Knox
Here’s what I can tell you—Chinese wasn’t part of the plan. Neither was Cheyenne Benson sitting cross-legged on my couch in black leggings while a cropped sweater rides up every time she reaches for the carton of lo mein.
But here we are.
I told myself this would be awkward or maybe even strained. Instead, it’s oddly comfortable. And that’s a major problem. It shouldn’t feel so natural to have this woman curled up on my couch and stealing my food.
Except that’s exactly what it is. Like she’s the missing piece that fits seamlessly into my life. And if I let myself think about that for too long, I’m going to do something I shouldn’t.
She tucks her legs beneath her and laughs at something on the TV, chopsticks held midair over her food, her hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders.
Every time she shifts, I’m inundated with the beachy scent that clings to her.
I really hate just how much I want to inhale her like a drug.
She hasn’t been here for a full two hours, and the situation is already messing with my head in ways I was unprepared for.
“You’re staring,” she says without glancing in my direction.
“What I’m doing is assessing the situation,” I lie.
“And what situation would that be?”
“Whether you’re the kind of woman who steals the last egg roll.”
She narrows her eyes before snatching it. “You snooze, you lose, McNichols.”
Since I don’t actually give a damn about the egg roll, I let her have it. She wipes her fingers on a napkin and leans against the cushions, one leg brushing mine. The movement isn’t intentional. She barely seems aware of me, which is kind of hilarious.
The contact shouldn’t matter.
It’s hardly a graze.
But my body reacts as if she climbed right into my lap, and every muscle goes whipcord tight.
Heat rushes through my veins, and all at once, I’m aware of her beside me.
And her scent? I can’t seem to get away from it.
The way she touches me without realizing how much I’m affected by it might be the worst part of all.
If she stared at me with a calculated gleam in her eyes and flirted, I could handle this situation a hell of a lot better. But this casual, thoughtless, domestic kind of intimacy?
I have no idea how to deal with it.
I ease my leg away before I do something embarrassing, like groan out loud. Or pounce on her.
Can you even imagine her reaction?
She’d probably scream and beat me away with a pillow.
“So,” I say, forcing my brain to safer terrain. “Do you have a dress for Saturday?”
Her gaze slices to mine. “You mean the event I literally just found out about?”
“Yup, that would be the one.”
She shrugs. “I’ll pick something up tomorrow while you’re at practice.”
I shake my head. “Think again, Hollywood.”
Her brows lift. “Excuse me?”
“Haven’t we already been through this? Your friend, Idaho, obviously knows you’re here in town.”
She side-eyes me. “It’s Dakota.”
I wave off the correction. “Whatever.”
“You’re very bossy for a fake boyfriend. Do you know that?”
My gaze drops to her mouth before I can stop myself. Her lips are slightly glossed. The million-dollar question is, are they as soft and plush as they look?
I hate how tempting it is to find out.
The teasing glint fades from her eyes as her breath hitches.
Her fingers tighten around the carton in her lap before she sets it aside, as if she suddenly needs both hands free.
It’s one of those moments that feels like we both know something is shifting between us but neither is exactly sure what to do about it.
If I leaned in just a bit and angled my head—
I drag my gaze away and straighten, shaking myself out of whatever the hell that was.
Nope.
That can absolutely not be allowed to happen.
I’m not about to kiss the woman I’m fake dating while she’s living under my roof because I’m too wound up to handle dinner on a couch. It’s only the first night, for Christ’s sake.
“Get your shoes,” I say roughly.
“What?”
“I want to introduce you to someone.”
There’s a moment of silence. “Right now?”
“No better time than the present.”
If we stay here a second longer, I’m either going to kiss her or say something I can’t take back, and I’d rather not implode on night one. We’ll save that for night two.
Wanting Chey is a problem all on its own. Getting used to having her here, taking up space like she belongs, is a whole different kind of trouble. And I have no idea how to handle either of them.
She studies me a moment longer before shrugging. “All right.”
