashville. There’s a full year of studying abroad laid out before me, summer term through to the following spring, followed by months of travel with my boyfriend. It’s a dream come true, a chance to make my mark on an international stage. Yet at the same time, it’s daunting beyond measure.
“Pack it in, Davies. You’re going to give us all a complex,” my friend Molly says, nudging me as we head backstage. Her smile is genuine, but there’s an edge of friendly sarcasm to her tone.
“Oh, come off it,” I say. “If we can’t celebrate now, when can we? We just smashed that.”
She chuckles, her slender arm finding its way around my shoulders as we make our way to the lockers. “That’s an understatement. Good last comp for you, huh?”
I grin over at her, even as the bittersweet reality of my departure looms. “Don’t remind me . . . I’m going to miss this so much.”
She gives me a little squeeze, her voice lowering a bit. “It’s only a year. And it’s Whitland. That’s a big deal.”
“I know, it’s just a lot. New country, new team . . .”
“New men to obsess over.”
“I still have Jamie, remember?”
“Right . . . Jamie,” she mutters. “You’re sure he needs to tag along?”
“He’s not tagging along. Despite the fact that he also wants to travel, Whitland has an incredible finance department, and Jamie—”
“Right, right,” she cuts in with a snort. “Mr. Moneybags is going to learn how to make even more money. How could I forget?”
“Seriously, what is your issue with him?”
“Just don’t think he’s good enough for you, babe.”
“We’ve been together for so long. Five years now. I know him like the back of my hand.” I yank a few grips out of my hair, tossing them into my jacket pocket. “Jamie’s it for me. Always has been, always will be.”
“If you say so.”
“Drop it, Moll. I don’t want our last few weeks together to be spent rowing.”
“You’re right, as per. Sorry, Ella.” She pats me on the arm. “But don’t act like we’ll never talk again. FaceTime still works from the other side of the pond, yeah?”
I laugh, a genuine moment of relief in the midst of the chaos. The changing room is a mess, with gear scattered everywhere, teammates chatting loudly, and the smell of damp sweat hanging in the air. “Yeah, well, you’re six
hours ahead. So, if I call at some ungodly time, you’d better pick up.”
“Will you send over some Barbecue Lays and a pack of Lifesavers?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then ring me any time.”
I laugh, shoving her gently on the shoulder. She turns, flashing me a grin, and quickly strips out of her uniform. I head towards my comp locker to do the same, floating a little lighter now. Molly Green’s always had a way of doing that— of cutting directly through the tension, no pretense about her.
I’m still lingering once the room has cleared, slowly zipping up my bag, when our coach approaches. “Davies, got a second?”
I turn. “Of course. Everything alright?”
“More than.” She smiles, her expression softening. “First and foremost, I wanted to congratulate you.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
She claps a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “You’ve been an extraordinary asset to this team over the past two seasons. Your spirit, your dedication, it’s unmatched. Whitland is lucky to have you.”
Her words hit me like a warm embrace, filling me with a sense of pride and gratitude. “Thank you, Bailey, that means a lot. I just hope I’m a good representation of Oxford while I’m there.”
“You will be. Wherever you go, you’ve got the heart of a Siren.”
I tap my palm against my chest, and with one last beaming smile, I say, “Once a Siren, always a Siren.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Two short weeks have passed since our final championship. My room’s in tatters as boxes and bags cover the floor, each one a tiny capsule of memories from the past two years. I move with efficiency, folding clothes while a storm swirls inside my mind.
It’s the first week of June, but for me, it marks the end of an era.
Molly lounges on my bed, her fingers absent-mindedly scrolling through her phone. One of our other friends, Olivia, is kneeling on the floor, taping up one of the many boxes lying around.
“Can’t believe you’re actually leaving us,” Molly says, eyes still glued to her screen.
I let out a stilted laugh, failing to hide my nerves. “I know, right? Feels like I’ll wake up from this dream any moment now.”
Olivia pauses her makeshift assembly line to give me a knowing look. “You’re going to do great things out there. And with Jamie by your side, you’ll have a little piece of home with you.”
Molly’s face twists into a disapproving scowl. “Yeah, exactly right,” she mutters under her breath.
I shoot her a warning glance. “Not now, okay?”
She tosses her hands up. “Fine, fine. Mum’s the word.”
Silence falls over the room as we continue packing, the only sounds that of tape being torn and items being shuffled around. The heaviness of change presses down on me, but I welcome the weight despite my apprehension.
I’m in the midst of folding my favorite jumper—a cozy knit Jamie got me from the Oxford gift shop—when my phone buzzes, breaking the silence. I glance down at my screen to see my boyfriend’s name flashing across it.
Propping the phone between my shoulder and one ear, I say, “Hey. You all set?”
There’s a pause on the other end, a moment of hesitation that stretches too long. “Babe, look, I . . . I’m not going to be on the flight with you later today.”
I freeze in place. “What do you mean? You’re not going to make it there on time?”
