I arrive outside the hotel lobby at eleven the next morning as planned.

I get there first. It’s just me and the mountains.

And I’m officially nervous. Last night the whole thing between Dylan and me had seemed like a big game somehow. Dylan was super-hot, smelled amazing, and was annoyingly persistent. He tempted me, and once I was alone in my room, I bit. But today, all of it feels way too real.

“Hey, Jasalie Gordon.” Dylan appears by my side without warning and I jump.

I must stop looking at these damn mountains.

“Hey, yourself.” I turn and smile at him.

He looks even more gorgeous than last night if that’s humanly possible. His olive shirt brings out the gold flecks of his eyes, and his hair isn’t styled as formally as it was yesterday. The slight waviness is a touch messy. He runs his hand through his hair as he stands in front of me, which just messes it up more. God, he looks like sex on a stick.

I, on the other hand, look pretty much exactly as I did last night. My hair’s different—I’m wearing it down instead of up in the bun I had yesterday—but I’m wearing another pair of black pants and a blouse. I spent all morning running back and forth to the hotel office center to photocopy pamphlet after pamphlet for Bill, and I didn’t have time to focus on what to wear for lunch. So I panicked and threw on what I now realize is far too businessy for this “date."

“You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you. Although I do have other outfits, ones that are more…casual.”

He breaks into a smile, and I laugh in spite of myself.

“If you want casual, maybe I can loan you one of my football jerseys to wear later.”

The heat rushes to my face.

“So, you ready to go?” I’m already walking down the steps.

“Sure.”

He catches up to me and matches me stride for stride. As we head across the parking lot, Dylan pulls up short.

“Jasalie.”

He’s staring out past me toward the street, and his face is etched with tension. I look where he’s looking, but other than the glint of what appears to be sunlight hitting glass, I don’t see anything.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him, involuntarily reaching out a hand to touch his arm. A jolt of electricity shoots through my body, and I quickly jerk my hand away.

But Dylan’s eyes grow heated like he felt it, too. He clears his throat. “The paparazzi are around already,” he warns me, and his jaw ticks. “I know of a place where they won’t bother us. Do you like Italian?”

I nod. “I can drive, though. That way I can show you around.” I’m kicking myself as soon as the offer’s out of my mouth. I thought I’d prefer to drive so I could feel some semblance of control over this situation, but I’ll be lucky if we don’t end up in Phoenix for how well I remember Tucson.

We walk in silence to my car. “The thing is I thought the point of all this”—I gesture between him and myself—“was to be seen together.” I unlock the car and climb into the driver’s side. “Doesn’t hiding from the press kind of ruin your plan?”

Dylan settles into the shotgun seat and stretches his long legs out. “Like I said, let’s have this date be just us. I don’t want to overwhelm you right off the bat. Introducing you to my world is difficult enough; throwing you to the media wolves is another. I haven’t been on a date with someone who’s from outside of this scene in a while. Not since I started being photographed more regularly. I just want to make sure you’re comfortable with me and trust me first.”

That’s sweet. He really is genuinely nice and considerate. “Thanks for thinking of me,” I say as I turn on the car. “But I’m pretty good at taking care of myself. A few men with cameras aren’t going to scare me off.”

Dylan lets out a light chuckle that sounds exhausted. “They’re more like vultures than cameramen.”

Using his phone for directions, Dylan tells me how to reach the restaurant.

I’m surprised when we pull up to a rustic building with the simple sign “Lucca’s” above the wooden door. With the type of life he leads, I assumed Dylan would only eat out at fancy places.

Dylan insists on holding the door for me as we walk inside.

An older man immediately comes over to us and shakes Dylan’s hand. “How are you, Mr. Wild? Good to see you again.”

“I’m great. Thanks, Paolo.” Dylan puts his arm around me. “This is Jasalie.”

“Jasalie.” Paolo takes my hand and kisses it. “You two get the table of honor, a private one in the back.”

He leads us over to a small table for two. The seating is far more intimate than I’d prefer, but making a fuss would just call attention to the fact that I’m trying to avoid breathing in Dylan Wild’s air space.

We take seats across from one another. I glance around the restaurant, already feeling more comfortable than I ever thought I would today. It’s a hole-in-the wall, tiny space with little ambience. But it’s real.

