4. Sophie

4

SOPHIE

Trevor’s team is winning. Of course they are. I never would’ve guessed that Miranda is some sort of coaching genius, but she came out of nowhere with incredible plays. She’s the coach’s assistant in terms of scheduling and that sort of thing. Actually coaching the team isn’t part of her job. But here she is, calling plays. They’re scoring goals, and she’s getting hugs and high fives from all the players. Honestly, I’m happy for her. She’s smiling more than she has since I’ve been here. She’s glowing, and it’s not because of sex with my brother.

I feel like that when a piece I’ve choreographed is danced perfectly. Even more than when I dance it myself. I love dancing. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. It’s all I can do. I’m not athletic like Declan or smart like my other brothers. My twin, Ian, is a more successful dancer than I am because he has more charisma. I may perform the steps perfectly, but Ian is so entertaining, no one cares if it’s not perfect. My younger brother is a charmer—everyone loves him. But dance is all I have going for me.

The final horn sounds, and Trevor’s team wins. They hug and shake hands. One of the Devil Birds players, Nathan Crosby, wins Most Valuable Player and is awarded a new SUV. When pop sensation Amilia Reynolds hands him the key, he’s so flustered he drops it. Apparently, he has a huge crush on her. It’s kind of adorable to see this big professional athlete who’s one of the best in the world be a star-struck fool like the rest of us. The crowd laughs good-naturedly as the poor guy flushes scarlet and squats down to pick it up. Trevor gives him a clap on his shoulder when he rises back to his full height. Whatever Trevor whispered to him has them both grinning. It’s cute.

“What do you think he said to Crosby?” Daphne asks from where she stands between me and Mallory along the glass.

“As his sister, probably something I don’t want to know,” Mallory answers. “I feel sorry for you having to work with him, Sophie. I hope he takes it seriously. I love my brother. He’s a great guy, but he thinks everything is a joke.”

Daphne furrows her brow. “I don’t think that’s fair, Mallory. Yeah, he’s lighthearted and a bit of a goof, but he takes hockey seriously. He takes his friendships with Kendall and Randi seriously. He’d do anything for either of them. He took passing the bar exam seriously. He’s grown up a lot recently. I think you’re too close to see it.”

“He’s twenty-five years old. It’s about time he grows up. He’s more of a puppy than Cooper.”

“Who’s Cooper?” I ask.

“Oh, he’s my Bernese mountain dog puppy! Liam gave him to me for Christmas. He’s adorable. Here, let me show you.”

She whips out her phone and starts showing me picture after picture of a drooling dog. He’s cute, but I don’t need to see a whole album. Then there’s a picture of two puppies, two boys, and Trevor. He’s lying on the floor, laughing, boys and puppies all piled on top of him.

“Those are my nephews, EJ—” she points to an older boy, “—and Matt.” She points to the younger one. “The puppy with the green bow is theirs. They named her Heidi. She’s Cooper’s sister.”

“Trevor’s having the time of his life,” Daphne says, smiling at the picture.

Mallory looks up from the screen to see if I’m done looking. When I nod, she puts her phone away. “He is. He loves those boys. He’s going to be a wonderful dad someday when he settles down. He’s so good with kids.”

I feel a twinge when she says that. It’s confirming what I already know, but it still sucks to hear it’s true. Doesn’t matter. He’s only my dance partner. There’s no future, so no point even thinking about it.

With the presentations over, we follow the crowd out of the stands and join the team families. When we’re all there, we go to the buses to meet the players and team staff that are waiting for us. I follow Daphne and Mallory and continue down the aisle after they sit next to their guys. My plan is to take the first open seat because it’s awkward as hell to not really know anyone and try to fit in.

“Sophie, I saved a seat for you!” Trevor booms from the back.

A wave of oohs flows through the bus like we’re back in primary school.

As heat rises up my neck, I curse my fair Irish skin and the obvious blush. There’s no gracious way to say no, so I trudge to the back and sit next to him. “Thanks for saving me a seat. Congratulations on winning the game.”

The smile he gives me is so boyishly sweet, my heart stutters a bit. He’s a good-looking man. It’s natural to be attracted to him. It doesn’t mean anything. “Did you enjoy it? It was so cool! I love things like this and competing against the best. You know how it is, you’re a competitive person.”

That brings me up short. Am I a competitive person? I want to be noticed. I don’t care about winning except for the fact that the winner’s who people remember. No one remembers the silver medalist. But I don’t want to win just to say I’m the best. I care about winning the show because that’s how I’m going to get the pro spot. I don’t want to keep being a background dancer. Background dancers don’t get to choreograph.

