Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Nolan

Zena and I were playing a dangerous game, considering the absurd amount of chemistry that had been emanating between us from the moment I sat down next to her. The connection went far beyond mere physical appeal, a magnetic pull from deep within that defied any logical explanation. It was something I never could have expected, which meant it was of the utmost importance that I clarified the rules before things spiraled out of control.

I cleared my throat after Zena popped a second jalape?o in her mouth. "Can we go back to the rules for a moment?"

She waved a finger at me as she chewed. "There are none, remember?"

"Yes, but I'm sure there's a caveat," I said.

"What kind of caveat?" she asked, then finished her horchata and set the cup on the table.

"In public, it's hands on. In private, it's hands off," I said.

Zena studied me for a moment, squishing her eyebrows together. "What are you trying to say?"

"I mean, outside of the public eye, if we're all alone in some type of situation, nothing will happen between us. No sleeping together. No kissing. Nothing."

Zena set her burrito down. "That is mighty presumptuous of you to think that I would ever want to sleep with you. Do you think I am that desperate for a man?" She shook her head at me with a snort.

I shrugged. "I wasn't thinking that, but hey, you're the one who said it was okay to kiss you. Better to clarify things before you get any other ideas."

Zena huffed. " You are the one who asked if it was okay to kiss me !"

"I simply presented a hypothetical situation, and you told me to go for it," I corrected. "And in case you failed chemistry and anatomy, one private kiss is all it takes to send our lives in a completely different direction! The next thing you know, we're married, you're pregnant with twins, and I'm picking out new hardwood flooring for a three-bedroom fixer-upper in North Park."

She smirked. "Wow—you have a wild imagination. First, you need to donate your brain to science after you die. Second, that house would be by the beach, so our three kids could play in the sand whenever they wanted. And third, my dad would kill you before we ever had a chance to walk down the aisle."

I nodded. "Good point—we'll need to elope. See? All cleared up with a simple conversation."

"You're forgetting that this is an arrangement I had meticulously planned with my dad to get him a Stanley Cup," Zena added. "It was always intended for us to put on a show for Mitch Redding and the outside world while maintaining our personal boundaries in private. I thought that was obvious."

"You said no rules and I don't want to assume anything. Every detail needs to be spelled out," I said. "I mean, I thought it was obvious that the food in front of me was my food, but look what happened there, Miss Burrito Burglar."

Zena laughed. "Me? You ripped your teeth into my burrito like a savage and almost ate half of it in one bite, Mr. Mexican Munchie Mangler!"

I wagged a finger at her, trying to keep a straight face. "Don't mess with my food. Ever."

"Lesson learned," she said. "Are there any other concerns you wish to address? Now's the time to bring them up."

I took another sip of horchata, eyeing Zena over the rim of my cup. "You know everything about me, but I know almost nothing about you since I don't have the luxury of a private detective."

Zena smirked. " Two private investigators, plus Google. And you can ask me anything you'd like."

I shrugged. "Okay, how angry was your dad when you decided to attend the University of San Diego?"

She sat back in the booth, blinking several times. "Out of all the things you could have asked me, that's your burning question? Really?"

"Believe me, I have many more, but I would like to start there because the answer will tell me volumes about you and Daddy Dalton," I said. "You said I could ask you anything."

Zena nodded and smiled playfully. "Well, you're not wrong about him being upset. He went from zero to nuclear faster than you can say Ivy League. How did you know that?"

I shrugged. "It was a hunch. The University of San Diego is one of the top one hundred universities in the country, but for someone with billions to burn, I figured it wouldn't be good enough for him. I admire you for following your heart."

"Thank you," Zena said. "He wanted me to attend Harvard, with Yale as a backup. My grades were good enough for both, but I wasn't even remotely interested. And for the record, he also does not approve of my car, the way I dress, or my hair."

"Is he nuts?" I asked, glancing down and admiring her plum-colored summer dress. "I think you look amazing. And as for your hair …" I reached out, gently running my fingers through her long and wavy auburn locks again. "I can't keep my hands off it."

"Are we back to being flirty again?" Zena asked. "I have to say, your acting skills are excellent."

I shook my head. "It's the truth. And I have another question."

"Go for it," she said.

"Why me?" I asked.

She sighed. "Another question I didn't expect. Don't you want to know about my secret weakness, what I do in my spare time, or even my favorite color?"

"Later," I said. "Out of all the eligible bachelors that could have been your fake boyfriend, I want to know why I was chosen. There has to be a well-calculated method to your madness."

Zena's grin turned sly. "We had a very scientific process. Step one: Find someone marginally attractive. Then?—"

"Marginally?" I interrupted, feigning hurt.

"Step two," she continued, ignoring me, "proximity to the action on the ice for maximum visibility. And step three, someone kind enough that I wouldn't want to slash him with a hockey stick after being with him for five minutes."

I pondered this for a moment. "So, what you're saying is, I'm the perfect combination of eye candy, strategic placement, and tolerable personality?"