“This is a nice place,” I say as a waiter fills our waters and Dylan and I each order a glass of red wine.

Dylan tells me he’s been here a few times over the last couple years. “I’ve taken a few vacations in the desert to get away,” he explains. “Paolo always respects my privacy.” He raises his water glass. “Cheers.”

I shake my head. “It’s bad luck to toast with water.”

“Really?” He puts his glass back down on the table. “Didn’t know that.”

“We’ll wait for the wine.”

“That’s fine. We’ve got all afternoon,” he says.

I fidget in my seat. Somehow I thought this was going to be a quick lunch. Dylan and I would realize we had nothing in common except for our business arrangement, I’d drive him to a few sights around town, and that would be it.

“Let’s see if we have enough to talk about to get us that far,” I say.

“I think we will.” He winks at me.

My insides turn over, and all the guy’s done is make niceties. And I’m sweating again even though I went out this morning and bought myself a new deodorant, the kind I use at home, the kind that always keeps me dry even when I’m making presentations at work. If I keep seeing Dylan, I may have to get that special prescription deodorant that prevents sweating altogether.

“Anyway,” I say in a soft tone, “I guess I thought you were used to something fancier than this.”

“I don’t always do fancy.” He leans closer to me, so close I can see sparks of gold dancing inside his dark brown eyes. “I thought this would be a good place for our first date.”

“Good guess.” My voice comes out breathy, and I fight to regain my composure. “So, Dylan,” I say in a clinical voice. “Tell me about yourself. What are your parents like? And your friends? Are you dating anyone back in L.A.?”

He laughs. “Trying to get a flaw out of me right off the bat, huh? Well, don’t worry, I’m not perfect. Just like the rest of us.”

But as our conversation goes on, and we laugh and talk and don’t run out of things to say to one another, Dylan Wild seems pretty damn near perfect to me. And he’s down-to-earth. The truth is I wanted to believe that he was more than a famous football player—more than the entitled Neanderthal stereotype with a shinier finish. But I definitely had my doubts. His genuineness puts me in my place without him even realizing it. We talk about our jobs and the pros and cons of being residents of Los Angeles. I make sure to keep the topics as light and non-personal as possible.

We’re interrupted five times for Dylan to sign autographs and take pictures. Three kids and two adults.

“Do you ever get tired of that?” I ask him after the fifth one leaves.

“Sometimes it’s hard. Like when I’m trying to get to know someone. But, you know it’s flattering. It really is.”

I nod and take another sip of my wine. If I weren’t driving, I could try to drown my feelings of lust in alcohol, but instead I’m stuck nursing my first glass.

“So, to finally answer your earlier questions,” Dylan says to me as the waiter hands him the bill. “I’m not dating anyone.”

Our eyes catch. I want to keep my mouth shut. But as usual, it opens and fires.

“I saw you on Hollywood Now! with that Natalie woman. The show said you’re dating.”

He frowns. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a tabloid believer, Jasalie Gordon.”

I don’t like the way he says it. Like he’s disappointed in me.

“I believe what I see,” I say stubbornly. “And I saw you with your arms around some woman.”

I’m not sure why a wave of displeasure sweeps through me at the memory, and I try my best to ignore the feeling.

“It was one date,” he says, the growing flush on his cheeks the only sign of his emotion. “Our publicists set us up. We went back to her place afterward, and I fell asleep. She was angry—I guess—that I wasn’t interested enough in her to stay awake. So she took photographs of…intimate parts of me.”

I gasp. “Are you serious?”

“Unfortunately, yes. She sent them to my agent, thank God, instead of to social media, which is where she was headed. She decided to blackmail me with them. If I didn’t do what she asked, she vowed to sell them to a tabloid or to post them herself.”

“But that’s illegal!”

“It may be illegal, but stopping someone from doing something like that is damn near impossible.”

I stare at him. “So what did she want? Besides to try to ruin you?”

“She didn’t want to ruin me, not really. Natalie wanted a part, and she needed some free publicity. She wanted me to go out with her so she could be seen. So we went on two public, planned dates where the paparazzi were called and told where we’d be. They got their pictures, she got her role, and I got out of there as fast as I could.”

