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Chapters (48)
  1. Cover
  2. PRAISE FOR ALEXA MARTIN’S PLAYBOOK SERIES
  3. Titles by Alexa Martin
  4. Dedication
  5. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  6. Prologue
  7. One
  8. Two
  9. Three
  10. Four
  11. Five
  12. Six
  13. Seven
  14. Eight
  15. Nine
  16. Ten
  17. Eleven
  18. Twelve
  19. Thirteen
  20. Fourteen
  21. Fifteen
  22. Sixteen
  23. Seventeen
  24. Eighteen
  25. Nineteen
  26. Twenty
  27. Twenty-one
  28. Twenty-two
  29. Twenty-three
  30. Twenty-four
  31. Twenty-five
  32. Twenty-six
  33. Twenty-seven
  34. Twenty-eight
  35. Twenty-nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-one
  38. Thirty-two
  39. Thirty-three
  40. Thirty-four
  41. Thirty-five
  42. Thirty-six
  43. Thirty-seven
  44. Thirty-eight
  45. Epilogue
  46. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  47. About the Author
  48. What’s next onyour reading list?

“Fuck.” He groans, but the smile is still on his face and it feels more like a friend giving me a hard time instead of him hating me. “Is this what I get for doing a good deed?”

“It is, you lucky son of a gun.”

I don’t know if it’s the tequila or the lingering buzz of adrenaline from tonight, but for the first time in a very, very long time, I don’t feel sad. My limbs don’t feel weighed down by grief, my smile doesn’t ache with guilt. I just feel like me, like the Elliot I used to be. Happy.

And to my immense shock and total displeasure, I think that Quinton might be part of the reason why.

Seventeen

“Thank you again for doing this.” I look up at streetlights as they blur together. The dark Colorado sky above them is even darker through the heavy tint on his windows. His BMW whatever series is a lot nicer than my beat-up Camry.

“I told you, you’re on my way home. It’s not a big deal.” The glow from the lights on his dashboard makes everything about him look soft. His eyes, his skin, his lips . . .

“No, not for the ride.” I sit up in the seat. Between the long day, the booze, and the plush, heated seat, I’m in serious danger of dozing off. “I mean, yes, thank you for the ride, but I meant thank you for tonight.”

“Why are you thanking me? You did all of the work and the idea was yours.” He sneaks a quick glance my way before focusing back on the road in front of him.

Now, I love a compliment as much as anyone—more, if I’m honest—but only when they are warranted. And the reason tonight was so successful wasn’t because of the balloons, lighting, and excellent food. Don’t get me wrong, that stuff helped, but the reason it was trending, the reason it worked, was all because of Quinton.

Pledging to give away millions didn’t hurt either.

“I didn’t do all of the work, not the important stuff. You did that.” I shift in my seat, turning to the window, knowing I can’t look at him while I say the next part. The gloating I’m sure he’ll do will ruin the moment. “I mean letting me be part of this. I love my job, but a lot of times it’s cleaning up messes I don’t agree with. Spinning a domestic violence case, defending a DUI. But this? This I can be proud of . . . even if you’re a total pain in my ass.”

His laughter fills the car and even though I don’t want to look at him, I can’t resist. Seeing his eyes crinkled in genuine amusement is so rare, I can’t deny myself the opportunity to take it in.