I don’t know how to explain that to Trevor, so I just nod. “Yeah. I know how it is.”

* * *

The buses pull up to the terminal so we can board the team plane back to New Jersey. We didn’t practice at all during this trip so it wasn’t necessary I come along but I can’t say I regret it. Trevor and I looked at our phones until we reached the airport, and now that we’re on our way back to New Jersey, I’m sitting by myself and taking a nap. I wake up as the plane touches down, and I find Trevor sleeping beside me. I nudge him awake, and we keep each other upright as we leave the plane. Once we’re in the cool night air, he looks down at me, yawning.

“You want to practice tonight?” he asks as we zoom through the winter evening along the Atlantic City Expressway on yet another bus.

I look at him in surprise. “Aren’t you tired after the game?” Even though it meant nothing in the standings, I know the players took it seriously. Trevor had some hard hits and trips, even from his own teammate. I know it’s important to allow your body to rest after heavy exertion.

“Soph, I’m going to be tired for the next two months. I’m going to have games and practices the whole time we’re doing the show. If you don’t want to practice, that’s fine. We’ll start tomorrow. It’s your call.”

I’m impressed with his willingness to work. “Sure. We can start with the basics in my room, if that’s okay? No point getting lights on in the theater or studio. We’ll go over the music and start with the first counts. The dance is ninety seconds. There will be about twenty or twenty-one eight counts of choreography. Do you think you’ll be okay learning that?”

“Yeah, no problem. Not going to lie, it takes a lot of repetition for me to get choreo, but I eventually get it. I’m better at freestyle. But I’ll learn it. I promise to practice until I drop. If they make me do this competition, then I’m winning it. Second place is a waste of time and effort.”

As the streets of Atlantic City pass by in a blur of traffic and street lights outside the window, I see both competitive spirit and sincerity in his hazel eyes. It does funny things to me. My tummy flips, and I feel like my heart does a happy little cha-cha. Not good, Sophie. Not good.

When we get off the bus, I expect him to swing by the parking garage so he can drop off his luggage before heading to my room. Instead, he takes my bag, along with his, and follows me upstairs. He catches my questioning glance and shrugs.

“Why waste time going back and forth? The sooner we get upstairs, the sooner we practice. You were saying how every minute counts. We dance as long as we can, and then I either go home or call down to the desk. If there’s a room, they’ll give it to me.”

“That’s convenient,” I say as we walk down the hallway.

He nods. “One of the perks of being on the team.”

After unlocking the door to my suite, I grab my suitcase from Trevor and wheel it into the bedroom.

“You’re welcome to use the bathroom if you want to change into something more comfortable to dance in,” I call over my shoulder. He’s in slacks, dress shoes, and a button-down shirt. We aren’t doing anything too crazy, but with the way his clothes are tailored to fit his muscular body to perfection, I’m not sure how freely he can move without ripping something. Would be a shame to ruin clothes that fit his body like a second skin. I bite my lip then shake my head. No, no. I’m not admiring Trevor. Just his tailor. Not that big, beautiful body. Just the way his clearly talented tailor fits it. Yeah, that’s all I’m doing.

I change into a T-shirt and capri leggings. I shouldn’t be ashamed of noticing Trevor’s form. It’s natural to appreciate an attractive man. He’s good-looking, funny, well liked. I’ve seen enough showmances to know that working with someone hours a day for weeks and months creates an intoxicating intimacy. We haven’t been together enough yet for anything to develop, but with the way I can sense him in a room, how I react to his woodsy, manly scent, my comfort with his hands on me, the way we kiss…whoa, can’t think about these things. I know the show’s producers love it when there are hints of romance brewing. It’s helped a few couples win the competition. But I don’t want to win for any reason other than talent. I’m sure Trevor will get votes because he’s charming and good-looking. Maybe there will be hockey fans watching. But I want our team to win because we’re the best. Because I’m the best.

But to be the best, we need to practice. So, I pull my hair back into a ponytail and wander out to the seating area of the suite. Trevor changed into shorts and a T-shirt and is sitting on the sofa, tying his sneakers. I grab my laptop and a couple of bottles of water for us and plop on the cushion next to him. I’m a professional dancer. I should be graceful. But I try not to lie, so I have to admit I plopped.

