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Although the weather does seem like the obvious topic of conversation right about now—considering the state of his attire—it’s not quite a white button down, but he still looks downright fuckable.
I stroke a hand down Mason’s back and lean against the door frame, a small smile working its way across my face. “That was fun. Tag said it wasn’t going to rain, huh?”
He growls, running a hand over his face and flicking the water down the hall. “Yep, he fucking did. He said today would be our last nice day before it started getting too cold to be outside.”
“And he suggested the picnic in the first place?” I hedge, even though I know the answer.
“Sure did.” He hands me the ruined flowers as water drips from the stems. “So, these were for you.”
“They’re lovely. Let me get a vase.”
“They’re rubbish.” He glances to the basket with a grimace. “Just like all the sandwiches I made. They’re all soggy.”
I gesture for him to come in and he squishes past me with every step. The more I laugh, the more his eyes narrow, but I can’t help it.
This whole thing is definitely going in my book, but maybe during the grand gesture. It’s been raining all day, but that doesn’t stop our hero from stomping through the rain in his… hockey gear? Game day suit?
Yes, his suit, to beg our heroine for forgiveness, and then get her wet in more ways than one.
“You know, Tag was probably messing with you the whole time.” I toss the flowers in the trash and take the basket from his outstretched hand and put it on my kitchen island.
“Oh, I’m well aware. He’s in for one hell of an arse kicking.” He shakes his head and sighs. “I’m sorry our fake date is ruined.”
Ourfakedate.
For publicity.
Yet he’s here in my living room when he could have gone home. There’s something going on between us, and it’s nice to know he’s not immune.
Maybe he’s even as confused as I am.
“It doesn’t have to be ruined. Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll lay Mason down for his nap. I can toss your wet clothes in the dryer, and either I can cook or we can order in.” I grab a towel from the linen closet and hand it to him as I lead him through my bedroom to the bathroom. “If you’re still worried about Cramington, we can take a few pictures to post online.”
He looks at me, several emotions flitting across his face, but they’re gone so quickly I can’t decipher any of them. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Avery Remington. You’re way too good for me.”
“I don’t know about all that.”
Considering I’ve never been good enough for anyone—not Ron, and not even my own dad.
“Never doubt your worth, Avery.” He brushes his thumb across my lips, and the way he’s looking at me, so full of reverence, has me turning into a puddle of mush on my bathroom floor. This man is going to be the end of me. This is whyThe Crushneeded to be boxed up and tossed in storage. The things he says to me give me very dangerous thoughts; thoughts of a future I know we can’t have. “You deserve the world and more.”
I ignore the voice in my head and the beating of my heart. “And you’re going to give it to me?”
He gives me a sad smile, and his thumb sweeps along my jaw. “I better get in the shower.”
“Oh… Yes… Shower. Right.”
That stings a little, not gonna lie.Pull it together, Avery, the man doesn’t like you like that.
His hands go to the bottom of his shirt, and I fly out of there as quickly as I can without jostling Mason. There’s no way I’ll be able to hold my tongue if he starts stripping in front of me. I almost asked him what was going on between us, and I can’t be asking shit like that. He’d either completely shut down and revert to the fake boyfriend he’s supposed to be or run off completely.
I’m not delusional enough to think this is anything more than a friends-with-benefits arrangement, and I need to be happy with that. The benefits are phenomenal, and if he wants to give me orgasm after orgasm, I’m not going to stand in his way.
Besides, this really has been great inspiration for my romance novel.
As soon as I get Mason in his crib, I sneak back to the bathroom to get Foster’s clothes. The door is open, and his wet clothes are in my sink. Perfect. Hopefully, he has everything he needs to—
Fucking hell.
