“Yeah, I’m getting that.”

Glad to hear amusement in his voice, I continued, “I need your help, Morgan.”

“Hit me.”

I explained about Pete and Evan’s gossiping.

“Fuck, don’t these guys have anything better to do?” he huffed.

My thoughts exactly. “Apparently not.”

“So, what do you need, Tinker Bell?”

“You and I are invited to a team-building paintball ball tournament next weekend. Are you available?”

“I’ll make myself available.”

“Great. But I think we need to practice before then.”

“Practice?”

“Go on a fake date together. Just you and I practice…being together. Try to create that illusion of intimacy.” I felt my cheeks burning but forced out, “Maybe share a practice kiss.”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Rhys?” Oh my goodness, had he changed his mind? Did he feel like I was trying to prostitute him? “Or not!” I hurried to say. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

A rumbly chuckle down the line created a tingling in my body I desperately ignored. “Dahlin’, I told you this shit at Fairchild’s yacht thing. When are you going to start listening to me? I’m very smart.”

I grinned. “You are. And I should have listened. Does that mean you’re willing to go on a fake date with me?”

“You free tomorrow night?”

My smile widened to almost painful. “Yes.”

“Then I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Nine

Rhys

“What are we doing?” Parker’s arms were wrapped around my waist, her slim, strong thighs clenching mine. It felt so good that I was momentarily distracted.

Didn’t stop me from answering. I was good at multitasking. “Honey, if you don’t know, there’s no helping you.”

She laughed, sending a glossy strand of hair fluttering, and then poked my ribs with a bony finger. “Cut it out. And. Tell. Me.”

Each word ended with a poke. Violent little pixie. I approved.

“We’re going to my place.”

Her response was lost to me as the light turned green and I took off down the street. She squeezed me tighter, but I knew she liked speed. Her fingers did this massage thing on my abs when I accelerated, as if she could urge me faster just by touch alone. I knew she wasn’t aware she was doing it; Parker was too self-contained and careful when she thought about her actions. Which was why the little touches got me off even more. They were glimpses of the real her, usually buried deep inside.

A bolt of pure heat licked the underside of my dick. Damn. My mind kept jumping to sex, and I needed to cut that shit out. Especially since I was about to “practice” kissing her.

Practice. I wanted to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of that. Kissing was the last thing I needed to practice. Pretending to be a boyfriend? I had no clue how that was done.

I entered the covered loading dock area at the back of the gym’s warehouse and parked. Parker’s hair, once pulled back into a smooth, tidy ponytail, was now a mess of flyaway strands when she took off her helmet. She didn’t seem to notice but gaped around the grimy, cold space.

“We’re at the gym?”

“I live here.” With a jerk of my chin, I gestured toward the back door and headed that way.

“You live at the gym?” She followed, still looking around, brown eyes wide and bright.

The woman seemed to have endless curiosity about everything. What would it be like to see the world through her eyes?

Hitting the button that would close the big bay door, I shook my head and then led her to the elevators. “You should see your expression, Tinker Bell. I’m not sleeping on the couch and taking showers in the locker room. My apartment is on the top floor.”

Pink swarmed her cheeks as she stood up straight and gave me a repressive glare. “I didn’t presume to think …” She trailed off with a huff, and her lips quirked. “All right, that might have been what I was thinking.”

“Gotcha.” I barely stopped myself from reaching out and tweaking her ponytail. That would have pissed her off. What was it about this girl that had me acting like an awkward teen?

The elevator opened straight into my loft, and I held out my hand, making a motion for her to enter first. She hesitated for a second, that pink blush remaining, then carefully stepped out and started slowly walking around, taking it all in.

My loft wasn’t one of those high-priced remodels they were selling off for millions. It was the genuine article, old and drafty industrial grid windows, exposed brick and ductwork—not because a designer decided those things looked cool but because that’s what was there to begin with. Didn’t really matter to me; I loved it anyway.

The place held all that remained of my past life, the things I couldn’t let myself sell off or let go. Some of it was essential to living here: the Swedish wood stove I’d picked up while on tour that put off so much heat, I didn’t have to worry about drafts and cold in the winter; the butter leather couch and two chairs I relaxed on when not working; Mom’s dining room set, and a dozen other odds and ends of hers I’d kept.