“I’m not going to make it at all.” He sighs, a heavy, burdened sound. “I’ve booked a later flight for myself. I need to . . . I need to do this alone.”
I frown. My fingers unconsciously twist the hem of my jumper, the frayed fabric tightening in my grip. “Alone? You know I’m not fond of flying, and especially not by myself. I can’t—”
“I’m not talking about just the flight, Ella. I mean this whole thing.”
My friends, sensing the shift in mood, pause their packing to look over at me questioningly.
“Whole thing?” The room spins a little, the words not quite
Game On registering. “I’m going to need you to be a little more specific before I completely lose my mind.”
He clears his throat awkwardly. “This trip,” he says, and I feel as though he’s ripped my lungs from my body. “Studying at Whitland.”
“Like, the entire trip we’ve planned together?” I manage to choke out. “The whole year abroad, the road trips next summer . . .”
“I know, I know, it seems sudden. But I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. And this is what’s best for me.”
“What’s best for you ?” My voice rises in disbelief, shaking as I ask the question. “You have to be joking. Bailing on me just hours before our flight. That’s a real classy move, Jame.”
“I thought you’d understand. I just . . . I’d like for us both to experience this as ourselves for once, not as ‘Jamie and the future Mrs. Baker.’ I think we could use this freedom.”
“Freedom?” I pace the length of my room, each step more forceful than the last. My voice is so loud now, it’s echoing off the bare walls. “Is that what I am to you? A cage? Do not act like I forced this on you, Jamie. We’ve been planning this together since the beginning.”
“No, it’s not you, it’s me. Lately I’ve been feeling like I don’t know who I am outside of us . And I need space to figure that out. To be sure I’m not just going along with a plan because it’s what we’ve always talked about.”
The finality in his voice is unmistakable, and a wave of betrayal washes over me. I stop my pacing and clench my jaw
so tightly that the muscles twitch. The phone is pressed hard against my ear, each word from him amplifying the pounding inside my head.
“So, all our plans, our entire fucking future, mean nothing now?”
“They do, but this is important to me,” he says. “Maybe when I figure things out, we can reconnect.”
Molly’s hand lands on my shoulder but I shrug it off, my focus solely on Jamie’s voice playing on a funhouse loop inside my head.
“This is cowardly. You’re dropping this on me now when it’s too late to change anything. If you’ve been thinking about this for a while, then you’ve had months to say something. Anything. And as for reconnecting, there’s no shot of that. You’ve made your bed with this decision. You’ll have to lie in it.”
There’s a pause, a heavy breath. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” I laugh bitterly. “You’ve done a pretty stellar job of that now.”
“It’s a year, baby. And after that, we can reassess.”
The words are there, on the tip of my tongue— pleas, arguments, bargaining. But, as I take in what he’s telling me, something inside me shifts. Maybe this is a sign, a push towards a new beginning that’s wholly mine.
I take a deep breath and steady my voice. “Fine, Jame. If that’s what you want. Go find yourself. Fuck a few willing classmates. Because that’s what this is really all about, isn’t it? You want to be single. To live it up in America. Well, don’t
expect me to be there waiting when you finally find out who you are.”
“Hey, that’s not—”
I cut him off, a sudden surge of strength coursing through me. “Goodbye, Jamie.”
Ending the call, I stand there, phone in hand, a cocktail of emotions whirling inside me—anger, betrayal, but also a strange sense of liberation. I blink rapidly, fighting back the tears threatening to spill over. My hand trembles as I set the phone down on the desk with more care than necessary.
Olivia and Molly rush to my side, their faces filled with concern. “What a fucking bellend,” Molly spits out.
Olivia wraps her arms around me. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”
“You don’t need him,” Molly adds. “You never did.”
Leaning into their support, I allow myself a moment to feel everything. There’s hurt, there’s shock, there’s a nascent flicker of dread for what lies ahead. I sink onto the edge of my bed, my legs too weak to carry me. My head’s in my hands, fingers threading through my hair as I work to process it all.
“Yeah, well, screw him,” I say, looking up. I swipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I’m still going to make this year count for something.”
“You don’t have to put on a brave face for us, you know?”
Olivia says softly. “You can let it all out. Cry on our shoulders if you’d like.”
“No, everything’s going to be fine. With or without him.”
“That’s right,” Molly says. “Jamie Baker doesn’t deserve your tears.”
With a weak nod, I wipe the last lonely tear from my
cheek, swallowing down the disappointment, the sheer pain of this loss. If I allow myself to feel it all, this entire experience will be ruined before it begins. And I refuse to let that happen. This is my future. Mine, and mine alone.
Chapter Two Ella
The skyline of Nashville sprawls out before me, a dazzling mix of Southern charm and big- city bustle. As we drive from the airport, there’s an immediate shift from wide open spaces to an intricate web of city streets lined with music venues, cafés, and country bars. All so lively and energetic.