Zena crossed her arms. "I never said you were eye candy."

I pointed to my head. "Is it the flow? If it's too long, I can get it trimmed."

She snickered. "Next question."

"How did we meet?' I asked.

"That's easy—we met at the wine tasting fundraiser for the foundation last month," Zena said. "You spilled your glass of merlot on my shoe. The rest is history."

"You find my clumsiness endearing," I said.

"I do—and there you go again," she said with a smile, grabbing a napkin and wiping up a few drops of salsa I had spilled on the table. "And since you didn't even bother asking, my favorite color is teal."

I nodded. "Let me guess, you're secretly a mermaid?"

Zena smirked. "Close—I'm actually part octopus. That's why I need a boyfriend who's good with ice—to keep my tentacles fresh."

I startled, surprised by her quick wit.

We finished our burritos in silence, watching the cooks work their magic in the kitchen while they chatted in Spanish. The front door chimed and a group of college students entered.

I finished the last bite, wiped my mouth, then glanced at Zena. "Tell me something about your private life, things that an extremely attractive and attentive boyfriend would know."

"I can do that." She tapped a finger on the table, thinking. "I'm president of the San Diego Sea Lions Foundation, something dear to my heart. I'm pretty terrible at ice skating, ironically enough. I do Pilates three times a week. I love other cultures and have traveled to twenty-seven countries, including spending a month volunteering at an elephant sanctuary in Thailand. I'm a horrible cook, but can make the best homemade pizza you've ever had."

"Toppings?" I asked.

Zena smiled. "Always pepperoni. Oh, and in college, I won a karaoke contest at a dive bar with my rendition of ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart'."

"I've got to see that," I said. "Or hear, rather."

"Play your cards right, Zamboni man, and maybe you will," she said with a wink. "And here's a fun fact: I'm fluent in four languages: English, Spanish, French, and Mandarin."

I nodded. "Why Mandarin?"

Zena smiled. "When I was growing up in Sunset Cliffs, a Chinese family bought the house next door to us, and they had a daughter the same age as me. She always waved whenever she saw me, almost every single day, and she had the most beautiful smile you could imagine. Call me crazy, but I wanted to communicate with her. So, I learned Mandarin at the age of twelve. I also helped her with her English, which was fun."

"I'm impressed," I said. "I'm also surprised Mr. Dalton agreed to that, since he probably already had an entire life mapped out for his little princess."

" That is true, but he also was the one who eagerly arranged for the tutor to come to the house twice a week," Zena said. "He was convinced speaking Mandarin would come in handy for my future career in international business since he had contacts in Shanghai and Beijing."

"And was he right?" I said.

She smirked. "Not even close. I had no interest in international business at any point and I ended up getting an MA in nonprofit leadership and management."

"And the Chinese girl?" I asked. "Whatever happened to her? Did you end up staying in touch with her over the years?"

Zena smiled proudly. "She's my best friend. Her name is Jing."

"What a cool story," I said, shaking my head in amazement. "My apologies."

She tilted her head to the side. "For what?"

"For assuming you were a spoiled rich girl," I admitted. "You have done some gracious, admirable, and respectable things, and I was an idiot to label you based on what other people have said, without even knowing you. I'm usually not like that, so please forgive me."

Zena squeezed my hand, her touch sending a tiny spark up my arm. "Thank you for saying that, but don't even worry about it. To be honest, I'm used to it. And I'm impressed you can admit your shortcomings. That says a lot about a man."

I winced. "Let's call it a slight flaw or imperfection, shall we?"

"What's wrong with the word shortcomings ?" she asked.

Wincing for the second time, I said, "Most men don't like that word combination because it hits below the belt, if you catch my drift."

"Well, I suppose I should choose my words more carefully," Zena said. "How about I say I'm impressed you're big enough to admit when you're wrong?"

"Now you're talking." I laughed with her as she ran her hand up my arm to my elbow, then back down to my hand. "Now, who's being flirty? Are you having fun?"

"It's amazing—you hardly have any hair on your hands and arms," she said. "I love how smooth they are. Jing is exactly the same, and it makes me so jealous."

"Seriously?" I said. "You're comparing me to a Chinese woman? Are you trying to eliminate all my masculinity during a single luncheon? What's for dessert? A castration?"

Zena squeezed my arm, nodding her approval. "If it makes you feel better, I love your biceps. And your chest."

I smirked. "You're forgiven."

We shared another laugh as she continued to hold on to my arm. We locked gazes. If the sparks bouncing off the walls between us had been hockey pucks, everyone in the restaurant would have been dead from acute head injuries. Her eyes, usually confident and teasing, now held a mix of surprise and something more intense. There was no doubt she was feeling it, too.

Zena was the first to break eye contact, glancing at her watch and frowning. "Unfortunately, I need to get back to work. I have a meeting with the board of directors at the foundation in thirty minutes."

