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What happens when a single mother is forced to live with a grumpy, ailing football star? The smolder turns red hot, of course.

Amanda Shaw has pulled it together. It’s taken a couple of years, a boatload of hard work, and a ton of self-discipline, but she finally has her problems in a headlock. Her yoga studio in the city has become so successful she’s opening one near the beach, and her relationship with her ten-year-old son is improving every day. The last thing she needs is a monkey wrench thrown into her smoothly running life.

Grant Hendricks is one big monkey wrench. The four time Defensive Player of the Year, three time NFL sack leader, and all-around football god has officially hit rock bottom. A devastating back injury means he may have to retire and that scares him more than doctors telling him that the next hit could leave him paralyzed. All he needs is a quiet place to think and his teammate’s beach house sounds like just the place. Problem is, the woman already living there.


P. Dangelico

Book Series: 

An all-new enemies-to-lovers romance, and a standalone follow-up to Wrecking Ball, is available now from author P. Dangelico, and I have a sneak peek for you, as well as a chance to win a signed paperback copy.

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Dressed in my usual yoga pants and top with our brand logo on them, I walk into the kitchen to get started on breakfast and find Hendricks already there, lingering around the coffee machine with his back to me.

The good news––he has shorts on. A round of applause, everyone. It looks like he finally got the message that no one in this house is dying to see his bare ass.

The bad news––he’s still wearing a bad attitude, as evidenced by the frown he gives me when he notes I’m wearing a sports bra and leggings, that “moment” we shared last night long forgotten. If Miss Parnell hadn’t ingrained good manners into me, he’d be the recipient of a raised middle finger right about now.

Roxy looks up at me and whines. “You gotta go out?” I ask her because she’s just a person trapped in a dog’s body.

“Already took her,” Hendricks answers. “Fed her, too.”

I look around, momentarily confused. Was he talking to me? I must be hearing things. I must be because he couldn’t possibly have said he did something nice for me.

“You took her to do her business? And you fed her?”

“That’s what I said.”

Okay, still a jerk. No miracle yet, but I’m keeping hope alive. “Gosh, are you always so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning? You’re killing me with all your positive energy. It’s just too much. Enough already.”

He levels me with his signature stabby gaze.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” I grab the ibuprofen out of the cabinet, pop two, and catch Hendricks watching me. Weirdo.

“Amanda,” my ten-year-old shouts. Sam walks in wearing his Spider-Man pajamas and glass goggles, his hair standing up every which way.

This habit of him calling me by my name has been going on for far too long and I’m getting sick of it. “Can I stay home today?” he mumbles as he slides onto a stool at the kitchen island. I pour him a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and he drinks.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine. And the answer is, no. I have a meeting with the building inspector in an hour.”

Yawning, Sam pushes the goggles up his head and rubs the sleep out of his big gray eyes. Poor kid. He’s been forced to accompany me to the studio every day. He brings books and video games, we take frequent breaks to walk Roxy and eat. Still, not exactly a child’s dream summer.

“He can stay with me,” says a deep male voice to my right.

Before I can even get a word out, my head starts automatically shaking. “No.”

“Yes!! Please, Mommy, pleeeeease?” Sure, now that he wants something I’m mommy. “PleasecanIstaywith the angry dude?” he gets out in one breath. Except for the last part, which he takes care to enunciate clearly.

“The angry dude?” the deep male voice repeats.

Double scoop of poop. I slowly turn in that direction and locate vivid blue eyes staring back at me, the coffee mug frozen halfway to his mouth. #SamePenis4Ever is written in a large gold font on the pink mug, my brother’s wedding date on the bottom.

I’m not a social media person. We certainly didn’t have any money for gadgets when I was growing up. And yet, for the first time I feel a strong urge to post a picture on Instagram.

“That’s what she calls you,” my son boldly announces.

Children, don’t you just love their honesty?

Heat blazes up my neck and scorches my face. I really didn’t need to give him another reason to hate me but it looks like that kind of day.

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