Her Sexiest Mistake

And she would have, except for two things. One, her aunt hadn't called her. Ever. Though she did send birthday cards every year, with increasingly larger checks enclosed.

Momma said Apple never called because she'd gotten a big head-so big Momma was surprised she even bothered with the cards and money-but Hope figured that Apple was somebody now, and somebodies took care of their own, busy or not.

Hope didn't care about phone calls, or even about Apple, really. She just needed out of town, away from the trailer park, away from the stupid boys and mean girls, away from being a nobody.

Her aunt probably didn't give a rat's ass about Hope, either, but that didn't matter. Apple lived in Los Angeles, the city of angels, the city of hope.

Surely that was a sign, right? Hope belonged there. She was going to stay with Apple and become a marine biologist and swim with dolphins for the rest of her life.

And like her aunt, never look back.

She was going to get better grades, get into Stanford, and then get rich. She'd have a place by the ocean, a new car- 'Sorry,' she whispered to the Diplomat and stroked the dash as she sipped from the 7-Eleven Big Gulp she'd used her last bit of change for. She was going to have a real pool, too, not a plastic little thing where she couldn't get all wet at once. Yeah, she had big dreams, and she would live 'em, assuming she didn't run into any trouble-

A hard rap on the window jerked her so hard she nearly came out of her own skin. Soda soaked into her chest and belly and legs, her hand hit the horn- which made her jump again-and she hit her head on the visor she'd pulled down to block the lowering sun.

Heart in her throat, soda dripping off her nose, she turned and looked out her window.

And froze.

A cop stood there gesturing for her to roll down her window. Oh, God. Oh, God… She rolled the window down an inch. 'Y-yes?'

“I need to see your driver's license and registration, please.'

'Um… okay.' She willed her heart to stop knocking into her ribs. Sticky with the soda, she fumbled through her purse, her fingers shaking like her momma’s did when she needed a drink real bad.

'Are you alone?' the officer asked, leaning in slightly to search the interior of the car with those flat cop eyes.

'Yes, sir.' Hope handed him her license and registration.

He eyed her for a long moment, then looked over her paperwork. 'Wait here.'

And then he was gone. With her license.

She counted to twenty while watching the same dark clouds move in, blocking out the sun. And then to one hundred. And then she started counting backward, and had gotten back to twelve when the cop showed up again.

He handed her the license. 'Careful driving, kid. A storm is moving in.'

She wasn't a kid, but she nodded obediently, and then he was gone.

And she was alone again, but that was better than being arrested for map theft. She studied the soda-soaked map, then got back onto the freeway.

***

Mia got home from work at six. This was early for her on an evening when she should have been out celebrating, but the fight with Ted and then the fire in her trash can had pretty much sapped her.

She figured she owed herself a quiet evening, with nothing more exciting than an extremely hot shower and a good book. Oh, and maybe a quick private little happy dance for the Anderson account. It was sweet indeed, enough to almost make her forget that she no longer had a right eyebrow.

Getting out of her car and into the sticky pre-storm humidity, she refused to crane her neck to see if there was a motorcycle parked two houses down. No need to look, because she didn't care.

Her heels clicked on the concrete walkway, but at the sound of pounding feet, a dribbling basketball, and male swearing, she pivoted the other way, to the end of the street and the basketball court there.

A competitor at heart, Mia loved a good game- of anything, but especially basketball. Something about the sweat and fast pace, not to mention the display of hard, damp, sexy bodies in shorts, called to her.

There was definitely a game in action, a vicious game of three-on-three. She moved closer to watch.

She recognized her neighbor's twin college-age sons and the fifty-something guy who lived on the next block over who'd once fixed her plumbing. There was another neighbor, frowning with concentration as he dribbled. Then the twenty-something -he'd seen in Kevin's apartment.

And then, Kevin himself. Mia's gaze locked on him and held. He'd looked amazing in his jeans and leather jacket. He'd looked damn fine naked.

But on the court… be still her heart. He wore black basketball shorts that hung to his knees, a loose gray tank top that said You don't have to attend every argument you're invited to. His hair was damp, those yummy eyes following every movement of the ball with the same fierce intensity he'd used to make her come too many times to count, his long fit body primed and hard and damp with sweat.

He charged after the player with the ball, and with a hand that moved fast as lightning, he reached in and stole it. In tune to the cheers of his two teammates, he dodged free and ran down the court with lithe agility and speed, dribbling at the speed of light. Lifting his arm, he twisted in midair, performed a one-handed layup, coming down hard with a quick triumphant pump of his fist.

Someone threw the ball into play again, and Kevin caught it just as a player from the opposite team body- slammed into him.

They both crashed to the floor.

Mia held her breath. Kevin rolled to his knees and got up, offering a hand to the kid who'd knocked him on his ass.

The kid took his hand, stood.

They eyed each other.

Then grinned like idiots.

Kevin ruffled the kid's hair, then waggled a finger in his face. 'Flagrant.'

'Bull-fucking-shit!'

'You kiss your mother with that mouth?'

The kid grinned again. 'Not flagrant, dude.'

'I'm taking a foul shot. Dudette .' Dribbling, Kevin moved to the foul line.

There was just something about his easy rhythmic movements that utterly captivated Mia. He looked down at the ball, then up at the basket, a line of sweat running down his temple, his shirt sticking to him like a second skin.

He made the shot, and the roughhouse game continued.

Mia had no idea how long she stood there captivated, entranced, watching Kevin move on the court with the grace and ease of a cat, but for the life of her, she couldn't walk away. Someone blocked his next shot, but he got the rebound and went up again, taking an elbow to the cheek but making his shot. His team cheered as he came down on both feet. When the other team tossed the ball in, Kevin again snatched it away, then fired the ball to a member of his team. It was immediately passed back to him. Someone tried to take the ball away, but he simply moved faster, his face tightening into an expression that said