Page 14 of The Fake Play

“Pretty sure you’re a dog, but I thought I’d pick the nicest one for comparison.”

I laugh at that. “What makes me a dog?”

“You’ll hump anything that moves.”

“You sure you don’t like golden retrievers?”

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes flickering to my lips before she pointedly looks away. “I’m allergic.”

I chuckle, feeling the tension between us starting to shift to something different. “We'll see about that.”

Chapter 6

Keke

“Isuppose we will. Tell me about yourself, Luke. What’s the deal with the blue in your hair?”

“You like it?”

“It’s… different.”

He laughs easily. It’s endearing if I’m being honest with myself.

“You know, team spirit. It’s Fire Blue.”

“You mean navy?”

“Fire. Blue.”

“None of the other guys have their hair dyed. Why did you?”

“It was part of a charity fundraiser I did for the animal shelter where I volunteer. Happy Harbor. I promised if we raised enough money, I’d do the blue streaks. We doubled the goal, so I doubled the streaks.”

“Volunteering at an animal shelter? How come that’s not in your file?”

He shrugs his broad shoulders. “During theseason, I don’t get to do it as often as I’d like. Just a few times a month when we’re not on the road. It’s a small shelter, so maybe Whitney doesn’t think it’s worth bringing up.”

That doesn’t sound like Whitney but he knows her better than I do. “That’s great. So you’re an animal lover?”

“Dogs, mostly,” he says with a gleam in his eyes. “According to you, we have a lot in common so I guess it makes sense I’d want to take care of them.”

A dozen retorts come to mind but I keep it simple. “Indeed.”

The man is infuriatingly charming, and his flirting makes it hard for me to keep up my guard. It doesn’t help that he’s stupidly good looking, either, with that body, that easy smile, chiseled jaw, and puppy dog eyes. But I’m not going to let him get to me. No way.

I shift in my seat. “So far, all I’ve learned about you is that you’re forgiving and you like dogs. What else is there to know about Lucian Smith?”

“First things first, I go by Luke.”

“Got it.”

“Secondly, I’m sure Whitney gave you a file on me. She keeps one on all of us. So why the questions?”

I stir my sweet tea with a straw in an attempt to stall for a good answer. If I say the wrong thing, he’ll start flirting with me again, and I don’t need the distraction. “I prefer to get my knowledge from the source.”

“Alright then,” he sits back and stretches, his thin gray sweater revealing the outline of each muscle beneath it. “I’m from Los Angeles?—”

“The son of Edgar P. Smith and Lilian Welles, right?”

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