Why was I sitting in the front seat of Travis’s SUV while Fanny sat in the back?

Good question.

I wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, either. One minute I was waiting outside my apartment for Fanny to arrive. The next she was ushering me into the front seat of the SUV, and officially introducing me to her grandson.

And judging from the surprised expression on Travis’s face when he saw me, he had been just as clueless about me joining them as I had been.

“This is the place,” Fanny said as I was considering if I should ask Travis what he did for a living. Or maybe it was better if I didn’t ask. Maybe he had some super boring job that he hated.

That was the case for the last guy I’d dated. He spent the entire evening explaining in great detail why his job sucked.

Even the waiter had felt bad for me. He’d kept flashing me pitying looks.

Fanny pointed to the brick low-rise building with stores on the lower level. It was a quaint building in a quaint part of San Francisco.

Travis parked the vehicle, then he and I followed Fanny to the front entrance. He and I hadn’t said much to each other the entire trip there. Fanny had been doing all the talking while I was doing my best not to notice how great Travis smelled. I had no idea what soap or aftershave he used, but the woodsy scent definitely worked for him.

“Did you give any more thought to being my fake girlfriend?” he casually asked, voice low.

“It’s still no,” I said, my voice equally low. “And in case you’re wondering, it will be no tomorrow, too.”

“You have a boyfriend?”

“No. But that’s because I haven’t found the right man yet.” Not even close.

“So you’re available?”

“Available to date or available to be your fake girlfriend?”

“Both.”

Why did I have a sudden craving to kiss the cocky smirk off his face?

That was new. Or was it?

I mentally went through the Rolodex of past dates and tried to remember if any had possessed sexy smirks. I came up blank.

Maybe I could add that to the list of requirements for the next guy I went out with.

It couldn’t hurt.

“I’m available to date,” I said as Fanny waved at us then opened the store door. “I’m not available to be your fake girlfriend.” Or even his real girlfriend if he had asked.

And not just because of what happened in high school. His no commitment policy also ruled him out as a potential date.

Inside the empty store, I began imagining how it would look set up like my current location. The space was smaller than Aphrodite’s. And where would I put the sex toys so kids didn’t accidentally find them?

“Hi, I’m Janet Featherbridge,” the woman said. She must be the realtor Fanny had mentioned.

“It’s a nice place,” I said, shaking her hand.

“And a great location. The clientele who come to this shopping area are in the upper-income bracket. What kind of retail store are you looking at setting up?”

“It’s called Aphrodite’s Boutique. It caters to the inner romantic in all of us.”

Behind me, Travis snickered—too soft for Janet and Fanny to hear.

But what did you expect from a guy who no doubt believed jerking off in the shower was the same thing as romance?

An unwanted image popped in my head of Travis standing in the shower, his muscular body glistening with water. His erection proud and ready to pound into me.

I seriously didn’t just moan, did I?

I shook the image from my head and moved away from Travis and his delusion-inducing masculine scent.

But what did I expect? I was no different than someone who had been wandering aimlessly in a desert for several days and had just spotted a lush oasis. It wasn’t Travis I was responding to. It was just a symptom of the dry spell known as my sex life.

“I’m familiar with the store,” Janet said. “I haven’t visited it, but I see the ads for it whenever I check out Dr. Lovejoy’s weekly column. Do you read it?”

I could feel Travis’s gaze directed at me, which was enough to cause my face to heat up. Why did I react that way? I have no idea. I doubt he remembered my last name from the short time we were in the same high school together. He certainly hadn’t stuck around long enough as my project partner to learn it.

Which was a good thing—even if it hadn’t felt that way at the time. It meant he had no idea I was Dr. Lovejoy.

Not that I expected him to bombard me with dating and sex questions even if he did piece things together.

“I’ve read it from time to time,” I said, not willing to admit that I was the one who wrote the column. And since Fanny had set up this meeting, Janet had no idea my last name was the same as the person who wrote it. “How much is the lease for a year?”

“Rent is eighty-seven dollars per square foot a year, and at seventeen hundred square feet”—she glanced at the page in her hand—“that would be just under one hundred and forty-eight thousand dollars per year.”

Ouch. Double what I was currently paying but for a lot less space.

