1. Dalton

ONE

"Vegas?"my quarterback, Tanner, yells over the commotion. Players and their loved ones are celebrating from one end of the field to the other as blue and white confetti continues to fall around us. The Boston Blizzard just won the Super Bowl, and we're ready to party. "The jet's waiting. Let's fucking go!" he yells loudly.

I push a hand through my dark brown hair, a smirk blooming across my lips. "Fuck yeah, baby!" I answer. "I'll grab Blaze and Mav!"

I turn to find the guys just as an ice blue blur flings itself into my arms. "I'm so proud of you, baby!" my mom yells over the screaming fans and loud music booming through the speakers. She's swimming in an actual game-worn jersey that I gave her, but she insists it's good luck. And I guess maybe she's right. "You played great!"

"Thanks, Mom," I reply on a laugh, squeezing her tiny frame before setting her back onto her feet. She cups my cheeks with her hands and I don't miss the twinkle in her eyes as she tries to hold back her tears.

"That's how you do it, Champ," my dad says with a big grin stretched across his face. He leans in, wrapping his arms around me and slapping the back of my shoulder pads with his large hand.

I give him a tight nod, trying not to get too emotional. These people have made so many sacrifices to get me here today, and even though I tell them as much as I can, I'm just so grateful for their love and support.

"We'll let you go celebrate, baby," my mom says, stepping back into my dad as he wraps an arm around her waist. "Go have some fun. You deserve it!"

We say our goodbyes and I start walking toward my best friend and star wide receiver, Blaze Beckham, who is definitely not being shy about ramming his tongue down his girlfriend's throat. Mads, who just bagged her first Super Bowl as the official Blizzard sideline reporter for Tailgate Media, is completely wrapped around him as they shamelessly dry hump in front of about sixty thousand fans. I'd remind them of that, but the kinky fuckers would probably just get more turned on.

When they've finally detached themselves from each other, I make my move. "Hey, Becks," I yell, loud enough to catch his attention. "Lake has the jet readied up. Let's go to Vegas!"

He sets Mads back on the ground, not breaking eye contact with her. "What do you say, Baby Doll? Want to go play in Sin City?"

"Definitely," she replies with a mischievous grin before turning to the person behind her. "What about you, Dia? You in?"

I hold my breath, praying that she says yes. Any extra time I get to spend in the presence of Dia Spencer is always something I want. I'm obsessed with the girl and I don't even try to hide it. She may think I'm joking when I hit on her every chance I get, but I'm dead serious. I want her in a way I've never wanted anyone before. Unfortunately, every advance is met with a different colorful insult. Last week, she told me to go fuck a goalpost. She's creative. I'll admit that much.

Her eyes flit to me for a split second before she answers her best friend. "Sure. Why not?"

Fuck yeah.

What better place to finally make her mine than under the bright lights of Las Vegas? A few drinks to loosen up her icy personality toward me, and I'll sweep her off her feet with my charm. I've done it a million times.

But never with her.

When I met Dia a few months ago, I felt something shift within me. I tried to cover it up with a joke about how I needed to text my mom and tell her I had just met the girl I was going to marry, but the way my heart was thumping in my chest at the sight of her told me that she wasn't like any of the other women I'd ever met. Unfortunately, Dia warned me away almost immediately. "You're cute, but I'd break you." were her exact words. Normally, that would be enough to have me running the other way to avoid the drama, but with her, all it did was make me desperate to break down her walls. I know Dia has had a rough life. Mads has told me as much. But fuck if I don't want to get inside her head and take out every bad memory, replacing them with new ones.

I know what you're thinking. That I only want her because I can't have her. That I like the chase. And you're partially right. When you're an All-American running back that verbally committed to Ohio State University in the tenth grade, you don't really hear the word no very often. Every woman I've ever dated has treated me like some kind of a meal ticket, so I swore off relationships the moment I was drafted by the Boston Blizzard almost four years ago. It's been a long string of meaningless one night stands ever since.

I'm not going to pretend like it's been a hardship. I've spent wild nights with the city's most beautiful women. Sometimes with more than one of them at a time. But for some reason, the only one I've wanted more with is her. The one girl in this whole world that seems revolted by my existence.

Ain't that a bitch.

I'm no quitter, though. I know Dia secretly loves our back-and-forth. She feels the attraction and tension the same way I do. She has to. I can practically touch it with my hands when we're bantering with each other. But for some reason, she refuses to take it any further than a few perfectly delivered verbal digs every time we're together. That shit ends tonight, no matter what it takes.

The bass of the electronic dance music thumps through the floors as I sit in the VIP section of the hotel bar with the guys. As soon as we arrived, the girls took off to get drinks while we watched from afar. Maverick, our star defensive end, being smitten by his new girlfriend Bella, was the first to leave. I'm sure he's gifting her with a one-way ticket to Pound Town as we speak. So, it's just Blaze, Tanner, and me, watching as Mads makes her way around the dance floor, champagne sloshing over the rim of her glass as she moves.

