Real Fake Love (Copper Valley Fireballs #2)(23)

This is exactly what I want from him. Solid proof that love is the most awful thing in the world and I don’t need it. Real, constant exposure to someone that I could never love and who will never ask me to marry him.

It feels like donkey poop.

Dogzilla sighs in my lap, uses one little paw to lazily knead my thigh twice before giving it up to play the role of a blanket again, and I wish she was a shape-shifter so she could change into a human and be my sister.

“Was Nonna mean to you?” Luca asks gruffly.

“She doesn’t believe I’m dating you for anything other than your money, but it’s okay. I know you’re indebted to loan sharks or something, or possibly that you snort it all up your nose, so you don’t have to worry about me looking for what’s not there.”

“What?”

“That’s why you live in that house and drive that car, right? Because you don’t have any money? What other explanation is there?”

More nose-breathing.

Loud nose-breathing.

And no, I don’t believe he’s on drugs. First of all, he’s wound way too tight, and second of all, there’s testing in professional sports. If he was snorting away all his cash, he would’ve been kicked out long before now.

But you know what?

I like aggravating him.

Your other left, Henri. You’re an idiot.

Yeah.

I’m absolutely going to torture him.

That’ll probably sell this fake relationship thing better to his nonna anyway. What’s she going to believe more, that he tolerates me because we’re in a real relationship where we snip at each other, or Luca, who clearly doesn’t believe in love, suddenly turning into a sap who calls me honeypie?

Also, the writer in me is desperately curious to know the story of why a guy who’s raking in twenty million a year between his various revenue streams is living in a two-bedroom, one-bathroom house with a possessed oven, bad plumbing, and a non-existent air conditioner.

Seriously.

The house doesn’t have one.

It did at one point, because there’s connections on the outside for that box thingie part of the air conditioning unit that goes outside, with the fan?

That thing.

There are definitely connections for it. But no unit. Which means I couldn’t even call a repair person, because there’s nothing to repair.

I’d wonder if he was the type of guy who likes to do renovations, but with his kind of cash, surely he could afford to buy a nicer fixer-upper.

Like one that already had air conditioning and didn’t need that plumber who stopped by as I was researching plumbers this morning to fix the broken kitchen faucet.

For the record, I’m not complaining about having a roof over my head. But I am saying that if I were the one paying rent—which I can afford, once I decide if I want to go back to the Chicago area or pick some random place I’ve never lived—I’d pick a place with AC.

“You’re going to meet a few of my teammates,” he says like I didn’t just ask him if he does drugs. “Cooper Rock will hit on you. Don’t flirt back. And do not fall in love with him. He would absolutely leave you at the aisle.”

“Altar.”

“Have you ever made it to the altar?”

And now my face is twitching. “Once. Fine. I cede your point. Though, at least twice, we didn’t even get to the aisle, and I’m going to pretend I didn’t say that, because it also doesn’t disprove your point.”

“Max Cole pitched tonight. He’ll probably hit on you too, since we won. And also because he can be a dick and will think it’s funny. Francisco Lopez would marry you for that cat, so you’re not allowed to talk to him. But the person you need to worry about is Mackenzie Montana. She’s Brooks Elliott’s fiancée, and she’s more superstitious than every baseball player in the world combined. She knows about Nonna’s Eye, and she’s going to help me combat it, but only if she’s convinced I’m not going to be a dick to you.”

“Charm Mackenzie. Got it.”

He eyeballs me.

Grimaces again. “Can you at least take the towel off?”

“Yes, but if you thought my hair was crazy before…”

And now he’s muttering.

“So I can bring Dogzilla in? She loves a good party.”

We turn into a parking garage—the usual way this time—and Luca pulls my SUV into a parking spot, then turns to me. “We’ve been dating for one week.”

“One week.” I nod emphatically. It’s good to have our stories straight.

“My Nonna put The Eye on me.”

“Yes, I was there.”

“This is what I’m telling people. Be quiet and listen.”

I zip my lips and throw away the key.

Wow. I have never seen a guy whose entire face can twitch like that. An eyelid, yes. A tick in a jaw? Yep. Even a tick in a nostril or two. But never the entire face like that.

He starts talking again, which is impressive, because he looks like maybe he’s come down with a sudden case of lockjaw. “We’re dating unexpectedly because I’m weirdly attracted to you and you need someone to watch over you, and I’m nervous that I’m your rebound guy, but you’re too sweet and funny to resist, so even though I know I’m probably going to get my heart broken, I’m fully committed to this.”