My brother's best friend might be a cocky wide receiver with an ego the size of Texas, but I swear I did not mean to almost kill him with a ghost pepper. Logan Murphy should come with a warning.

He's as hot as a Carolina Reaper on black asphalt in the middle of July. With perfectly messy dark hair and smoldering blue eyes-and don't even get me started on the way that black tee stretches across his toned chest.

. .

He's my brother's best friend. He's also a football star on track to win the first wide-receiver MVP in league history.

Good thing I only date golfers. .

. or I did.

Good thing he's only visiting for a month, because the more I see he's not a player, the harder it is to block him from running away with my heart. I've always loved football, but after eight years pro, everything about it leaves me cold.

So when I agree to head south with my best friend, the last thing I expect is to have my face melted off by his pepper-loving little sister. Dylan Bradford was supposed to be a kid, not a feisty pinup who looks at me like she's never seen a man before.

She's all curves and cutoffs, bare feet dancing in the warm summer night,But I'm only in town a month, and she doesn't date football players. Then late-night talks turn to sharing past hurts and future dreams, and shy looks turn to confident kisses.

The heat between us can't be denied. It's spicy and sweet, and it melts us together.

Until the way we touch becomes more than friendly-it's forever. .