I'M KEEPING A FIRM grip on Danny's arm. "If you can't walk, I'm putting you over my shoulder," I tell her as she stumbles a bit.

"Nope, that would hurt my ribs, pretty boy."

Okay, she's really drunk. Danny never admits to pain and she usually only calls me pretty boy over the phone. She stumbles again and I've had enough. "Arms around my neck; I'll cradle you." I sweep her up and she giggles, which is totally unlike her, as she places her arms around me. "Are you putting me to bed shoo, pretty boy?"

I don't bother correcting the shoo into too. It won't make a difference. "That's the plan, Danny girl." God, she smells good. Soap and woman. No perfume. Her body is hard and muscular, and I think of this to remind myself I like soft and voluptuous. Now that I've taken notice of Danny, it's hard to turn that notice off. I keep reminding myself that Danny's a friendone of the guys. For some reason, carrying her in my arms this way no longer makes me think of the guys. She wiggles a bit and I make a small sound deep in my throat. Danny doesn't seem to notice. She leans forward and rests her head against my shoulder. Damn, even her hair smells good.

I lift her into the Rover and buckle her seatbelt once more. She can usually hold her liquor, so I'm not too worried about her spilling her guts and ruining the upholstery.

"You're in a rut," she says after I start the engine.

I give her a slow once over. "You think?" I'm pretty sure I'm not in a rut; I'm just tired of the same old sexual relationship.

"Yep." She peers at me and wags her finger. "You should have taken that new player home. She has the serious hots for you, lover boy."

"She wasn't that great." And I mean it. The girl Danny had picked was everything I usually go for, but I'm no longer interested. Maybe I am in a rut. Leave it to Danny to point it out.

"She's your type, and she asked about you before I hit the locker room and took a shower. She's heard all about the great Van Stelson and the rocket he hides in his jeans."

Danny is managing her words with only a slight slur. This is how she handles her alcohol, though. She never appears as drunk as she is. I can't wait to revisit this conversation when she's sober. We will have a long talk about this rocket in my jeans. She'll die.

"Maybe my type is changing." I pull out onto the main road and head to Danny's apartment.

"I know what happened." She pauses for dramatic effect. "Hell froze over." She rests her head back against the seat. "Earth, as we know it, will never be the same. I looked forward to being warm in hell, not cold, so I guess I need to straighten myself out and look upward."

I can only shake my head. Everyone thinks they know my type, and I'm seriously tired of this conversation. I turn on the music and ignore her. A few minutes later, her head tips to the side, and she lets out a little snore. I lower the music so I can listen. It's cute, and I've never seen Danny do cute. A large grin spreads across my face, then fades.

This attraction I'm suddenly feeling towards her is crazy.

We pull up at her apartment and she opens her eyes. I'm half out my door when I see her fingers go to her door latch. "Stay there; I'm coming around to get you," I tell her.

"Boy, you're grumpy. I can walk all by myself, Mr. Grumpy Pants."

I reach her as she stands up and stumbles. "Come on, Danny girl; let me carry you to your apartment."

"No way." She tries to push me away, but she's too drunk. "You'll break your back and drop me, you dope."

I lean in and give her ear the hot-breath treatment. "You don't weigh enough to break my back."

She slaps at me as I lift her up and cradle her again. Her apartment is on the second floor. She wiggles a bit until we get to the stairs, and then she freezes. I think she's really afraid I'll drop her, and, because I'm not a nice guy, I stumbled a bit on the landing before the second set of stairs. I can't hold back my laughter when Danny lets out a high-pitched scream. If I hadn't heard it, I wouldn't believe it. Maybe she does have a girlie quality or two that I just haven't noticed before.

I put her down in front of her door so she can retrieve the key from her pocket. No purse for Danny; I've never seen her with one. She carries a single key when she doesn't take her truck, and today one of her teammates picked her up and drove her to the game. Her fingers have trouble fitting the key in the lock, so I take it from her. She grumbles.

"Come on, Danny girl, let's get you some ibuprofen and see to those ribs." Hopefully she has some good salve to rub into them and I can help her out. Boy Scout Van, that's me.

