Page 5

Chapter 5: Luke

" T he press conference video has over two million views already," Sandra's voice comes through my car's speaker. "Every sports blog is talking about tennis's new power couple."

"That was the plan." I check my watch. Twenty minutes until I pick up Avery for dinner. The kiss from this afternoon is still burning in my memory, how she'd melted against me, the soft sound she'd made when I'd deepened it. Fuck it was perfect.

"The board is impressed," Sandra continues, snapping my focus back. "Pull this off , get her back in the top twenty, sign her to a major sponsor, and that corner office is yours."

My pulse quickens. Partnership. The thing I've been working toward since leaving the pro circuit. "I might need more time."

"Two months. Show us consistent progress with Jenkins, and the promotion's yours." She pauses. "Just don't let the relationship angle compromise your judgment. We've all seen the kiss footage."

"It's strictly business," I lie, thinking of how Avery's body had pressed against mine, how perfectly she'd fit.

"Keep it that way." Sandra hangs up.

I pull up to the luxury rental house I've arranged overlooking the bay. Perfect for the "living together for appearances" story we're spinning. The realtor had been thrilled to lease to a celebrity couple, especially after I doubled the security deposit.

Couple. The word shouldn't affect me. This is a business arrangement, nothing more, but then I remember Avery's taste, her scent, the way her fingers had curled into my jacket.

My phone buzzes with a text from Avery: Running late. Meet at restaurant instead?

No. I'm picking you up. That's what couples do.

This isn't real, remember?

I smirk. Tell that to your tongue this afternoon.

There's a long pause before she responds: Fuck you, Mitchell.

Maybe later. Wear something nice.

I can practically feel her frustration through the phone. Good. A frustrated Avery is hot Avery, and tonight needs to be convincing.

***

The restaurant I've chosen is pure romance with it's oceanfront views, private booth, soft lighting. The media I tipped off are already stationed outside when we arrive.

Avery's wearing a red dress, cut low enough to make my mouth water but classy enough for the eventual photos. Her dark hair falls in loose waves, and all I can think about is how it had felt wrapped around my fingers during the press conference.

"You're staring," she murmurs as I help her from the car.

"That's the point." I let my hand linger on her lower back, guiding her through the cameras. "Give them something to talk about."

She plays her part perfectly, leaning into me, laughing at something I whisper in her ear. By the time we reach our booth, my body is humming with awareness. I tell her about the rental.

"You didn't have to rent a house," she says once we're seated. "My hotel was fine."

"Your hotel was depressing." I order a bottle of wine without consulting the list. "Besides, couples live together."

"We're not a couple."

"No?" I lean forward, dropping my voice. "That kiss felt pretty real to me."

Color floods her cheeks. "That was for show."

"Show me again, then."

Her eyes darken.

"The photographers can see us through the window," I remind her. "Make it convincing."

She hesitates, then slides closer in the curved booth. My heart rate kicks up as she brings her lips to mine. The kiss is softer than this afternoon, but no less potent. I let her control it, enjoying how she teases, how her hand comes up to rest against my chest.

When she pulls back, we're both breathing harder.

"Convinced?" she asks, voice husky.

"Getting there." I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, noting how she shivers. "We should practice more. For authenticity."

"You're enjoying this too much."

"You're not enjoying it enough." I trace her bottom lip with my thumb. "Relax, Jenkins. Think of it as another kind of training."

Her phone chimes. Her coach, confirming tomorrow's practice time. Reality intrudes, reminding me why we're really here. Two months to get her back on track. Two months to prove myself to the board.

Two months to pretend I'm not already falling for her again.

"Speaking of training," I say, forcing my mind back to business, "I've set up meetings with some sponsors for next week. They're interested in renegotiating."

"Because of the publicity?"

"Because you're still Avery Jenkins. One meltdown doesn't erase your Grand Slam title." I catch her hand when she tries to pull away. "You just need to remind them why they signed you in the first place."

"And dating you helps with that how?"

"Everyone loves a redemption story. Especially one with a romance angle." I stroke my thumb across her knuckles, watching her pupils dilate. "Trust me."

"I don't."

"Lie better, Jenkins." I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. "You trusted me plenty in Miami."

Her breath catches. "That was different."

"Was it?" I let my teeth graze her wrist, feeling her pulse jump. "Or are you just scared it might happen again?"

Before she can answer, the waiter arrives with our wine. We shift apart, but the tension.

My phone buzzes with a n email from Sandra: Board wants weekly progress reports. Don't screw this up.

I look at Avery, studying our wine list with forced concentration, her lips still slightly swollen from our kiss. Two months to secure my promotion. Two months to resurrect her career.

Two months to pretend I'm not already addicted to the taste of her.