Page 50 of Big D!ck Energy

“Too beautiful sleeping in my bed,” I muttered to the empty kitchen, feeling my face heat. “Oh, he's good.”

It was honestly too bad that he didn’t want to get married because he had the potential to make a good husband.

I found a mug in the cabinet, on a shelf at a reasonable height that didn't require a step stool.

The creamer in the fridge was, as promised, the good kind. Real cream, not the shelf-stable stuff. I poured a generous amount into my coffee, added a spoonful of sugar, and took a sip.

Perfect. Damn him.

I wandered through the house with my coffee, taking in details I'd missed last night. The morning light streaming through the windows made everything look even better.

French doors at the back of the living room led to what I assumed was the backyard. I tried the handle, unlocked, and stepped outside.

And stopped dead.

“Oh, you've got to be kidding me.”

The backyard was small, with a patio that extended from the house, but that wasn't what made my jaw drop.

It was the view.

Beyond the deck, past a small stretch of grass and a privacy fence with a gate, was the ocean. The morning sun sparkled on the water like someone had scattered diamonds across the surface. I could hear the waves and smell the salty air.

“His backyard is on the ocean,” I muttered. “This is definitely nicer than my place,” I said as I sipped my coffee and walked to the end of the deck, leaning against the railing.

I was definitely going to need to renegotiate the terms of this fake marriage.

“Morning, wifey.”

I jumped, coffee sloshing close to the rim of my mug, as I spun around to find Dallas standing in the doorway.

He was shirtless. Again. And sweaty.

His chest was gleaming with perspiration, his hair damp and messy. He wore black athletic shorts that hung low on his hips, and his skin had that post-workout flush.

He was holding a water bottle, drinking from it in a way that made his throat work, his Adam's apple bobbing, and I had to physically look away before I did something embarrassing.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered into my coffee mug.

“Bless you,” he said cheerfully, stepping out onto the deck like he wasn't actively committing assault with his torso. “Sleep okay?”

“I… yes…fine…” I gulped coffee that burned my tongue. “You could warn a person before showing up looking like... like you got lost on your way to a Men's Health cover shoot. I could've prepared.”

His grin was pure sin. He moved to the railing beside me. “It's my backyard. Should I wear a parka? Full body armor? A hazmat suit?”

“Yes. Ideally, something inflatable. Maybe a dinosaur costume.”

“Noted.” He took another drink of water, and I focused very intently on the ocean, counting waves. “What do you think of the view?”

“It's fine,” I lied. “I mean, if you like that whole breathtaking natural beauty thing. Personally, I prefer views of dumpsters and questionable parking lot activity, but that's just me.”

“Liar.” His voice dropped, warm and teasing. “So I was thinking we should spend today getting organized. Figure out schedules, pick where we're living, come up with a game plan.”

I nodded, grateful for the subject change. “An exit strategy.” I needed out of this marriage ASAP. Before I started getting ideas about things that would never happen. Like real marriage. To him. Which was absolutely not on the table and definitely not what I wanted anyway.

“I was thinking on my run this morning…”

“You run?” I stared at him. “Voluntarily? For fun?”