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above buying his silence.
    “An autographed ball.” There wasn’t even a second of hesitation.
    “Really?” Her brothers were die-hard Red Sox fans. They’d followed The Dream just like every other kid in their neighborhood, but they had no particular love for Nate Hawkins. No hate, either, though. He wasn’t a Yankee, after all.
    “Are you kidding?” Chris said. “He’s Hall of Fame. No doubt. As long as his knee is okay.”
    She checked to see if the tuna she’d made a few days before was any good. Nope. Her eyes watered and the smell almost knocked her over. She threw it away, container and all. “He seemed to be fine when he was chowing down my casserole,” she muttered. Maybe she’d just have Doritos for dinner. Doritos didn’t go bad.
    She grabbed a handful of baby carrots—her mother would kill her if she didn’t have a vegetable with every meal—putting them on a plate as she kicked the refrigerator door shut. Then she poured out some chips.
    “You met him?” Chris exclaimed. “Great way to bury the lead.” Then he sighed. “Please tell me you didn’t sleep with him already.”
    Christopher was the only of her brothers who even acknowledged she’d had sex, much less that, up until her recent move, she’d been having it regularly. Still... She had standards—she was holding on to them by a thin thread, but they were there. “He barely even knows my name.” And she may not have been a card-carrying member of the you-have-to-love-a-guy-to-sleep-with-him club, but she was big on complete honesty between both parties. She may have understood why he hadn’t told her his real name—and he might even have understood why she hadn’t come clean either. But it didn’t sit right.
    “Hold on,” she said, frowning when she heard a knock on her door. She glanced at the clock. Too late for UPS, but it was Iowa, so who knew? And she wanted her Amazon package of new books. Badly.
    With a laugh, she said, “Chris, you didn’t figure out a way to airlift me some of Shay’s pizza, did you?” She went to the door and flung it open. “What I wouldn’t do for some of that hot, melty good—”
    Her mouth snapped shut. Because there, in all his God-given glory, stood Nate Hawkins.
    He was wearing the kind of clothes her brothers wore all the time—faded jeans and running shoes, and a dark blue long-sleeved T-shirt with racing stripes down the arms. But oh, lordy, was there a reason why the man had graced more than his share of magazine covers. With his sandy brown hair tousled and slightly damp, it was next to impossible not to think about what he would look like after an afternoon in bed. She might have actually gulped.
    “Speaking of hot, melty goodness,” Adonis—er, Nate Hawkins—said as he held up two grocery bags. “I owe you a dinner. Can I come in?”
    Although a strangled squeak came out of Dorie’s throat, she did manage to nod and then get out of the way as he stepped inside. Damn it. If this was going to be a regular occurrence she was going to need to get better pajamas. Then again, if this was going to be a regular occurrence she’d probably end up institutionalized. Or maybe she was already hallucinating.
    “Christo,” she said hurriedly into the phone, “I gotta go.”
    “What? Why? Is everything okay?” When she didn’t answer he hesitated only for a few seconds before saying, “Wait. Holy shit . Is he there? Did Nate Hawkins just knock on your door?”
    “Not. A. Word ,” she whispered. “I’ll kill you.”
    She hung up the phone before he could reply. When she closed the front door and turned around, she half expected to find an empty kitchen. There was no way in hell Nate Hawkins had truly just shown up to make her dinner.
    But, no. There he was, standing on the other side of the counter separating the kitchen from the living room and emptying out the grocery bags.
    “Was that one of the brothers?” he asked with a devilish grin. And, yes, his body was exactly