I stare at him. “So it’s no different than this thing between us. This is just another deal for you. I understand you were coerced into that one, but still—it’s all business.”

He sucks in his breath. “I can see why you’d say that. The difference here is I like you, Jasalie. I want to go on a real date with you if you’ll let me. If you won’t, I’ll take what I can get. And I really do appreciate you considering helping me out with the charity.”

We look at each other in silence. The heat between us is still intense, and our little disagreement just made the air around us even thicker.

I nod at him. “Okay. Well, what about your family? Any siblings?”

“I’ve got an older brother by three years, and he never lets me forget it. My parents are high school sweethearts, and they raised us in the same Old West Montana town they were raised in. My four cousins are my best friends and have been since I was a kid. Plus Jenson, who’s Colton’s best friend, and he’s become family to us, too.”

I exhale. “So you’re close to your parents?”

“Sure.”

His gaze goes dark when he says it, but before I can figure out why, he takes the bill, and without even glancing at it, hands a credit card to the server.

“Thank you for the lunch,” I say as we stand up.

“Thanks for agreeing to come out with me.” His smile is warm and real until we stand up and he glances out the window. “Shit.”

His body stills, and he clasps my wrist to keep me from moving toward the door. “Jasalie. Wait.”

I look up at his face, which is once again filled with tension. His jaw’s clenched, and his eyes have gone flat.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just a bunch of paparazzi. They must have followed us from the hotel and called in backup. I knew they’d find their way here from L.A., but I thought I’d have another day free of this.” He glances down to where his fingers are still circling my wrist, and the heat between us jolts through me.

Our eyes clash, and I widen mine as I unconsciously step into him. His free arm goes around my waist and he brings me closer. “Just stay inside while I go get the car, okay?” he says into my ear. His lips brush my earlobe as he speaks, and a traitorous shiver goes through my body.

Damn it.

I pull back from him quickly. “Um, sure. Let me give you the keys.” I hand them over to him, and he says he’ll pull around to the back exit.

He’s walked about five steps when I change my mind and decide to catch him.

“Hey,” I say as his hand touches the door handle. “How about we get our first photo op out of the way? This will give me a true sense of what I’m in for if we go forward with our weekend deal.”

Dylan’s dark eyes fix on me. “Are you sure that’s what you want? It’s not easy—I’m warning you.”

I don’t see how it could be harder than living on the streets as a teenager. But I don’t say that out loud. “I’m sure. Let’s go for it.”

“Hold onto me.” He puts out his hand, and I hesitate. “You think I’m scary, Jasalie? Trust me when I say I’ll be the least of your problems in about ten seconds. Take my hand, or we go out the back.”

“So bossy,” I grumble, but I do what he says.

He interlaces our fingers together, and squeezes my hand gently. “Here we go. Don’t answer any of their questions, don’t feel the need to smile if they ask for it, and don’t slow down. Okay? We’re just going to walk right by them and go directly to your car.”

I nod, and Dylan opens the door.

And shit, he was right.

I wasn’t prepared for the blinding flash of lights, or the loud calls of, “Dylan! How you doing today? Who’s the lucky lady? Can you stop for a quick picture?”

Dylan steps in front of me, shielding me as much as he can with his body. But the lights have already done their damage, and the white spots dancing in front of my eyes won’t go away. Good thing I’m not claustrophobic because the photographer on my left is really crowding into me.

“Let us through, please.” Dylan’s voice is hard and authoritative. “Thanks, guys. Clear a path.”

“Who’s the lady?!” Several of them call out again. “Tell us who she is, Dylan, and we’ll let you go!”

I stop, tugging on Dylan’s hand. He shifts around to face me and shakes his head at me in clear warning.

But I just want them all to shut up. I put my hand on Dylan’s chest and lean into him with a smile as I say to the paparazzi, “I’m his date. You can put that in your stories. Now leave us alone, please.”

The flashbulbs are going at a lightning quick pace now. I keep a half-smile on my face and my hand pressed to Dylan’s chest just long enough for the men to get their shots, and then I put my hand up. “Photo shoot’s over, boys. Have a good day.”

I start walking again, and Dylan hustles me away and into the car.

Once we’re inside, I wait for him to let me have it. But he surprises me when he breaks into a laugh.

“You’re amazing, Jasalie,” he says, his eyes filled with…admiration?

