“Her husband is a cheating asshole and a narcissist, and Roland is God’s gift to the Earth. So, spoiler alert, she runs off with him.”

“Scandalous,” Clay said, quirking a brow at the shelf.

I snapped my fingers. “Focus.”

I held up the hangers in each hand, and Clay folded one arm across his barrel of a chest, balancing the opposite elbow on his wrist as he smoothed a hand over his jaw in consideration.

After I’d called him the other night, we’d decided this was the best time for our first lesson. The season opener was tomorrow afternoon, which meant Coach gave the team the evening off to rest and get ready.

Of course, only about half the team would actually rest. The remaining half would be out partying and hoping like hell they weren’t too hungover to play at their best tomorrow.

I imagined Clay would be in that latter group, had he not been saddled with me. But this was all his idea in the first place, and I reminded myself of that as I waited for him to tell me what the hell to wear.

“Neither one of them feels like you,” he said after a long pause.

I sighed, the hangers dropping to my sides, dresses on the floor. “Of course not. I bought them today with that exact intention.”

“Why?” Clay shook his head, taking the hangers out of my hands and crossing to my closet. He stuck the dresses in haphazardly and then started filtering through my clothes.

“Excuse me,” I said, slipping between him and my twenty skirts before I pressed a hand to his chest and pushed him back. “A little privacy, please?”

“You asked for my help.”

“Just… sit,” I said, pointing to my bed as I turned back around. I hung my hands on my hips, not happy with anything staring back at me — at least, not for this.

There were no fashion guidebooks on What to Wear to Seduce Your Crush by Using Your Fake Boyfriend.

“Wear something you like,” Clay said from behind me, kicking his sneakers off and lounging back on my bed like it was home.

It was unfair how enticing he looked in just black joggers and a gray NBU t-shirt that he’d ripped the arms off. But that rip had his bulging biceps and shoulder muscles on display, as well as his lats underneath, and my gaze lingered there for a moment too long before I brought my eyes to a more decent location. Of course, that decent location was his face, which was freshly shaven, his slightly damp boyish hair curling a bit around the flat-billed cap he wore.

Here I was stressing about what to wear, and meanwhile, Clay was practically in pajamas, yet looked ridiculously sexy and ready to take home three supermodels with one smirk and wink combination.