“I’m trying to do the same,” he says, then shrugs resignedly. “Except I don’t know if I’ve improved. I pegged you for a princess who’d kick me out for wanting dirty sex.”

  I scoff. “What about me gives off the goody-two-shoes vibe?”

  He gestures to Gigi’s red velvet throne. “Your cute dog.” Then to me, with a playful smile. “Your cute jeans. Your cute clothes. Your cute self.”

  I poke his chest. “My naughty texts. My sexy clothes. My yes to your can I take you home and fuck you.”

  He clears his throat. “Ahem. And your self-proclaimed good guy challenge. That made me think you wanted sweet, butterfly kisses and soft lovemaking,” he teases.

  Touché. “Fine. You win that round,” I say with a laugh.

  “Good. I like winning.” He goes thoughtful for a moment, his gaze turned inward like he’s turning something over in his head. I wait, curious as to what he’ll say, and when he’s ready, there’s a gleam in his eyes. “If you like dating challenges so much, I have one for you.”

  I’m intrigued, in a good way, and I lean forward. “Hit me up.”

  “I don’t want this to be a one-night stand. I need more of your mouth. Your pussy. Your sweet, beautiful tits,” he says.

  Hello, five-alarm fire! This man can go from zero to sixty in the dirty department. I’m determined to keep up. “And I want more of your cock. Your mouth. Your hands.”

  He lets out a dirty rumble. “Your production starts next week. My training camp starts then too. We have a big team meeting on Sunday, then on Monday, I take off for San Diego. How about we do this for the rest of the week?”

  The suggestion is deliciously straightforward and clear. It also answers all my questions about rules. We now know what this is—a brief but scorching-hot fling. And what it isn’t—anything serious. He leaves town next week. I hunker down then for the show. We both need laser focus on our jobs.

  It’s a relief that I’m on all the same pages as Gabe, but I tease him about the one thing I can. “What’s this exactly?”

  He leans in to brush his knuckles along my cheek. “This is you screaming my name as I find new ways to fuck you every night,” he says.

  A fog of lust wraps around me, and I give the only possible answer. “Yes.”

  He shifts back in his stool, looking terribly pleased. “Good. Then, we’ll do this for the week, and you’ll be my date at your aunt Tilly’s big birthday party on Saturday.”

  I smack his shoulder playfully. “Shut up!”

  “Ouch,” he says, wincing playfully as he rubs his shoulder.

  “Gabe! I was going to ask you to go with me. My mom is threatening to set me up with other guys from our hometown.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Nope,” he says in a stern command.

  “Nope what?”

  His brown eyes darken. “You’re not going with someone else from our hometown.”

  “I’m not?” I ask, feigning innocence.

  “No fucking way,” he says.

  “Why not?”

  “You’re not going with someone from an app. You’re not going with someone from your show. You’re not going with some other guy. Case closed,” he says, then moves off the stool and wraps those strong arms tight about my waist. “You’re mine this week. You go with me. Only with me. I don’t want any other man even looking at what’s mine.”

  What’s mine.

  I ache from this possession. “I’m yours this week,” I murmur.

  “You fucking are, Ellie. Mine, only mine. And I will treat you that way.” He slides a hand down my throat, over my chest, then squeezes my right breast. “Don’t want another man thinking he can have you.”

  But Gabe can’t have me either. He’s not available, nor am I. We might be screwing, but we’re not truly dating, so it’s best to put all our cards on the table. “So, I’m like a one-week girlfriend?”

  He seems to think about that, then says thoughtfully, “A fake real girlfriend.” Then he adds, “How’s that for a dating challenge?”

  I smile. “Perfect.” But I want to be clear on what this means, so I ask, “At the party, we’re sort of pretending we’re together?”

  He tilts his head. “The party where our book club moms will be serving apple pie and lemonade? Where our dads will be making barbecue? Playing lawn croquet? No, we’re not pretending we’re together.” He lets go of my breast so he can wrap a big hand around my ass, then he smacks my cheek, and I shudder. “We’re pretending we’re wholesome,” he corrects as he swats the other.

  I gasp. “Can we practice being wholesome this week in public?”

  He dips his face to kiss my neck. “We need all the practice we can get. So we’re gonna date publicly like we’re good, and privately I’m going to fuck you senseless,” he says as he kisses me.

  My breath catches in excitement. “I’m a very good actress.”

  “You are. But you’ll never need to act in bed with me. In fact, we’re going to practice coming in a few minutes. This time you’ll be crying out my name while you’re sitting on my face.”

  I’m ready to ride him into the night. But I do want one more thing from him. “Gabe?” I ask coyly, twirling my hair. “There’s something I want too.”

  “Name it,” he says, retaking his dominant tone. “And I’ll see if you deserve it.”

  I bat my lashes. “That thing you promised me earlier if I didn’t make it to bed on time.”

  The facial.

  His smile is filthy as he strokes my cheek, then runs his thumb over my mouth. “You want that, sweetheart?”

  Breathlessly, I say, “I do.”

