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“For example, I started taking this pole dancing class, and when I walked in, she was there.”

“And you just happened to run into her at her private residence too?”

“Can we go back to the pole dancing thing?” Thor interrupts.

Logan waves him off. “Now I’m curious. What exactly are you doing?”

I clear my throat. “I may have found a hidden corridor between her apartment and the other apartments in her building . . . allegedly.”

“There it is.” Thor chuckles.

Logan nods. “He’s hiding in her fucking walls.”

“I was there first! She’s the one that showed up after.”

“Because she lives there!” Logan and Thor shout in unison, trying to hold back laughter.

“It’s ethical surveillance,” I explain, grabbing a set of table legs from the truck bed and passing them off to the side to get to the remaining wooden slabs. “I’m safeguarding it; somebody has to make sure there aren’t any creeps that can get in there.”

The corner of Thor’s mouth tips up. “You mean, like, you?”

“My intentions are pure,” I argue. “I’m committed to her safety.”

“You should be committed to the state,” Logan adds.

“She never said I couldn’t be in her walls,” I retort, handing off the board to the guys. I pick up a few sets of wooden table legs and hop out of the truck bed. The plan is to assemble the tables once we’ve finished setting all the tabletops in place. “I mean, if it was really that important to her, she’d be proactive and tell me.”

Logan sighs. “You’re going to hell on a full ride, huh?”

Thor furrows his brow. “Isn’t it cramped behind her wall?”

“Oh, come on. It’s Casper.” Logan scoffs. “He’s having enrichment time in his enclosure.”

“Guess what? We both keep our houses at the same temperature!” I announce with a bit of amusement. For as opposite Anna and I are, when it comes to our thermostats, we’re quite compatible.

As friends, of course.

Yes, my defense is bullshit, and I’m twisting things to justify my actions, but at the very core of my interest in Anna, my only goal is to make sure she’s not in any direct danger . . . and if I can make her come out of that shell, even better.

She’s trying—she gained the courage to have me tattoo over her scars, but there’s so much more I could do to positively impact a woman who’s gone through hell and is fighting her way back. It’s obvious she’s on a journey to rebuild herself, something I recognize. She told her therapist she needs more in life, and if there’s one thing I excel at—outside of tattooing and surveillance—it’s living life to the fullest.

In the yard, they set the wood on the ground, then turn to face me; both of them have their arms crossed over their chests, and their disapproving expressions match too. I stuff my hands in my pockets.

“You seriously think it’s a good idea?” Logan asks.

I laugh. “Glass houses, man. Do you really want to go there while we’re setting up for your wedding?”

He rolls his eyes.

“He’s got a point,” Thor says. “Besides, nothing is going to stop him now that he’s started. She’s chum to a shark.”

With my hands stuffed in my pockets, I scuff a dress shoe against the stone porch of the old Tudor mansion. My gaze previously clocked the security camera in the corner, so I keep my head down while I wait for her to come outside. I huff out a small chuckle; after being here so many times, it feels strange to go to the front door. My nerves are heightened, which is rare for me. Probably because I’m dressed in a suit and overly exposed.

My head snaps up when the door unlatches and I’m caught off guard when she walks out the door and a smile overtakes my face. Well, shit. The color of her dress matches her hair perfectly. The soft pink curls in her hair make my fingers twitch. The way she’s styled it brings to mind old Hollywood starlets. The Duchess nickname thing was just a silly moniker, but today she’s looking the part. I’ve seen her creamy bare thighs a few times now, mostly at the dance studio, but seeing them peek out of the sweet sundress has me wanting to mark them with tattoos.

“You clean up nice,” she says, snatching me from my thoughts.

I blink a few times, suddenly realizing I’ve been silent this whole time. “Likewise. I might have to keep you around.” My palm finds the back of my neck and I gesture toward my black 1972 Cutlass with the other.