Page 35 of Between the Lines

We shift at the same time, almost colliding before catching ourselves, and then—too quickly—step apart, each going separate directions.

Ever since I built out part of my garage as a gym, Matt’s been training me here at least once a week. Lately, kickboxing has been my torture of choice.

“You got plans this Saturday?” Matt asks as I unwrap my fists, steadying the punching bag.

“No, why, what’s up?” My lungs burn as sweat drips from my jaw.

He smiles at me. It’s mischievous and I already know I’m not going to like what’s about to come out of his mouth.

“Morgan’s birthday is this coming weekend, and we’re throwing a little party. You should come, get out.”

I shoot him a look. “Dude, we just took the sailboat out last weekend.”

Matt raises his brows, fluffing his short brown hair. “Exactly, it’s been a whole week. Normal people do things with their friends on weekends.”

I spent most of last Saturday sailing with Matt and his girlfriend, Morgan, and a friend she brought along. For fun. But I know it was a setup.

“I’m socialed out. And I’m too old for that shit.”

“For what shit?” Matt tosses his wraps in his gym bag and grabs his water, eyeing me.

“Partying. Morgan and her friends are wild. How do you keep up?”

He beams with a laugh. “Come on, they’re a good time.”

I wiped my face with my towel. “Buy the birthday girl a round on me, but I’m going to have to sit this one out.”

“Oh right.” Matt raises his fingers, counting off. “You have surfing, the business, and your expensive bourbon collection to keep you company.”

I snap the towel at his chest like we used to do in the high school locker room.

“Exactly—I’m busy.” I take a swig of water, rightfully dead after that workout.

“Hey, cute housekeeper by the way,” he adds casually, and I cough, choking on my water.

“What are you talking about? Sheryl?”

Sheryl’s been cleaning my house twice a month for three years. She’s also old enough to be my grandmother.

Matt frowns. “No, she was pulling out as I pulled in—younger, red hair in braids, pretty face . . .”

My chest burns—not sure it’s the water causing that though. “Oh.” My neck gets hot. “That’s Fia.”

Matt sits on the workout bench, eyes too bright for my liking. “Fia, as in your manager?” he asks slowly.

I turn the fan up as high as it can go. It’s fucking hot in here. Hotter than it was a few seconds ago. “She is staying in the guesthouse for a few weeks while her house gets repaired.”

Matt, wearing a shit-eating grin, rests his head on his hand. “And?”

“And nothing.” I turn my back to him, folding my sweaty towel carefully, edge to edge.

I’m done with the conversation. I asked her not to tell anyone about this arrangement, and though I knew Matt might eventually find out since we workout together here, I feel like a hypocrite now.

My best friend’s voice is too enthusiastic. “You mentioned that you have a great manager, but you didn’t mention that she was a babe.”

Knitting my brows together, I laugh. “It’s not like that. Fia’s a hard worker. She fell on tough times, and I’m helping her out. It was the right business move.”

Matt slowly gets up, gathering the rest of his stuff. I jam my finger into the button to open the garage door and mosey out into the sunlit driveway.