IT WAS EARLY when we headed to my place. Too early to toss some sheets his way when we got back and head to my room. I considered using work as an excuse, but I didn't want him wandering around my place—no matter how cozy it was—without me. I ran through the options of what we could do once we got back. And, with only four blocks to go, I was running out of time to make a plan.

“Board games or movie?” I mean, what else was I going to do with him?

Yeah. Right.

He caught my eye, glancing down at me, and I realized how incredibly stupid almost every woman in America—and probably a good number outside—would consider that thought.

“When you say movie, I hear The Notebook.”

“Oh good! I was hoping you'd pick The Notebook.” I watched his eyes widen in horror. It was kind of cute.

“So, one of your favorites, huh?” He stared straight ahead, just up and over my head, a very neutral look on his face. The creases around his eyes tightened and I wondered just how far those good manners would carry him.

“Yep,” I lied. “I'm really excited to see it now. We should stop and get ice cream to enjoy with it. Or are you a popcorn-movie-combo person?”

“Nope. I'm good with ice cream. But it better be chocolate or we're not sharing.”

A man after my own heart. We ran into a store and then headed back to my place, my hand wrapped in his free, larger one.

I was starting to get used to the touching. After watching him at the restaurant I realized it wasn't just part of the act—it was Connor. He reached out to people around him, not only with his words, but physically as well. With women, it was almost “instinctual.” There was a female standing next to him so he should touch her.

All the way back to the apartment I babbled about the movie. How romantic it was. How sweet it was. How hot Ryan Gosling was.

Okay, so that last one was right on, but other than that I was kind of eh about the whole thing. Connor just nodded along, tuning me out.

I realized, as I worked to carry on my false movie love, that Connor was fun. He was more laid-back than I’d expected, dinner had been interesting and low stress once we’d decided to be friends, and he was easy to be around. I wasn’t even worried about hanging out watching a movie. It would just be chill.

At the front door, we ran into Mike from 12B. You'd think he'd never seen a pro-athlete before. The stuttering was almost cute.

Especially since at a block party that summer he'd gotten drunk and told me he wouldn't date me because I just didn't hit his level, but if I’d get my act together and get a real job, maybe I’d find a boyfriend.

This would have been odd—not to mention embarrassing enough—but I hadn't asked him out. Or even been interested in asking him out. I'd been sitting on a lawn chair chatting with a group of people when he just blurted it out.

For the next week I kept expecting him to sober up and come apologize.

That didn’t happen. Whenever I ran into him, he gave me the evil eye. When I'd had enough, I went to his roommate to ask if I'd said something to offend him or remembered the situation wrong. Or maybe the guy just didn’t like writers.

Answer: Nope.

So, when he saw Connor Ryan holding my hand and his jaw almost dislocated itself, I had a tinge of ha-ha-ha. Okay, more than a tinge.

“Hey, Hailey. Hi.”

“Hey, Mike.” I was kind of surprised to have to stop since this was the first time he’d talked to me since then. “How’s it going?”

I'd like to say I hid my smug smile well, but the dislocated-jaw-staring-at-Connor thing was still going on.

Connor went to drop my hand so he could offer it to 12B Mike to shake, but I held tight.

“Connor, this is 12B Mike. That guy I was telling you about the other night.”

It was finally my turn to get something out of this. I'd just become an evil genius and there was no slowing me down. This might be even better than the new wardrobe. Not by much, but it was a close call.

“You remember?” I went on, hoping Connor would pick up the thread. “The one who announced out of the blue at a party that he'd never date me and that maybe I should get myself a real job that would pay me instead of letting the state pay my rent.”

Connor had been trying to pull free of my grip, but as soon as the words registered, he stopped and gave my hand a squeeze.

“Oh, yeah.” He gave Mike a look like he was trying to figure out what was so great about him and then kind of shook his head. “His loss is my gain, right? Well, nice meeting you, man.”

