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“but it sounds like fun just the same.”
    “He’s not my type,” Genna said stubbornly.
    “You and your blasted type!” Amy said disgustedly, banging her Coke can on the counter. “You don’t want a man. You want a three-piece suit and a subscription to the Wall Street Journal .”
    “I want someone who’s quiet and loyal—”
    “Springer spaniels are quiet and loyal,” Amy commented sardonically. “I don’t think they shed much either.”
    Genna turned around and glowered at herpudgy friend. “There’s nothing wrong with looking for a person with certain qualities.”
    “No, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Amy agreed. “There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun either. You’re a fun person, Gen. What are you going to do with Mr. Dull N. Boring when you find him?”
    Unable to come up with any kind of suitable answer, Genna turned back to her dough and slugged it.
    Amy slid off her stool and headed back toward the party, stopping at the kitchen door. “I don’t think that’s what you want at all, but you’ve convinced yourself that’s the kind of man you need to feel safe. Do yourself a favor, Gen. Live it up. Have a summer fling.”
    Genna walked to the screen door as she wiped her hands on a blue striped towel. She watched Amy cross her lawn and rejoin the festivities next door. There was Jared, wearing a sombrero, dancing with a flamingo in each hand.
    “So he’s a hunk. Why should I care? Why should that upset me? It doesn’t. He could be ten hunks and it wouldn’t bother me,” she said resolutely.
    She chewed her bottom lip as she watched thesun gild a male body that should have been a bronze sculpture. Amy said she was looking for a man she would feel safe with. What was wrong with that? Nothing. She certainly wouldn’t feel safe with Jared. A nun wouldn’t feel safe with Jared.
    “Maybe I should bake a cake as long as I’ve got the flour out.”

THREE
    J ARED STARED DOWN at the letter in his hands. A feeling he had experienced only rarely in his nine years in the NFL slashed through him like a knife. Fear. He hated it, resented it, but couldn’t stop it from tearing his insides apart.
    The letter, neatly typed on ivory vellum, was from Simone Harcourt, his ex-wife’s older sister. He’d met her only a handful of times, but he’d spent enough time with her to have formed a lasting opinion: She was a cold, determined woman who despised him. The letter that trembled in his hands was absolute confirmation of that.
    Simone didn’t believe he was fit to be Alyssa’sonly parent. She didn’t believe his lifestyle provided a suitable environment for a five-year-old girl. She claimed it was public knowledge that he was dedicated to decadence and that a life of parties and loose women did not hold a place for a child. She was prepared to take action—legal action—to see to it that Alyssa was spared the horrible fate of growing up under a playboy’s influence.
    A shudder jerking his body, Jared drove a hand through his close-cropped hair and swore. He swore until he couldn’t think of any more curses, even though he was trying to give up the bad habit. He had vowed to quit swearing when Alyssa had come to live with him. The thought pulled a wry laugh from his throat.
    He rubbed his hand over his face, then looked at the Super Bowl ring on his finger. It was large and impressive, the ultimate symbol of success in his profession. He was at the top, the pinnacle of his career. He was a celebrity, respected by his peers, and he had more money than he knew what to do with. He would gladly have given it all to the next stranger to come down the street if it meant keeping his baby girl with him.
    When he’d married Elaine he hadn’t been ready to settle down, but she had gotten pregnant and hehad done the right and honorable thing. From the start their marriage had gone awry. Elaine had continually derided him for his freewheeling lifestyle—which she had enjoyed as much as