“I don’t even like them,” she says to Bradley, as she inches her fingers tighter around my waist. So tight that for a sliver of a second it seems like…like she’s copping a feel of my abs.
Okay.
That’s not even remotely a problem at all. Those rock-solid abs are there for your pleasure, m’lady.
“I had no idea you two were involved,” Bradley says. I look up to see the wheels turning in his head. “Were you always?”
Charlotte’s expression morphs into one of complete, slack-jawed shock. “What did you just say?”
He’s graduated. I didn’t think it was possible. But he just earned the title of Master Asshole.
Time to step in.
“No, Bradley. It’s all new. It’s all quite recent,” I say, meeting his eyes. “And to be honest, I really owe you a huge debt of thanks. If it wasn’t for you, and those quality control tests you performed on the kitchen counter, we might never have had the chance to be together. So thank you for fucking up a good thing with the most amazing woman in the world. ’Cause now she’s mine.” Then to bust his chops one more time, I drag her against me caveman-style, bend her backward, and kiss her hard again.
In seconds, I pull her up, wave good-bye to her ex, and guide her into her building.
I’m not sure if she’s more shocked by what he just said, what I just did, or by her own spur-of-the-moment decision, but as soon as we’re in the elevator, she turns to me, and shrugs happily. “I guess I’m playing your fiancée for the next week, Snuffaluffagus. We’ve got to buy a ring at two, and I’m going to require a full debrief.”
There are other things I’d like to debrief right now. But this works too.
* * *
I do my best work in the bedroom. This is completely my domain. So it should be no big deal that she asked me to wait here. But something about being in Charlotte’s bedroom is wigging me out.
Mostly because there’s nudity transpiring mere feet away.
She’s taking a shower, and no matter how you slice them, New York apartments are thimble size. Let me spell this out—There is a wet, naked, hot woman in a ten-foot radius.
Got it? Okay. Moving on.
I pick up a picture frame on her sky blue bureau, a photo of the dog her parents have. A fluffy brown summa dog—some of this, some of that. I’m going to focus on this mutt. Zero in on him. Look at his tail. Check out his ears. Yup, this picture is doing the trick. It is helping me not to linger on the naked woman and how well she kisses.
Or how much I liked it.
Why the fuck did I like it so much?
Of course you liked it, idiot. You’re a straight male and a pretty woman kisses you—you’d be stupid not to like it. End of story. Doesn’t mean anything. Stop analyzing.
Especially since she just turned off the shower.
Maybe she forgot a towel. Maybe she’ll open the door a crack, and ask me to grab one for her.
I smack my forehead. Get it together, Holiday.
I set down the picture, inhale deeply, and straighten my shoulders. The door creaks open. She steps out of the bathroom wearing only a white fluffy towel wrapped above her breasts.
“You might be wondering why I asked you to wait in my bedroom instead of the living room,” she says, in the most matter-of-fact of tones.
I have no clue how she can be talking like we’re having a business transaction while droplets of water slide down her bare legs. But I’m a strong man. I can handle this. I’m not tempted at all by my best friend. My dick, however, begs to differ, the traitorous prick.
“The thought crossed my mind,” I say, as I lean against the bureau, striking a casual pose.
“Because if you’re my fiancé, you need to be comfortable with me being naked,” she says with a crisp nod.
Shit, she’s going to do it. She’s going to drop the towel. She’s going to make us practice fucking. I am the luckiest man on the face of the earth.
Wait. No. I can’t fuck my best friend. I absolutely, positively, can’t screw Charlotte. Even if she tosses the towel on the floor and begs me to.
I lace my fingers together behind my back, linking my twitchy hands.
“Okay, so you’re getting naked,” I say, doing my best to imitate her cool-as-a-cucumber tone, which is throwing me off big time.
“No. It’s the idea of me naked,” she corrects.
I give her a pointed look. “Seems to me it’s both the idea and the reality.”
“Fine, fine. They’re one and the same, and it’s part of the debrief.”
“Is this the exam portion?”
She walks past me, her arm brushing against mine before she yanks open the top drawer of the bureau. “Yes. This is more like the practical lab instruction.”
“And this is because you somehow think we’re going to be required to be naked together in front of Mr. Offerman in order to pull this off? This isn’t like some reality show fake engagement where we have to pass certain skills in an obstacle course. You know that, right?”
She nods as she hunts around in the drawer. “I’m aware of that. I see this as more like the Newlywed Game.”
“And in this version we’re quizzed on how accustomed I am to the idea of you naked and vice versa?”
Her breath hitches when I say that—vice versa.
I don’t know what to make of that small gasp…like if it means something about the idea of me au naturel.