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  “Yeah. Crazy,” Hawk agreed, sighing. “Comes with the territory, though.” Then, with a determined effort not to let the vultures waiting downstairs throw off his chance to know more about this captivating man in front of him, he steered the conversation back to a more fun topic. This guy could walk back out the door at any second, after all, and Hawk didn’t even know his name yet. “So since you’re not a football fan, I guess introductions are in order, then. I’m Hawk Hawkins, and during the short window of time that I’m not injured each season, I play for the NFL.” He waited a moment, but when the man only nodded, it became clear he was going to have to do a little more prodding. A-fucking-dorable. “Now it’s your turn.”

  “Oh. Oh.” Those brown puppy-dog eyes widened with the hint of recognition. “Did you go to the high school here? I graduated a few years ago, but I’m pretty sure I remember your name from that big trophy in front of the gym.”

  Hawk nodded. “That’s me. Looks like we just missed each other in school. I must have graduated before you got there. My bad luck.” He paused for a moment, savoring the curious but sort of panicked look that flashed across the man’s face. Surely he could tell that Hawk was flirting a little, right? And if Hawk had played it wrong, if the guy wasn’t actually gay? Well… it was all in good fun. “But yeah, I got picked up by the Falcons while I was at college in Richmond.”

  “Right. Wow. Um, well… my name is Frankie. Frankie Moretti. I, uh, work at the flower shop—Chance to Bloom—downtown. That’s… about it? I’m sure you know how this place is. This delivery is probably the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in a while. Or to anyone else in town, for that matter.”

  While Hawk doubted that Frankie had been excited to deliver flowers to his hospital room—he hadn’t even known who Hawk was until just a few moments ago, after all—he knew from growing up in Bridgewater that Frankie wasn’t exaggerating too much.

  The place was dull.

  Boring.

  Even though he hadn’t known what the future would hold for him back in high school, he’d still busted his ass to get the football scholarship that had been his one way ticket from Bridgewater to Richmond—and eventually to the NFL.

  No way he could imagine what life would’ve been like if he’d gotten stuck in a town the size of a postage stamp for the rest of his life.

  Still, whenever he thought of home, he didn’t think of the expensive high-rise condo with the great views in Atlanta. That was just where he slept during football season, where he touched down between flights.

  Home was still his family’s ranch outside of Bridgewater.

  He might not get to visit as often as he’d like, but that didn’t change what the place meant to him. He didn’t regret for a minute the decision all those years ago to leave this small town and follow his dreams, but there was still something to be said for having a place to call home, away from the prying eyes and the blinding flashbulbs.

  A place where a five-minute conversation with a cute stranger didn’t automatically include an autograph request.

  “I guess I should, um, be going,” the man—Frankie—said, clearing his throat.

  Hawk belatedly realized he’d been staring while his thoughts had wandered. Shit. He hadn’t meant to get so wrapped up in his thoughts that he’d missed the chance to flirt a little more with his unexpected visitor.

  “I hope you like the flowers, and… hope you feel better with whatever, um, you hurt.”

  “No, wait.” Hawk moved to hold his hand up, then winced as pain shot through his entire torso.

  Frankie went pale and instinctively took a step toward Hawk, reaching out to help but stopping short of actually touching him. And even though there wasn’t anything Frankie could’ve actually done, the spontaneous action made the corners of Hawk’s mouth turn up in what would’ve been a smile if he hadn’t been in so much pain.

  He pushed the button next to his bed, hoping for another shot of whatever it was they’d given him earlier.

  “Sorry,” he said, once the pain had subsided enough to think again. “You can stay a few more minutes, though, can’t you? At least until the nurse gets here.”

  Hawk didn’t need him to stay, and didn’t really like the idea of a stranger seeing him in pain… but the thought of Frankie leaving when they were just starting to get to know each other felt wrong. Hawk wanted to know so much more about him—anything and everything Frankie might feel like sharing. The idea of getting stuck in Bridgewater until his ribs healed was a lot easier to swallow if there was a chance that he’d get to spend some of that time flirting with Frankie.

  Or maybe even doing a little more than flirting.