Suddenly, a man comes up behind her, grabbing her hips and swaying along to the beat. At first, I wait for her to turn around and punch the asshole square in the dick. But she doesn't. She just continues dancing while he keeps his hands planted on her body.

I'm almost afraid to look at Blaze. There's nothing he wouldn't do for Mads. And that includes killing a stranger with his bare hands for even looking at her, let alone daring to touch her. I use my peripheral vision to peek in his direction, expecting to find him fuming, but end up doing a double take when I realize he's just…watching her.

I turn, my jaw practically on the floor as he sips his whiskey like his girlfriend isn't being groped on the dance floor twenty yards away. "Uhhh, you okay bro?" I ask, confusion lacing my tone.

"Yep," he replies with a smirk, never taking his eyes off Mads, who has now turned and wrapped her arms around the guy's neck while they dance.

Am I in the fucking Twilight Zone? Why is he letting this happen?

I turn to Tanner, hoping he can provide me with a little bit of clarity, but he's looking at Blaze with his tongue shoved into his cheek. If I'm not mistaken, there's mischief in his eyes as he moves them back and forth between the couple.

"Am I being Punk'd?" I say out loud. "You're seriously just going to let her do?—"

Tanner speaks up from beside me. "Three…two…"

Blaze throws back what's left of his drink, slams the glass down on the table, and heads straight for the dance floor.

"One," Tanner says with a knowing chuckle.

I sit there, gaping like a fish as he pats me on the shoulder before standing up and leaving the VIP area. I look over to find that Blaze and Mads are gone, as well. The douche canoe that had his hands all over her has moved on to the next girl, which means Blaze didn't beat his ass. Fucking weird. I wonder where they went. I wonder where everyone went.

I'm brought back to reality as a warm body plops down on the leather couch next to me. I smell her minty shampoo before my brain can even process her long raven-colored hair and deep brown eyes with perfectly curled lashes. I try to act like I'm not enthralled by every detail of her face as I angle my head toward her, taking in the slope of her nose that upturns just slightly at the tip like a cute little button. Hand to God, she gets prettier every time I look at her.

No matter how many times we're in close proximity, my heart always skips a beat when Dia's skin touches mine. I'm hyper aware of the way our arms brush against one another when she shifts her body, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core.

I want her so goddamn bad.

She huffs an annoyed breath before grabbing the beer from my hand and downing it in one long chug. "Thanks," she says, sitting back with her arms crossed over her perfect tits. I try not to stare, but she's unintentionally pushing them together and all I can think about is how good they'd feel as I slowly thrust my cock between them.

"Rough night?" I ask, raising a brow.

She scoffs. "Not yet, but Blaze and Mads are obviously off to their spank fest and I was supposed to room with them."

I chuckle. I can't imagine the kind of shit that's going on in their suite right now. If he doesn't have her strung up from the ceiling in some sort of harness contraption, I'd be seriously surprised. I saw the look on his face when he left. Dia can't go back there right now, and I know better than to suggest she room with me.

"You hungry?" I ask.

Her pouty lip curves into a smile. "Starving."

I stand, reaching out my hand. I don't expect her to take it, but she does, allowing me to pull her up. I'm not even shocked by the heat that travels down my arm and straight to my chest at the contact. I'm used to it. A couple months ago, I let her paint my nails in Chicago and I all but came in my pants while she held my hand steady. The effect Dia has on my body is unreal. I can't explain any of it, which makes the whole situation even worse. She doesn't want me. She's meaner than a hornet most of the time, but every now and then, she smiles at me, and I forget everything.

I fucking hate it.

I've been with more women than I can count. I don't bother dating because I've never wanted to be tied down or deal with the extra drama. I had a few girlfriends in college and to no fault of their own, I got bored quickly and wanted out. I broke their hearts. I decided then that I'd just enjoy whatever came with my football career. That included all the pussy that was thrown at me because of who I am.

Until the moment I laid eyes on Dia Spencer. She gave me absolutely no reason to think I could change with the snap of a finger, but I felt it. She's the fucking one. And I'm pretty sure she hates me. No idea how I'm going to change that, but I'll think of something.

Unfortunately, she pulls her hand from mine as soon as we hit the exit, the cool air hitting my face as we make our way down The Strip. There are people all around us, but thankfully, they don't recognize me. As much as I love hanging with fans, I don't want any interruptions right now. It isn't often that Dia is this agreeable when it comes to me, and I want to soak up every second of it. I'll take whatever she gives me for now.

I look over at her to find her eyes moving rapidly, like she's trying to see everything at once. Between the people, the lights, the street performers, and the all-around fast-paced action, it's like she can't decide what's most interesting. I can"t help but smile while I watch her. "Ever been here before?" I ask. I can tell by her reactions that she hasn't, but I want to get to know her better.

