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I began to feel sick and stayed quiet on the way home, then managed to rush into the ensuite and turn on the shower so the sound of the water drowned out the noise of my retching. It’s one of the reasons I was so reluctant to move into the same room as Rick. So far, I’ve been good with what I’ve consumed, so I haven’t felt the need to stick my finger down my throat. But I gave into temptation today. Blame it on Grams talking about our getting married. I felt nervous, but also, something inside me loved the idea of being married to this man.No, no, no I’m not going there.Apparently, faking it until you make it is real. Faking it with this guy has made me feel like I’m in a relationship with him, which is why he mentioned drawing up boundaries on the way to Grams, of course.
Also, I don’t want to catch feelings on a rebound. I trusted one man, and look how that turned out. It’s not that I have feelings left for Dennis—contrary to what I hinted to Rick. I did so, perhaps, out of self-preservation? Because I didn’t want him to think I was open to catching feelings for him either. As for Dennis, he doesn’t merit a second thought. But I invested so many years in that relationship, and the betrayal has left me feeling raw and exposed. Not that Rick is anywhere as unreliable as Dennis.
I haven’t known Rick for long, but seeing how caring he was with his Grams, how he played with Tiny at her place, and how he inquired after India and made sure she had everything she needed to support her role as Grams’ companion… All of it made me realize, he's not in the same league as Dennis. Rick is a much better man in every way. Too bad neither of us is ready for a real relationship yet.
After I empty the contents of my stomach, I jump into the shower, then pull on my stretchy pajamas and my comfiest socks. I pad out of the bathroom to find him sprawled on the make-shift bed on the floor. I take in his bare-chested torso and the pair of grey sweatpants he’s wearing.
Argh! Of course, he had to wear grey sweats. Which mold to his powerful thighs and tent at his crotch.Look away. Look away.I try. I swear, I do. But I simply can’t stop my eyes from tracing the outline of that monster cock, which I know his sweats are hiding. In fact, if I look closely enough, I can make out the crown of—
"I’m commando," he declares.
"What?" Fire engulfs my features. I manage to keep a straight face, despite my cheeks that are scarlet with embarrassment. I tip up my chin, walk past him and lower myself onto the bed.
"I don’t wear briefs to bed."
"TMI. TMI," I sing out.
"Didn’t seem like you had any problems with the information gathering when you were getting an eyeful of my pocket python."
"Pocket python?" I choke out the words. "Did you say—"
"Pocket python, or you could call it my moisture-seeking-missile, my hand grenade, my Garfield, my—"
"Stop." I sit up in bed and stab a finger at him. "You’re saying all this to shock me."
"Am I succeeding?"
"You’re succeeding in upping the cringe factor, yes."
"Why did you tell Grams we're in love?"
"Why did you tell our teammates we're engaged?"
He throws his arm behind his neck, and his biceps bulge. That wide chest of his might as well be carved from marble, as faultless as it is. If I were a poet, I could write an ode to it. But I’m a marketing and PR professional, so I reach for my phone and snap a picture.
He frowns.
"Why’d you do that?"
"It’s a great picture for your social media feed." I look up from perusing his sex-on-a-stick, faultless, click—jeez, the man looks delicious, and I’m not sure I want to share this picture for everyone to see. "You look like a growlier Henry Cavill, if he had a bad attitude and a resting dick face."
"A what face?" He glances down at his crotch. Typical man.
I circle my face. "Your face. I’m talking about your face. In fact, I’d say you have CRDF."
"Eh?"
"Chronic Resting Dick Face. When you always come across as disgruntled, angry and annoyed. Like you’re going to bite someone’s head off."
He leans back into his pillow. "Just because I don’t go parading around like some grinning idiot, doesn’t relegate me to the abjectly miserable."
"You don’t look miserable, just peevish, crabby and short-tempered."
He raises a shoulder, and that makes his muscles move like tectonic plates under the earth. Oh god, did I compare him to an earthquake? He certainly rocked my world when he made me come in my office.
My nipples pucker, and my lower belly clenches. I keep my legs still, making sure I don’t squeeze my thighs together. Okay, maybe a little bit. Just a little wriggle, but he catches it.
"Right now, you look hungry."
