Though my nerves still rattle inside me, I feel calmer than I thought I would. I was blown away by how amazing the kennels looked in the store.

And Preston. I couldn’t help legit drooling when I saw him, standing there shirtless, sweat dripping down his incredible chest. His scent was masculine and woodsy. But I was even more impressed that he’d been cleaning the kennels himself. I never pictured someone as seemingly rich and successful as him getting his hands dirty.

And I definitely couldn’t help myself from getting wet when he placed Gidget in that dress. Swoon.

As the limo leaves the store, I try to keep my eyes glued outside the window, toward the ocean. After a minute or two I glance over, and he’s checking his phone, a smile on his face.

For the millionth time, I ask myself what I’m doing here. Why did he ask me to go with him? Because I’m a challenge? A small part of me hopes it’s more than that. A part I don’t want to listen to.

But ultimately it doesn’t matter. No matter how hot he is, I can’t get involved with him. I won’t. I won’t. Even if he honors his pledge and turns Doggy Style into an adoption store, I already know we’re too different. He’s outgoing—I’m a hermit. He uses Instagram to promote himself—I use it to save lives. He angles his body toward mine when he sees me looking at him, and I wonder what he’s about to say.

“So, how long have you been a tattoo artist? I looked at your work on Instagram. You’re pretty talented.”

I sigh. I don’t want to open up to him, but we’re about to be trapped in a steel tube for six hours as we fly over the ocean. I can’t avoid speaking to him for that long. So, instead, I vow to be polite, but distant. “Four years. I used to draw all the time when I was younger.” In my foster home.

“That’s cool. Maybe you can give me a new tattoo sometime. I can always use more ink.”

Nope. Not going to happen. He’s trying to find a connection with me. I can’t risk falling for this guy. The thought suddenly crosses my mind that maybe he invited me as some type of joke or bet, like one of those cheesy romantic comedies where his buddy bet him he couldn’t fuck the deranged, tattooed, animal rescuer who was chained to his store. I have to remember I just met him literally two days ago and can’t let my guard down.

“I don’t think so, Preston. Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but I’m not interested. We both know you’re hot. I’m not going to lie and say I’m not attracted to you, but I’m definitely not interested in taking this further. I’m here solely because I need you to stop selling puppies. And I’m grateful that you’re hosting our dogs at your store on opening day, but I’d prefer to keep our interactions professional.”

He smirks. “Fine, professional it is. So tell me, Miss Cordova, what would you like to do on our business trip to the Aloha State?”

I glower at him. I still think he’s playing me if that look on his face is any indication. “As promised, I’ll go with you to the pet expo. I want you to attend the rescue summit as well. And one day when we have time, I’d like to tour the Hawaiian Humane Society with you so you can learn more about animal shelters. I’ll agree to have certain meals with you where I can teach you more about animal rescue. But I’d like my evenings to myself.” I packed a book, The Shark Dialogues by Kiana Davenport. I was assigned it in high school but never bothered to read it. I had always promised myself if I ever made it to Hawai’i I’d read it. It’s supposed to be this incredible, epic family saga about Hawai’i. Maybe I’ll also spend some time sketching.

But most importantly, I just want to relax. To me, that means sleeping in without waking up five times a night to give eye drops to my foster dogs, or turning off my phone and disconnecting completely. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t checking my email constantly to get the daily euthanasia lists from the shelters or answering calls from flaky fosters who, at the last minute, changed their minds and dumped the dogs at my house. I would love to leave the cleaning to someone else for a change instead of scrubbing my apartment daily due to my failed efforts housebreaking a dog who had spent his entire life outside. A week to try to find peace before I go back to my crazy life.

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll see what I can do, though I have tickets to a concert at a club downtown—my buddy is playing there in a few nights. I’d like you to go with me.”

Sounds like a date. “Your buddy? Did you grow up in Hawai’i? Oh wait, you were stationed there, right?” God, I’m such a dork. I’m legit quoting his Wikipedia page. He must think I’m so pathetic.

His lips widen into a smile. “I thought you wanted to keep this professional? Where did you grow up?”

Dammit. He’s right. Those were my words. But I already know he doesn’t want the answer to where I grew up, not that I want to share. Everywhere. Nowhere. “I do want to keep things professional. The club sounds fine.” I hate myself right now. I can’t even pull off the cool, detached vibe. He must know how attracted I am to him. I need to try and be more aloof.

Yet, he seems so calm, so cool. Not remotely annoyed by my hesitation or my rules. Patient. Have I misjudged him? It wouldn’t be the first time I wrote someone off before I got to know them.

The limo pulls up at the airport, and he exits from his side. I grab my purse as I see the limo driver hop out and approach me, but instead, Preston opens my door.

“Thank you,” I offer politely.

He walks toward the back of the limo and hoists my luggage out of the trunk. I attempt to take my bag from him, but he resists. “I got it.”

Ugh. I’m doomed.

“No. I’ll carry it myself.” I snatch it from him.

But if I thought his chivalrousness would be the most awkward part of this trip, I soon learn I’m dead wrong. A few steps into the terminal and a bright light goes off, blinding me.

