Reese was lounging on the couch, wearing only shorts with rap blaring through headphones in his ears. No one was around at the gym, so he’d talked me into closing it early. And by talking me into it, I mean he took my keys and locked everything up, then stalked down the path to his cabin.

I hadn’t argued. It was nice to feel like I had a night off. It was only around ten o’clock.

Or at least it had been nice until he asked that question.

I shifted in my seat, my phone in hand. I was stalking Lucas, looking at his new girlfriend because the douchebag hadn’t wasted time. She was petite, with long brown hair and the largest almond eyes ever. She looked sweet.

I was tempted to slip into her DMs and see if Grandpa Newt had propositioned her, but I was resisting. Only one stalking target at a time. And I didn’t know what to say to Reese, so I kept quiet, pretending to thumb up my music on my phone.

He grunted, then swung up from the couch. Reaching over, he picked up my headphones…which weren’t plugged into my phone. Flinging them on my lap, he laid back down.

“If you don’t want to tell me, fine. But at least try to lie better. For all your crazy facade, you suck at actually being crazy.”

Oh. OH! Did he just challenge me?

I think not.

But as I was puffing up my chest, I knew he was right. I’d lost the will to be nuts. Even the random questions had stopped. I missed them.

“It’s a therapy assignment.”

I might’ve mumbled those words, my mouth tucked into the collar of my shirt. If he heard, he heard. If he didn’t, he didn’t. Just as long as he didn’t kick me out of his cabin, because his was so much better than mine.

The lack-of-smell alone was worth it.

“What?” His eyebrows rose, and he lifted his head, his hand splayed out on his chest—his very nice and defined and muscled chest that was lean, with that tattoo that I hadn’t yet brought myself to ask about because I couldn’t read it. But damn, I wanted to. It was hot.

“Nothing.” I tried to sink farther into the chair.

He wasn’t having it.

He swung his feet back up and scooted to the edge of the couch. He reached over and plucked my phone from my hands, holding it hostage. His eyes dared me to even try to get it back.

“What’d you say?” he asked.

I knew my place. Professional athlete, I was not. I remained in my seat and only lifted my feet up, scooting my knees against me and wrapping my arms around them. I propped my chin on top and watched him. “You heard me.”