Sunday mornings are no longer spent on my couch with Oliver.

Now they’re spent in bed, with Tathan, the heat of our bodies warming cool sheets.

After three weeks of him being a part of our bed, Oliver is starting to come around to the idea of another man in my life. I wouldn’t go as far to say he likes Tathan, but he doesn’t pee on him anymore. It’s a start.

Do you remember the deal?

Tathan made me a bet he could make me fall in love with him.

You know when you agree to something, and then you think to yourself, what did I get myself into? Surely, I shouldn’t have agreed to this.

It’s like those time-share things where they say, hey, for only a small investment—thousands of dollars—you can stay here at our beach house anytime you want.

What they don’t tell you is that every weekend you want to stay there, guess what? It’s fucking booked. And then the one weekend you’re allowed to stay there, a hurricane comes through, and you’re stuck inside the entire time.

Sound familiar?

We’ve all been there, or maybe just me. But have you ever agreed to date a guy with the deal that you wouldn’t fall in love with him?

That’s like going to Target and saying you’re only going to spend twenty bucks. I think it’s nearly impossible. At least that’s been my experience.

And this, my friends, dating a guy with the absolute determination not to fall in love with him is nothing like I’ve experienced.

“When will you be back?” I ask, intertwining our fingers together, my head on his chest, listening to his light breathing. Pathetic. I’m totally, utterly pathetic because while he made me a bet, again, hours ago, it’s a done deal already.

I’m.

In.

Love.

“I come back on Thursday,” Tathan tells me, his lips brushing my temple. “And then I’m taking you away for the weekend.” He glances down at Oliver who’s sleeping between us. He’s getting a little big to be doing this, too. “Without the dog.”

I laugh when Oliver growls. He certainly understands more than we give him credit for.

“What’s the matter with having the dog there?”

Tathan gives me that look. The one that says, I’d be fucking you right now if it wasn’t for the dog. He doesn’t dare move him, been there, done that, and he has the bite mark on his arm to prove it.

“He likes you now,” I point out.

“Yeah, right.” He laughs. “Last night he took my shoes and put them in the toilet.

I’d forgotten about that. Maybe they weren’t friends just yet, but they would be. Oliver’s a sucker for a good guy. Or maybe that’s just me.

When Colton fucked me over, I thought, no, I knew I’d never love again. Until Tathan Madsen pushed his way into my life and hot-tub time.

Back when my dad was sick, he said some pretty crazy things at the time. His mind had been going for a while and near the end, he finally made sense. He told me to save the best of my heart for the one who’d love me at my worst. Worst meaning broken by love. Or I assume that’s what the crazy guy meant.

I thought, at the time, he’s losing it, but now. . . now it finally makes some sense. We all need someone to show us despite our breaks, the cracks from being deceived, we’re worth loving again.

Tathan sits up, the crack of his bare ass just barely visible under the sheets. He has an adorable crack. “I should get up. If I’m going to make it to Santa Monica by tonight, I need to get on the road.”

Uneasiness settles in my chest. Suddenly, like any girl falling in love, I’m worried about him. “It’s a six-hour drive.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Maybe if you’re driving.”

“True.” I sit up with him, cradling a sleeping Oliver in my arms like a baby. “Guess it’s going to be a week in the hot tub by myself,” and I say this with such dejection, he actually laughs at me.

He stands, still laughing, and reaches for his shorts on the end of my bed. “This deal is going to be so easy.”

I can’t keep my eyes from traveling south, sliding with ease from his cut stomach to that sharp V of his hips. Lower. . . even lower. Yep. He’s certainly beautiful everywhere. I swallow, snapping my eyes to his, finally. “What are you talking about?”

“You. Me. This.” He pulls his shorts on and searches the floor for his shirt. “It’s going to be easy to get you to fall in love with me.”

I move Oliver so he’s on my pillow and then stand on the other side of my bed. “You’re pretty sure of yourself there, dude.”

He grins when he notices I’m wearing his shirt and steps around the end of the bed, making his way to me. “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

I shrug, trying to do that whole, “I’m cute in your clothes” look but probably failing miserably. “Because I look better in it.”

He’s standing before me now, towering over me with the silly smirk he has when he knows what I’m saying is true. “I have to agree with you. Now kiss me goodbye. I need to shower.”

Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I rise on my tippy toes to kiss him. “Wouldn’t you want to stay here with me all day?”

“I would, but I’m booked out a year. I wasn’t lying when I told Becca that, and I won’t cancel.” He kisses me, long, the kind of kiss you give someone just before leaving. A reminder of your presence long after you’re gone. “You could come with me.”

It’s tempting, it is, but sadly I can’t. “I have to work.”

“Paul would—”

“Nope,” I say, cutting him off. “I got that job myself, and I’m not about to play that card. The one that says I’m fucking the boss man’s son so I should be able to come and go as I please.”

“And that’s why I. . .” He pauses, his smirk turning into a full-fledged grin. “. . .like you.”

Yeah, sure, that’s what he was going to say.

Dropping my hands from his shoulders, I push him back. “Go. Before I tie you to my bed and hold you hostage as my own personal sex slave for the week.”

He laughs, capturing my wrists in his hands and drawing me back to his chest. “Now that sounds a hell of a lot better than shooting a wedding in Santa Monica.”

“It does, but you’re a man of your word so keep it.”

The look he gives me is something similar to appreciation, and adoration. He knows I wouldn’t ask him to give up anything for me, and more importantly, he wouldn’t go back on his word. “I’ll call you when I get there?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” I watch his back muscles as he twists around, heading for the door.

He pauses at my bedroom door. “One more thing. . . .” He turns, glancing over his shoulder.

“Yes?”

You tell me, but doesn’t he look, well, in love? It’s written all over his face and the intensity in his eyes when he stares at me. And then he surprises me and says, “No hot tubbing without me.”

I laugh. “Deal.”

I’ve never liked losing a bet. I once lost a game of poker and cried for an hour. Given, I lost a hundred bucks on that game, but I don’t know anyone who likes losing. When it comes to falling in love—and my fragile heart—I’m even more terrified.

And this is Tathan Madsen we’re talking about. It’s not like falling in love with your average hot guy. He’s famous, attractive, and easy to like. I bet you liked him back when you first met him that morning in the office, didn’t you?

My point is, now that I’m alone, in my apartment and missing him. . . I don’t know how to process what’s happening or how to tell him I’ve lost our deal.

I need Casey. I need a “how to” guide from someone who knows what’s up.