All the Way (Hot Jocks #2)(19)

“I’ve read that when someone falls in love, their brain floods with dopamine.”

“Okay . . .” Justin flashes me a perplexed look, obviously wondering where the hell I’m going with this.

“The only other thing that does that? Narcotics.”

His expression stays blank.

I throw my hands up in exasperation. “That’s some crazy shit, man. You’ve got to admit that. I’m not about to start smoking meth, and I’m sure as hell not looking to fall in love.”

He flashes me a smirk and then shakes his head. “Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night,” he murmurs darkly.

The dude is in love with my sister. It’s not something I really want to think about—the fact that my sister has this poor fool pussy-whipped, so instead I continue.

“All I’m saying is that if I could help Becca overcome this hurdle, it’d be a good thing, right?”

Justin’s nostrils flare as he gazes out across the bar. “I sure as hell hope you know what you’re doing.”

“So do I, man. So do I.”

I had hoped for some more reassurance from my best friend that I was doing the right thing here, but it doesn’t look like I’m going to get that from Justin. I guess I can’t blame him, given my track record with women, but believe me when I say I have no plans to screw over Becca.

? ? ?

Friday night, I’m back in Seattle for the Cancer Society benefit the entire team is expected to attend. I’m not thrilled with the prospect of having to wear a tux and shake hands with donors all night, but the one bright spot? Becca will be there.

I haven’t seen her since I’ve been back in town, though we’ve chatted via text message for the past several days. Becca’s been playing it cautious when it comes to replying to my messages, and that’s fine. She’s asked me to be the one to show her the ropes, and I fully intend to. Because my flirting game? Yeah, it gets an A-plus. And tonight I’ll be pulling out all the stops.

The limo rolls to a stop, and I look over at Justin and my sister, Elise. They’re holding hands and grinning at each other like lovesick fools.

The team owner, Bryce O’Malley, sent limousines to transport all the players tonight. One, because we’ll be drinking, and he doesn’t want a repeat of the night last year when Asher got a DUI and it was splashed all over the news media. And two, because they’re doing some cheesy red-carpet thing tonight where we’re supposed to shake hands and kiss babies and that sort of thing.

Elise gets out first, and I exit right behind Justin. Flashbulbs go off amongst a small group of sports reporters who are here to chronicle the event.

I hang back, giving the happy couple some room, and Justin offers his arm to Elise as the pair stroll down the cherry-red carpet toward the front entrance of the museum where tonight’s event is being held. I feel a little sheepish that I’ve lived in this city for several years now, but never ventured into the science museum before now.

Maybe I should correct that sometime. I could take Becca on a proper date, and . . .

Whoa. Slow down, dude. I can’t forget my purpose in this arrangement. Becca isn’t looking for someone to date. And if she is, the guy is certainly not going to be me. She’s looking for a little confidence in the bedroom, and that’s all I’m here to provide.

Plastering on a pleasant smile, I take a few steps forward, and flickering lights illuminate my path up the red carpet.

“Parrish! I love you!” a female voice calls from the small crowd that’s gathered.

“Owen! Take me home!”

I sign a couple of autographs for a group of kids hanging out beside the door. They have their jerseys ready, and I tucked a Sharpie into my jacket pocket tonight for this exact reason.

Once inside the venue, my eyes make a sweep of the place. Becca and I are meeting here, she had to arrive early to coordinate some of the last-minute details with the catering staff.

Since it’s been a few days, and because memories of that kiss we shared still linger, I’m eager to see her. It’s almost like I need to see if the chemistry we shared the other night was all in my head, or if it’s as explosive as my body likes to remind me.

Ignoring the waiter with his tray of chilled champagne, I head straight for the bar. Not because I want a drink, but because it’s been set up strategically in the center of the large room and will give me the best vantage point for locating Becca.

I reach the bar and stop beside it, placing one hand on the polished oak surface, disappointed that she’s not here, at least not where I can see her. I could text her, but she’s not likely to see the message. Becca’s not obsessed with her phone like a lot of the other women I’ve hung out with. She’s never requested a selfie with me, and she couldn’t give two craps about checking her social media feed. It’s kind of refreshing.

And then, sweet baby Jesus, I see her across the room—five feet, four inches of curves draped in black silk. Dear God . . . Dark waves tumble over her creamy shoulders, and her lips are painted a bold berry color. I want to kiss that lipstick right off her lush mouth.

Her chin lifts, and her gaze locks with mine. And then before I know what’s happening, my feet are moving, carrying me across the polished floor toward her.

“There you are.” She smiles when she sees me, lifting up on her toes to press a friendly kiss to my stubble-covered cheek.