Strip Search (Tap That)

She gave him a look that would skin a live cat.

“So tell us about this girl,” his father said. “What’s so special about her that you’re taking the plunge into marriage?”

Axl cleared his throat, bending over onto the kitchen island to give the question some thought. Yeah, this wasn’t real. But Leighton was special. He thought about the way she looked lying on that big hotel bed, eyes rolling back in pleasure. He pictured her fear on that stage and how she had held on to him like he was her port in the rockiest storm. How she had tried to flirt with him to save his job. He smiled.

“She’s intelligent, she’s beautiful, she’s sweet.” He fingered his half-bitten apple and contemplated how she’d stumbled into his life and how crazy this all really was. No regrets though. He wanted every damn minute he could have with Leighton before she went home to her California lifestyle.

When he stood up, his mother’s mouth was open and there were tears in her eyes.

“Your expression… Oh, my Lord, Axl. I’ve never seen you like this over a girl.” She came over and hugged him. “Honey. Is this the one who can get you to open up? That’s wonderful.”

He took the hug begrudgingly. His mother’s mission in life. To get him to “open up.” Whatever that meant. He’d long ago given up on her just accepting that he was a guy who didn’t want to talk about his feelings and that did not make him in need of therapy or baked goods. It made him a guy who worked shit out on his own. “All right. Let’s not get gushy.”

She smacked his arm and pulled back to wipe her eyes. “When are we meeting this girl? And good Lord, what am I supposed to wear?”

So okay, he felt a tinge of guilt deceiving his mother.

But the bright side was he would be free to live out his life in peace as a bachelor who lived alone on the lake after this. No one would dream of bringing up dating if he’d been dumped by a new bride.

“Just don’t wear black. It’s not a funeral.”

It might be his if his parents found out the truth.

But he’d seen combat and tackled criminals.

Fake-marrying an adorable blonde who tasted like sugar didn’t scare him.

Much.

Seven

Having a cameraman and a lighting guy film him prepping steaks to throw on the grill didn’t bother Axl as much as he thought it would. He was good at getting in the zone. He had great concentration skills, and an ability to block out distractions, which he employed right now as he seasoned the New York Strips on a plate on his butcher-block kitchen island. Leighton was next to him, tossing a salad, looking far less comfortable than he felt.

She was talking too fast. “So we’ll do the interviews today and then tomorrow we have a cake tasting scheduled, is that okay? You should sync your calendar with mine so I don’t schedule anything when you have to work.”

He let her run down, like a windup toy. “Babe, I don’t use the calendar on my phone so there’s nothing to sync. I’ll just text you my shifts. Cake tasting tomorrow is fine.” He gave her a smile. “I like cake.”

“You do? Or we could do doughnuts. Do you like doughnuts? Or cupcakes.”

Her voice was starting to rise a little hysterically so Axl set down the container of sea salt down on the countertop. He reached over to Leighton and ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “I like you.”

Leighton’s lips parted in surprise and she said, “Oh.” Color tinged her cheeks. “I like you too.”

It was the truth. He did like her. She was pretty damn adorable. He leaned over the meat and gave her a soft kiss. “Let’s go put these on the grill.”

“Okay. Sure.” She cleared her throat and turned to her co-workers. “We’re stepping outside to put these on the grill. We’ll be right back.”

“Sure, no problem.” Jackson lowered his camera.

“Do you want a beer or a soft drink or anything?” Axl asked the two guys.

“No, I’m good, thanks.”

The other one, who had introduced himself as Brad, accepted a soft drink.

Axl held open his kitchen screen door and Leighton slipped through. He followed her, plate in hand, to the grill that was his pride and joy. It was both charcoal and gas, with a smoker. The granddaddy of grills. As he fired up the propane, he set the plate down and turned to Leighton. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

She nodded and sat down on his picnic table, crossing her legs. She was facing outward, not toward the table. “I’m fine. You?”