Page 33 of The Fake Boyfriend Fiasco

“Okay, honey. If you’re gonna throw up—”

“I never throw up,” she said grandly.

“But if you feel like you might, tell me.” Her zip undone, he began to peel off her dress, easing her arms out of the spaghetti straps. Aria sighed as inch after inch of confining fabric left her body—

Until he stopped with a muffled curse and yanked the bodice back up. “You’re naked.”

“No…” she said slowly. “I’m wearing this dress. Kind of.”

“Underneath the dress,” he ground out.

“No. I’m wearing knickers. Never go out without your knickers. They’re very important.” She paused. “Although I can see why you might go out without your knickers—”

“Aria. Are you sure you want me to take this off?”

“Yes. It’s tight.” She grabbed the fabric and pushed it down, wiggling a little when she reached her hips. She might be mistaken, but she thought she heard Nik muttering to himself beneath the bouncing of the bed springs. He was barely touching her anymore; the palm of his hand splayed against her back like a starfish, keeping her upright, but that was it. He must have a very strong hand, Aria decided. And arm. And shoulder.

She pushed the dress off completely and flopped down on top of the sheets with a sigh. “That’s better.”

Nik grunted. She turned to find him pulling off his T-shirt in that way men did, yanking it over his head with both hands. Then he stood and took off his jeans, too, moving at lightning speed.

“Are you tired?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, but his voice sounded a little odd. “Yes, agapi mou. I’m tired.”

“Okay.” Aria rolled onto her stomach—it truly was the best way to sleep—and closed her eyes, ignoring the glow of the lamp that burned through her lids. She should probably take her makeup off. She’d get mascara all over the lovely white pillowcases. But her body felt so deliciously heavy, all easy and languid like it had after he’d made her come.

The feeling wasn’t going away, either, like it had before. With Nik, she’d only enjoyed that sweet relief for a second before she’d turned all stiff and cold with fear. And then she’d sent him away, but she couldn’t quite remember why…

“We should’ve had sex earlier,” Aria said, her voice slightly slurred, her thoughts blurring.

“What?”

“I mean, more sex. With sweat. And skin. On skin…” Had he turned off the lamp? Everything seemed so much darker, all of a sudden. “Can we do it tomorrow?”

Even as sleep dragged her under, she recognised the feather-light touch of his fingers against her cheek. “Ask me in the morning, Ri.”

“You know I won’t ask you in the morning,” she grumbled.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I know.”

Chapter 7

A Funny Story

“Help me,” Aria groaned. “I’m dying.”

Nik’s soft laugh, while sexy as ever, was not welcome. It was irritating, in fact. Doubly irritating because, even with her head pounding and her stomach sloshing around like an ocean, it still sent a tingle along her spine.

“You’re not dying, chrysí mou.”

“I know,” she gritted out. “It’s hyperbole. For dramatic effect.” She winced. Ouch. A bit too much emphasis, there.

“Shh.” His hand settled against her back, a comforting weight that kept her anchored. She’d been lying in bed feeling as if the room was spinning, but that hand made things a little bit steadier. “I got you some water. And aspirin.”

It was a lovely sentiment, and she was thirsty as a motherfucker, but sitting up felt like a very bad idea right now. “In a minute,” she mumbled.

“Come here.” The hand on her back became an arm around her waist, easing her gently but firmly into a sort of… sideways lounge. Oh, that wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t sitting up, at least. Aria cushioned her aching head with one hand and risked opening an eye, squinting up toward the sound of Nik’s voice.

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