“Okay,” I say, opening my laptop and settling back against the tan cushions of the sofa. “You know we have the cha-cha. We heard the song. There’s a live band, and they play a portion of the song. We’re going to learn the dance by count, not by the music. Are you okay with that?”

He grimaces. “Yeah. It’s going to take a lot of repetition, though. For dancing, it’s all about the music for me. I feel it and then move. What I did with counts were the cheers and stunts. They aren’t fluid like a dance. I’m sorry.”

I appreciate his candor. “How do you learn hockey plays? You have plays, right?”

He nods.

“Well, how do you learn them?”

His shrug is…uncertain. I don’t know how to describe it. He’s reacting because I’m expecting him to. Not a good start. “We practice them. Repetition.”

“But no music?”

His brows draw together. “Of course not. It’s hockey, not figure skating.”

My turn to do acrobatics with my brows. Where his went down, mine go up.

“No,” I say with a shake of my head, “it’s not. But it’s choreography in its own way.”

He tilts his head from left to right, his lips quirking to the side. “Yeah.” He nods slowly. “I guess it is.”

I mentally add a tick mark to my side of the scoreboard. “So we’ll treat our counts like plays, and each dance is a playbook.” I’m proud of myself for talking all sporty. My brothers would be amazed. “You watch video to learn about your opponents and what you’re doing, right?”

He nods.

Tapping my laptop, I settle back on the couch and rest it on my lap. “We’re going to watch some videos so you can get an idea of the dance and the moves required. Hopefully that will help you when we learn the counts. Okay?”

“Aren’t we going to dance? I thought that was the point.” He cracks open his water and takes a sip. I try not to stare as his throat ripples with a swallow. Unlike many of his teammates, he doesn’t have a beard, but his jaw has a dusting of stubble along it this late in the day. It’s sexy. And not something I should be noticing.

“We will, but if you know how it’s supposed to look, it may help you understand what I’m trying to teach you.”

He lifts a shoulder, which I take as agreement, so I start the video playlist I created a few days ago. “Hey, that’s you!” He grins. “Is that your brother? Ian?”

“It is. We were dance partners most of our lives. We competed until he switched to another partner and then made the show.”

Trevor’s brow furrows. “He dumped you as his partner? That would make Thanksgiving awkward.”

“We’re Irish, we don’t do Thanksgiving,” I say with a deadpan expression.

He gives a huff of exasperation and rolls his eyes. “St. Patrick’s Day then.”

Bless his clueless little brain.

Shrugging both physically and mentally, trying to dislodge the lingering hurt that’s stirred by thinking about the end of my partnership with Ian, I say, “It was necessary. He had a growth spurt. I didn’t. We weren’t a good match any longer. For competitive dancing, a height difference of more than a foot is less than ideal.”

“But you’re his sister, his twin. How can he just switch because you’re short?” He waves his hand between us. “There’s more than a foot difference between us, even if you’re in heels. They paired us up.”

I sigh. “That’s part of the challenge and a source of drama. They want to make sure we have difficulty and something to be frustrated about. Makes for good television.”

A laugh rumbles from his chest, making his shoulders shake. “Like they need to give us reasons to fight with each other. I think we’re going to butt heads well enough on our own without a few inches coming between us.”

I bet he’s more than a few inches. My cheeks heat. I know he meant inches of height, but he said “coming, ” and I grew up with brothers who made crude jokes and innuendos every chance they had. They still do, if I’m being completely honest. I cannot be blamed for my naughty thoughts.

“You think we’re going to fight?” I ask. Logically, that shouldn’t hurt, but no one’s going to accuse me of being the most logical person in the room.

Trevor’s eyes widen like he’s realized he misspoke. I hope he can dance as well as he can backpedal.

“No, of course not! I think we’re going to work together wonderfully. No friction. All smooth sailing.”

I bump him with my shoulder. “It’s okay. I know I can be a pain in the arse to deal with. Ian and I would drive each other nuts. That’s part of the reason we stopped working together. We would’ve ended up hating each other. I love my twin. As much as I love dancing, I love him more. So we split.”

He reaches over to hit pause on the video. We missed it anyway. “Did you find another partner? Did you keep competing?”

Admitting this is humiliating. “I tried. Ian had dancers lined up, hoping to be picked. Not the same for me. I tried with a couple of partners, but we didn’t click. They said I was difficult to work with and too bossy. Ian was winning major international competitions. Not shifter competitions, professional dance competitions against the very best in the world. He was picked for the show, and he made me a condition of his contract—they had to give me a tryout.”