He gave me a little tug and pulled me through the door 12B Mike still held open and hurried us toward the stairs.

As soon as I heard the front door fall shut, I almost hugged him.

“That was the best thing ever. Ever-ever.”

“What a—well, words I’m too polite to say in front of you.”

“No, go ahead. You can say them.” I bounced on my toes, too pumped up from finally getting something fun out of this. “But only in regards to 12B Mike.”

“I think you underestimate the crass level of a dugout.”

This was probably true. But, it was nice to know that 12B Mike rated Dugout Level Bad Words.

Once we got to my place, I stowed the ice cream and then turned, trying to figure out how we were going to occasionally co-exist in my small space. It wasn't just that it was Connor—which, don't get me wrong, was a huge part of it—but my space wasn’t that big. I mean, my office was in a closet.

He'd joked about cozy, but even with my last boyfriend it had felt a bit crowded. And I'd wanted him there.

“I'm going to put on something more comfortable. And when I say that, I mean those yoga pants you love so much.”

Connor just shook his head at me and grinned as I headed to my room.

I changed as quickly as possible, trying to get back to the living room before he started doing things like going through my DVDs and books or checking out pictures of my friends.

But, when I opened the door Connor was nowhere to be found.

“Connor?”

Behind me, the bathroom door opened and he came out, his little bag in hand, in a pair of long mesh shorts and a Just Do It t-shirt on. I guess I wasn't the only one getting more comfortable.

It was a little sad how not trying to impress each other we both were. My gaze skittered across the t-shirt stretched tight across his shoulders and the shorts caught on his hipbones. If this was his “not impressive” no wonder women threw themselves at him.

“I thought I'd change now too.” He purposefully walked to my bedroom and dropped the bag on the floor just inside the door.

I watched him come out, a little smirk playing around his lips. No matter how great it was to use him as a weapon for good against 12B Mike, he still wasn't sleeping with me in my bed.

“You know, there's nothing in the world that says you need to sleep in the same room with that bag. It’s more than welcome to stay where it is.”

“Hailey, seriously.” His sigh was B-movie star worthy. “We're adults. There's absolutely nothing wrong with us sharing your bed.”

“I'm sorry you're so confused about this, but I don't casually sleep with men. I know that makes one of us, but—”

“Two. That definitely makes two of us.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Fine, I don't casually share my bed with anyone indiscriminately—even just to sleep. There are some lines I don't want to cross. You wanted to stay here so it helps the story and makes you look like Mr. Good Relationship Guy. That's fine. But you stay on the couch.”

I couldn't tell if he was annoyed or trying to come up with another argument to wear me down. I was getting a real glimpse of him. One meal and I was ready to cave. Not being able to read a simple facial expression was a huge red flag.

WARNING: Back the heck up.

“Okay. I get it.” He crossed his arms as if he were the one being put out. “I'll sleep on the couch.”

Note #1: He agreed.

Note #2: He did not go get his bag.

I stood there waiting, watching him. He settled onto the couch, moving pillows around so he could make himself as at home as possible. He flicked the light next to the couch off and then turned back to look at me.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Are we going to watch that movie or not?”

I swear he did things just to keep me off balance. He was good at that too. And the whole charm thing. And the impressive manners. Not to mention his ability to lead conversations with fans seamlessly.

It's almost a shame he didn't have to fall back on that business degree. It would have been interesting to see how he might have earned his first million.

He was kind of fascinating as a character. Diverse and a surprise at every turn.

I should have been taking notes. It dawned on me a guy like this—maybe not the Connor he was in high school, but the Connor he was now—would make an excellent match for one of my heroines. She was feisty, smart, and independent. She hated to be told what to do and I had a feeling even just being handled would drive her nuts.

She'd see through his handling skills right away for what they were. She wouldn't be fooled that she was getting her own way or that—

Wait a second.

“You really are sleeping on the couch.”

“I know.”

“I'm not kidding.”

