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Dax chuckles and grabs a breakfast sandwich out of the bag he’s holding. “I’ve never met anyone who hasn’t played mini golf. Weirdo. Anyway, I hate to break it to you, but I have a feeling there will be cameras everywhere today. They want to get some footage of us interacting and being the romantic engaged couple their viewers want to see.”

“Fantastic,” I say with an eye roll. “Think I can get away with pretending my ankle is still bothering me?”

“No way. I’d rat you out myself.”

I look at him shrewdly. “You probably would. Fine. Let’s get this dog and pony show over with before I change my mind and make a run for it. I need a few minutes to get ready.”

The next hour is spent showering, getting dressed, and trying to tame my crazy hair. Even though we’re in California and the humidity is low, my hair is still not behaving the way I’d like it to. Or maybe I’m being extra fussy because I want to look good for Dax?

Nah, that can’t possibly be it.

I don’t care one bit if my fake fiancé finds me remotely attractive. That’s totally not the reason why I chose these cute black shorty-shorts that make my butt look nice. And I for sure wasn’t thinking about him when I chose the sexy top that ties on one shoulder but leaves the other shoulder bare.

Dax is on the balcony, looking out at the ocean, when I emerge from the bathroom. I tap on the glass and open the sliding door to get his attention.

He turns around and gives me a seemingly casual once over, but his eyes hesitate on my breasts and then my bare shoulders.

“You ready?” I ask.

“Sure. Taylor is meeting us downstairs, so we should get going.”

I grab my crossbody bag and throw it over my shoulder, and we head out to meet Taylor, who’s waiting for us in the lobby.

She smiles and waves when she sees us then grabs her camera bag. After saying our hellos, the three of us head out for our excursion to San Francisco.

Dax is standing at my back with his arms wrapped around me. His warm hands are covering mine as he leans in and explains the intricacies of the game of mini golf. Having him pressed up against my backside would normally be an intimate moment; however, the camera pointed at us is decidedly not romantic.

Taylor is trying to be discreet, but it’s hard to ignore her. Having an audience witness every move, every word is unnerving.

Dax, however, seems to have no issues with her being here. He seems completely oblivious to our surroundings, choosing to focus solely on me. Even though I have told him multiple times that I don’t need instructions on the game, he’s choosing to ignore me.

“Now, you want to massage the stick. Your grip should be firm, yet not too firm. You want just the right amount of pressure,” he warns. I hear the laughter in his voice and have no trouble picking up on his double-entendre.

“I don’t need instructions on how to hold a stick, thank you. Now, back up.” I scootch my backside up against him, but he doesn’t budge.

Instead, he grasps one of my hips and leans in to whisper, “Keep rubbing up against me like that and Taylor’s going get some footage she’s not expecting.”

I elbow him in the ribs. “Knock it off, or your stick will never get firmly gripped again.”

He just laughs, not at all concerned with my hollow threat.

He adjusts my hands on the golf club and continues with his ridiculous instructions. “Now, your club is important, but so are the balls.”

“Dax . . .”

“They like to be massaged, soothed. You don’t want to just whack them with the club. Ouch. No, they like gentle treatment. A little bit goes a long way.”

I look at him over my shoulder. “You see that blue ball over there?” I point to where a small blue golf ball is sitting all by its lonesome in the grass.

He smirks. “Oh, I see where this is going.”

“Yep, later on, it’s blue balls for you. Now, can you behave? Taylor hears you. She’s recording everything you say.”

He holds up his hands in surrender and steps back. “I’m just trying to teach you to play a decent game of putt-putt. You have a dirty mind, Jess. Frankly, I’m shocked that you’d speak like this in mixed company. Whatever will the viewers think? They’ll be scandalized.”

I turn around, one hand on my hip, one on the golf club. I’m about to berate him and possibly hit him with the golf club, but then I see the barely contained mirth in his eyes. Unbidden laughter builds up inside me, and though I try to stop it, an unwilling smile forms on my face.

He grins back, and that adorable little dimple on his left cheek appears.