  “Then you’ll get it. But only after you fuck my face. So, go,” he says, waving me off. “I’ll clean up the kitchen. You get naked. When I walk into the bedroom in a couple of minutes, I want to find you with your legs spread wide and you playing with your pussy, getting yourself nice and hot and wet for me. You better be fucking yourself when I find you in there.”

  “I promise,” I say, and I race to the bedroom.

  WEDNESDAY

  A Nice Day for a Stroll along the Greens

  12

  A BOX FOR YOUR BOX

  Ellie

  The bright Los Angeles morning streams through the window and wakes me up.

  That’s weird. Usually Gigi wakes me up with her tongue on my face.

  Dog kisses are a sign she needs to go out. Where is my little lover?

  I blink my eyes open. Gigi’s nibbling on a stuffed giraffe at the foot of the bed. She’s wearing her black harness with skulls on it. Well, she’s a smarty pants, but with no thumbs, she can’t dress herself.

  “Did Gabe take you for a walk, girl?”

  She growls around the giraffe’s neck, then shakes it again.

  But there’s no sign of Gabe. The pillow’s fluffed and his side of the mattress is empty. I push up on my elbows.

  I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, then head to the living room. No shoes, no phone, no man.

  In the kitchen, I find a sheet of paper on the counter. It’s from a notebook Veronica gave me that says to-do list.

  Dear Ellie,

  I took the liberty to work on a to-do list. How’s this?

  —Practice for the lawn croquet appearance.

  —Wear seersucker shorts to play the part? A flower dress for you. With a bonnet?

  — Bake a cherry pie?

  In other news, I took Gigi for a walk this morning. She was kissing my face, and I took that to mean she had to pee. Guess I’m learning dog language. I have to take off for a morning run with Drew and Carter.

  By the way, since I was so bad when I fucked you on the first date, tonight we can role-play being good. Like how they did in that scene you read to me last night.

  Incidentally, you reading in bed, squirming over the spicy parts, gets me hard.

  You’ve been warned.

  If you’re up for it, meet me at six.

  See? Six is too early for sex.

  Gabe, the good guy

  I read it a few more times, smiling. No time is too early for sex. I grab my phone to reply. Tell me where to be at this supposedly sexless hour of the day.

  He shoots me an address, and when I Google it, I laugh, then write back. I’ll be there, and thanks for walking my girl.

  Then I shower and do my best to put thoughts of Gabe aside as I head to my Webflix meeting. When I meet with the execs, I can’t spend my time lingering on how deliciously sore I am, or how much I like that he took care of my dog.

  I go into the meeting like a badass boss lady in charge of a new TV show.

  After my morning meeting, I head to a lunch spot in Venice. Veronica’s Date Night for One party will be held on the back patio of a trendy sandwich joint this afternoon. Sexy sunshine music drifts from the shop, and I head to the back to help my friend set up.

  I don’t see Veronica, but I spot Hazel at a long white table, tying a bow on a box of toys. I rush up behind her to pinch her butt.

  “Ooh baby,” she says, then turns to shoot me a knowing look. “I knew it was you.”

  “I should hope so. And by the way, your idea was brilliant. The challenge date.”

  She beams. “Sometimes we just need a change in our lives.”

  “Cool. You’ll move to LA then?” I ask, with a too-big smile.

  Hazel scans the patio like she’s making sure no one can hear. But it’s only us. “Actually, I’m going to Europe soon,” she confesses.

  My jaw drops. “To move?”

  “Maybe for a little bit. My next novel is set in Europe, and I want to do some research there,” she says.

  “That sounds awful,” I say. “So awful I may need to stow away in your luggage.”

  “Please. You’ll be busy here conquering another industry,” she says, then shakes a finger at me. “But stop distracting me. How good was the date?”

  “So good. I’m going to see him again…tonight,” I say, a little thrilled to share.

  Hazel blows on her nails. “I’m taking the credit. Since I gave you that challenge.”

  “And you deserve it.” Then I shrug happily. “I’ll probably see him a few more times this week.”

  She jerks her gaze back. “So, you really like him?” Her question turns a touch serious.

  But quickly, I dismiss the gravitas vibes. “We’re hanging out this week only. We both have a ton going on next week when he starts training camp and I start the show. So we’re just having fun for a couple days.”

  She seems to chew on that for a few seconds, then says, “Then have the most fun of all.”

  “Oh, I plan to,” I say, then pull her away from the table toward the back of the patio for more privacy. “Do you think boss ladies like to be dominated in the bedroom?”

  “So it was that good,” she says with a laugh. Then her eyes turn thoughtful. “Some do.”

  “It’s a bit wild how much I love being in charge of my destiny at work and how little control I want in bed.” I’m not surprised I liked sleeping with Gabe. I’m surprised at how much I liked the kind of sex we had. “I’ve always liked sex a little rough. A little hard. But Gabe is next level in the bedroom. He’s an animal,” I confess, shivers running down my spine as images of him flash before me. “And I loved it.”

  “Loved what?”

  At Veronica’s question, I spin around. Sporting a yellow sundress, she saunters across the patio. With her is a pretty brunette in skinny jeans and a tank, with a boho tangle of necklaces draped across her throat. That must be Veronica’s client who owns the jewelry shop. “This is Rachel Dumont,” Veronica says of the fashionable woman next to her. “And she wanted to throw the party for her friends, customers, and fellow business owners.”

