Page 115 of If Our Hearts Collide

“Penny, what are you doing here?” Luke asks.

I shrug. “Stepping out of my comfort zone. I thought you were working.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “Being around ladies is work. All the hidden messages and the deciphering needing to be done to even try to figure out what you all are saying… Yup. Hardest job around.”

I smack his arm. “Why didn’t you tell me you would be here? You literally helped me get dressed tonight.”

“I’m shy.”

“Bullshit.”

“Well, you refused to tell me where you were going,” he counters.

I shrug. “This is weird.”

“Only if you make it weird. I mean, we basically bathe together.”

I narrow my eyes. “Umm…no we don’t.”

“But we could. Easily.”

“But we don’t.”

“Sure, but?—”

I hold up my hand to stop him. “We are roommates who will never date—or bathe together.”

Luke chuckles. “Only because I’m afraid to get my face bashed in by Meatball.”

A smirk breaks on my lips. “By who?”

“You know…” He sighs. “Your life coach.”

“I don’t have a life coach.”

I know exactly who he is referring to, and I’d be lying if I said I never thought of him tonight as I got ready. Collins most definitely wouldn’t approve of any of this. He’s been oddly quiet since I asked him to kiss me. Something changed that day in the gym, and I am still kicking myself for the role I played in the whole situation.

“But you have a gatekeeper.”

“Well, getting your face bashed in should be a legit fear.”

“I’m not on some kind of hit list, am I?” His eyes turn to concern. “Like, you would tell me, right? At least so I could get my funeral planned before the next economic depression?”

I think about the question, trying to keep the growing smile off my lips. “You’re not on a list yet, but”—my head moves up and down several times—“yeah, I think I would tell you.”

Luke pulls me into his side, and for a second I think he’s going to mess up my hair, but instead he just embraces me into a half hug that screams sibling vibes all over it. Relief washes over me, as I find comfort in the friend zone.

There’s no romantic spark between us, no matter how high he turns up the sexual energy. The feelings very much seem mutually platonic.

“If I get kidnapped by your stalker man and the police ask for a DNA sample, just get one from the couch.”

“Ew. That’s new!”

“Don’t worry, everything dries clear.”

“Yuck.”

He better be kidding. I’ll have to rush ship a black light just in case.

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