It’s a far cry from the quaint, cobblestoned streets I left behind in Oxford. My heartbeat feels a bit lighter now, sort of fluttery, as the taxi weaves through the traffic and carries me towards this new chapter of my life.
I should be more excited. But the pang in my chest, the pressing ache that’s been following me since I left, refuses to fade. It’s like the part of me that was left behind doesn’t want to be forgotten, no matter how hard I try to focus on what’s ahead.
And no matter how fast the city moves around me, I can’t seem to outrun this heartbreak.
I ask the driver to take a detour through campus, even though it’s summer holidays and most students have already
gone home. But there are still plenty of people milling about, drinking in the warmth of the early June air.
Eventually, we arrive at a grand brick building not far from the university. As I stumble out of the taxi, my suitcases in tow, I gaze up at the luxurious apartments. They’re towering and elegant, with large windows and ornate balconies. A sweep of modern design mixed with classic charm.
This is it—my new home for the next twelve months.
“Hey, you must be Ella!” A bright, cheerful voice breaks through my thoughts. I turn to find a girl bounding towards me, her dark hair bouncing with each graceful step. Her warm brown complexion glows, almond eyes sparkling. She has the kind of energy that could light up the entire street.
“That’s me,” I say with a tentative smile. “And you’re—”
“Gabi Martín, your new roommate.” She exudes an air of cheerleader perfection: gorgeous, bubbly, and radiant. The kind of warmth that brings me instant relief. She’s clearly strong too, effortlessly hoisting up my heaviest suitcase like it weighs nothing at all. “Come on, let me show you inside. You’re gonna love it here!”
As we make our way to the entrance, Gabi chatters nonstop about campus life, about Whitland, about the new squad I’ve joined. “You know, some of the girls are planning on hitting up the bars tonight. Just those of us who stayed near campus for the summer.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, you should definitely come along. They’ll be thrilled to meet you!”
I nod, an eager sort of something building inside my
chest. It’s been a whirlwind since Jamie dropped his bombshell this morning, but I’m determined not to let it get to me tonight. If I’d stayed in Oxford, the heartbreak would have consumed me. The familiar streets, the memories— everything would have reminded me of what I lost.
But here, in America, I refuse to let it destroy me. I won’t allow him to put a damper on my first official night here in Nashville. And more than that, I won’t allow my life to be derailed by a man.
After our unexpected breakup, that lengthy flight from London, and the expensive taxi ride over, I certainly won’t be spending my evening crying all alone in our flat. Tempting, but I’ll pass.
I’m on holiday here. Hell, I’m a single woman now. And maybe a night out will be just the distraction I need.
We enter the building and Gabi leads me up to our fourthfloor flat, where I’m welcomed by a cozy living space. The TV is large and modern, and the sofas are plush and inviting. The kitchen is charming, with high-end appliances and a stylish four-seater dining table.
“This is fantastic,” I say, taking it all in. “I love it.”
Gabi grins. “I thought you would. And wait until you see your room.”
She leads me down a short hallway, opening a door at the end of it to reveal a simple furnished bedroom. There’s a double bed and a small desk in the corner, perfectly suited to my needs.
“It’s not much, but Jane added some fairy lights for ambiance,” she says, referring to her previous roommate. Jane’s
subletting this place to me for the year while she completes her own study-abroad program. A perfect swap.
“It’s really nice,” I say sincerely, dropping a duffel bag onto my new bed.
“And look, this is the best part.” She guides me over to the large window, one hand on my shoulder, pulling open the curtains. The view spreads out before us. Rows of ivycovered buildings, their rooftops creating a patchwork of classic architecture. In the distance, the spire of the W Tower, the tallest building on campus, rises against the sky. “Best view in town.”
“It’s gorgeous.”
“So, what do you think? I know it’s technically very late for you, but are you up for going out tonight?” Gabi asks. “A few of the girls asked to pre-game here.”
“Yes,” I say definitively, “count me in.”
That evening, the sound of laughter fills our flat as the girls arrive. There’s an array of personalities, each as bright and bold as their chosen bar attire. Subtly matching color schemes. Tube tops and high-waisted skirts, denim shorts paired with creamy satin, and little bows in their hair.
I’m wearing a silk top and shorts, not quite coordinated but close enough to fit in. My usual make-up has been glammed up by Gabi’s expert hands; she’s added a hint of shimmer to my eyelids and a bold red lip to complete the look.
The girls greet me with warm smiles and excited chatter. They ask me about my journey here and my first impressions of Nashville. They rush to tell me everything they can about
campus life—the best spots to hang out, the dodgy areas to avoid—in the span of five minutes. It all makes me feel more welcome, more at ease, than I ever expected.
Well, all of them except for one.
She stands slightly apart, her posture exuding an air of authority. She’s beautiful but daunting; tall and lean with golden-blonde curls falling on poised shoulders. Claire, as I learn, is the captain of our team. Her green eyes meet mine from across the room, holding my gaze for a moment longer than necessary.
