Page 69 of The Backup Plan

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re human,” she says. “Which is refreshing to mere mortals like me and about damn time.”

“Funny.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of other wealthy, kind, eligible men in Austin you can sleep with. Pick one of them and then you won’t have to worry about crossing any professional lines.”

“A regular comedian.” I sigh but smile.

“That’s why you love me.”

“I do.” I pause. “Thanks, Trish.”

“Anytime.”

I end the call and sit in my car a moment longer, phone face-down on my thigh.

Trish is wrong.

She has to be.

Because attraction like that doesn’t appear overnight. It doesn’t bloom fully formed out of a few morning runs, one good day, and a near kiss. It doesn’t make your pulse misfire, your thoughts spiral, and your carefully constructed boundaries feel suddenly flimsy.

That’s not attraction.

That’s imagination.

And maybe a little romance over a nice guy after being with a dick for so many years.

I slide out of the car and straighten my shoulders as I walk inside, slipping into the version of myself who belongs here—Dr. Porter. Calm. Observant. Controlled. In control.

This is my space. My domain.

Lucas Hale is just a player. A patient. A complication I refuse to entertain.

Problem solved.

The doors to the weight room swing open to the right of me, and I decide to take the shortcut across to my office.

Metal clangs. Music thumps. Bodies move in practiced rhythms and distinct cadences. It’s chaos, but of course, my body reacts before my brain does.

My feet falter in the busy space.

I feel him.

My stomach tightens, and my skin warms. Awareness snaps sharp and immediate, because even though I don’t know where he is yet, I know he’s here.

So much for imagined.

Move your feet. Someone is going to notice you being weird. Someone is—there he is. Lucas is standing near the racks with his sleeves cut off and forearms flexed as he laughs at something one of the linemen says.

But people—the players, the trainers, the staff—begin to notice me. A few curious glances. A couple of questioning looks about why one of the staff is standing like an idiot in the middle of the weight room.

Lucas’s head turns and the rest of the noise disappears.

His gaze finds mine like it always seems to. There’s no smile this time. No teasing lift of his mouth.

There’s just focus—on me.