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“Harder. Drive. Drive. Drive…”

How the fuck was I supposed to work under those conditions? Were there any cues that wouldn’t have me fighting for my life not to pop a boner during a workout? I’d have to wear five pairs of spandex shorts from now on. Or think about the face my father made when I disappointed him.

The smile fell from my face, and I shook my head, attempting to brush off the negative thoughts as I plopped into the driver’s seat. This situation was complicated.

But damn, was it worth it to get to see her again.

Worth being her boyfriend…even if it was fake.

FIFTEEN

ARIELLA

“DID HE JUST SEND YOU TWO GRAND? HE’S LIKE A SUGAR DADDY! FORGET WORKING, LET HIM PAY FOR SHIT.”

“Mamá, esta bien. Ugh, I have to go, Ariella just got home,” Gracie said, standing in the kitchen with her phone pulled away from her ear and a finger gun to her temple. Even from the door, I could hear my aunt rattling on, and it wasn’t on speaker. Gracie returned the phone to her ear, hurrying out a final, “adiós, Mamá. Te quiero.”

“What did my aunt want?” I asked, tossing my gym bag by the couch and hopping up on one of the two counter stools in our little kitchen.

“Ay. She’s pissed at me because I’m not adding water to my dish soap.” Gracie huffed. “Me dijo que soy wasteful. It’s not even like she’s the one buying the soap.”

Her irritation made me laugh. There were some things a Mexican mother would argue about ‘til her grave. Diluting your soap, shampoo, and conditioner with water was one of those things.

“Wait ‘til she finds out that you put your tortillas in the microwave sometimes.”

Graciella spun so fast that her jaw-length hair managed to slap her in the face. “That was one time, and it was because I was drunk and didn’t want to burn down the fucking building.” I shrugged a shoulder, popping a grape into my mouth with a sly smile while she continued her rant. “Anyway, enough about me, how was your first day? Are they hot? Can I come watch them all sweaty? Do they wear slutty shorts?” Her eyes widened. “Do any of them have thigh tattoos?”

Damn it. I knew her interrogation was coming, but somehow I still wasn’t prepared for it. She’d managed to ask all those questions in a single breath. If she wasn’t in marketing, she could pursue a career as an auctioneer.

“You know how I went out with that guy the other night?” I peeked through my lashes at my cousin, who was practically crawling across the top of the counter to get closer to the chisme.

“The mystery man you refused to get any more details on.”

“Yup,” I said, popping the p. “Turns out, he’s the captain of the Dallas Desperad–”

A loud squeal that probably broke the sound barrier cut me off. “Shut the fuck up, Ari. Hottie is from the team you’re coaching?”

“Oh, it gets worse. They tried to fire me because there’s apparently a tabloid photo of us, and they didn’t want the owner’s son working with an ex.”

She slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes widening to a comical size. “Wait, what do you mean tried to fire you?”

My cheeks heated, embarrassment crawling up my neck. “I may or may not have told HR that we’re currently dating, since there was no policy against that. Which,” I winced, “ended with me storming into the men’s locker room and telling Dalton he better go along with it until I find a better solution.”

Gracie let out another shriek, dancing around in a circle chanting holy shit. “This is totally like a romance movie.”

Regret about telling her was already setting in. She always was the romantic—even if, weirdly enough, she was adamantly against relationships. We’d tried getting into the details of that once, but it hadn’t gone well.

“What are you talking about? It’s nothing like a romance movie. He’s just helping me keep my job. Or did you miss the part about me nearly getting fired because of some asinine rule made by his father?” I added some extra emphasis on that part to really drive it home for her, but it didn’t dim the hearts in her eyes. “A man who’s also my boss, and who I’ll have to pretend not to be pissed at when we finally meet…shit. I hadn’t thought about how that’s gonna go.”

Gracie finally had an appropriate reaction and grimaced. “Maybe he’s always wanted a Mexican daughter-in-law.”

Her face wasn’t all that convincing.

I shrugged, fiddling with the pop holder on my phone, trying to avoid thinking too hard about what I’d gotten myself into. Spiraling wouldn’t help, but the uncertainty was already knotting in my stomach.

Cha-ching.

“What was that?” Gracie asked.