“Yeah.” He looked at me like I might have lost my mind. Of course, I might have. “I got that.”

I crossed my arms. He was looking way too comfy in my apartment. He looked way too comfortable everywhere, but when the space he was claiming was mine, I wasn't quite as happy about it.

As a character trait, that smooth charm would fit perfectly against my new heroine, Marley. That was the key to my high school, high drama—No one ever fits with. They always fit against. Against shared a wall, had a starting point, but didn't match up. It left lots of room for working things out while falling in love.

Marley was a bit of a control freak. She didn't like the idea of anyone else telling her what to do, when to do it, or how it should be done. The idea that a guy could swoop in and make her shift her plans around with a smile and some charm would just about kill her.

And, I could use this as research without breaking our agreement. He’d even said I could ask him about his world. “Connor, if a woman didn't give you your way and you absolutely had to have it, what would you do?”

“Is this still about the bed?” He glared at me from where he reclined, graceful yet alert.

That expression I recognized. It was pure suspicion.

“No.” I couldn’t help it if he didn't believe me.

“Is it something important?” he asked.

“Let's say, no. It's not something important. Just something you want.” Like the bed.

“Then, I'd try cajoling a bit. Bring my flirt out. If I got the idea it was important to her, I'd let her win.”

Let her win. I made a note of that. It was important in Tucker's viewpoint. He was letting her win. He wasn't letting it go or any other expression. It was about winning. Tucker likes to win. Even when he lets Marley win, he's winning because he chooses to let her win so he didn't really lose.

“What are you writing down?”

“Nothing.” I made a final note and then asked. “What if it was something important?”

“What is this nothing you're doing?”

Connor started to get up and I waved him down again. I didn't like people looking over my shoulder when I was working.

“So, let's say it’s something important and the girl—I mean, the woman—you're dealing with is the one who's stopping you from getting what you want, then what do you do?”

“I guess I'd just ask. Explain to her what I want and expect once she saw my side, she'd understand and give it to me.”

Hmmmm...Interesting. Tucker doesn't comprehend that sometimes getting his way isn't possible. To him, Marley must not understand the situation if she won't let him win.

This was going to be good. These two were going to chew each other up pretty good before they started falling for each other. Maybe this setup wasn’t such a bad deal on my end. Research is your friend. It wasn’t like Tucker was Connor. They were really different except in a few personality ways. Connor was just a resource, not an inspiration.

Maybe I needed more guys in my life just to get the details of the inner-workings from them.

“Hailey.” Connor was off the couch, stretching his arms over his heads, his t-shirt riding up to show a ridiculously flat stomach that had me thinking of Ryan Gosling again. Thank goodness that boy made more movies than just The Notebook or my TV would be living with the mute button on.

I slammed the new binder shut before he could get a look.

“I'm good. Ready for ice cream?” I shelved the binder with the bazillion others. Target had been having a sale on the left over school supplies. Binders were down to twenty-seven cents and I couldn't help myself. Although I was working hard at avoiding the one with the dancing bears on it.

They kind of freaked me out.

Connor stayed where he was, half-stretched out on my sofa eyeing me.

“What were you doing?” His glance strayed toward the robot binder leaving me with no doubt what he was asking.

“Oh. Brain flash. I get them sometimes for a story.”

“And that had to do with how I'd get my way...how?”

This was going to be sticky. People didn't always like being the inspiration for a character. Even if the character was the hero. People never saw what you expected them to.

And the truth was I'd never stolen a person—maybe a character trait, but not a whole person. But by the time I wrote the story, the person had disappeared and left a new, true-to-himself character behind.

Instead of trying to explain, I just answered the short, honest answer. “It's always good to have a guy's perspective.”

Speaking of which...

“Do you always approach the most attractive woman in the room first?”

“What?”

I was a little surprised at his disbelief.

“When you're somewhere and you're picking up a woman, do you always zero in on the most attractive woman first?”

