She glanced down at the coat, and then up at him, regarding him with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. “Thank you,” she said.

Jamar acknowledged her response with a nod and fought against playing the fool who read a thousand things into a simple thank you. This was fiction. Fiction being carried out with the sole purpose of convincing the public that he and Taylor Powell were a couple.

“So,” she continued. “Did I hear you say tonight is all about my enjoyment?”

“That’s how dates usually work.”

“Actually, there’s a better chance of a second date happening if both parties enjoy themselves.”

He peered down at her, an easy grin spreading across his lips. “I’m pretty sure I’m getting a second date.”

“Cocky bastard.” She laughed.

“Confident, not cocky. And only with things I know are a sure bet.”

“I’ve noticed that,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “I figured all professional football players had to be conceited—how could they not be, right? You can’t reach such an elite level and not be full of yourself. But you’re not as arrogant as I first pegged you.”

“You may want to hold off on your decision. You’ve only known me a week,” he reminded her.

Her sharp laugh melded into the boisterous sounds of the city.

Clasping his jacket over her chest with one hand, she captured his fingers with the other and swung their hands back and forth between them as they turned onto Sixth Street. The picture of the perfect couple.

Jamar reminded himself again that this wasn’t real.

But it sure as hell felt real. Especially when she smiled at him.

“Since you didn’t enjoy the Escape Room, what would you have rather we do tonight?” Taylor asked.

“The Escape Room was fine.”

“You’re lying.” She bumped him with her shoulder. “Come on. I want to know what your idea of the perfect date is.”

He quirked a brow. “The PG version?”

“G-rated.”

Jamar snorted. “We really have different ideas when it comes to fun.”

She bumped him again. “Perfect G-rated date. Go.”

“Um, let’s see,” he said, giving the impression that he was really thinking hard on this. “The tacos we had were good, even though you gave me that look when I asked for extra cotija cheese.”

“I did not give you a look.”

“You gave me a look.”

“Well, you weren’t supposed to notice the look. You were supposed to wonder why I tacked on an extra half hour to tomorrow’s workout.”

“Ah!” He chuckled. “Make a note. I will always work a half hour more for extra cheese.”

“Noted,” she said with a nod. “So that’s your perfect date scenario? Street tacos with extra cotija?”

“I’d include a walk like this one.” He nudged his chin at the nondescript gray building about ten yards away. “And two scoops of Belgian chocolate.”