  “Yeah, sure.” Frankie nodded emphatically, seemingly relieved that Hawk’s moment of pain had passed. “Can I do anything? Get you anything?”

  If Hawk had been feeling better, he wouldn’t have been able to pass up the chance to sneak a little innuendo into his answer. Just the chance to see Frankie blush again had him thinking about offering a few suggestions on what Frankie could do for him. But no. Flirting was one thing, but he didn’t want to be creepy—or, God forbid, scare Frankie off when he had only just learned his name.

  “I’m okay.” Hawk smiled despite the lingering pain. “Getting better by the minute, actually. But thank you. You seem like a really nice guy, Frankie.”

  Frankie opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, the door to Hawk’s room swung open and his favorite nurse from the dozen or so that he’d seen so far—Linda? Brenda?—with the fiery red hair that matched her loud personality came barging in, her eyes zeroing in on Hawk’s hand, still wrapped around the red call button.

  “Are you okay, Mr. Hawkins?” Her look of concern eased a little when she saw the smile on Hawk’s face, but before he could answer, she was already talking again. “Hey, Frankie. What are you doing here? Flirting with our local celebrity?”

  Frankie made a little squawking noise that—when paired with his deer-in-the-headlights expression—was one of the most endearing things Hawk had ever heard.

  “Oh my God, no. I mean… I would? Maybe? But no. I’m here on official flower business with this bouquet for Hawk—um, Mr. Hawkins, and—oh my God.” He stopped and took a deep breath, then looked from the nurse to Hawk and back again as he took a step toward the still-open door. “I’ve gotta go. It was really nice to meet you, Hawk. Take care, LaRinda.”

  Before Hawk could stop him or distract him again, Frankie slipped out the door, the sound of his quickly retreating footsteps the only indication he’d ever been there at all. Well, that and the beautiful bouquet sitting on the table next to Hawk. At least he had that reminder of the ray of sunshine who had just run out of the room.

  “Isn’t Frankie a sweetheart?” LaRinda asked without looking up from Hawk’s medical chart. “I just love him. Who sent the flowers?”

  “He is,” Hawk agreed, still watching the door.

  Hoping by some miracle that Frankie would appear there again and kicking himself for not doing something to ensure that he’d get to see him again. Then, remembering that the nurse had asked another question, he reached out and turned over the little card that was attached to the vase.

  “They’re from my mom. I should’ve guessed.” At least they weren’t from a fan, though, which meant word of his injury might not have leaked yet. “I’m feeling better now, though. Thanks. Sorry to have bothered you.”

  “Don’t be silly. Let’s get you a little more medicine flowing here. I know how painful cracked ribs can be.”

  Her words were sobering, and for the first time since Frankie had arrived, Hawk could think clearly about what Corbin had said. He knew the owners had their eyes on a couple of young guys from the University of Richmond. They’d already been squawking about Hawk’s injury record, and if he didn’t show them he could still deliver, it wasn’t at all unlikely that they’d start thinking about cutting the generous contract Corbin had negotiated for him in favor of a few young rookie
s in their prime.

  “Oh, I don’t think they’re cracked,” he lied, as if LaRinda didn’t already know the truth. Still, maybe if he said it out loud enough… “Maybe just bruised.”

  “Mhm,” LaRinda said, paying no attention to his efforts to downplay the situation. “Let’s just adjust this IV drip.” She fiddled with something out of Hawk’s line of vision, but seemed satisfied enough when she stepped back and put her hands on her hips. “That should be better. Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Hawkins? Anything you need?”

  He shook his head and gave a feeble grin, suddenly feeling very tired. Was the medicine kicking in for real this time… or was it just the reality of spending the last of his downtime before the intensity of the football season stuck in Bridgewater that was sinking in?

  LaRinda gave his shoulder a motherly pat as she headed out of the room, and Hawk turned his head toward the bouquet Frankie had delivered. He plucked out one of the brightly colored blooms, his lips turning up in a smile as whatever the nurse had given him for the pain finally kicked in for sure.

  Actually, maybe six weeks in Bridgewater wouldn’t be all that bad.

