Page 16 of Turn Me On

“It’s a work meeting,” I reply.And that’s all it can ever be with Zane.

“Whatever you say,” Bryan says, then winks as I put on my shoes.

“What I say is…goodbye.” I head to my garage and hop into my Audi. Ten minutes of surprisingly light neighborhood traffic later, I park in a lot in Venice, take a deep breath, and head to Edge & Plow.

I check my watch. Twenty-five minutes early. Practically a lifetime in Los Angeles.

I grab a table outside and answer emails as I tick off the minutes till my client arrives.

Zane’s just a client.

He’s not the guy I’ve spent the last two weeks fighting off fantasies of. He’s not the man who visits me in my dreams after dark.

I fiddle with my watch clasp, trying to stay present in the moment.

At eleven-fifteen on the dot, a sleek, black town car pulls to the curb. The one I sent to Zane’s hotel to pick upmy client.

I adjust my cuffs once more. Then, the back door opens, and the major leaguer steps out of the car and onto the sidewalk under the Los Angeles sun.

My pulse quickens. My throat goes dry.

He looks unfairly good in the bright morning light, the blazing orb in the sky shining behind him. Zane’s wearing aviator shades, trim jeans, and a snug button-down in a deep, rich shade of red with a tiny design on it.

If a movie were being shot here today, everyone would know he was playing the hot young athlete.

He’s all muscles and power, presence and charisma. A little thrill rushes through me as a couple of heads turn his way. In Los Angeles, celebrity-spotting is a game everyone plays, and a few coffee-drinkers whisper as they try to figure out who he is.

They probably won’t guess. For starters, he plays for San Francisco. Second, he’s not known widely yet.

But that’ll change soon if I have any say in the matter, and I intend to.

I square my shoulders, already pleased at the prospect of what’s to come for Zane Archer.

Very big things.

The man scans the sidewalk café for me, but when a McLaren zooms by, his gaze follows the powerful performance car as if he’d do anything to get his hands on one. When the vehicle’s gone, he returns to scanning for me, whipping off his shades. My neck goes hot. That’s such a power move.

I stand and walk to him, my pulse kicking faster with each step.

I squint at his shirt.

Are those…?

I can’t help but smile. The design on his shirt is made up of tiny cocktails zigzagging down his torso. Possibly Zane Archer’s way of delivering a clever reminder of the night we met and the story of his daiquiri tattoo?

Yeah, I’m pretty sure that shirt is for me.

So is the smile that spreads slowly across his face when he spots me nearing him.

Good thing I prepped for this. Rehearsed it in my mind and practiced keeping a handle on my lust. We’ll shake hands like business associates, then I’ll let go first. That’ll set the mood for today.

I reach him and follow my script, sticking out my arm. “Zane, good to see you again.”

He smirks, his lips curving into a crooked grin as he stares at my offered hand. “Good to see you too,” he says, taking my hand.

Shaking it.

Then, in one swift move I don’t see coming, he yanks me in for a hug.