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.

Parker’s gaze drifted over everything. Her little heels clicked in the echoing silence. The loft was enormous, taking up the entire top of the building. I’d cordoned off a bedroom, bathroom, and personal workout space on the back half, but the main space still dwarfed us.

She stopped and turned to face me. “It’s perfect.”

I shouldn’t give a rat’s ass if this woman liked my place. I shouldn’t care if anyone did. But something in me eased at her statement. Then I got annoyed all over again.

Grunting, I headed toward the kitchen. It had taken Carlos and I the better part of a summer to put it in, but we’d got the job done. Black cabinets on the bottom, open shelving—which is damn cheaper—along the top. We’d spent two weeks cursing like fiends trying to figure out how to pour a proper concrete countertop, but we figured it out eventually. I glanced at the lumpy end of one counter and swallowed a laugh. Okay, so we’d gone with wood butcher block for the center island after the whole concrete experiment.

“It’s home, anyway. Used to have a condo by the harbor.” A sleek penthouse with views for miles. “Seemed easier to fix up the loft and live here when I took over the gym.” Cheaper. It was cheaper, and I needed the cash. “Saves me commuting time, that’s for damn sure.”

Babbling like a fool, I stopped at my fridge and pulled out the groceries I’d picked up for tonight. But a thought hit me, and I paused to glance back at Parker. She’d followed me to the kitchen and was standing by the island, her big brown eyes on me.

She’d taken off her jacket and draped it over the back of a barstool. Even so, she appeared far from relaxed.

“You okay with fettuccine carbonara?” Maybe I should have picked something … lighter. Fish. Chicken. I had no idea what Parker ate.

“It sounds delicious. Can I help?” She edged closer, clearly too aware of every move she made.

We both were. Blowing out a breath, I rooted around for a head of butter lettuce and vegetables. “Yeah, sure. Can you make the salad?”

“I can do that.”

Well, this was going…horribly. I’d had easier conversational flow with strangers in elevators. Get Parker and me alone, where no one might interrupt us, and we were stiff as old sticks.

I grinned at the ridiculousness of our reaction, and Parker immediately noticed.

Her nose wrinkled. “We’re acting like strangers, aren’t we?”

“Yep.”

“We’re not going to fool anyone, are we?” Worry clouded her eyes.

“Fail?” I placed a hand over my heart in mock horror. “I don’t know the meaning of the word.”

She rolled her eyes and grabbed the lettuce and salad fixings. “Good. At least one of us doesn’t.” Before I could respond, she glanced around. “Where are your knives and cutting board?”

I got her what she needed, and then turned on the stove and set a pot of water on the burner. Parker was already cutting up the tomatoes.

“Since you’re holding the knife,” I said, “I’m warning you now—I’m about to touch you.”

She huffed in wry amusement but held herself very still. “Probably a good call to warn me.”

“Getting stabbed isn’t on my list of activities for tonight.” Slowly, like I was approaching a skittish cat, I eased up to Parker, standing right next to her, and then gently placed my hand on the small of her back.