Page 13 of The Fake Date Deal

“We should get breakfast,” he said. “This place serves it late.”

I realized I was starving and licked my lips. “Breakfast sounds perfect. They got scrambled eggs?”

“They’ve got everything. That’s why I stay here. That’s the first thing I check when I’m choosing a hotel: are they going to feed me, and will it be good? You can’t have a good day without a good breakfast. And there’s no coming back from it when you get a bad one.”

“I want bacon,” I said, and leaned back on the pillows. “And grapefruit, if they’ve got it. Or raspberries and cream.”

Marco stood, tanned and naked, and picked up the phone. He called down for room service, then went to the window. Sun blazed in his mane of shaggy black hair. I pulled a sheet around me and padded over to join him.

“It’s a beautiful day,” he said, but he’d turned away from the view. He was smiling at me in my sheet. Taking me in with dark, hungry eyes.

“Gorgeous,” I said, and laid a hand on his chest. I petted the scrawl of his springy chest hair. Then we were kissing, then stumbling to bed, and we lay in a sunbeam in each other’s arms, lazily teasing in the mid-morning hush. I blew on his earlobe to make his arms prick with gooseflesh, then smoothed it away with the palms of my hands. He felt good to touch and good to be with, strong arms around me, one leg between mine. We fit together like joined puzzle pieces, easy and natural, in our own little bubble.

Marco pulled back just enough to laugh lightly. “I’m naked.”

“Me too.”

“Our breakfast will be here.”

“So I’ll throw on a robe, and I’ll go get it.” I kissed him again and felt him melt into it. He had the best lips for kissing, lovely and plush. I hoped the kitchen was busy and we’d be waiting a while. After this morning, I might not see him again. He’d be off somewhere else soon, his next race, his next girl. But now, and till breakfast, he was still mine.

The knock came too soon, and I wrapped myself in his robe. I let the man in with the breakfast cart, and watched as he unloaded a raft of covered dishes, one after another till the table was full. Marco waited till the coast was clear then peeled himself off the bed, a sheet loosely draped around his hips.

“They found your grapefruit,” he said, lifting the cover off the first plate. “Oh, and your berries. Are these the right ones?”

“No, those are blackberries. But they’re even better.” I plucked one from the bowl and popped it in my mouth. It left my fingers stained with dark juice. I licked them clean, and Marco watched, avid. He took a berry and held it up to my lips. I took it with my teeth, then snaked out my tongue, lapping the juice from the tips of his fingers. Marco made a low sound, half growl, half sigh.

“If I wasn’t so hungry, I’d make you my breakfast.”

“If I wasn’t so hungry, I’d lie down and let you.”

Marco uncovered the other plates and steam curled out. They’d brought some of everything, more than we’d ever eat — sausages, pastries, quiches and tarts. Fish, fried tomatoes, wedges of toast. A cloud of the fluffiest scrambled eggs in the world, lashed through with lobster and fragrant green herbs. I took a slice of toast and piled scrambled eggs on it, and broke a crisp slice of bacon over the top. Marco went for the fruit and a sampling of pastries. He cocked his head.

“Is that your phone buzzing?”

I glanced at the nightstand, but he’d left his phone next to mine. Whichever was buzzing, it had them both jiggling.

“I’ll get them,” I said, as I was closer to dressed. It turned out we were both buzzing, our socials exploding. Marco snickered into a pastry as he checked his.

“Did you see this yet?” He held up his screen. It was us in the nightclub, by the waterfall, our faces all rainbow in its watery glow. Marco was looking at me like I’d hung the moon. I was laughing, delighted, my head thrown back. The caption beneath read FIRST SIGHT OR FIRST SPITE?

“First spite, that’s good.” He scrolled down for more. “It’s mostly about me, nothing bad about you. About Rafael taking first place at Le Vigeant. I beat him twice before that, so where — oh, right here.” He traced his finger across the text as he read. “Their storied rivalry goes back four years, to Rafael’s unexpected defeat at… Oh, check this out.” He held up his phone again — Rafael looking stern.

“Is that from today?”

“He was doing some presser, and they made it all about us. Where did his lips go? Did he eat them?”

Rafael’s lips had indeed disappeared, drawn into a tight line of disapproval. Marco swiped so his sour face vanished offscreen.

“I almost feel bad for him,” he said. “You think he found out right there?”

“He must’ve seen on his phone. We’d been trending all night.” I felt a little bad myself. Had we gone too far? Marco reached out and slid his hand over mine.

“Hey. He ran off in a horrible way. And he’s a sore winner. Did you know that?”

I poured some juice. “A sore winner?”

Marco grimaced. “He’ll shake your hand when the cameras are looking, but the minute they’re not, he rubs it in. Not in an obvious way, but — but, he’s subtle. He’ll make little comments, so condescending. I was worried that last lap, thought I saw you in my rearview.”

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