There’s a sort of fierceness about her, a sense of someone who measures twice and cuts once. Her smile is polite, yet there’s a sharpness to it, like she’s used to being the one who sets the standards.
Instead of cowering in the corner, I decide to approach her with all the confidence I can muster. The self-assurance of a girl who wasn’t brutally dumped by her childhood sweetheart this morning.
“I’m Ella,” I say, standing in front of her, extending a hand. “You’re our captain, right?”
“Claire,” she says dismissively, ignoring my attempt at a handshake. “So, England, huh? Cheerleading isn’t much of a thing over there, or so I hear.”
I force a smile, the weight of her judgment pushing in. “It’s growing, but yes, it’s not as big as it is in the States. I’m excited to learn from the best, though.”
Her saccharine smile doesn’t waver, but her eyes narrow ever so slightly. “You’ll find the routines at Whitland quite different from what you’re used to, I’d imagine. We prioritize
athleticism. It’s not just about the performance; it’s about the discipline.”
“I get that,” I say, my voice steady despite the churning in my stomach. “And I’m here to give it my all. I would never want to waste your time.”
“Hey, you two,” Gabi cuts in as she makes her way over to us, bumping me casually on the hip when she reaches me. “Let’s not talk shop tonight, shall we? Claire, you’re obviously ready, but I still need to finish this one’s make-up.”
Claire gives me one last paper smile, then waves a dismissive hand at both of us. “Go on, then.”
Gabi, protector of peace, places one hand on my shoulder and steers me back to the dressing table in her room. Fussing with my hair, she adds a little white bow. Then she leans in and whispers, “Claire’s brilliant but intense. Led us to win the national title last year. Just, you know, don’t take her scrutiny personally. She does that to everyone. It’s kind of her thing.”
“I get it,” I say in a hushed tone. “I’ve been there, done that, with the Sirens.”
“And now you’re here with us.”
“She knows that I came to Whitland to be here , right? I’m not trying to swoop in and be the star of someone else’s show.”
“She’ll figure it out soon enough.” Gabi taps me affectionately on the nose and tilts her head to one side. “Yep, more highlighter. That’s exactly what you need.”
Gabi says the weekends always bring Nashville’s streets to life. And, true to her word, the atmosphere here at the
Game On
Sidetrack— a great little place near campus— captures that spirit. The music is loud and infectious. Some sort of pop country that mingles with the buzz of animated conversations.
It’s packed with students tonight. The bar has a line of patrons that wraps from one end to the other as soon as we walk in. Groups of friends laugh and chat, couples dance to the music, and men challenge each other at the pool tables dotted around the space. Men that are undeniably attractive.
Men that I wouldn’t mind using as a distraction, if only for tonight.
I sip on my second drink courtesy of my lovely roommate. She offered to smuggle me inside and then pass her drinks along. Although technically illegal, it sure doesn’t feel like it.
It’s been ages since I’ve had to worry about ID , but there are only a few months until my twenty- first birthday. So, once the term officially starts—note to self: Americans say fall, not autumn—I can go back to ordering my own drinks, sans the schnapps.
But I’m not complaining. This drink is sweet, the flavors of peach and bourbon mingling nicely on my tongue. And I can physically feel myself relaxing, the tension in my shoulders finally at ease.
It’s early days, but I’m already feeling comfortable among this new group of girls. Although I don’t know them very well yet, I like them. Gabi, especially. She’s generous and helpful, bubbly and funny, exactly the type of person I’ll need to handle this transition.
As for the rest of the girls, they seem fun too, each with
their own unique personalities and stories to share. Cove, with her short dark bob and warm brown eyes, seems slightly on the shyer side. She’s a flyer, tiny and agile. But there’s something in her quiet confidence that draws me to her.
Paige, on the other hand, is a bit more outspoken. A power tumbler who wears her hair in carefully styled braids. She’s a transfer from one of the best junior colleges in the nation, and she seems like a natural leader.
It’s surprising how much I’ve picked up about them in just a short time. A couple of quick introductions back at the flat, and I already feel like I’ve got a glimpse of the team dynamics.
Now, on the dance floor, I gravitate towards the two of them. Cove’s serene presence balances Paige’s lively energy; while the latter dances around us in circles, the former gently sways to the beat. I’m somewhere in the middle and, despite the heartbreak I endured less than twenty-four hours ago, I find myself able to let loose around them.
I’m loving our first night together as a team. It’s easy, given the distractions, to ignore the pain of the break-up that bubbles below the surface. So much so that I’m not even sure how much time has passed when Gabi finally reappears from the bathroom. “We should play a game,” she says, having grabbed a deck of cards from behind the bar. “Never Have I Ever.”
The girls all cheer as we gather around a high table, forming a semicircle while Gabi shuffles the cards. As she explains the rules of the game to me—how it’s notorious for its ability
to unearth secrets—it seems like a simple way to get to know some of my new teammates.