I pull out my phone and shoot Laiken a quick text.
Me:
You home?
Goalie Man:
Yeah. Why?
Me:
We’re coming over
Goalie Man:
We?
I don’t bother with a response as I pocket the cell. Laiken and Kia are safe options. They’re steady. And Elody is even better. A few minutes around that kid and it’ll be damn near impossible to stay twisted up inside.
Chey watches me. “So, are you going to fill me in on where we’re going?”
I straighten to my feet. “Just a friend I want you to meet.”
She rises, following me to the elevator. The top three floors of our building are penthouses. Mine is on one level, and Laiken’s is directly above it.
Even though the ride up is made in silence, my insides remain a jangled mess. I couldn’t be more aware of the woman standing next to me.
What doesn’t make sense is that I’ve never been like this around the opposite sex. I’m usually smooth. Women don’t make me nervous. Not even when I was a teenager.
I cut her a sidelong glance because there’s no denying this one does.
And I hate even more that, on some level, she probably senses it. Whatever game I usually play vanishes the second Cheyenne steps too close, her delectable scent wrapping around me, blowing a hole through my confidence and self-restraint.
When the elevator car shifts, her shoulder brushes mine. The touch is accidental, and yet it’s enough to have everything inside me leaping to life.
How am I going to make it through a few weeks living together? How am I going to survive her wandering around barefoot at night or sitting on my couch with takeout or brushing against me in the kitchen, as if none of it’s a big deal?
Just when I don’t think I’ll be able to take another second in this fucking box without pouncing, the elevator stops and the doors slide open.
Elody hops from one foot to the other in the entryway. “Uncle Knox!”
I crouch automatically, and catch her as she throws herself into my arms. “Hey, wild thing. Causing your usual madness and mayhem?”
She grins as I lift her up and toss her gently into the air. Her infectious laughter echoes off the walls. It’s exactly what I needed to break the tension coiled inside me.
Laiken appears behind her. “You two are going to break something.”
“Nah. It’ll be fine, old man,” I say.
Kia moves from behind him as her gaze settles on the woman at my side. Her smile brightens. “Hi, I’m Kia.”
Chey steps forward. “Cheyenne. It’s nice to meet you.” She glances at me. “Sorry to just barge in like this.”
“No worries. I’m glad Knox brought you over. Come in,” Kia says, waving us inside.
Elody continues clinging to me like a baby rhesus monkey.
“Is that your friend?” she whisper-yells, studying Chey like she’s trying to solve a puzzle.
“Yeah, you could say that.”
Although, have I ever considered us friends?
Not really. That word doesn’t fit. It’s much too simple to describe whatever this is.
I glance at Kia. “Chey’s coming with me to the Railers charity event this weekend and needs a dress.”
Color floods Cheyenne’s cheeks. “I can shop on my own.”
“Oh, I need one too,” Kia says. “We should go together.”
Chey blinks, clearly thrown by the unexpected offer. “Really?”
“Of course,” Kia says. “It’ll be fun.”
Laiken gives me a penetrating look. It’s the kind that says he’s filing this situation away for later.
I shrug, knowing there’ll be questions.
Elody tugs on my shirt. “Do you want to play Go Fish?”
“Sure. Go set up the game.”
When Chey arches a brow, I admit, “The kid’s a bit of a card shark and usually ends up wiping the floor with me.”
Her lips tremble with a smile.
Not because this is new. She’s seen me on the floor with Avery and Maddox building LEGO towers, all the while getting bossed around by tiny dictators with sticky fingers.
“Now this I’ve got to see,” she says.
“It’s the only game I lose, Hollywood.”
A laugh slips out of her. “We’ll see about that.”
It doesn’t take long for my muscles to loosen. Having Chey here, in my teammate’s home, is a hell of a lot easier than sitting on my couch, one accidental touch away from losing my mind.
Getting us out of my penthouse was supposed to fix the issue.
Instead, all it’s done is show me how easily this woman fits into my world.