Trevor’s brow furrows. I’m sure he’s regretting being stuck with me. The only reason I’m on the show is because of nepotism.

“Between our mother judging and Ian dancing, they kind of had to give me a shot.” I shove my laptop onto Trevor’s lap and rise so I can pace. I’m too aggravated to sit still. “I’m a good dancer. Yeah, I can be bossy, but I can dance! I deserved to audition based on my own merits and not as a favor or a condition. But that’s how it worked out, and now everyone thinks of me as some sort of nepo baby, the dancer who can only get jobs because of her family connections. Not my talent.”

He puts the laptop on the coffee table in front of him, rises, and walks over to me. Trevor doesn’t say anything, but when he pulls me into a hug, he doesn’t have to. His compassion and understanding are clear in his embrace. Our height difference may make dancing together a challenge, but the way his big body cradles mine makes me feel cherished and protected. I’m always around men much larger than I am. My father and brothers are all large men. All my potential dance partners and former romantic partners have been too. I’m used to big guys. Sometimes it’s overwhelming. As a wolf shifter, I can protect myself if necessary, so the size disparity usually isn’t an issue in terms of safety, but it’s something I’m aware of.

But Trevor’s size doesn’t overwhelm me. It comforts me. Just like waking up in his room this morning, I felt safe knowing he was there even though he was across the room from me. I want to burrow into his heat and his solid body, but I can’t. We need to focus on dancing. Reluctantly, I pull out of his embrace.

“As someone who hears that he only has his spot on the team because of his sister’s relationship with one of the owners, who also happens to be my coach, I know how you feel.”

My nose scrunches like I’m smelling bullshit. “That’s ridiculous. You’re a talented player. You played in the All-Star Game. You didn’t get picked for that honor because of who your sister’s shagging.”

His shrug is half-hearted. “That’s what I tell myself, and I know I’m good. But it’s still disheartening. I feel like I need to work four times as hard to prove that I’m at least half as good as everyone else.”

“Yes!” He gets it. When I’ve tried to explain it before, I’d get placated. Don’t be silly , they’d say, with a side of boo-hoo, poor little rich girl not getting what she wants .

The look we share is one of understanding. I haven’t had that with someone before. And I can’t have that now. We’re dance partners. A team for two months, and then he’s focused on hockey and I need to focus on my career as a pro. Get a spot on the tour they usually do after the shows. I’ll be the Mackenzie in the spotlight for once.

But first, we need to learn the cha-cha.

“Come on,” I say, retaking my seat on the couch and picking up my laptop. “Let’s watch these dances so we can start learning counts tomorrow. We go to New York for the morning show the day after tomorrow for the announcement and introduction. They’ll take measurements so they can start on costumes. Yours will be basic pants and shirts. Unless you drop a ton of weight or gain massive amounts of muscle, they won’t bother you much except for final fittings. And spray tans.”

That stops his descent to the cushion next to me. His thigh muscles are incredibly impressive in the semi-squat position he’s frozen in. “Spray tans? Are you serious?”

“Absolutely, we all get them. No one wants to have tan lines or pasty skin. It reflects the lights weird, plus they can do wonders with shading to enhance muscle tone.”

He finally sits next to me and quirks a brow.

“Not that you’d need any enhancements, I’m sure,” I say, both placatingly and honestly.

Predator shifters like wolves normally have superior muscle tone naturally. If that shifter works out regularly, especially at an intense level like that of a professional athlete, their body looks like they’ve been sculpted by Michaelangelo. No need to fake a six-pack with strategically placed darker stripes of tanning spray.

He runs a fingertip along my arm, and goosebumps erupt. His brows lift. I’m wrong. I keep calling his eyes hazel, but they’re so much more than that. Besides green and brown, there are shades of gray in there too. They’re beautiful.

“Is this your tan?” he asks.

I shrug. “I’ve been getting spray tans for so long I think I’m permanently stained.” I hold my arm next to his. He’s about the same shade as I am.

“Turn your arm over,” I direct.

He does as I say. I can see the blue veins under his skin. And a scar.

“What happened?” I trace the ten-centimeter scar. It’s old, a smooth white line now, but it doesn’t look like it was a minor injury.

Trevor sighs, and I raise my gaze from where it’s studying his arm to his face. Now there are gray clouds where there was green previously.

“I got slashed by a skate blade when I was a kid. I was lucky. It could’ve been so much worse, but I had to have a bunch of stitches. Having shifter genes helped immensely. If I was only human, the scar would’ve been a lot more gnarly.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten.”