A few innocuous rounds pass by, and soon enough, it’s my turn. I’m laughing at the girls calling out my name as I draw the card, but my heart sinks as I read the question aloud. “Never have I ever been in love.”
A lump forms in my throat as memories of Jamie flood my mind. His laugh, his smile, the way he’s looked at me since we were in secondary school together—it all feels like a punch straight to the gut.
Bone-deep exhaustion weighs on me suddenly, and the noise of the bar starts to make my head hurt. Packing in the morning, the drive from Oxford to Heathrow, the wait before my flight. Nine hours in the air, adjusting to the sixhour time difference—it’s a lot to process. My body feels like it’s running on empty, my emotions magnified by fatigue and alcohol.
The girls around me are confessing, some taking sips of their drinks while others opt to pass. I try to focus on their stories, but those images of my ex linger in my mind.
Needing a break, I excuse myself and begin my journey through the crowded bar, weaving in and out of high tables and groups of people dancing. There’s a brief moment of hesitation before I step onto the outdoor patio. It stretches along the side of the building, illuminated by a cluster of hanging lights.
From this vantage point, I can still spot my new teammates through the open windows.
But out here, the night air is warm, and it carries the faint
scent of blooming flowers. It’s much quieter than it was near the bar. There’s more space to breathe, to think , although that’s the last thing I’m looking for right now.
I lean against the railing, rubbing at my temples in an attempt to shake off the exhaustion and melancholy. And that’s when I see him: a tall man standing alone by the edge of the patio. He’s staring into the night, a beer bottle held loosely in one hand.
He has this rugged, all-American look about him: dark hair that’s slightly tousled, gray eyes framed by thick lashes, a perfect strong nose, and a tiny mole by his upper lip on the right. His T-shirt is pulled tight across his broad chest and shoulders. Muscular but lean.
Now that I’ve had a closer look, I think he might be one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen. And that’s not just the bourbon talking.
On an impulse fueled by desperation, and a little tipsiness, I waltz right up to him. He glances down at me, one brow cocked, and takes a silent sip of his beer. It’s as if he’s daring me to speak.
I open my mouth, then snap it shut, a rush of selfconsciousness flooding my system. But then, bolstered by a surge of bravado, I blurt out, “You’re very tall, you know.”
He smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And you’re very forward.”
“Sometimes.”
“And you have an accent,” he adds, tipping back another slow sip.
“Thank you for noticing.”
“Are you . . .”
“English?”
“English,” he parrots, a hint of amusement in his deep voice. “And what’s a girl from England doing here at Sidetrack?”
“Having a drink,” I say, trying to match his casual tone. “Or two.”
“Only natural.” His response is smooth, his accent distinctly American with a touch of a Southern drawl.
“Why are you all alone?”
He raises a thick, petulant brow. In his eyes, there’s a charged sort of interest, like he’s scanning me from head to toe without even moving his head. “You have no filter, do you?”
“Well?” I press, undeterred.
“Needed some air.”
“Ditto,” I say, not breaking eye contact.
He glances at me, a playful challenge in his eyes. “So, English girl with no name, you make a habit of approaching very tall strangers in bars?”
“Only the ones who look a bit lonely.”
He chuckles, the sound deep and throaty. There’s a flutter in the pit of my stomach, a nervousness I can’t explain. One I haven’t felt in years. “And here I was, thinking I was enjoying the solitude.”
“Well, now you’re enjoying my company. Much better, isn’t it?”
He tilts his head, his voice a rough murmur. “Infinitely.” I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, nibbling on it in
an attempt to rein in the incessant fluttering. Those gray eyes track the movement, and heat surges in my core at the intensity of it all.
To cool myself down, I take a slow, measured sip of my drink. But in an embarrassing turn of events, I cough and the liquid spews out, dribbling onto my chin.
He laughs. “Well, that was sexy.”
My cheeks flush as I hastily wipe away the peach and bourbon, setting my glass on the rail beside us. So much for being bold. “You liked that, did you?” I ask, attempting to save face.
“Sure did,” he says, his voice a low rumble. His hand comes up to cup my face, and his fingers gently tilt my chin until our eyes meet. Up close, his are a striking shade of slate gray, and they seem to pierce right through me. “I’m not opposed to you getting a little . . . messy.”
“Then you should see my bedroom back home.”
He lets out a hearty laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’d bet it’s immaculate.”
“You’d lose that bet nine times out of ten,” I say with a grin. His hand is still resting on my face, thumb brushing my skin gently. It feels good, equal parts soothing and electrifying. I raise my brows at him. “So, how messy is yours?”
What compels me to ask the loaded question, I don’t quite know. Maybe it’s the twinkle in his eyes, or the warmth of his touch, or the fact that he’s just so disarming. A Southern stranger that’s managed to captivate me in a matter of minutes.
