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Her eyebrows rose. “Seriously?”

I gestured toward Mikayla. “Brooke, this is my girlfriend, Mikayla.”

Brooke looked surprised. Then interested. Then disappointed. All in under two seconds.

Mikayla smiled. Again, perfectly pleasant. Again, terrifying.

“Nice to meet you,” she said.

Brooke chatted for another minute before heading off.

The second she was gone, Mikayla took a very aggressive bite of funnel cake.

I watched her. “You okay?”

“Wonderful.”

“You sure?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“No reason.”

She took another bite. I noticed a tiny muscle jumping near her eye.

Oh, wow. Oh, this was good. This was very, very good.

Mikayla Parsons was jealous. Of me. Well, not of me. Because of me.

The realization made me happier than it had any right to.

I'd spent most of my adult life enjoying attention. Women flirted. I flirted back. It was easy. Harmless. Fun.

But standing there beside Mikayla, watching her pretend she wasn't bothered by other women touching my arm, hugging me, flirting, I realized something strange. I didn't want anyone else touching me, hugging me, or flirting. Only her. Which was a hell of a development for a man who'd spent most of his life being accused of flirting with anything that had a pulse.

By the time we reached the basketball booth, we'd been stopped by two more women. One was a former coworker. The other was someone I'd gone on exactly three dates with five years ago.

Both had been perfectly friendly. Both had looked at Mikayla with thinly veiled curiosity. And both had made her eye twitch.

I was having the time of my life. Not because I enjoyed making her uncomfortable. But because, for the first time, I had actual evidence that she might feel even a fraction of what I felt for her. And I was a man who appreciated evidence. Especially when it came with a side of homicidal jealousy.

I handed the booth attendant a few dollars.

“Three shots,” he announced.

I took the basketball. Sank the first. Missed the second. Sank the third. The attendant handed me a small stuffed penguin.

I gave it to Mikayla. She looked down at the penguin. Then at the giant purple octopus tucked under her other arm.

“Are you trying to build me a zoo?”

“Thought you could use some company.”

“I have company.”

“Do you?”

She gave me a look. Another woman passed by, Jenny, who I’d dated for about three months about four years ago. She didn’t stop, just touched my arm and said hi.