  Rachel gestures to the party-size table full of white boxes with pink bows. “Because every woman needs a box for her box.”

  It’s official. I’m in love with Rachel. I stride over to the new kid on the friend block. “I’m Ellie. We’re going to become new besties. I’ve just decided it.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Rachel says.

  And I have a plan too, for my date tonight. In a few more hours, I’ll be pretending to be good.

  13

  THAT’S A NEW MINI GOLF STRATEGY

  Ellie

  If I’d known dating with a built-in boundary would be so freeing, I’d have done it sooner.

  As I wait for Gabe outside the mini golf rental counter, the usual will this turn into something worries are all gone. In their place is just…excitement over tonight.

  This is how dating should be.

  At six on the dot, Gabe strolls across the parking lot, looking like he belongs at a country club.

  Yes. I like his costume.

  Tonight, he’s a perfect prepster, striding up to me wearing khakis and a sky-blue polo.

  When he stops a few feet away, I grin in delight at the pièce de résistance—the tiny tennis racket icon stitched onto the shirt. He understood the assignment—play the part.

  I smooth a hand over his collar. “You are so the boy next door,” I say.

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, his brown eyes travel up and down my body. He smirks as he takes in my pink dress with white polka dots. The good-girl costume comes complete with a pink headband. I even curled the ends of my hair for the full-on sexy retro housewife look.

  With an appreciative sigh, he loops his inked arm around my waist. “And your girl-next-door skirt is perfect for spanking you,” he whispers.

  I tsk at him, wagging a finger. “Gabe, you have to behave,” I chide.

  He narrows his eyes. Rubs his stubbled jaw against my cheek. “Whose ridiculous idea was that?”

  “Yours,” I say, laughing. “You said we needed to practice being good.”

  His fingers go exploring, taking a trip over my rear. He squeezes, rumbling out, “I know what I want to practice.”

  “Patience,” I warn. “You can’t keep tempting me.”

  He kisses my neck. “The fuck I can’t,” he whispers.

  “Mmm. You’re trying to get me to give in on a golf course,” I murmur. “You want me to be the one to break character.”

  “So I can have you on a golf course? Works for me,” he says, then explores the terrain of my neck, kissing up to my ear. “I want to see you give in to me. Want you to break first and say take me home now.”

  God, I feel like I’m ready to say that right this second.

  But we can’t just jump into the sack. We made a deal to go to a party and behave. “Soon, soon,” I say.

  With a huff, he lets go of me, then shakes his head like he’s resetting. He drags his hand through his thick, wavy hair, a little unkempt. The wild side of him can’t be fully tamed with clothes, and I love that the ink and messy hair are a peek into who he truly is—a little wild, a little dangerous around the edges.

  He licks his lips. “Let’s play a game. Whoever gets the other to break first can pick the fantasy we’ll act out tonight.”

  A hot spark sizzles down my chest. “I’ve never done role play before,” I confess quietly as a pack of teenage girls in midriff-baring tops rushes past us to the course.

  “Me neither,” he says quietly, his eyes glimmering.

  “But I want to,” I say, electrified already by the possibilities. Role play and I seem like a perfect fit.

  “So do I,” he says, excited too.

  “Then you’re on,” I say, offering a hand to shake.

  Instead, he presses a kiss to the top of my hand. Then, he links his fingers through mine. As we walk toward the entrance, he looks down at our joined hands then drops a chaste kiss onto my cheek. “But holding hands with you is pretty nice too.”

  I try to fight off a big grin, but it’s futile. “Sure is,” I say.

  Hand-in-hand, in costume, we walk into the clubhouse.

  After he pays for the game, we pick up clubs, balls, and a scorecard, and we head to the first hole where a windmill sweeps in circles.

  He takes a few practice swings as I set my purple ball on a tee. “How was your day?”

  For a second, I wonder if he’s trying to knock me off my golf game with small talk. So he can choose the fantasy. But the question comes out honestly. Curiously.

  “It was excellent. I went to a sex-toy afternoon tea,” I say, faux primly.

  He blinks. “I’m going to need to hear all about that,” he says.

  “Well, let me just play this hole, and then I’ll tell you all about the latest in the world of pleasure,” I say.

  “I think you’re trying to break me, Ellie Snow,” he says.

  I give him a coy shrug. “Of course I am, Gabe,” I say, then nibble on the corner of my glossy lips.

  My eyes drift down to his slacks, where a ridge tents the fabric.

  Yup.

  My strategy is working.

  Then I tap the ball and send it…right into the windmill. Damn. I stomp my foot in frustration. “I’m terrible at golf,” I whine.

  He laughs and takes his turn. He knocks in the red ball in two putts. This tracks. Football players often love their golf.

  I finish in six swings.

  As we walk to the next hole, he says, “So, the tea. Tell me more about it.”

  “For real?”

  He gives me a look like he couldn’t possibly be asking any other way. “Yes, for real. I want to hear about it.”

  This is surprisingly nice. Talking about my day, that is. Dexter never wanted to know.