I shouldn’t even be thinking about this. My heart is still
bruised, and my guard? Well, it’s up for a reason. But maybe a little fun wouldn’t hurt. Isn’t that what Nashville is for— leaving the past behind, even if only for the next twelve months?
He clears his throat, glances at his watch, and then, “You know, I don’t do this very often, but would you want to see it for yourself?”
My heart falls into my stomach. “What, like right now?”
He nods, a sly smile on his lips. “Yeah. Like right now. I could give you a ride back to my place.”
I glance over at the bar, where Gabi and the rest of the team are still playing our game. My mind races, weighing the consequences. “I don’t know if I should.”
Part of me screams to say yes, to take a chance and see where this unexpected connection might lead. Another part of me urges caution. But as I look back into his eyes, that twinkle and warmth still drawing me in, I realize I’m not ready to let this moment slip away.
“No?” he asks, placing a gentle hand on the crook of my elbow. It’s another bold move, a physical gesture that tells me he’s genuinely interested. And I find that I quite like it, being touched by him. “You don’t strike me as the type to worry about judgment.”
“And how would you know?” I challenge. “You don’t even know my first name.”
“Do I need to?”
My jaw drops, heat flooding my cheeks. “I— I suppose not.”
My heart’s pounding now. This isn’t what I do—I don’t
just leave bars with strangers, no matter how incredibly handsome they are. But then again, I’ve never had the opportunity to do so before.
Since as far back as I can remember, there’s always been Jamie. A thought that hits me like a tidal wave. But I can’t let it wash me under, not now.
The perfect man extends his hand, an unspoken invitation. I hesitate for another split second before a grin spreads across my face and I take him up on the offer.
As we walk through the small car park together, hand in hand, I pull out my phone to send a quick text to Gabi. I let her know that I’m leaving with some guy I just met. And then, for good measure, I snap a picture of his license plate.
“Could I have your ID?”
He stares at me, scrubbing a hand over his stubble. “You want a picture of that, too?”
“Safety first.”
Fishing in his coat pocket, he hands me his driver’s license. “How responsible of you.”
I take a cursory glance, sending both pictures over to my roommate. “Hudson Fox, is it?”
“The one and only.”
“Ella Davies.”
“So, you’ve decided to share your name with me after all?”
“Well, it might come in handy later. To be honest, I think I’d quite like to hear you say it.”
“Fuck.” He puffs out a heated breath, running a hand through his hair. “You aren’t tipsier than you let on, are you?”
“If I were, I would’ve joked about you inviting me back to your hole.”
He stands there for a moment, puzzled. Then, pinching the bridge of his nose, he stifles a chuckle. “My . . . my fox hole, right? Very clever.”
“That’s what they call me.”
“Alright then, clever girl. Let’s go.”
He holds open the passenger door, and I slide in, settling comfortably into the warm leather seats. The inside of his car smells faintly of an unfamiliar cologne. I take a deep breath and revel in it.
This is it, isn’t it? My sliver of reckless abandon, my chance to forget everything and just live for the moment. To jump into bed with a good- looking stranger. My first one- night stand to mark my first night in Nashville.
Hudson settles into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with a low purr. He places a hand on my thigh, and then asks, “You sure about this? About spending the night with me?”
I nod, our eyes meeting in the dim light of the car. “Yeah. I am.”
“Good.” He pats my thigh before moving his hand and shifting into gear. “Because I’m gonna make sure you don’t forget it.”
Chapter Three Hudson
We pull up to the driveway of the house I live in with my best friend, Levi. It’s a modest two-bedroom bungalow with a white—now dingy beige—picket fence out front. There are a few scattered dandelions that have taken root in an overgrown flower bed. A lone wooden chair sits on the small square of cement we call a patio.
The place may not seem like much, but it’s ours.
Despite Levi’s protests, I pay more than my fair share of the rent using my scholarship money and working double shifts during the off-season. But it’s worth it for the independence and sense of home this place gives me.
Stepping out of the car, I round the hood to open Ella’s door. She’s all kinds of beautiful. The type of woman who can make a man forget his purpose, if only so that he could take her home and show her a good time. A stunning stranger with an accent that makes my pulse pound.
She has dark hair, hazel eyes, and a slim but athletic build. Her fair skin is fl ushed pink, cheeks glowing with a hint of excitement. She’s exactly my type— eff ortlessly
captivating, with a subtle confidence that comes and goes in waves.
She takes my hand with trembling fingers.
“Nervous?” I ask, flashing her a reassuring smile.
“A little,” she admits, nibbling on that plump bottom lip. “It’s been a while since I’ve done . . . something like this.”
“Hey, don’t worry,” I say, gently sliding my fingers along her upper arm. “I’ll take damn good care of you.”
She lets out a low laugh, and I see some of the tension leave her body. “Confident, are you?”
“Very.” My hand slowly wraps around the back of her neck, thumb grazing the little knot at her nape. “Can I kiss you?” I murmur. “Take some of the edge off?”