  Hawk had always gone all-out in pursuit of the things he wanted in life, and for once, it looked like his hometown had something he wanted.

  Chapter 2

  Frankie

  Frankie had been floating on a cloud since the moment he’d left Hawk’s hospital room. Nothing had slowed him down—not the curious stares from the nurses he’d passed on the way back to the elevator, not even the throng of photographers who’d been waiting breathlessly for him to walk back to his car.

  He’d handled them all like a pro, smiling and shaking his head when they’d asked what he was doing there or if he’d seen anyone special.

  Smiling had been easy, though. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to wipe the cheesy grin off his face, despite his best attempts once he’d actually made it back to his car.

  But nope.

  Even though his cheeks were starting to hurt and even though there was no way in the world he’d ever go on another delivery that would compare to the one he’d just left, that smile wasn’t going anywhere.

  He’d just met a celebrity—and not just met—he’d actually stood there talking and laughing and making conversation for a long time.

  Well, okay, maybe it had only been about twenty minutes, but it had felt like a really long time. A long, meaningful time.

  Frankie started his car and then reached over and pinched his arm, then smiled even wider. Yep, that had really happened. It had been the most interesting and breathtaking thing that had happened to Frankie in… well, ever.

  “Ethan is not gonna believe this,” he said out loud as he pulled out from the hospital parking lot. “Not even for a minute.”

  He was basically friends with Hawk Hawkins now, after all.

  Or… he definitely would be friends with Hawk, if they’d had a chance to talk a little longer. He was certain of that.

  And even though he wasn’t going to go around saying that to Ethan and Jack—he wasn’t crazy, after all—he still knew, even from the admittedly shorter-than-he’d-originally-thought amount of time they’d spent together, that Hawk was a good guy.

  A good guy who’d seemed genuinely surprised and happy to meet Frankie. Who had asked Frankie to stay and chat a while longer, even.

  Frankie definitely hadn’t imagined that.

  And while it was maybe a bit of a stretch—and probably a lot of wishful thinking—to think that Hawk had been flirting just a tiny bit, there was still something about him that had been open and fun and, well… flirty.

  So that had happened, too.

  Probably.

  Maybe.

  He turned up the radio and rolled down the windows, still smiling as he zipped through the light afternoon traffic and started singing at the top of his lungs. And when he pulled up at the stoplight by the flower shop, he didn’t give one single shit that people were turning and watching him rock out to Rihanna. He’d just met Hawk Freaking Hawkins, and they could all suck it.

  Well… okay. Maybe that was a bit much. They didn’t all have to suck it.

  And even though he was still shining bright like a diamond when he pulled into the parking lot of the flower shop, he knew that he needed to get it together, at least a little bit. His head was definitely still in the clouds, but—as much as he hated to admit it—his brush with fame and fortune had ended. He’d had his fun, and now he was going to somehow try to get through the rest of the afternoon without running right back to that hospital room and begging for another twenty minutes of Hawk’s time.

  Still, when he walked through the door of Chance to Bloom and Ethan practically pounced on him with excitement, Frankie decided that maybe he could do fame and fortune for at least a few more minutes.

  “Well?” Ethan asked, arching his eyebrows and waiting breathlessly. “Spill. Who was it? Was it Hawk?”

  Frankie cocked his head to the side, the wide grin that had been plastered to his face fading just a little in his confusion. “You don’t already know? You’re the one who took the order. I figured that’s why you sent me, so I could get up close and personal with the hot football guy.”

  “Oh, so it was Hawk? I figured, but thought maybe—wait,” The excitement in Ethan’s eyes had dimmed for a split-second, only to instantly reappear once he’d latched on to the rest of what Frankie had said. “Up close and personal? What does that mean? And he’s hot in person? It’s so hard to tell on TV, when he’s wearing all those pads and a helmet.”

  Frankie felt his face flush a little as he remembered the way Hawk had made even that ridiculous hospital gown look sexy.