Tears flood my eyes. He was a little boy. That must have been so scary.

“Hey,” he says softly, cupping my cheek and using his thumb to wipe away the tear that escapes. “I’m okay. It worked out great. Mom invented a cut-resistant fabric that’s now standard. All the kids in our junior hockey program are provided it for free.”

My heart melts. “Your mother loves you so much she invented something to keep you safe.” I give a hiccuping sob. “And it protects other children so they don’t get hurt like you did. That’s beautiful.”

“It made her company a shit ton of money, she got a promotion, and the value of her stash of company stock skyrocketed. I wouldn’t call her selfless.”

Being a pragmatic soul, I shrug. “No reason everyone can’t benefit.”

His deep chuckle does things to me, like when I do the never-ending spins in salsa. It’s not unpleasant, just…strange.

“Let’s get to know each other,” he says. “Where do you fall in the birth order of your family? You’re the only girl, right?”

“I’m the second-youngest, only girl. Dec is the oldest, and he’s always been the leader. Patrick and Owen are best friends with each other and have the twin thing going. Ian and I are twins, but I’m the only girl, so I’m on the outside. We have dance in common and similar taste in guys—Ian’s gay—but it’s not the same twin connection. Seamus is the youngest, and he’s less than a year younger than me and Ian, so it was almost like we were triplets, with Ian and Seamus being best friends.”

Trevor cocks his head and studies me. What’s he thinking? Of course I’m on the outside because it’s obvious there’s something wrong with me and that’s why I’m kept in the shadows? But I want to shine. I want to be noticed.

“I get it. I’m the youngest of four. I’m almost five years younger than Mallory. Valerie and Mallory are only ten months apart.”

“Did people think they were twins because they were close in age and had rhyming names?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. Ethan is eighteen months older than Valerie. They were the closest. Mallory and I are close. We’re all wolf shifters except Mallory. She can’t shift. That made her an outsider. I was an oops baby. I’m eight years younger than Ethan, so we didn’t hang out. Our parents were heavily involved in their careers by the time I came along. Mom was a chemical engineer, and Dad was a patent attorney. That’s how I ended up involved with dance and cheerleading. I was with my cousins all the time, and my aunts and uncles would just include me in whatever activities their kids were doing. I didn’t want to do baseball because that was Ethan’s thing, and I didn’t want to be in his shadow.”

I hold my hand up for a high five.

“I guess you know about being in the shadows?” he asks.

“I’m in the shadows so much I never need sunscreen,” I joke.

Trevor stands and takes my hand, pulling me into a dance hold. “You, Sophie Mackenzie, should always be in the spotlight.” He twirls me around.

It’s very sweet of him and kinda romantic, but he’s doing it all wrong. I can’t help it, I have to correct him.

“Left hand up,” I tell him. Facing him, I place my right hand in his left and my left hand on the upper part of his right arm. “Your right hand at my left shoulder blade.”

Looking in the mirror, I see he’s close. “Just a smidge higher. And stand up straight. I know you’re tall, but I’ll be in heels. You’ll have a heel of either one or one and a half inches, depending on if you’re wearing a standard or Cuban heel.”

“I’m not wearing a Cuban heel,” Trevor insists, looking down at me.

“Do you even know what a Cuban heel is?”

“No, but I know I don’t want to wear them.”

I pull out of his hold and jam my fists on my hips. “You have a dance background. You know you must wear the proper gear. You wouldn’t play hockey without your pads. You’re going to wear Cuban heels on the show.”

He lifts his chin in the direction of my laptop, so I open it and restart the video.

“I need to move to learn,” he says. “I can’t just sit here and watch other people do it.”

We try the moves, and he usually gets them wrong. And we laugh. He’s trying, but he wasn’t kidding when he said it takes repetition for him to learn. Amazingly, I’m not as frustrated as I expected to be. I’m not a patient teacher. I can see clearly what I want the dance to be and can demonstrate it or show examples on video, but I can’t explain it clearly enough to teach it to someone who finds the moves unfamiliar. I know Trevor can learn the dances, given enough time and practice. My concern is if I’m going to be able to teach them to him.

He wants to try again, but I suggest we go back to watching the videos. Hopefully knowing what it’s supposed to look like will help him learn the dance. He gives me puppy dog eyes that I can’t resist, so I agree to try one last time, and then it’s back to video. I start the counts and…he does it. He hits every single step of the twenty-four counts I’ve taught him. I’m breathless when we hit the final count. Our bodies are pressed together. And he’s hard. How the hell was he able to dance with that happening? Our eyes meet, and we break apart like we were caught snogging by my parish priest.