“Yes,” comes her breathy response. Her eyes go wide, sparkling under the floodlights.
I lean in, our lips colliding in the softest of caresses. A faint brush of skin against skin. It’s tentative at first, but soon enough she’s melting against me, opening up like a goddamn flower.
Her taste is intoxicating; all traces of the bar and the schnapps she’d been drinking earlier gone now, replaced by something even sweeter— something more distinct to her.
She moans into the kiss, nails sinking into my back as I angle her body closer to mine. Her hands inch their way under my shirt and run along my abs and chest, lingering on every touch, as if she can’t get enough.
Groaning low in my throat, I deepen the kiss, brushing her hip with fevered strokes.
God, I’ve missed this. This sense of desperation— this urgent need to have her— it’s further proof that my selfimposed dry spell has lasted far too long. I went a little too hard last year. Drank too much. Slept around. I’ve been trying to rein it in, but I guess there are some risks a man can’t help but take.
“Come on,” I manage to croak out. “The mosquitoes will eat us alive out here. And God knows, I need to get you in my bed.”
The house is dark as we step inside, Levi likely still out on a date with his girlfriend—or whatever the hell he calls her this week. I let him know I was on my way home with someone, and he still hasn’t texted me back.
I flip on the hallway light and lead Ella into my room, closing the door behind us. My bedroom is modest: queen-size bed, dresser, and two nightstands—one of which is covered in a tumbling pile of clothes. I clear them off, stuffing them into a nearby hamper.
Then I remember something crucial. Turning to Ella with a half- smile, I say, “Fuck, I nearly forgot. How do you feel about cats?”
Before she can answer, a sleek Siamese with piercing blue eyes comes slinking out from under the bed, purring and rubbing against our legs.
“Love them,” she says, laughing as she bends down to scratch behind his ears. “And who is this?”
“Sourdough,” I reply, watching with amusement as he accepts Ella’s affection.
She stands, casting me a quizzical look. “Odd name.”
I shrug, trying to suppress a smile. “What can I say? He was a very grumpy kitten.”
“Well, then I suppose it’s only logical,” Ella says, a grin spreading across her face.
“But now he’s a total softie,” I say, bending down to greet him. “Aren’t you, bud?”
He responds by purring even louder, circling Ella’s feet in a display of approval.
She laughs again, her eyes lighting up in a way that makes my chest tighten. It’s a sight I could easily get used to. But since we only have tonight, it’s one I need to savor.
“Looks like I’ve made a new friend,” she says, reaching down to scoop Sourdough into her arms. My cat immediately kneads her shoulder, settling in as if he’s found his new favorite spot.
“Yeah, he’s a good judge of character,” I say, mesmerized, as I watch them together. Her dark hair cascades down her back, the soft curled ends nudging the top of my cat’s head. “Seems like you’ve passed the test.”
She nuzzles her nose into his fur. “And what if I hadn’t?”
“Well, I’d obviously still have sex with you,” I say bluntly. “But only once. And you’d probably have to leave right after.”
Her jaw drops. “And here I was, thinking you were a gentleman.”
“Don’t blame me,” I say with a chuckle. “Blame Sour. Besides, I asked you to come home with me after speaking to you for about five minutes. If you still thought I was a gentleman, then that’s your error.”
She groans. “Allow me to lie to myself, will you?”
“If it’s in my favor,” I say, “go ahead.”
“Thank you for your permission.”
We both laugh as Sourdough hops from her arms and slinks out of the room. It’s as if he’s aware of our intentions and is allowing us the space to be alone. Smart little kitty. I carefully close the door behind him. When I turn my attention back to Ella, she’s watching me, and the way her dark eyes track my every movement might be even more of a turn-on than the promise of her touch.
“Lights on or off?” I ask.
“You’re giving me the option?”
“I want you to be comfortable,” I say in a soft voice. “I may be dying to see you—all of you—but I’m almost certain I can feel you just as well.”
She flushes, and gulps low in her throat. “Off, then. I, um, I like it better in the dark.”
I flip off the light, leaving only the glow of the moon to filter in through the blinds. Even in the dim light, she’s unbelievably sexy, all smooth skin, long lashes, and a mouth made for sin.
I come closer, cuffing her cheek. “Relax, Ella.”
She shudders at my touch. “I’m trying.”
“Then let me help you.” I run my thumb along her jawline, tracing the contours and memorizing every dip and swell of her face. Her breath hitches as my fingers skim down her neck, pausing at the top of her shirt.
“Can I?”
She nods. “Yes.”
Slowly, so damn slowly, I unbutton her top, revealing inch
Game On
after delicious inch of pale skin. She shivers against me as the fabric pools at her ankles on the floorboards. Her bra is lace—white lace—with little bows along the straps. Classy, yet sexy as hell.
“You’re beautiful,” I breathe as I cup her breasts. “Fuck, Ella . . .”
Her hands find their way to my fly, unbuckling my pants with surprising ease. “Jesus,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “You’re as impatient as I am.”