"No," she replies. "I always wanted to, but it's a pretty expensive vacation for someone who lives on their own and has a mountain of bills to pay."

From what Mads has told me, after I begged her relentlessly, I know that Dia has been on her own since she was a teenager. Her parents aren't good people and they never showed her an ounce of love or affection. I don't know the details, but they dragged Dia into their legal problems, and she drained her savings for them.

I can't even imagine what that's like. I grew up in a loving home with two parents who bent over backwards to make sure my brother and I had every opportunity in the world. We had a calendar on the refrigerator that told them which kid needed to be where so they could ‘divide and conquer', as they called it. My mom would take Benton to hockey practice while my dad drove me to football. They made it a point to make sure we felt loved and supported, no matter what we chose to do. On the weekends, we'd do pickup games in the backyard with kids from around the neighborhood. My dad always played with us while my mom cheered from the sidelines. I have so many great memories from my childhood. It sucks that Dia probably doesn't have any, other than the ones she made with Mads.

I slow when I find a hot dog stand on the sidewalk. "How about this?" I ask.

She raises a questioning brow. "Street food? Seriously?"

"Hell yeah, Wifey," I reply. "I'm giving you the full Vegas experience tonight. These are the best hot dogs you'll ever have."

She scoffs. "You realize I'm from Chicago, right? The city is literally known for its street food. Nothing you show me here will impress me."

Challenge accepted.

I step up to the stand and order two hot dogs, loaded with everything. I lift my chin, directing Dia to an empty bench by a large water fountain before following her and taking a seat. Handing her the hot dog, I wait for her to take a bite.

"Stop watching me," she says.

I grin. "Why should I?"

She forces out an annoyed sigh. "Dalton, I was mean to you in Chicago the night Blaze came to bring Mads home and your dick got half hard. If you think I'm going to sit here and let you stare at me while I eat a hot dog, you're crazy. I'm not about to be held responsible for your ill-timed boner."

"Good point," I say, looking away before taking a bite of my food. I give her and her wiener a moment of privacy, but when she lets out a soft moan, I can't stop myself. Thankfully for my dick, she's taken a bite and is slowly chewing.

"I told you it was good," I say with a cocky smirk.

Dia rolls her eyes. "Ok, fine. It's a little bit good."

I chuckle as we sit in a comfortable silence while we finish our food. When she's done, I grab her garbage and drop it into the trash can before we start leisurely making our way further down The Strip. We have no destination in mind, and I can't say I hate it. The fact that she hasn't told me to go fuck myself yet is a miracle in itself. But having her actually seeming to enjoy being here with me? It feels better than winning the Super Bowl…which I also did tonight, in case anyone forgot.

"Everything here is so beautiful," she says, voice full of wonder as she takes in the twinkling lights around us.

"Yeah, it is," I reply, never taking my eyes off her. I fucking can't. With all the things to look at in this city, she's the most breathtaking sight of them all. Thankfully, she's too entranced to notice that I'm staring, which allows me more time to drink her in. Her olive skin is flawless. Her pouty lips are begging me to taste them even though I know I can't. But fuck. I'd give anything to kiss her just once.

Continuing our walk, we fall back into a comfortable silence as we pass by the massive casinos and hotels. Every once in a while, Dia's bare arm brushes mine, eliciting a warm feeling straight toward my chest. I ignore it as best as I can. It'll do for now, but I know eventually, I won't be able to stop myself from throwing her up against the closest building and dropping to my knees for my queen. How I've lasted this long is a true testament to my self-control when it comes to her. If it were any other woman, I'd have either convinced her to fuck me or gotten bored and moved on. Instead, I've stopped thinking about other pussy altogether. In fact, I haven't had sex at all since the night of Mads' birthday party. The night I met her.

Yep. The math is mathing and Dalton Davis hasn't been laid in over two months. Trust me. I'm as shocked as you are.

All I can think about anymore is how it would be with Dia. How it would feel to sink into her warm heat, turning that bratty attitude into a moaning, writhing mess underneath me. Would she try to take control? Only giving in when she realized there's no fucking way I'd let her be in charge? She may own every piece of me out here in the real world, even if she doesn't know it. But in the bedroom? She'd be mine.

I'm broken from my fantasy as a very familiar neon sign comes into view. I've never been in there, but I've gone by this place a million times, laughing at the sorry sons of bitches that got roped into putting their balls in a jar for their future ex-wives.

Couldn't be me.

Unless…

I look at Dia, a mischievous smirk blooming across my lips.

"No," she says, shaking her head rapidly. "Abso-fucking-lutely not." She starts walking faster, but I grab her hand, yanking her back toward me. This is fucking genius.

"C'mon, Wifey," I coax. "I promised you the full Vegas experience. That wouldn't be complete if we didn't get married tonight and divorced tomorrow."