“Why would I hit on a woman I didn't find attractive?”

“That's not what I'm asking. There's a difference between who you're attracted to and who you know is the most attractive person in the room.” I knew I was going to have to explain. “You see, I know Brad Pitt is attractive. Millions of women—and men—can't be wrong. I've even seen those studies on facial balance and blah, blah, blah. But, personally, I don't find him attractive.”

“No?” Less disbelief, more confusion.

I shook my head.

“So, if Brad Pitt walked in here and he wanted to sleep in your bed, you'd say no?”

“Beyond the fact that I'm pretty sure Angelina Jolie could kick my butt while wearing six-inch heels and holding an orphan? Yes, I'd say no.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Also, he may be Brad Pitt, but, like I said, I don't find him hot.” I didn't think this was such a hard thing to grasp. “It's like art.”

“This I've gotta hear.” Connor stretched back out, crossing his hands behind his head.

“Well, I know Picasso made amazing art. It's technically provable. It's also anecdotally provable. I look at it and appreciate it for what it is. I even understand it's beautifully done. But, me? None of his works really move me. No matter what I know about them. Some people like modern art, some like pre-Raphaelite. Etcetera.”

“And this ties back to me hitting on women how?”

“I'm curious if how you hit on women is personal or if it's more about social leveling.”

“I thought we were just going to eat ice cream and watch a movie.”

If he was begging to watch The Notebook, I had to have been hitting a nerve.

“I have this theory—”

“Oh geez.”

“It's a pretty good theory.” I sat back down at my desk chair and swiveled around to face him. “See, everyone who looks at you—even guys—are going to realize you're good-looking. It's not that guys are attracted to you. Well, you know, straight guys. But any guy can look at you and say, Yeah. That Connor Ryan, he's a good-looking guy.”

“You think I'm good-looking?” He was getting all smirky-smirk and missing the point.

“Yes. Just about everyone in the western hemisphere would think you're good-looking. The point is, not everyone would be attracted to you.”

“So, wait. You're not attracted to me?” He sat up a bit straighter, obviously trying to figure out how this could possibly true.

I found it amazing that this seemed to bother him.

“Do you need everyone to be attracted to you?”

“No.” He shifted, looking more uncomfortable than when he'd suggested we just watch the movie. “Just the women.”

I should have seen that coming. What was surprising was that he flourished in an all-male profession.

“But that's not how it works. It never is. Tastes aren't universal. Even as people look at you—er, Brad Pitt—and know he's good-looking, that doesn't mean they find him attractive. We all have types. If we didn't then only absurdly good-looking people would find someone and the rest of us would live sad, lonely lives.”

He gave me a look.

The look said he doubted that we—the mere mortals of the world—didn't actually live sad, lonely lives.

“I have to bring my A-game every time we go out for this to be acceptable to you. The girls you're used to can bring their I-Didn't-Bother-To-Brush-My-Hair game and still look amazing. And yet, this may surprise you, but I'm not exactly dateless.”

“I didn't say you were dateless. I—”

I waved a hand between us. “I get it. I'm not dateless. You just wouldn’t personally date me.” Connor was too nice about everything except who he was going to date.

And, hey, I wouldn’t date someone I didn’t want to either.

Well, this fauxmance was the exception.

Anyway, moving on.

“But,” I continued. “That’s the point. I get asked out enough. I get asked out by guys I think are attractive who aren't anywhere near as good-looking as you. So, I think it's the hardwiring.”

“It's not that you're ugly—”

“Seriously, Connor. Stop while you're almost-kinda-not-really ahead.”

“No. I mean…that wasn't what I meant when you came in that day.”

I stood and headed toward the kitchen. “Honestly, I'm not doing this backtracking with you. Let's just leave it at I'm-not-in-your-hard-wiring and let it go.”

I didn't need to deal with him trying to convince me of something he couldn't convince himself of.

