This is our first public appearance as a couple, and I’m both nervous and excited to be here. On his arm. By his side.

Still…

“What…is happening right now?” I laugh, oddly irritated at the spectacle. “Why is everyone…this is so weird.”

“I haven’t been here in weeks, that’s what’s happening right now.” He actually has to holler in my direction so I can hear him. “They’re glad to see me.”

My brows go up.

“I’m their leader, Scarlett,” he says, as if that statement explains everything.

“Their leader has been outside for the past eight weeks.” I roll my eyes. “It’s not like you went anywhere—you were literally thirty feet away this entire time.”

His skin is darker than it was before our vacation, tan skin setting off the green shade of his eyes and the pearly white of his teeth. He must have gotten his hair trimmed today, because it’s short, obviously styled by a professional.

I think about how I’m going to run my fingers through it later.

I ogle him some more, pressing my nose against his shirt to catch a whiff, lids fluttering closed. Mmm, mmm, good.

“Hey man,” Ben, the guy from the first house party—the one who had me kicked out—walks up with his fist raised for a bump.

I struggle not to narrow my eyes, but it’s difficult.

Rowdy accepts it, bumping it back. “What’s up Wilson?”

Ben’s blue eyes appraise me, trying to place me. He knows he’s seen me before, but he’s not sure where. “Are you going to introduce us?”

I step forward, presenting him with my hand like I’m a fine lady about to take tea in Britain, Sterling’s steadfast fingers pressed into the small of my back. “Oh, we’ve met.”

Ben grins, taking my hand, pumping it gently, acting the gentleman. Prick. “I always recognize a gorgeous face.”

“Is that so?” My nude, glossy lips smirk, and for the life of me, I cannot figure out where this badass inner me is coming from. I thought I’d be nervous, coming face to face with Ben.

But I’m not.

Not one little bit.

He can’t have sex with me because I’m taken, and he can’t place me because I’m unrecognizable from the girl he met eight weeks ago. My hair is down, I’m wearing more makeup than usual, and I’m four inches taller—not to mention, no beige sweater.

As a result, Ben does what I’d expect from a guy like him: he goes about ignoring me to speak Rowdy.

Ben shifts his gaze. “What’s up Wade—where the hell have you been? I feel like the only place I’ve seen you is the gym.”

“I’ve been around.” Rowdy laughs. “Mostly on the porch.”

Ben looks down, notices Rowdy’s arm firmly around my waist. Looks at me again, studying me closer.

“The porch? Why?”

“That’s where I met my little dumple puss.” He bends and kisses the top of my head. “That’s a hybrid word I made up,” Rowdy explains to his friend like he’s a relationship expert. “It’s a cross between dumpling and dimple. She loves it.”

He has zero shame.

“I don’t think we’ve met.” Ben reconsiders me with a more critical eye; he knows I’m the reason he hasn’t seen his captain in weeks. “I’m Ben.”

“Scarlett.”

He tilts his head like an animal listening for a sound in the distance, my name processing in his mind; I see the wheels turning like rusty spokes that need oil, chugging along through his brain.

He nods ever so slowly, up and down. “Scarlett.”

One word. Just my name.

He knows.

Then, “You’ve been MIA for fucking ever.” His arms cross and I note that his arms are thick, too—a trait shared by most of the players. “The guys aren’t going to like this.”

He nods in my direction. Ugh, what. An. Asshole.

Still holding my waist, Rowdy laughs. “You actually think I give a shit?”

“You should.” Ben gives me another glance. “No offense, Cock Blocker, but I didn’t expect to see you back here.”

Rowdy’s entire body stiffens. “How about you not fucking call her that?” Holy shit he sounds so pissed. “She wasn’t voted out of the house, Wilson. Stop being a petty little bitch.”

“Sorry, that’s not going to happen.”

“I suggest you figure out how to be cool with it, or it’s going to be a really long season. Scarlett is my girlfriend, not some party girl here to hook up.”

My breath catches at the sound of him sounding just a little bit protective.

Ben pales, then flushes. “Girlfriend?”

“Did I st-st-stutter?”

God, the bitchy tone of his voice is so damn hot. Sarcastic and fuming, daring Ben to challenge him a few more times. Daring Ben to defame me, wanting to get right up in his face.

Christ, it’s turning me on—what is my freaking problem? I want to shove my tongue down his throat.

I shift on my heels.

“I have an idea, Wilson, since you obviously have nothing better to do than stand here with your pants down around your ankles—run and fetch my girl a drink.”

He’s being a huge dick and I love it.

“I’m not a fucking rookie anymore,” Ben grits out tightly.

“No, but you might as well be. I don’t like your shitty attitude. And you know what else? You’ve pissed me the fuck off one too many times, and I’m your captain, so you’re going to march into the fucking kitchen and do it, yeah? Because my girlfriend wants a goddamn water.”

I want to rip his clothes off so bad right now.

With my teeth.

Seconds pass. Music thunders around us.

Then, Benjamin Wilson does the unthinkable: he stuffs his hands in his pockets and glances down at the ground. Backs up a step.

Pastes on a fake smile. “Can I get you anything to drink, Scarlett?”

I bite down on my bottom lip, feigning indecision. “Water would be so great. I’m not a big drinker, as you know.”

“Bottled water,” Rowdy’s deep voice instructs. “From the fridge.”

I lay a hand on his chest—he’s so thoughtful, getting in that tiny jab.

“Oh babe, that sounds so refreshing, thank you.” My palms give his pecs a few pats; they’re nice and firm.

Rowdy pats my ass with his large palm, two little taps.

We watch as Ben stalks away to fetch me the liquid refreshment I don’t actually really want.

“Jeez, bitter much?” my boyfriend grumbles.

I turn to face him, up on my tiptoes. “We don’t have to wait around, do we? You’re totally turning me on right now.”

His dark brows rise, hands sliding down to my ass. “That was turning you on? Wow, you’re easy.”

“I am.” I nip at his earlobe with my teeth. “Let’s go. I don’t think I can stand to be here all night. I want to go home and rip your clothes off.”

We’ve been here less than ten minutes.

“So what you’re trying to tell me is: you’re horny?”

God I hate when he uses that word. “Yes. That’s what I’m saying. And if I have to stand here another second…”

“Shh. Say no more.” His forefinger silences me. “If my baby wants to go home and screw, I’m going to take her home and screw her brains out, because that’s just the kind of guy I am.”

My vajayjay is positively tingling.

“Your place or mine?” He’s already dragging me toward the door like a caveman, minus the club and pet dinosaur.

“Someplace where no one will hear you?”

I’ve learned that when Rowdy Wade has sex, he’s vocal—louder than I am, his groans of pleasure embarrassingly dirty and noisy. He swears and grunts, headboard usually banging against the wall.

So erotic, I could orgasm just listening to him moan.

Rowdy releases me, grabbing me by the hand. “Let’s get the fuck out of here and go bang.”

Rowdy

“Are you watching me sleep?”