  “Oh yeah, he’s definitely hot. Definitely.” He paused and cleared his throat, trying desperately to get past the image of Hawk in his mind. He didn’t wanna seem too starstruck, but… he kinda was. Hello, it wasn’t every day that he got the chance to rub shoulders with the rich and famous. “I didn’t have any idea who he was at first, though. I mean, I guess I did sort of recognize his name once he told me—but seriously? You didn’t know who it was before you sent me out? You were the one who said it was an important delivery.”

  He’d known Ethan for years, long enough to know when the man was hiding something… and when he was playing matchmaker. But this didn’t feel like either of those things. Ethan seemed truly curious this time.

  “Well, Mrs. Hawkins was a little cagey when she placed the order. She said it was important, and that it needed to be delivered right away, but with as little fuss as possible. I assumed it was Hawk, but you know they only put VIP’s in that part of the hospital—the private suites, the restricted access, not just anyone can walk in there. I mean, it’s Bridgewater, so it’s not like I expected it to be Beyoncé or anything, but… oh my God, could you imagine if it had been?”

  “It definitely wasn’t Beyoncé,” Frankie said, not even a little bit sorry about the fact. He gave Ethan a cheeky smile, adding, “But I mean… if Hawk wanted to put a ring on it…”

  “Oh my God.” Ethan rolled his eyes but burst out laughing anyway. “So you’re a football fan now?”

  That was definitely a bit of a stretch. But there was no question as to whether Frankie was a fan of football players now. Or at least, of one in particular.

  “Let’s not get carried away,” Frankie said, trying—and failing again—to turn his attention from all-Hawk-all-the-time to something a little less… exciting. Less swoon-worthy. Less sexy. But no. That clearly wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. “I’m just saying the guy is legitimately hot. And nice. I don’t think I’ll be watching any football games, but he could definitely give Tom Daley a run for his money as my sports crush.”

  Ethan nodded, apparently unable to find a fault with Frankie’s logic. Neither of them followed football—or any sport, really—aside from maybe the Olympics, and that was only to watch men’s diving. And wrestling… and water polo…
<
br />   Before he could get too lost in the thoughts of men’s sports that required a speedo or spandex, Ethan’s fiancé, Jack, walked into the room holding a bundle of flowers that filled both of his muscular arms.

  “Did I hear you guys say Beyoncé was in town?” Jack asked, giving them both a teasing grin.

  “No, unfortunately. Just Frankie’s new sportsball crush.” Ethan gave a heavy, dramatic sigh as he crossed the room and took the bundle of flowers from Jack, spreading them out over the front counter and letting his hands flit over the blooms. “These are all damaged? Were there any left from the truck? I’m gonna have to call the wholesaler if we’re losing this many blooms in an order.”

  Jack gave a non-committal half-shrug. “I know it’s a lot. But I might have been going through them a little more critically than normal. There’s the usual few missing petals and nicked stems, but I was mostly thinking about Frankie’s Flower Face-off.” He nodded in Frankie’s direction. “I thought you could drop these off at the nursing home this afternoon, Frankie—it can be your next delivery, actually. Your grandma and her friends will love these, and it’ll give them a chance to get some more practice before the big day.”

  “Oh, that’s right!” Ethan brightened at the mention of Frankie’s grandmother.

  Before Ethan had met Jack—back when Jack’s late father ran the flower shop—Frankie and Ethan used to take regular donations of flowers to the nursing home. Ethan and Jack had been more than happy to continue the donations once they’d taken over ownership, but their schedules had filled up considerably, leaving Frankie to make the deliveries himself most days.

  “She’ll definitely love these,” Ethan said. "I’d almost forgotten about the Flower Face-off, with all the wedding planning we’ve been doing. It is still going to be right after our honeymoon, isn’t it, Frankie?”

  The Flower Face-off had become sort of a much-anticipated event at the local nursing home where Frankie’s grandma lived. Frankie had been in the habit of teaching flower arranging to the senior citizens there in his off time, but the Flower Face-off took it to a whole new level. The annual event was Frankie’s creation; it had been inspired by the Olympics—and by his tendency to daydream rather than pay close attention to the actual sporting events he watched. And while the only prize was a made-up title and bragging rights as the best florist in the nursing home, it had become surprisingly competitive.