And the dating thing was true. I was picky about who I dated. Writing was more than a full-time job. When a writer’s on deadline, she has zero time. A lot of guys didn’t get that. A lot of girlfriends didn’t get that. So, I kept my circle of friends to people who did. I went on dates after I'd turned a book. By the time another deadline rolled around, I either knew if I wanted to keep the guy around or not. And vice versa.

I scooped out ice cream, filling his bowl with twice as much. After watching how he ate, I was pretty sure he wasn't one of those people to count calories. Unless he was counting to make sure he was getting enough of them.

Putting two smaller scoops in my bowl, I grabbed some spoons and headed back to the living room—all of seven feet away.

He was already digging into his ice cream by the time I settled on the other side of the couch and hit Play.

The previews rolled and then the menu popped up and he turned toward me.

“Terminator?”

“Yeah. I kind of love action movies. My best friend and I live on them a little.”

“Nice.” He reached across me and turned off the other light as the movie started. “But, you’re a cruel tease of a woman, Hailey Tate.”

It was a 108 minutes of perfection. Ice cream, action flick, and a night to just stay in and veg. It almost made up for dealing with the guy taking up half the pillows and the majority of the couch.

When Terminator ended, it was still early, so I slipped T2 in and watched as Connor grinned to himself.

The familiar scenes flashed by, lulling me into a chance to consider my day and figure out how I was going to get through the next month.

It was bad enough I was going to have to deal with book release stuff, but knowing there'd be the added bonus of dealing with the attention the bet would bring wasn't gearing me up for excitement.

I must have dozed off, because suddenly the static menu of T2 was on the screen with the theme rolling on repeat. My feet were cozy-warm tucked under Connor's thighs as he sprawled at the far end, both arms wrapped around a pillow, his head thrown back against the sofa.

I eased my feet out from under him and padded to the hall closet while trying to figure out if I should wake him up. The angle of his head was going to leave a horrible crick in his neck, but it also meant no more arguing about who slept where.

I guess I was a nicer person than I thought, because I opted to wake him up.

“Connor.” I gave him a little shake. “Connor.”

One of those overly built arms let go of the pillow and pulled me down, tucking me against his solid frame.

Yeah. No.

I slapped his shoulder. “Connor, wake up.”

He did that little snuffle thing people do when they don't want to wake up. But, when he glanced down at me, he looked confused. Like he had no idea where he was or who I was.

Who knows how many times he'd been through that.

The arm crossing my waist loosened, letting me pull away.

“What, Hailey?”

Or he did know.

“We fell asleep. I brought you some sheets and a blanket for the couch.”

I dropped them next to him and started toward my room. “You can have one of my pillows tonight. But if this is going to be a regular thing, you're going to need to bring one over.”

I grabbed my second pillow, the one I usually slept cuddled up against, and brought it back to the living room...where there was a half-naked pro-athlete leaning over my couch tucking a sheet into the cushions.

And, while I knew he wasn't the kind of guy I'd ever date, the sight of his black boxer brief clad rear end was a little swoon inducing.

“What are you doing?”

He straightened and glanced over his shoulder. “Making my bed.”

Yeah, still not happy about that.

“No. I mean, where are your clothes?”

“I can't sleep in my clothes. What will I work out in tomorrow? I have three hours of swinging a bat in the afternoon. I’m not wearing slept in clothes to do that.”

“You can't walk around my apartment naked.”

“Sweetheart, this ain't naked.” He crossed his arms across an overtly impressive chest. “This is me politely not sleeping naked. Which is how I usually sleep.”

“It's how you usually sleep at home or with your girlfriend.”

“Who is currently you. But, here I am, sleeping on a couch, in my boxers and not doing any of the other things I could be doing with my girlfriend.”

I threw the pillow at his head and growled when he caught it.

I would have if he hadn't too—I mean, he's paid to catch things. With that, I headed back to my room where there was a perfectly good bed, and fell into it.

And I didn't feel the least bit guilty.