He could easily be a conceited jerk. I mean, the guy is seriously hot. He’s the captain of the Valley University hockey team, and he’s ridiculously smart. Like straight As, premed smart. But he’s not conceited or a jerk. Sure, he’s a bit of a playboy. He jumps from girl to girl, but not the same way his friends do. Adam is a relationship guy. He goes all-in with every girl. Those relationships just don’t seem to last very long. He was with his last girlfriend for just over three months.

Three very long, heartbreaking months. For me, at least.

Giving my head a shake, I scan the room for the note. We slid it through the crack at the bottom of the door sometime very early this morning. A vision of Ginny and me on all fours, giggling and shushing one another, as we pushed my heart-shaped confession through to the other side makes me wince. What the hell was I thinking?

I find myself on all fours again, desperately searching for it. A trail of glitter leads me toward the bed, and I reach under it, feeling around. I pull out a dirty sock which I fling toward the hamper, and then the letter. Score!

Oh, dear lord. The nightmare version did not do it justice. It’s huge and gaudy. The heart is lopsided, one side bigger than the other. My normally neat penmanship is sloppy. I have a vague recollection of acknowledging that and saying it was my passion that couldn’t be contained in a tidy manner.

Adam,

My heart is yours.

Reagan

With another groan, I fold it three times until it fits in my palm. That line isn’t even good enough for a Hallmark greeting card. No more wine. Ever.

“Reagan?” Adam’s deep voice washes over me.

I’m still on my knees. Quickly, I scramble to my feet and force a smile. I start to speak, but the wall of naked man in front of me renders me speechless.

Fresh out of the shower with only a towel around his waist, he’s straight out of every woman’s fantasy. At six-foot-three, two hundred and fifteen pounds (yes, I’ve memorized his height and weight from the hockey roster because, hello, mad crush over here), every delicious inch of him is chiseled. Jaw, chest, abs, and—I’m only guessing on this one—ass.

Water drips from his dark blond hair. My gaze follows a slow trickle that dips between the valley of his pecs, down his six-pack, and then is absorbed into the white terrycloth that hangs just below his waist. Cockblocked. Me and you both little water droplet. What I wouldn’t give to be a bead of water on his—

“Reagan? Is everything okay?”