“There are still women foolish enough to think you’re looking for a long time and not a good time?” Every article I’ve ever read about Adler Beck has made some mention of the fact that he’s a player off the field as well as on it. I get wanting to sleep with the guy—especially after last night—but going in expecting a happily-ever-after seems purposefully naïve.

That question earns me a full smile. “Evidently. I’ve never gotten the impression from my university mates that they feel any different. Must be an American thing?”

I’m temporarily distracted by the reminder that Beck has friends who are in university, that he’s technically just a year and a half older than I am. I view Adler Beck differently than I would any other guy close to my age. He’s more worldly. Larger than life. Not to mention insanely famous.

He’s also waiting for an answer. I shrug. “I think it’s more of a challenge thing. Guys aren’t interested in a relationship until the girl makes it clear she’s not. At least in my experience.”

“Hmmmm.”

I raise both eyebrows. “I’m misreading the complicated male psyche?”

“No. I just think you’re selling yourself short.”

“I doubt it. I’m plenty confident.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Beck comments. There’s a dry undertone to the words that’s almost humorous. Almost admiring. “I’m going to play for a bit. If you want?” He nods to the stretch of soccer fields lining the far side of the park. There are a few younger kids playing on one, but the other two are empty.

I gape at him. “You want to play soc—football?”

He smirks. “Uh-huh.”

“You didn’t exactly seem thrilled to be playing together last time.”

There’s a shrug. “You caught me off guard.”

“You said I caught Otto off guard,” I correct.

“Did I?” There’s a new, teasing lilt to his voice. It’s the closest to a sense of humor I’ve seen from him, and I decide I like it. Worse, I’m intrigued by it—curious to know what there is to Adler Beck besides fame, wealth, and looks.

“Okay, let’s play.”

Beck walks toward the farthest open field, and I follow, falling into step beside him. Usually, my interactions with the opposite sex are fairly straightforward. I’m used to guys paying attention when I walk by, plying me with suggestive lines. So far, Adler Beck has ignored me, fucked me, and invited me to play soccer with him. The middle action is the only one I might have anticipated, but last night definitely did not go down the way I ever would have imagined it might.

“You’re here with Scholenberg?” Beck asks.

“What’s that?” I quip.

He ignores my sass. “You know they give you access to the field. You didn’t need to sneak in.”