I absentmindedly pulled on my sleep shirt to make sure I was covered. It was a habit I kept from when I was forty pounds heavier and about one thousand times more uncomfortable in my own skin. Oakley’s eyes followed my hands to my thighs as my fingers played with the hem of my oversized Backstreet Boys tee shirt.

Oakley’s expression changed from playful to pure lust. Oh God. What panties had I put on before bed? I couldn’t even remember. I prayed to the god of girls who haven’t been laid in months that it wasn’t pink robots. “Backstreet Boys, hmm?”

“They were ahead of their time,” I replied.

He stared at my lips for a long moment. I felt my mouth grow dry. “Solver,” he whispered, placing his hand over mine. His long fingers splayed over my thigh.

“Y-yes?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

I squinted in scrutiny as his thumb massaged my skin distractedly. “I have a big game tomorrow. I’ll need my energy. I’ll eat whatever you eat.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’ll need lots of protein. Like at a minimum of thirty-five hundred calories,” I sputtered, pulling away. My stomach growled at the mention of it.

“Exactly. I guess you’ll have to eat something if you want me to have enough energy for tomorrow,” he said with a smile.

“You’re bluffing,” I countered.

“I don’t bluff.”

My mind was racing, all thoughts of sexy time vanished. I did a quick round of math in my head. Burning one pound of fat was the equivalent of three-thousand five hundred calories. I typically ate around one thousand calories per day, which meant I would have to take in an extra twenty-five hundred calories. In. One. Day. I felt dizzy just at the thought of all that extra food. But I could fast for one day and then reduce my caloric intake by two hundred and fifty calories for the two days after that. That would undo the damage to my waistline, and since I was going home separately, Oakley would never know that I was fasting.

“Fine,” I said with determination. “You’re on.” I grabbed the protein bar out of his hand and wolfed it down, not even stopping to savor the two hundred calories. I was one hella dedicated publicist. He smiled as I swallowed. “Delicious,” I growled once my mouth was empty.

Oakley stared at my mouth and practically purred. “Yeah,” he began, licking his lips. “Delicious.”

12

I packed the wrong outfit for the game. I tried to go for a casually professional look. Sleek, long jeans clung to my legs, and the cream button-down shirt was in line with the university’s school colors of orange and white.