Page 67 of The Fake Dating War

“Urgh.” I give up and stare at the ceiling. Some beastly part inside me is chanting,This man wears double XL condoms!I’m also hating how my heart is starting to race, and how I also want to sneak a peek at the front of his trousers for verification purposes. Not that I don’t remember the excessive bulge from our Lingerie Fitting Room Incident That Shouldn’t Be Remembered.

“That’s what you’re wearing tonight?”

He’s pointing to the lengha I’ve got hung up. It’s retrofitted, the separates pulled from pieces I’ve thrifted, layered with a top from my own wedding week. If the Jago event wasn’t known to be an explosion of patterns and creativity, it would have stood out in a bad way, but I’m hoping the bright decor and lights tonight help make the outfit feel purposeful, not scrapped together.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m wearing. Why?”

“It’s nice. Colorful.”

I cover my face with my hands. “This isn’t good. We’re starting to talk to each other like normal people!”

He scowls. “I don’t like it either.”

All that repressing of our kiss from this morning? Infinitely harder when you are lying in the same bed as the person who made your head spin. Whose hands felt delightfully demanding as they cupped your neck and tilted your mouth for more access. Whose tongue was rather presumptuous.

With a sigh, I drop my hands because keeping my eyes closed isn’t the way to go. It makes itmuchworse because then all I feel is the buzzing hum of my body reacting to his.

“Well, you’ve met the hooligans on my side today,” I say, hunting for a topic change.

“They… have a lot of opinions.”

Actually, I don’t want to talk about them. If we do, he’ll ask questions. My divorce might come up. “What’s your family like?”

When he doesn’t immediately answer, I risk a quick elbow poke. “I told you about my ideal, hypothetical, not-happening wedding. My sharing turn is over.”

“I didn’t realize it was a competition or I wouldn’t have asked, Patel.”

“Everything between us is a battle. And do you have anything better to do?” Okay, wrong direction to take. Many better things are possible when you are sharing a bed. The lusty trio of bed, naked, and sex cycle through my head. “Did you want to talk about the weather?”

He brings his arms up, almost lazily, and folds his hands behind his head. The change in position makes his biceps more obviously articulated. Not that he notices, cares, or is doing it on purpose. A frown ghosts his lips.

“My family are hooligans in their own right. I’m the oldest, but I have four brothers after me.”

“Five boys? Were your parents trying for a girl?”

“Allegedly no. According to my mother, the plan was to populate our own sports team.”

“You do sports?”

“Football—well, we used to. It was more of a tradition a few years but then…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but I can guess. Was that when his dad passed?

“You don’t have to answer, but how did your dad pass?”

“Cancer.”

I wince. “I’m sorry.” I want to reach out and hold him, but his expression has gone guarded. My hands get pushed under the pillow, so they behave. “Were you close?”

“We were. Before the cancer.”

Before?“The cancer affected your relationship?”

“It wasn’t the cancer itself, but how he handled it.”

“How do you mean?”

He shakes his head. “I think my sharing turn is over. You go now.”

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