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I’m not going to stand by and watch a makeover chip away his armor. No one gets to bully my fake fiancé ever again. That’s part of the reason I agreed to this crazy scheme.
The other half of my somewhat crazy reasoning is lying face down on a king-size bed … naked.
Okay, to clarify, I can only state with conviction that Gavin Black sleeps without a shirt. He’s probably wearing pajama bottoms. I just can’t see the evidence beneath the sheets and blankets. But his broad, muscular back is bare.
I’ve seen him without a shirt before. When we were teenagers, I once saw him naked. We were skinny dipping in my parents’ pool at that time. But he didn’t spend hours in the gym back then. If he had, he probably wouldn’t have gotten beat up as often. Still, his dimensions were different in high school.
Not all his dimensions.
My hand slips on the knob, pushing the door open a tiny bit more. Even thinking about my fake fiancé’s anatomy below the waistline is not allowed. I’m pretty sure it violates the terms of our pretend relationship.
While I’m busy locking that potentially disastrous thought away, Cleveland slips into the room. My terrier moves with the speed and grace of a champion show dog.
“Get back here,” I whisper.
But it’s too late. Cleveland jumps onto the bed with such ease it’s as if he has springs in his short legs. He trots over to Gavin’s face and begins licking his cheek.
“What the hell?” Gavin rolls away from the terrier and opens his eyes.
“Sorry,” I say, pulling the door mostly closed. I doubt he wants three eager and much larger dogs on his bed too. “We were checking to see if you were awake.”
“I am now,” he mutters. He pushes himself into a sitting position and runs one hand through his dark hair. The sheet slides down his body.
Wow.
I forget everything else. I’m lost in my one word reaction. Because my best friend looks as if he completes more sit-ups in a single gym session than I’ve attempted all year.
Best friend. I should be focused on that phrase, not wow.
“Do you need help taking the dogs out?” he asks.
“No. I already took them for a quick walk. Jimmy handed me a folder when we got back. Margaret dropped off the details for your makeover. I thought I would take a look and cross out any questionable suggestions.”
“You’re going to line edit Margaret’s instructions?” he asks, still blinking away the sleep in his eyes.
I nod. I’m trying to keep my gaze on his face because the sheet is playing peek-a-boo with Gavin’s toned abs. If it slips one more inch, I’ll know for certain if he’s wearing pajama bottoms.
The sheet slips.
And I look away before I discover the answer to this morning’s pajama mystery. Then I abandon my post at the door. Spinning on my heel, I head for the kitchen. Only I forget to pull the door closed behind me. I hear the dogs rush into Gavin’s bedroom.
“Hey,” Gavin calls. “Off the bed.”
“I’ll start reading the file. Come find me when you’re dressed.” I doubt he heard me over the commotion.
I reach the kitchen and take a deep breath. I’m safe here, away from the sight of his mesmerizing stomach. If he dares to enter the kitchen without a shirt, I’ll … I’ll send him back?
No, probably not. I would welcome the view.
Shaking my head, I grab the folder Margaret left at the desk and open it. There’s a cover letter on top with the salutation Dear Kayla and Gavin. Taking that as an open invitation to continue, I peruse the top sheet. Margaret offers her congratulations, blah, blah, blah.
I scan through the pleasantries until I reach the words my ideal plans for your engagement announcement. Still reading, I walk over to the white marble island and sit on a leather-topped bar stool. Ginger claims the seat beside me and I stroke her while I read.
“Did she make a list of clothes I should wear?” Gavin asks.
I look up just long enough to confirm he dressed for breakfast. Although his gym shorts and T-shirt do not answer the question about what he slept in—pajamas, boxers, or nothing at all. Not that I need an answer. Still, it would be good information to have in case one of the dogs rushes into his bed at three in the morning and I need to go in and pull her out.
Best friend, I remind myself again. I can’t rush into his bedroom in the middle of the night. Not even to reclaim my dog. And if I need another reason to stay out of Gavin’s bed? My best friend cares more about his image than anyone I’ve ever met. And yes, I’m including
