However, when I arrived home, under the impression that I would find my friends—unbiased friends—knitting harmlessly and swapping a few raunchy stories; instead I found Nico.

Freaking Nico Manganiello.

He was on the couch next to Janie; they were huddled together, their heads a few inches apart like they were sharing a secret. She was frowning at something in his hands, and he was smiling at her confusion. They looked adorable, and I was boiling over with jealousy.

“What are you doing here?” I didn’t try to hide the sharpness of my tone.

Everyone paused, mid-conversation, mid-row, mid-stitch, and glanced at me—unhurried, unworried, unperturbed. It was maddening.

“Oh, hey, Elizabeth. Nice to see you too.” Nico flashed me a just unbelievably brilliant smile. His eyes weren’t twinkling, they were electric.

“What’s going on? Why is he here?”

“Nico and I are learning how to crochet.” Janie held up a crochet hook; a long chain stitch dangled from one end.

I looked from the chain, to Nico, to Janie, then to the rest of the knitting group. They were all smiling at Nico approvingly.

“Can I speak to you please” I pointed at him then the hallway that led to my bedroom. “In the other room?”

Nico’s smile was slow and deliberate and full of sensual intention. “Yeah. Sure.”

I ignored the rapid pace of my heart while I led the way, held the door open to my room. I waited for him to enter—which he did while whistling.

I closed the door and spun to face him, one hand on my hip the other pointing at him with what I hoped would be perceived as serious business. “What is this? What are you wearing?”

He glanced down at his black suit, white shirt, askew skinny tie. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

I stalked toward him, sniffed. Just as I suspected, cologne. “Suit? Tie? Cologne?”

“Yes. This is a suit,” he said as he lifted one of his lapels. “And this is a tie.” He pointed to the tie. “And that magical scent filling the air, that is cologne. Men wear these things. It’s not a mystery, Nancy Drew, it’s clothes and fragrance.”

“But why are you wearing them? To knit night? And why are you at knit night?”

“I was invited by your adorable friend Janie.” He smiled, his gaze strayed to my bed. It was unmade and a few underthings were scattered about including some of the pink-and-black lingerie from my last panty party. I fought the urge to clean up the disaster.

“Janie is engaged. You’ve met her fiancé, right? He’s the big, scary guy who used to be a criminal, probably still is.”

“Hey.” He held his hands up. “I’m not interested in Janie. Well . . . that’s not true. I think every heterosexual guy with eyes and a working penis is interested in Janie, but I like Quinn and have no intention of stepping on his gorilla-sized toes.”

“Then why are you dressed like that? And why were you out there flirting with Janie?” I sounded jealous. Grr.

Nico smoothed his tie and tugged at the wrists of his jacket. “I’m dressed like this because I’m taking your knitting group out to dinner tonight. You’re invited too, if you want to come.”

“You are?”

“Yes. If you’d looked around the room instead of jumping to, frankly, fascinating conclusions, you would notice that everyone is dressed for dinner. And I wasn’t flirting with Janie. She and I are learning how to crochet.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it?”

“Yes. I understand that there can be some animosity between knitters and crocheters, but I think if we all recognize our shared love for fiber and yarn then we’ll be able to get along just fine.”

“Fiona says that all the time. You just quoted Fiona.”

“Yes I did. She is very wise.”

“Stop changing the subject. I’m upset with you.”

“Really?” He did a very good impression of pretending to look surprised. “Why? What did I do?”

“I saw your little interview!”

“Oh? Did you? Did you see that?” He appeared to be unconcerned. In fact, he appeared to be elated.

“Yeah, I saw that . . .” I waited for him to apologize or explain. When he continued to just look at me—twinkle, twinkle little star—my temper hit the roof. “What did you think you were doing?”

“What are you talking about? I was giving an interview—”

“You insinuated that you and I had a relationship when we were teenagers.”

“We did have a relationship.”

“No we didn’t.”

“Yeah, we kinda did.”

I glared at him. He glared at me. He had a point. We kinda did. “Well, I—okay, okay. Fine, we kinda did. But then you told the reporter that you and I are ‘just friends.’” I used air quotes with as much sarcastic flourish as possible.

He continued to glare at me. “We are ‘just friends.’”

“But you didn’t say it like we are just friends, you said it like: I’m going to tell you, Ms. Sexy Reporter Lady, that we’re just friends, but really there is more going on and I’m not going to be honest with you about it. I’m just going to sit here and eye-twinkle at you and say we’re just friends, but we’re not.”

He considered me for a moment, trying to suppress a grin. He bit his top lip, obviously to keep from laughing. “I eye-twinkled at the reporter?”

“Yeah. You eye-twinkled at the reporter—in fact, you are eye-twinkling right now and I would really appreciate it if could cease and desist—” He lost the fight against the smile and the laughter, and I couldn’t help but join him as I neared the end of my tirade, “cease and desist with the—the eye-twinkling—for the time being . . .” A reluctant smile split my face. “. . . That would be fantastic.”

“All right.” He nodded solemnly, placed his hand over his heart. “All right. I’ll see what I can do.” Nico sighed, suddenly becoming serious. “But, you do know that my eyes are insured by Lloyds of London, right?”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “The network insured them for two million dollars.”

I studied him. “Really?”

He nodded again, his face a picture of sincerity. “Yes. Well, actually, not the eyes themselves, but the twinkle within them.”

My eyes narrowed. Behind his impressive poker face was a Mona Lisa smile. I hit him on the shoulder. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I almost fell for that. You are such a jerk!”

Nico burst out laughing again, he clutched his stomach. “You should have seen your face.”

I swatted him again as I echoed his laughter.

Now his eyes were shining, radiant, resplendent, irresistible.

“Listen, okay, I’ll do my best. No more twinkle.” He held his hands up. His eyes were still shining as bright as the North Star. He really was making no effort.

“Please.” I shook my head in exasperation. “Please do that. So, back to the real issue, which was what did you think you were doing on that interview talking about me at all?”

“Elizabeth, if I don’t answer their questions it will only make things worse. They will continue to badger you. What I was trying to do was alleviate some of the pressure you’ve been under.”

“But you didn’t. In fact, it made things worse. And, what about you? Did you stop to think how this is going to impact you?”

“No. I didn’t. I’m really just concerned about you right now. And they’re not going to leave you alone. You stood on a chair and told a room full of people that you and I had a child together.”

“Yes. I did that. I was trying to be nice. Obviously, that didn’t go according to plan.” I bit the inside of my cheek and glanced over his shoulder. Nothing was going according to plan these days.

“Let me do something to make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to do anything to make it up to me, it’s not your fault. It’s my fault. In fact, I should be apologizing to you. But—at the very least—could you stop giving interviews where you tell people that we’re ‘just friends’ in a way that makes it sound like we’re really playing hide the salami? Could you do that for me?”

Nico tilted his head to the side, a small smile lighting his expression. “I haven’t heard that, hide the salami, since my dad was alive. You got that saying from my dad, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I got it from your dad. I think it’s hilarious.” I gave him a sideways glance. “Your dad was really funny.”

“Yeah . . . Yeah he was.”

“Just like you.” I tapped a finger against his shoulder, and we gave each other mirrored smiles.

A staring contest ensued; it was the kind where we began with smiles and good feelings then—over a period of several seconds—it transitioned into different kinds of good feelings and the room becoming too hot. He wasn’t smiling anymore, and neither was I. In fact, I was pretty sure I was frowning.

Nico studied me, frowned at my frown, then he turned and glanced around my room. He strolled over to the bed, picked up my discarded black-and-pink lace bra and rubbed his thumb over the material.