Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
I expect to toss and turn. I expect to feel strange, falling asleep next to her. I don't.
My sleep is deep and easy.
When I wake, the bed is warm. The world is beautiful. Cassie Steele is naked with me.
For a few minutes, I soak in the bliss.
Then a familiar sound interrupts. The door downstairs. Footsteps.
Daphne.
"Hey, Fake Loverboy and Fake Lovergirl. I have bagels," Daphne calls. "And coffee. So get your lovesick asses down here."
Fuck.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cassie
Damon Webb is naked, and I don't have a single second to enjoy it.
Daphne is downstairs.
She'll see Damon sneaking into the hall. Or, worse, she'll come up here to wake me up, and she'll walk in on her brother naked.
Fuck.
Wait.
How does she know I'm here? I didn't tell her—
But I left my car last night. It's in the driveway. So I can't pretend I'm not here. I need a story. Fast.
We don't have to tell Daphne sounded so good in my head yesterday. So did other impeccable pieces of logic like Daphne and I are too old to constantly share the details of our sex lives, and Daphne isn't going to question my chemistry with Damon because she knows we're fake dating.
So, now, I need to pretend I'm not interested in the guy I'm pretending I'm dating.
My sex life is no one else's business.
The words feel hollow, even in my head. They're true. My sex life is my business. But it's also true, if I was fake dating anyone else, I'd divulge all sorts of details.
I will. Eventually. She is my best friend. I'm not going to hide this from her forever. Not if it's real. No, it is real. I just don't know if it was a maybe-while-we're-faking-dating thing or more of an actually-I-do-really-want-you thing.
"I can hide in the closet," Damon offers. "Or under the bed."
"This is your house," I say.
"Tell her you crashed after the party," he offers.
That is the truth. But it's worded in a way that suggested I didn't crash into my best friend's brother, naked.
How much honesty do I owe her?
I don't know what normal means anymore.
"Hey," I call downstairs.
"Cass?" Daphne calls from the kitchen. "What are you doing here?"
"Drank too much last night." That is absolutely the truth. And it explains everything. Only it doesn't explain anything. Because I'm stone-cold sober, and I'm even more eager to have Damon again. And again. And again.
"Damon?" she calls. "Are you up too?"
Will she hear the sound coming from the same room?
I motion for him to zip his lips.
He does.
So, I whisper, "I'll keep her distracted for a few minutes," then I call to Daphne. "Give me a sec. I have to get dressed."
"Since when do you sleep naked?" she calls back.
I'm in an oversized t-shirt and panties, but it's better to let her believe she shouldn't come into the room. "It's not like I packed pajamas," I say.
Downstairs, she laughs. "Did you at least wash your makeup?"
"Of course, Mom."
"You're the one who's always on my case about it," she says.
That is true. "Can you make the coffee? I'll be down in five." I need the caffeine, and I need to distract her. It feels deceptive.
It's one thing tricking the guy who hid an affair from me. Or the artist who thinks he can dictate his collaborator's romantic lives. It's another, lying to my best friend.
Thankfully, she doesn't object. She grumbles something about lacking skill with the French Press and fumbles through the drawers.
I push the door closed and turn back to Damon.
He's sitting up in the bed, watching me. Desire fills his eyes as he looks me up and down. The sheet over his waist does nothing to hide the state of affairs.
Fuck. I want to mount him right now. I really do. "We don't have time for that."
Damon's laugh is soft. "I didn't say anything."
I motion in the general direction of his dick.
"That's involuntary," he says.
"So is my desire to ride you," I say.
A smile spreads over his lips. It's the perfect combination of his usual wicked grin and pure I adore you energy.
This isn't a one-time thing. I don't know how many times it is, but I know it's happening again. As soon as Daphne leaves.
"Stop looking at me like that." I push off the door. "It's entrapment."
"That would make me a cop."
"Well, you do have your nightstick out."
He laughs. It's sexy as hell and way too loud.
But Daphne doesn't respond. Maybe she can't hear. I hope she can't hear.
Damon makes a show of covering his eyes and mouth. I slip into a backless sundress—the good thing about having small breasts is I can easily skip a bra—and a pair of cotton panties. Then, I race through my morning routine and rush downstairs.
Daphne is in the kitchen, staring at the French Press like she's not sure how to unlock its secrets. "Is it working?"