She lets out a breath as she pushes my pants down around my hips, my erection straining against my boxer briefs. “Just taking my turn,” she counters. “Fair is fair.”
Without breaking eye contact, I unhook her bra, dropping it carelessly onto the floor. Her tits spill out, and they’re perfect— moderately sized, full, and plump, one slightly larger than the other with these pert rosy nipples—and all I can think about is how much I’d like to fuck them.
Properly, and multiple times.
Next come the panties—lacy and light purple—and oh, God, I can see the folds of her pussy right through them. My cock throbs at the sight, begging for release already.
“Fucking unbelievable,” I say.
She ducks her head shyly. “Mmm.”
“Don’t,” I say, tipping her chin up with my index finger. “You are beyond gorgeous. A woman who makes me want her just by existing. Give me a few hours and I can show you exactly how much I mean that. I’m gonna fill you up, stretch you out, make you feel so damn good that you won’t ever doubt it again.”
“Is that so?” she asks, biting her lip in a way that has my cock twitching in agreement.
“That’s so,” I say firmly.
She believes me; I can tell by the way she looks at me then, with a newfound confidence shining in her eyes. “Then I won’t argue with you,” she says, standing taller. She steps out of her panties and crawls seductively onto the bed, propping herself up on one elbow.
Her dark brown hair fans out across the bed. Her eyes, a perfect blend of green and gold, blink up at me through heavy lashes. And there’s this tiny white bow in her hair, too. She’s like a poised and pretty package I can’t wait to unwrap.
“My turn again,” she purrs, crooking a finger my way. I waste no time in shedding my boxers and climbing onto the mattress with her. Our bodies meld together perfectly, her soft breasts against my hard chest, our legs entwined. Her touches are light but sure—as if she knows exactly where to put her hands and how much pressure to apply.
“Fuck,” I moan as her nails rake down my backside, sending shivers along my spine. “Yeah, El, I like that. Keep going.”
She obliges, scratching lightly along my back. Her lips trail small kisses down my neck, and I feel as though I’m fully melting inside.
Then— before I can even register what’s happening— she’s on top of me, grinding herself against my cock as her eyes bore into mine. Hazel pools of desire reflect back at me, dark and unapologetically hungry.
“Condom?” she pants out between kisses, bucking against me with a needy whimper.
“Nightstand,” I manage to rasp out before her lips reattach to my neck. “But first, you should consider letting me go down on you.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I want to kiss you there. Lick you. Get you nice and wet and ready for me.”
Her thighs clench, and I smirk. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes, God, yes,” she moans, her accent so damn sexy it’s all I can do not to come right then and there.
“Say it like you mean it.” I grin, rolling her onto her back and hooking one leg over my shoulders.
“Fuck me with your tongue,” she gasps, “and don’t you dare stop until I—”
Her words dissolve into a deep moan as my mouth makes contact with her slit, lapping up her sweetness as if it were my last meal on earth. Her taste—sweet and tangy—dances on my tongue as my fingers explore every inch of her slick folds. I drag my tongue slowly up to her clit, sucking it gently, while two of my fingers plunge deep inside her. The heat wraps around them, her body tightening with each thrust as I build a rhythm.
She’s so fucking wet for me, leaking onto my fingers already. And God, does that turn me on even more than I thought possible. Her hips start to buck, my fingers sliding deeper as I add a little suction, pulling her closer to the edge.
“Hudson,” she groans. “I’m close.”
“That’s it,” I say against her skin, suckling harder. “Come for me, baby, I wanna feel you come in my mouth.”
But she’s already lost, arching her back and calling out
my name. She shakes in my arms, in my mouth, against my tongue. I look up at her flushed face, her eyes squeezed shut as she rides out the aftershocks of her orgasm.
When she finally returns from her high, she pulls me up for a deep kiss that takes us both by surprise. My tongue slips into her mouth—tasting, wanting, aching for more. Her hands are in my hair, curling around the strands as if I’m all that’s keeping her tethered to this world.
“Now,” she pants between kisses. “I need you inside me right now.”
“After watching you fall apart like that. So fucking good for me, so perfect,” I whisper into her ear as I reach for the condom, fumbling a hand around my nightstand, unwilling to break contact even for a split second. “You can have whatever you want.”
I sheath myself in record time, and then I’m slowly easing into her—a snug fit, but her wetness makes it effortless. Sharp nails dig into my back again as she murmurs my name, arching her hips to meet mine, encouraging me to go deeper.
“Fuck,” I croak out through gritted teeth. “You feel incredible.”
“Yeah?” she says. “You feel good, too. Bigger than I’m used to.”
Well, that’s a fucking compliment if I’ve ever heard one. And it’s all the invitation I need to pick up the pace, thrusting into her like my life depends on it.
“Fuck me,” I mutter, “I didn’t know you’d feel this good.”
“Me neither,” she manages through ragged breaths, her walls fluttering around me.