“You’re not mad?” I say. “I did the opposite of what you instructed. Bill usually gets really pissed off when I do that.”

“Well, I’m not your boss,” he says in a slow, sexy tone that has my thighs clenching. “Am I?”

I shake my head.

He glances in the rearview mirror. “But I need to ask you to put your hometown skills to good use and drive us somewhere the vultures can’t follow.”

Dylan’s request hangs in the air like a firecracker.

I fasten my seatbelt and turn on the car. I could take him to see the cacti or to that art museum I’ve been curious about. The problem is, I don’t know how to get to either one.

I reach for my phone to glance at the city map.

“How long has it been since you’ve lived here?”

Dylan’s calm voice cuts through the silence inside the car.

“A…a little while.” I wave my hand vaguely in the air. “You know time is relative.”

I zoom out of the parking lot and turn left without checking first for oncoming cars. Luckily, the road is clear, but I narrowly miss the median strip as I speed up and head for the stoplight. I drive four blocks, blind with an unnamed emotion that’s bubbling up from inside my chest and threatening to burst out of me.

I feel Dylan glance over at me, but I ignore him and turn right.

After passing three street signs I don’t recognize, I drive onto the sidewalk. I hastily jerk the wheel and return the car to the street. I was really only on the sidewalk for a few feet, but unfortunately, it was enough time to terrify the one man who happened to be there at the same moment.

“Jasalie, whoa.” Dylan touches my arm lightly. “Why don’t you pull over up here, and let me drive?”

“Dylan, I’m fine.” I refuse to look over at him as I careen down the road and turn left. “See, this street here should take us to Broadway.”

Only it doesn’t. And I don’t realize that until the damn thing just randomly ends.

I stop the car at the dead end and look out at the desert beyond. I can see a street across the sand and cacti, about a hundred feet away as if the city had planned to complete this route someday but never got around to it.

I’m so busted.

Silence takes over the car with the low hum of the motor the only thing potentially stopping Dylan from hearing my pounding heart.

“You’re like the worst tour guide ever,” he finally says in a light tone. “Maybe if your rental had GPS you could have done a better job of faking it.”

I glance at him. “I don’t know what to say.”

“On the other hand, I’m seriously considering offering you a job as my driver, seeing how easily you just shed the paparazzi.”

I manage a weak laugh.

His expression turns serious. “You’re not really from here, are you?”

I exhale. “I really was born here, but I spent most of my life in L.A. So I’m not that familiar with Tucson.”

“Well, it’s no big deal. We can figure it out together. Unless you had a place in mind you wanted to go…”

“Actually, I do. Somewhere no one else will think to look for us. It’s not exactly a tourist trap.” I reach for my phone and type in the only local address I know, the one I’ve memorized. Why I trust Dylan Wild to accompany me I have no idea. Maybe because he’s a stranger, and in three days, I’ll never see him again. Without allowing myself to analyze it further, I hand him my phone. “You can be my copilot and tell me when to turn.”

Fifteen minutes later, we pull onto a residential side street on the outskirts of town.

Number Twenty-One. I read the address on the mailbox across the street, and I put the car into park so I can get a closer look.

The house is painted a pale green with yellow shutters. It’s an adobe-style home and has seen better days. An older model sedan sits in the short driveway, but no one’s outside. A few kids are playing basketball in the driveway next door, and the ball bounces across the lawn and lands by the wheel of the sedan. A little girl jogs over to retrieve it, and I watch the way her blond curls bounce as she runs and how her little legs carry her effortlessly back to her home.

To her home. With her family.

I want to be able to do that, to give my mother back her home and to maybe heal the part of my heart that broke in half when she left me as a child. I can save her. She couldn’t save me, but I can save her.

Shit. Coming here was a terrible idea. An ache starts in the back of my throat and threatens to engulf me. I turn my head away from the house and stare out the windshield as I wrack my brain for funny memories, neutral memories, anything I can think of to stop me from breaking down in front of Dylan.

“Um, do you know someone here?” he asks me eventually, after five minutes of silence.

I start the engine back up. “I’m sorry I’ve wasted our time.”

But his hand is lightning quick to gently catch my wrist before I can put the car into drive. “Do you want to talk about something?”