“You want to eat outside?” I jerked my head toward the terrace at the south side of the building. During the warm months, it was my favorite feature of the loft. Big enough to hold a long L-shaped outdoor couch and a table for twenty, I’d filled the edges with potted trees and plants. Carlos had helped me build a pergola that was now twined with wisteria. “It’s a nice night, and I’ve got a fire pit we can light.”

Parker took one look at it and beamed. “Oh, yes, please.”

I really had to stop reading sexual things into everything she said. It wasn’t healthy.

* * *

“First time I stepped into the ring, I got knocked out.”

Parker’s dark brows lifted high. “No!”

“Flat on my ass.” We’d had dinner, the conversation easier once we’d gotten over our initial awkwardness. We hadn’t talked about anything deep but exchanged working information: our favorite movies, foods, preferred drinks for each meal, foods we couldn’t stand—all the stuff we’d need to know if we’d been dating for any length of time.

There hadn’t been many surprises, other than the fact that Parker’s favorite movie was The Godfather II. I’d expected something lighter and with a save the world message. But she loved the drama, the layers of meaning—her words, not mine.

She’d been equally stunned to find out my favorite was the first movie in the franchise, The Godfather. We had similar reasons, but I liked the original because that’s where we got to see Michael succumb to The Family.

Now we were on the outdoor couch, the fire pit flickering and giving off enough heat to keep us warm.

Parker rested her head on her hand and smiled wide. “So, the great Rhys Morgan got knocked out. Who did it? The current champion?”

God, she was cute.

“No. It was a training bout. I was green, full of piss and vinegar and wanting to prove it.” I chuckled. “It was my dad.”

Her lips parted. “Your dad punched you?”

“He had to. He was my trainer.” A pang of loss seared my heart. “Besides, he was teaching me a lesson. Next time, keep your guard up.”

In the face of her stunned silence, I shrugged. “It was a good lesson. Never got knocked out again.”

The glossy strands of her ponytail swayed as she shook her head. “Boxers are a breed apart.”

She said it with admiration. I could almost imagine she was looking at me with admiration. But that was probably wishful thinking on my part.

“Yes, we are.” I couldn’t help but ease closer. All night, we’d been touching. Nothing sexual. Simple light touches. Fingers skimming over hands, fleeting strokes along forearms, and quick press of a hand to a shoulder.