Page 51 of Big Dick Energy

He laughed. “Anyway. I think we should bring in my publicist.” His expression turned serious. “I don't want this blowing up and hurting you or your business. Or my reputation. She can help us navigate this without casualties.”

The fact that he was thinking of me and my business made my chest do this weird swelling thing. “That's... really smart.”

“I'll call her today. See if she can meet with us. Sam's brilliant at damage control.”

“Sam?” I tried to keep my voice casual. “She?”

His mouth quirked, clearly amused. “Yes.”

“Is she...” I trailed off, hating myself.

“No.” His tone shifted, more serious. “I don't mix business and pleasure. Ever. Plus, Sam's been married to her wife for over ten years. They just adopted a baby.”

Relief flooded through me, which was not the correct response to have about my fake husband's professional relationships.

“You've got nothing to worry about, wifey,” he smirked, leaning closer. “I'm all yours.”

“Oh my God.” I groaned, heat flooding my face. “I’m not worried and… Stop calling me that.”

“Never.” He pushed off the railing. “I'm gonna shower. You want breakfast? I make a mean omelet.”

“You cook too?” I turned back to him.

“I do,” he said. “Give me twenty minutes. Make yourself at home. There's a kayak in the shed if you're feeling adventurous.” He paused in the doorway. “Oh, and wifey?”

“What?”

“You might want to fix your hair. You've got some serious bed head happening. Very electrocuted rooster chic.”

I threw my coffee mug at him—or would have, if it wasn't full of excellent coffee that I wasn't willing to waste. Instead, I flipped him off.

His laugh echoed as he disappeared inside, leaving me standing on the deck with the ocean breeze, my traitorous heart, and the slowly dawning realization that this fake marriage might be the best and worst decision I'd ever made.

Possibly in that order.

I sipped my coffee and stared at the waves, trying to ignore the fact that I was already thinking about what it would be like to wake up to this view every morning. I was trying even harder to ignore the fact that the view I was thinking about had more to do with my shirtless, sweaty fake husband and less to do with the ocean.

“I'm in so much trouble.”

CHAPTER 19

HURRICANE IN LOUBOUTIN’S

DALLAS

“So then it's settled?” I leaned back in my chair, studying her across the patio table. She'd been so adamant about not moving in here that her sudden cave felt suspicious. “You're moving into my house?”

She sipped her coffee as she processed the decision she'd just made. “Yeah,” she sighed, and I tried not to look too satisfied. “Your house is more accommodating than mine.”

“More accommodating,” I repeated, unable to keep the grin off my face. “That's one way to put it.”

“I don’t even have a spare room,” she continued, determinedly not looking at me. “And there's absolutely no room for an extra bed...”

Her eyes traveled down my body and back up, and I watched the exact moment she realized what she'd done. The flush that crept up her neck was worth every second of this conversation.

“You,” she finished.

I couldn't help myself. “You were checking to see if I'd fit in your bed.”