What the hell?

A sexy blonde reporter in a miniskirt shoves a microphone in Preston’s face. “Preston! Preston, is this your new girlfriend?”

Preston puts his arm around me, and I don’t push it away as I blink rapidly, trying to regain my vision. I even melt a little in his firm grip. He draws me close and whispers into my ear.

“Don’t say anything. Just keep your head down and keep walking. They can’t harass us once we pass security.”

I nod, place my sunglasses over my eyes, and, for once, do as I’m told.

But the lights don’t stop flashing. And the questions just keep coming.

A man facing us but walking backward keeps taking pictures. “What’s your name, honey? Are you a porn star?”

What the hell? Do I look like a fucking porn star? Is this the shit that Preston has to deal with daily?

I’m about to open my big mouth to tell him off when Preston drops his bag and lunges at the guy. Preston grabs the pap by the shirt and slams him against the wall. “You’re way out of line, buddy. Apologize to her now, or I’ll knock your teeth out.”

Whoa. My heart races. I’m so turned on right now. No one has ever stood up for me. Ever. My ex actually called animal control on me after we broke up.

I dash over to them. “Preston, stop. I’m okay. He’s not worth it. Let’s go.”

The weaselly man squeaks, “Listen to your girlfriend, man, let me go. I won’t press charges if you let me get a good shot.”

“Not a chance, dude.” Preston releases him, and the guy slumps to the floor, rubbing at his throat.

Dammit. I don’t want Preston to get arrested over me. “Let’s just let him get his shot,” I suggest, laying my hand on Preston’s arm.

Preston’s head tilts toward me, and my lips ache, wanting to be kissed. I finally pull away from him and smile for the picture.

The paparazzo doesn’t hesitate to start snapping photos.

“Kiss her.”

Yes! Kiss me.

Oh, wait. I had just decided in the limo that I didn’t want to date Preston. But maybe I should listen to Avril. I don’t have to marry Preston. What harm could a little kissing do?

Preston gazes into my eyes hesitantly. I appreciate his respect, but I want to be kissed. I tilt my head toward him, close my eyes, internally squeal with delight as Preston’s lips cover mine. I can feel his thumb on my chin as he slowly probes my mouth with his tongue. He tastes minty and sweet, like a mojito. He finally pulls away, and I open my eyes and see him grinning at me.

I’m so pathetic. We’re not even in Hawai’i yet. I couldn’t even resist him in a nasty airport terminal.

The photographer finally stops snapping. Preston and I turn away, and I grab my bag. Preston gathers his before putting his arm around me again and leading me to security.

“Sorry about that.”

I shake my head, not sure if he meant the kiss or the paparazzo. “Don’t apologize. Wasn’t your fault at all. What a jerk. Do you deal with this every day?” It never occurred to me what kind of hell it must be to live like that.

“Yeah. I mean, I was used to it when I was dating Kira, and it never really bothered me. She liked it, would stop and pose. The paps loved her. I was just trying to be supportive of her. I was new to LA and this whole scene.” He pauses, and his brow furrows. “But once she posted that video, the attention went to a whole new level. I’m just kind of over it, you know?”

“Not really. Nothing like that has ever happened to me. I mean, I spend so much time begging on social media for pledges, foster homes, and transporters, that I’ve always wanted more exposure. But now I see how invasive it is.”

“Yeah. I wonder if I’ll ever get back to being anonymous.”

He flashes his ID, and then his phone with his boarding pass on it to the TSA guard. I turn my head and notice a few girls in line behind us taking our picture.

Wow.

Before I met him, I’ve assumed that he had no problems in the world—that he was some cocky, rich jerk who thinks he can buy people like me.

But now I have a glimpse into the dark side of his reality. And for the first time since he asked me to go to Hawai’i, I understand why he might be genuinely interested in me. Not just because he’s attracted to me or because I’m a challenge, although I’m sure there are elements of both in there. But because when he met me the other night, he saw a girl who clearly didn’t care about her appearance. A girl who has no desire to live in the limelight he’s tired of. I was wearing dirty jeans and a ratty shirt covered with dog hair. My only care in the world was saving the dogs.

“Miss, your ID, please.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Spaced out there for a second.”

I hand my ID and boarding pass to the TSA agent. I then proceed to remove my flip-flops and dump the necessary items into the gray plastic bins. I haven’t flown before, but I’ve heard horror stories from people about being forced to throw away expensive items, not that I have any, at security, so I made sure to read the rules for going through the TSA checkpoint after telling Preston I’d go with him to the pet expo.

Preston is a few steps ahead of me, and I do everything within my power not to stare at his incredible ass. But another part of his body catches my attention—his eyes. I notice he’s checking out every single person in the baggage area. Not creepily, more like he’s assessing them. For what, I don’t have a clue.

Maybe it’s some old habit that’s hard to break.

He catches my gaze and winks at me. I can’t help but melt.

God, I’m so weak.

“You ready?”

“Yup.”

He insists on carrying my bag up the escalator, and this time, instead of fighting him, I hand him my suitcase without hesitation.