Knox
I shift in the elevator, impatient to arrive at the penthouse and—
We’ll just leave it at that.
Even though I’d fully intended to head straight home after practice, Coach and a few of the trainers pulled me into a meeting that dragged on forever.
It’s almost a surprise to hear Chey’s voice as I step into the entryway. I pause for a moment and listen. It almost sounds like she’s talking on the phone.
Every muscle tenses.
It better not be with her ex.
Just as I get ready to stalk inside, I realize she’s not talking so much as projecting her voice.
It’s steady and controlled, a little breathless at the end of each phrase.
There’s something different about the way she’s speaking.
It’s not casual or one of those playful tones she uses when she’s trying to get a rise out of me.
There’s a structure to it. Emotion layered carefully beneath the words.
A few seconds later, she finishes with an exhale before attempting it again, stronger this time.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was running lines.
But why would she do that?
From what Zane has inundated me with about filming his show—trust me, I haven’t asked—he just kind of ad-libs in front of the cameras, saying whatever shit comes to mind. Sure, there might be a direction or topic, but that’s about it.
So, if this isn’t for her reality show, what’s it for?
I carefully round the corner, peek into the living room, and find Chey standing near the windows in black leggings and another cropped sweater. This one is fuzzy and pink. The hem rides up every time she gestures with her arms, revealing that same maddening strip of bare skin above her waistband.
Those damned cropped tops will be the death of me.
Her long auburn hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, and a few strands have escaped to frame her face.
Her lips are pursed as she studies the papers in her hand.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Chey look so focused.
It doesn’t take long to realize I could stand here in the shadows, soaking in the sight of her.
I don’t care if she’s staring at a paper or reciting lines.
When I take a step closer, the wood creaks beneath my feet and she startles. Her head whips in my direction, and she quickly tucks the papers behind her.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you’d gotten back.”
“Yeah, you seemed pretty involved in what you were doing.”
She shifts as her gaze flits away and color rises in her cheeks. “Um, yeah. Guess I was.”
There’s something in the clipped way she says it that makes it clear she has no intention of telling me what she was doing. The fact that it chafes my ass as much as it does is just one more blaring warning sign I choose to ignore.
“So, what were you doing?”
She hesitates for a second before shrugging. “Just something for the show.”
I lean one shoulder against the wall and study her. Even though I don’t know Cheyenne well, I get the feeling she’s lying. Or at least not telling me the whole truth.
I don’t like it.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yup.” She pops the P at the end of the word before crossing her arms, trying to play it casual.
I nod once, disappointed when she refuses to divulge anything more.
Instead of pushing, I ask, “How’d shopping go this morning?”
Relief flickers across her face, so swiftly I almost miss it.
“It was good.” There’s a brief pause before she tacks on, “Different.”
“Different how? Isn’t shopping for clothes the same wherever you are?”
Her lips twitch as she huffs out a quiet laugh. “In LA, shopping with women could be considered a competitive sport. Everyone’s pretending to compliment you while mentally tearing you apart.”
That sounds terrible.
“And here?”
“Here, they actually wanted me to look good.” Her lips curve. “So, yeah… weird.”
A dull ache spreads through me at the admittance. I fucking hate that for her.
“But you had a nice time with them?”
“Yeah, I did. Thanks again for introducing me to Kia.”
“No problem. I’m glad it worked out,” I say.
Her gaze stays locked on mine as I push away from the wall. “Did you end up finding something for Saturday?”
“I did.”
I jerk a brow. “Do I get a sneak preview?”
A mischievous smile dances across her lips as she shakes her head. “Nope. You’ll get to see it on Saturday along with everyone else.”
I close the remaining distance without thinking, stopping just short of her. Close enough for her faint, beachy scent to inundate my senses.
It’s equal parts heaven and hell.
I glance down at the papers clutched in her hand. “The lines you were running sounded pretty intense for a reality show. I didn’t realize it was so scripted.”
A shadow passes over her expression. “They can be, to a certain degree.”
“Whatever you were reciting didn’t sound like a scene from your show.”
She shrugs. “You only heard a few seconds of it.”
“I’d like to hear more,” I admit.
Disappointment fills me when she remains silent.
With a cock of my head, I search her eyes. “You don’t have to hide what you’re doing from me.”
Her chin lifts a fraction. “I’m not hiding anything.”
Yeah, she is, and that knowledge crawls beneath my skin. What I want is to know her secrets along with the other parts she keeps tucked away where no one can touch them.
Cheyenne shifts, and her sweater rises again, exposing that narrow band of sun-kissed flesh. That’s all it takes for my gaze to drop. After a moment or two, I realize I’m staring, and clear my throat, dragging my attention back to her face.
“You sure like wearing those midriff-baring shirts, don’t you?”
She smirks. “Yup. I have a closet full of them back home. Luckily for you, I brought a bunch with me.”
“Great.”
This woman is seriously trying to kill me. One midriff-baring top at a time.
In a surprising twist, she steps closer. “What’s wrong? You don’t like them?”
Now that we’re standing inches apart, I can see the faint flush staining her cheeks along with the steady rise and fall of her chest. The sunshine-beachy scent that slyly wraps around me is distracting as hell.
All I want to do is lean in and suck in a lungful of her.
It feels like I’ve been starving for her all damn day.
“Did I say that?” My voice comes out low and gruff.
Her gaze drops to my mouth for half a second before snapping back up again. The shift is subtle, but I still catch it. And fuck if that doesn’t send something hot and reckless spiraling through me.
Without thinking, I reach up and brush a loose strand of hair away from her face.
My knuckles graze her jawline before sliding along the curve of her cheek.
She stills, and her breath catches. That tiny sound lands low in my gut as her gaze stays fastened to mine.
For one careless moment, I’m tempted to turn my hand and cup her cheek.
All I’d have to do is tilt her face toward me and—
I drop my arm.
Control.
I’ve always prided myself on having it in spades. On being the guy who walks away first. On not getting tangled up in something that can’t be undone or will only lead to future problems.
This woman has been here for less than forty-eight hours and she’s already setting fire to every ounce of my self-control.
I almost kissed her. Another second and I would’ve actually done it.
“I’m, ah, going to take a shower.”
Her brow furrows, confusion flickering across her expression. “Don’t you guys do that at the arena before you leave?”
Well, hell.
“Yeah, but I need another,” I mutter.
As I head down the hall, I can practically feel the heat of her gaze burning a hole through my back. If I stay here another minute, I’m going to forget every self-imposed rule. And that can’t be allowed to happen. Not when I’m supposed to be helping her out of a bad situation with an ex.
There’s no need to complicate matters any further than they already are.
I shut the bathroom door behind me and brace my hands on the marble counter before staring at my reflection in the mirror.
Get it together, McNichols.
All you are is a fake boyfriend. She’s here for a week. Maybe two. Then it’s over. She’ll go back to her life in LA, and you’ll go back to yours.
I repeat the words like a mantra, hoping that if I think them enough times, they’ll finally sink in.
Temporary.
That’s all this is.
Then I turn on the shower and let the water pound down on me, attempting to wash away something that has absolutely nothing to do with practice.