Page 58 of The Knockout Rule

Yeah, no problemo. That wouldn’t be impossible to find.

She stopped at her door and punched her brotherly date in the shoulder. “That was fun, and you didn’t have to walk me to my door.”

“It’s the gentlemanly thing to do. And it was fun. Especially since I left the night with digits. But I feel like I’ve failed you.”

“If you make another daiquiri crack, I’m hightailing it back downstairs to tell blondie you still wet the bed.”

He rolled his eyes and swatted at the air. “Drink whatever gross drinks you want. I mean the digits. I failed you on our quid pro quo. It’s not fair that I met someone tonight, and you didn’t. We need to find you a date. Someone who knows poetry.”

She didn’t mean to look at Eric’s door. It was just down the hall, and Preston saying quid pro quo made her think of Eric’s Latin learnings and the heart-melting kiss they’d shared. She immediately focused on the carpet, found the swirling gray pattern captivating. “Nope. No need. I’m good. I’ve got my dating app.”

“Isla.”

“So, I’ll see you soon. Tomorrow, maybe? Or whenever. This was super fun.” Yep, that carpet was fascinating.

Preston grabbed her arm before she could get her keycard from her purse. “You like Eric.”

“What? No.” Her laugh sounded brittle. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He closed his eyes and muttered, “Holy shit. I’m such an idiot.”

“You won’t hear me arguing, and I’m turning in.”

He didn’t release her arm. “I’m an idiot because I didn’t see what was right in front of my face.” Concern replaced the cocky glint in his eyes. “You like Eric.”

She wanted to keep lying, pull out of Preston’s grasp. Pretend he didn’t know what he thought he knew. But he totally knew what he thought he knew and she was a crappy liar. “Fine, I like him. But I can’t date him.”

“Because you hate boxing.”

“Bingo, again. You’re quick tonight.”

He rubbed his brow and shook his head. “Yeah, well, not quick enough.” He focused on her again, those concerned eyes now calculating. “There were some things you liked about me, right? On our dates? The flowers and restaurant and the romantic poems?”

“News flash: I’m not into you, money bags.” And this night was going from odd to odder.

“I don’t want to kiss you either, feisty. Just answer the question.”

“Fine. Yes. Those things were actually fantastic, but the chemistry was—”

“Lacking. Yeah, I know. Which is why we need to have a serious talk.”

He really was like an annoying big brother. She liked it, kind of, and laughed at his antics, unsure what the heck he was getting at.

* * *

Needing more ice for his shoulder, Eric pulled his hotel door open, only to be faced with the last thing he wanted to see: Preston and Isla ending their date. He’d shut that stupid video down after he almost slipped and said something he shouldn’t. He certainly didn’t want to spy on them now. They were talking close, with Preston’s hand on her arm. They spoke too low for him to hear their words, but the touch looked so intimate his stomach bottomed out. Dropped to his goddamn feet.

He kept out of sight but couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Isla looked up at Preston and laughed, sweet and happy, then she opened her door and tipped her head, inviting him into her room. Preston followed. The door clicked shut behind them.

Eric slammed the flat of his hand into the door jamb.

He was right earlier. Nothing in his life was in his goddamn control, except this one thing: keeping away from Isla so she stayed happy and safe. And he had to live with the fallout. Accept Preston and her as a couple. Deal with seeing them together, flirty and affectionate. This was more than a sacrifice, though. This was some sick form of torture.

He’d go for another exhausting run tonight, a hard swim maybe. Try to burn that image of Preston following Isla into her room out of his head. Tire himself out so ruthlessly, dreams wouldn’t breach his sleep.

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