I nodded. "Of course. I'll walk you to your car." Once outside, I glanced around the parking lot. "Is the photographer still here?"

"I don't think so," she said, looking over my shoulder, then her eyes went wide.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Nothing," Zena said. Before I could turn to look, she grabbed my hand and pulled me toward a blue older model Chevrolet Malibu. "This is me."

"The car your dad hates," I said.

"He says I belong in a BMW or Mercedes, but I can't seem to give this one up," Zena said. "I've had it since my college days. It has a lot of sentimental value."

I nodded and inspected the car. "And more dings than a doorbell convention."

She chortled. "Parking is not my strong suit. Anyway, thanks for meeting with me. This was an outstanding start. So you know, we have a date tomorrow night at Island Prime. It's a welcome dinner for Mitch Redding. Six p.m. I'll meet you there, but I need you to be ten minutes late."

"Why?" I asked, puzzled by the specific instruction.

Zena grinned. "You need to make a grand entrance, for shock factor. Mitch isn't expecting you and this will confuse and irritate him."

I nodded slowly, trying to process this new information. "Okay, grand entrance. Got it. Anything else I should know?"

"Yes," Zena continued, her tone all business now. "When you come in, you need to look ecstatic to see me. And you need to kiss me."

I hesitated, feeling a knot form in my stomach. "Kiss you where?"

Zena looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "In the restaurant, of course! Where else?"

"No, I mean," I fumbled and added, "Where on your body?"

"What kind of question is that?" Zena asked, exasperated.

"I need to know if I'm kissing you on the forehead, cheek, or ... lips," I explained, feeling more awkward by the second.

Zena crossed her arms. "We're supposed to be a fun and flirty couple, remember? You'd better be kissing me on the lips!"

I nodded, mentally preparing myself for what lay ahead.

"Are you sure you can handle this?" Zena asked with a hint of concern. "You're worrying me."

"Seriously—don't worry," I assured her. "I've got this."

Just then, a man walking by with a gym bag glanced at me.

I gave a small wave. "Hey there."

"Hey," he said, continuing on his way.

"If that was a gym buddy of yours, you should have introduced us," Zena said as she watched him enter the health club. "That's what couples do."

I shrugged. "I don't know him."

She raised an eyebrow, a flicker of suspicion crossing her face. For a moment, I thought she might press further, but instead, she let it slide.

"Who else will be at Island Prime?" I asked.

Zena hesitated, glancing back at the entrance of the health club, then turning back to me. "It's an intimate dinner—Coach Quinn and General Manager Steve Barlow. And, of course, you'll also get to meet my mother, but you need to pretend like you've already met. Call her Mrs. Dalton when you see her, then she'll tell you to call her Elena."

I felt my head spinning with all this new information. This fake relationship was getting more complicated by the minute.

"Uh-oh …" Zena glanced over my shoulder again and froze. "I can't believe this is happening."

"What?" I asked. "Can I look this time?"

She shook her head. "No. Kiss me. Now."

I hesitated, but something urgent in Zena's eyes told me she was serious. In one fluid motion, I stepped forward, snaked my arm around her waist and pulled her flush against me. Her gasp of surprise was cut short as I captured her lips with mine.

For a split second, Zena was still, and I wondered if I'd made a terrible mistake. Then she melted into me, her hands sliding up my chest and around my neck. What started as an act became startlingly real as she parted her lips, deepening the kiss with a hunger that matched my own. There was no way she could have been acting.

I lost all sense of time and place, aware only of Zena—the softness of her lips, the warmth of her body pressed against mine, and the faint scent of her perfume mingling with carne asada from the restaurant. She made a small noise in the back of her throat, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and I tightened my grip on her waist in response.

When we finally broke apart, both of us were out of breath. Zena's eyes were wide, her lips slightly swollen, and I imagined I looked equally stunned. That was when I realized with a jolt to my senses that our little charade had become far more complicated than either of us had bargained for.

Zena finally broke the silence, her voice slightly shaky. "I think we might have miscalculated this whole fake dating thing."

"I was thinking the same thing," I said with a nod. I glanced around the parking lot, trying to track down the person who had startled her, but not seeing anybody at all. "What spooked you?"

Zena wrinkled her nose. "Okay—I'm sorry, but I tricked you. There was nobody behind you."

I blinked twice. "What are you talking about?"

"It was a test," she said. "To see how you would respond under pressure."

My thoughts whirled like a windmill, but then I said the first coherent thing that popped into my head. "And how did I do?"

She nodded and licked her lips, her eyes holding a mixture of emotions I couldn't quite decipher. "You passed with flying colors."

Before I could formulate any type of response, Zena slid into the driver's seat of her car and shut the door. The engine roared to life, and with a quick wave through the window, she drove away, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust and the fading scent of her perfume.

With my lips still tingling from our kiss, I stood there rooted to the same spot as Zena's car disappeared around the corner. My mind raced with a thousand questions, with the first and most important one being: What the heck just happened?