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certain that if he put her through a modified form of basic training, he could turn her life around in a matter of weeks.
    “Sure,” Chase found himself saying. “If you’re willing to follow my game plan and play by my rules, I’ll teach you how to score.”

Chapter Two
    I can’t believe you’re actually going to get up at five-thirty and go jogging with your dog just because some bozo told you to.” Sammi’s sister, Chloe, reached into the clothes dryer stacked above the washer in the tiny pantry of Sammi’s narrow galley-style kitchen and pulled out a pair of ripped jeans.
    “He’s not a bozo. He’s my life coach.” Sammi edged by Chloe to place a bag of Orville Redenbacher Butter Light in the microwave sitting atop the vintage turquoise-and-black-tiled countertop. “He says it’ll help me develop self-discipline, which is the foundation of success.”
    “Why can’t you develop self-discipline at a decent hour?”
    The microwave beeped as Sammi punched the timer buttons. “Getting up early
is
the discipline.”
    “That’s not discipline; that’s punishment.” Chloe folded the jeans. “Is it even safe to be out that early?”
    Sammi nodded. “My coach said the path is lighted and heavily patrolled.”
    Chloe placed the jeans in the wicker clothes basket at her feet. “Well, I don’t know why you’re paying someone for advice, anyway, when you’ve got me.”
    Sammi’s gaze flicked over her sister’s spiky blue hair, kohl-rimmed eyes, and black leather choker. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not exactly role-model material.”
    “I don’t see why not. I’m perfectly happy with my life.”
    It was true. Chloe was completely content to live in a kitchenless garage apartment, cook on a hot plate, and work as a tattoo artist while trying to make it as a sculptor. It didn’t bother her one whit that she was spending all her disposable income on art supplies, driving a wreck of a car, and coming to Sammi’s house every other day to raid the fridge and do her laundry.
    Sammi, however, craved a more settled lifestyle. She wanted a home, a husband, and a family—all of the old-fashioned, permanent, love-based stuff that her grandparents had shared. Instead of moving in that direction, however, she seemed to be cruising toward a manslaughter conviction.
    Chloe pulled a ridiculously short black skirt from the dryer. “So what’s the story on this life coach? Is he an ex–drill sergeant or something?”
    “No. He’s a former sports psychologist.”
    “He’s an ex-jock?”
    “No. He helped jocks focus so they can play better.”
    Chloe’s lips curved in a grin. “So he’s an ex–jock supporter.”
    Sammi rolled her eyes. “He helped athletes think straight under pressure. He was known as the Choke Buster.”
    “The what?”
    “When athletes choke—you know, freeze or mess up—it can start a cycle of being afraid they’ll choke again, which makes it more likely to happen.”
    “Like you injuring men.”
    “Yeah. His ad said, ‘Learn how to tackle your fears and score in the game of life.’ And that’s just what I need.”
    “Are you sure he’s legit?”
    “Yeah. I Googled him, and he checks out.”
    Sammi had Googled him again after their conversation half an hour ago, hoping to find a picture, but she’d had no luck. Which was disappointing; she hadn’t noticed it the first time she’d talked to him, but tonight, his voice had sent shivers of attraction racing up her spine.
    Chloe shook out the skirt. “Aside from self-discipline, what did he say you needed to work on?”
    “Becoming more assertive.”
    Chloe made a snorting sound. “You’re plenty assertive. In fact, you’re downright bossy.”
    “Hey!”
    “Well, you are. You just boss the wrong people.”
    “Meaning you.”
    “Yeah.”
    Sammi watched Chloe put the skirt in the clothes basket. It was similar to the six-inch skirt her sister currently wore—on top of black knee-length leggings and