My yawn is only partly fake as I check the time on my laptop. “Oh, shit, it’s after midnight.” I yawn again to punctuate my sentence. “I’m sorry, Trevor. You must be exhausted. You had a longer day than I did.”

“I’m okay. I’ll get a room, not a big deal.”

He worked up a sweat while we were dancing, and his scent is intoxicating. He smells like pine trees and vanilla. That’s unexpected. But there’s also the underlying notes of his natural scent. It’s not something I can narrow down to specific scent notes, it’s just him. Longing pools in my abdomen, and my nipples tighten with desire.

It’s biology, Soph , I tell myself. We’re both wolf shifters. Catching his scent all the time is distracting. He’s a good-looking man even without being a wolf shifter. But with us both being wolf shifters of an age where our mating drives are at their highest, we’re going to be drawn to each other. And that’s the problem. I’m nobody’s mate.

Maybe he’d be okay with a physical relationship. We scratch our itches, and when he finds a mate, or I tire of him, we move on. It’s possible that could help our connection on the dance floor. Rather than working to stay separate, we could lean into the attraction and bond. It’s only a couple of months, and then we’ll be apart anyway. He’ll travel with the team to finish their season. I’ll hopefully be invited on the tour with the pros from the other shows, and then I’ll be busy working with my next partner and filming.

“Or,” I say, trying to keep the hesitation from my voice, “you could just stay here. It’s silly to bother the staff.” Maybe he wants to be away from me. I know I can be a lot. Crap. I’m making things awkward. “Unless you’d rather have your own space.”

He quirks his lips at my babbling. “Is there a second room?”

My face flushes scarlet. There obviously isn’t. He can see everything from where we’re standing. “No. I was thinking you could stay in my room. In my bed. With me.” His raised eyebrows have me rushing to add, “I’m not saying we’re having sex, but we could fool around and cuddle.”

He nods slowly and gives me a panty-melting grin. “Okay. Just so you know, I don’t expect anything. Anytime you want to send me to the couch or another room, that’s fine.”

I know I can trust him. I shouldn’t have confidence in instincts that have led me astray before, but I do.

“I know. This doesn’t mean anything. It’s just scratching an itch. My wolf likes to cuddle. Does yours?”

He nods.

I take a deep breath, which fills my lungs with his scent again. That doesn’t help my resolve to only cuddle and not have sex. “No sex tonight. But we’re both single and like kissing each other.”

That sexy smile turns up a notch as he nods again.

“And we’re going to be too busy to deal with anyone else. I’m sure we both have needs, and it’s a convenient way to scratch them. So maybe we’ll have sex sometime. But it’s just for our time on the show. It’s just temporary. A fling.”

His chuckle settles over me like a cozy blanket. I want to snuggle in and get comfy.

“You can change your mind, Sophie. It’s okay to say something impulsively and then wish you could take it back.” The sincerity in Trevor’s voice is soothing.

“No! I don’t want to take it back.” Blowing out a breath and shaking my hands, I try to decide how honest to be. “I’m nervous. Obviously, we’re attracted to each other.”

“Obviously.”

I roll my eyes. “I think you’re hot, I’m horny, I want to fuck you, but I’m only interested in a fling. No relationship, no falling in love, no future. Just have fun for now. If you’re good with that, I think we can enjoy each other.”

Trevor nods his head vigorously, like a bobblehead in an earthquake. “I’m good with that. Yeah. So good.”

I lead us into the bedroom. “You can have the bathroom first if you want.”

As Trevor disappears into the bathroom with his bag, I close the bedroom door and push away from it. I try to ignore the sounds of him getting ready for bed and taking a shower. It’s not my fault my shifter senses are so acute I can hear everything and that I have a vivid imagination. It’s my job to be able to look at a person and envision how they move.

I pull on my pj’s and go to the small powder room in the suite to brush my teeth and take out my contacts. No sex until after our first week on the show. If we don’t get past the first dance, having a sexual relationship will be messy. Yeah, that’s practical. There’s plenty we can do still. And maybe dangling that carrot will get us through the cha-cha.

The shower is still running as I slide into bed. I don’t know what side Trevor sleeps on, so I pick what I prefer, and we’ll work it out.

My goodness, is he going to leave any hot water for the rest of the guests? Good thing I take showers in the morning. May as well get comfy while I wait. He better be worth it.