I navigate her toward the single bathroom in the small apartment and turn on the light when we reach it. The first thing that catches my eye is the pulled-back shower curtain and two bras hanging from the rod.

"Oh, God, don't look at those," she snaps as she makes a grab for them, grimacing when she lifts her arm.

I'm staring. The bras are frilly, one cream and one black, and so un-Danny. Or are they? Cami was good at camouflaging her assets, too. She wore tight sports bras that flattened her chest. No matter what Cami did, it was impossible not to notice her curves. My brother finally helped Cami get over hiding her chest, even when she started nursing and her breasts doubled in size. I'll admit that even I had trouble keeping my eyes off of those babies.

I jerk the cream bra down, which is still damp. The tag says 34-C. It's obvious Danny's breasts are the perfect size for her body. Not too big and not too small. So why the hell compress them into sports bras? Obviously she wears regular bras too, because I'm holding one in my hand. Before tonight, would I have even noticed if she wore one of these around me?

"You did not just do that!" Her eyes darken as her cheeks tinge pink. It makes her freckles stand out, and suddenly I just want to kiss her.

No, Van, I tell myself. Pull your fucking shit together. "I'm shocked that in all this time I've never noticed your boobs," I fist my hand and fill up one of the bra cups. I do this to take my mind off her outraged lips. Funny that I'm holding her bra, and suddenly all I'm thinking of are her red, angry lips.

She grabs the bra and stands there, holding it. I would love to see her in it, and can only hope it comes with matching panties. Danny straightens me out. "What's gotten into you, Van? Did your sister-in-law do something that upset you?"

There it isthe elephant in the room. Danny knows my darkest secret. Knows about my feelings for Cami and how badly I fucked up. I got shit-ass drunk one night here in Danny's apartment. She kept pouring the liquor, and I kept talking until I passed out on her couch. And it's strange... for the first time since I realized how badly I screwed up with Cami, thinking about her does nothing for me. No tightening in my chest and no regret.

"Jealous?" I quip, because I'm taking too long to answer and because what I really want to do is twirl Danny around the room for a happy dance and then kiss her.

Her voice goes soft as she says, "I'm sorry, Van."

Now that hurts. I don't want her sympathy. I turn away and shuffle through her medicine cabinet and find a large bottle of ibuprofen, a rugby player's best friend. I spill two into my hand and look over my shoulder. Danny's hung her bra back up and shakes her head, so I add another pill.

"Do you have salve for those ribs?"

She's no longer looking at me. "In the bedroom."

Oh, joy. I'm only digging myself deeper. The need to kiss her is coming back strong. She turns and stumbles slightly, which helps remind me that she's intoxicated. Danny is too drunk for anything besides meds and sleep. I've learned my lesson from my one night with Cami. My brother said a few things with his fists over Cami having too much to drink. I pushed my one and only time with her a little far, and I have felt like a jerk ever since. I had a buzz that night, too, but it's no excuse for my behavior. Another lesson learnedthe hard way.

Danny leaves the bathroom, walking to the kitchen as I follow to the hallway and watch her. Her apartment is small, and I can see the entire kitchen and half the living room. She works as a secretary by day so she can afford this small one bedroom she calls home. Back in college, she worked as a waitress at The Slam Tavern and lived in the dorm. I have no idea what she even studied in college. We've never talked about it. If we aren't talking rugby, we latch onto another sport. Only twice have we gotten personal: one being my shit-ass-drunk confession about my sister-in-law, the other was when Danny broke up with Dick-face.

I've only ever seen Danny with one guy and that was last summer. He was a dick-faceprofessional-shirted dick-face with long sleeves and a tie even in the heat. Dressing down for him was taking off his suit jacket and leaving it in his car. The car was another problem, a sissy-assed Prius. I didn't like him. Liked him even less when I found out he was a defense attorney. Not that Danny told me this. I saw his ad on television in the middle of a baseball game, with his big white teeth offering to help you with your DUI or personal injury case. Yeah, that worked. If he didn't get the asshole who drove drunk and hit you, he'd represent you against the asshole who drove drunk and hit you. I fucking didn't like him and that was that.

Danny downs the tablets and heads my way. "Go home, Van. I'm fine and just need to sleep this off."