Page 39 of Weddings, Revenge & Fake Dating

He smirks. “I’ll show you mine later. It’s only fair.”

“Yes, please do,” I say sassily. “Now get out.”

“I lost my keycard. Since I’m not on your reservation, the front desk wouldn’t give me a replacement.”

Annoyed, I waddle to my purse and snag an extra card. I hold it out, but when his fingers curl around the plastic, I won’t let go.

I’m not having second thoughts about him staying in my room. No, I’ve been having naughty thoughts about him staying in my room. We play tug-of-war with the keycard until Nathan pries it from my vice-like grip.

“I’ll be moved in by the time you return, roomie.” He waves the card in triumph.

“We’ll go over the list of rules when I get back.”

I don’t know what those are, but I decided right now, we need them. I need them if I’m going to stay the course.

“If we followed the rules, sweet cheeks, we wouldn’t be doing any of this.” He laughs, opens the door, and steps outside.

Frustrated by my rapidly forming attraction, I throw a plastic water bottle at him. It hits the closed door and tumbles to the floor.

“Nice butterfly tat.” Nathan’s muffled laughter carries through the wall.

Then it happens like it always does when he teases me. I smile. Wide. Full teeth. My giggle escapes like a schoolgirl with a crush.

And that’s the moment I realize that I’m in serious trouble.

18/

jeanie

Capri-Sun Ass

I’m not sure if my butt has been reshaped by my fanny facial, but it is smoother and smells like a fruity box drink which is nice in an elementary school lunch kind of way.

When I return to my hotel room, I’m relieved to find Nathan is out. I need time to build a list of cohabitation rules. I also need to focus on wrecking a wedding, and not on the way Nathan makes me feel when he acts like he wants to possess me body and soul.

Still relaxed from the spa pampering, I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. All the rules I formulate amount to one overreaching theme: no touching behind closed doors. If I keep my distance, I can get through this. This settled, I close my eyes.

The next thing I know, there’s a waterfall of drool leaking from the corner of my mouth. Slowly waking from a nap, I wipe my chin and silently yawn.

From under my pillow cave and through blurry vision, I spot Nathan across the room. He tosses his earbuds and keycard on the dresser.

He’s a sweaty mess in a pair of shorts and a tank. Damp waves stick to his forehead like he just returned from a workout.

When he grasps the hem of his shirt and tugs it over his head, I stop breathing. Piece by piece, clothing drops to the floor as he undresses.

He curls forward to unlace his shoes and when he does, all the corded muscles on his back twist and ripple. He kicks off each shoe at the heel, flexing perfectly formed calf muscles. Glistening abs contract when he balances on one foot to remove one sock and then the other.

I never knew removing sweaty clothes could be so sexy and utterly engaging. So much so, I can’t even blink.

In the bathroom, he doesn’t close the door, and I don’t understand why. There’s no way he didn’t see me here, a massive lump under the covers. And with my mouth so dry, there’s a good chance I was snoring like a beached walrus when he arrived.

He drops his running shorts, and it’s all I can do to make myself look away. I manage to close my eyes for a split second before opening them again. I can’t help it. My curiosity wins out. Part of me wants to compare the everyday version of him to the sexy, bachelorette stripper version.

The sleepiness in my eyes magically clears to a laser focus. In my crosshairs, this perfect specimen of a man shapes his scruff at the bathroom mirror. Thankfully, he’s wearing gray boxer jocks. And thankfully, they leave nothing to the imagination. His large package bulges in what I suspect is sleep mode. God help the woman who chooses to face it in its waking state. My core ignites at the thought of the challenge.

I’ve only ever seen a body like his in men’s underwear or fitness advertisements. Stocky Roman rocked the dad-bod even when he was young. In any form, Roman’s always been hot to me, but this? This is new and different.

Long ago, I concluded I had seen my first and last naked man. There would never be anyone else but Roman. Yet here I am, years later, ogling mostly naked man number two.