“That’s higher than I’ve budgeted for. And I’ll really need another eight hundred square feet.” Or else I would have to get rid of the fountain.

She considered it for a moment. “All right, I have some other properties that might be more suited to what you’re looking for.”

She gave Travis the address for the next location and got into her BMW.

Travis, Fanny, and I returned to the SUV and followed her.

“Do your parents live in San Francisco?” Fanny asked me.

How was I supposed to answer without explaining my sob story? Sure, if I wished for people to feel sorry for me, then it was an awesome tale to tell.

But I was familiar with Travis’s opinion when it came to foster kids who had been tossed away by their parents. I had experienced that pain in high school when he bailed on being my history project partner. According to his ex-girlfriend, he hadn’t wanted to work with me because I was a foster kid. No point going there again.

Besides, that was over ten years ago. People changed. So far he seemed nice. He didn’t have to help me look for a new location. I mean, sure, Fanny had set this up, but he could have said no and driven away.

“They’re dead,” I said. Simple enough explanation. For all I knew, my parents could have been dead.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Fanny said. “Well, it looks like you and Travis have that in common.”

We do?

Travis didn’t say anything, his attention on the road.

“I’m sorry,” I told him and meant it because I was positive his parents had loved him. He’d lost that and I’d never had it to begin with. It was hard to mourn something you’d never had.

It just made you long to experience it that much more.

“So why are you moving your business?” Travis asked.

I guess Fanny never told him. Bonus—because it also meant he didn’t know about those pseudo-PMS tears.

“My lease is expiring in two months, and the owner isn’t renewing it because he’s turning the building into a condo complex. He feels the store will no longer be suitable for the location once the condo is finished.”

Did I go to the local bar after work the day Old Shriveled Ass told me the news and throw darts at his imaginary picture? I might have. I might have also scored a couple of bull’s-eyes.

“That’s news to me about the renovations,” Travis said.

“Me too. I can’t figure out why the owner wants to change it. The current design fits the area perfectly and it already has apartments.” But I guess since the owner was a man, he was going with the belief that bigger was always better.

Janet turned down a street and a bad feeling rolled through me.

“Well, um, this is an interesting neighborhood,” Fanny said as we took in the low-income area.

Both Travis and I kept quiet as we drove past a cop car, the officer assisting a man into the back seat. Oh, boy.

We still didn’t say anything as we parked on the side street near the building we were going to check out. But really, what was there to say?

Other than I’d be having a menage-á-trois with Cupid himself and his best buddy before I moved my store here.

“Stay right here,” Travis said before climbing out of the SUV. He shut the door, and with his key fob, locked the vehicle.

He walked to Janet’s car as I undid my seat belt and reached for the passenger door.

“You should probably stay put, dear,” Fanny said.

“It’s going to be a little hard to check out the store if I’m still in the vehicle.”

“I know, but Travis told us to stay here…and you can’t tell me you’re honestly considering moving the store here.” She peered out the window again and shuddered.

“No…but—” I didn’t get to finish the sentence. Travis returned to the vehicle, climbed back into the driver’s seat, and turned the ignition.

“Why aren’t we going into the store?” I asked.

He flashed me an are-you-fucking-kidding-me? expression. I was positive he would have verbalized it instead if not for his sweet old grandma in the back. “We’re going to the next place.”

Janet’s brake lights came on and she pulled away from the curb.

And so continued our day of checking out potential retail spaces for Aphrodite’s Boutique. How did it go?

Fifteen locations.

Five were too small.

Seven were too expensive.

Three were in a part of the city that would put me out of business in no time because no one would go there.

The grand total of potential locations?

A big fat pathetic zero.

Now, you’re probably thinking, “Hey, but that’s only fifteen locations. There’s got to be more than that in San Francisco and The Bay Area.”

You would think, right?

Wrong—because based on my needs and my price tag and the fact that I didn’t wish to be shot or attacked, there were no suitable rental properties.

So unless I was willing to compromise, I was up-the-creek-in-a-leaky-canoe screwed.

Screwed—and with a body that thought lusting over Travis was a brilliant idea.

Oh, nuts.

It couldn’t have at least lusted over a guy who actually wanted a girlfriend, now could it?