“There’s plenty of time for me to try again,” I say.
“I have no doubt.” He bends to pet my dog on the chin this time.
The traitor wags his tail and asks for more scratches. “Aww, such a good boy,” Banks says as Hudson bounces in response. “Guess I am good with my hands.”
I snap my gaze to him. “I wouldn’t know.”
Then I look ahead and try not to check out his arms, his legs, and his whole stupidly handsome body as we walk my dog in a silent game of chicken.
Forty-five minutes later, we’re back, and I’m seriously going to have to work harder to lose him.
But there’s more to my plan than my thwarted dog walk. It’s still early, but I know Grandma can cover for me for a couple hours.
When we near the porch, he says, “So, what’s on the agenda?”
I smile. “You want to be my shadow? Guess what? We’re doing yoga.”
I lift my chin. How’s that for brilliant? Plenty of guys do yoga. But I’m guessing a bodyguard isn’t the yoga type. Banks’s muscles will probably atrophy if he doesn’t find a weight bench soon to recharge his muscle cells. A man like him survives on protein powder and weight plates, not sun salutations and shavasanas.
“Sounds great. I’ll drive,” he says.
“Actually, we can walk,” I say, cheery and upbeat—all part of the plan.
“That works too,” he says. “Meet you in…?”
“Fifteen minutes,” I supply, then bound up the steps before a smidge of guilt hits me again. He’s really going to hate me soon. Might as well just clear the air for the sake of doing the right thing. I spin around. “Banks?”
He turns around. “Yes?”
My chest twinges. Or maybe that’s my pride acting up. Either way, I meet his gaze straight on, and I woman up. “SorryIsaidyou’renotmytype. Thatwasn’tnice.”
There. Done.
But he stares at me, brow furrowed, confused. “Excuse me?”
Did I really say it that quickly?I draw a breath, square my shoulders, then try again. Slower this time. Or really, normal speed. “Sorry I said you’re not my type. That wasn’t nice.”
“Ah,” he says, nodding. “I thought that’s what you said, but I wanted to be sure.”
My jaw drops. “You knew and made me repeat it?”
“It’s good to be certain, right?”
“And you want me to trust you?”
“I need to trust my ears, Ripley,” he says with a smile. “But don’t think twice about it. We’re all good.”
“Good.”
I turn to open the door when he adds, “Besides, I knew you didn’t mean it.”
This man.I seethe. I have no regrets for what I’m about to do.
Five minutes later, I’m out the door again, grabbing my bike from where I left it by the fence and hopping on.
Let him run after me. I don’t care. Let him take his freaking car. That’s fine too.
I fly down the hill on two wheels, lift my left hand to show I’m turning right, then turn, when the sound of tires against asphalt grows louder. I peek behind me and groan. “Are you kidding me?”
