Page 52 of The Enemy of My Enemy Is… My Fake Boyfriend?

Why was this so awkward? We'd slept together last night and it'd been totally normal. But then again, we'd had that split between us and we'd been fully clothed with a flight crew nearby. Now, we were totally alone in this room, just the two of us with zero interruptions.

"What about you?" Ethan said. "What do you normally sleep in?"

"Me? Just depends on my mood I guess. But usually a tank top."

"Underwear?"

I gave him my best glare. "Why do you need to know that?"

Not shy or embarrassed in the least, he met my stare. "Isn't that something a boyfriend would know?"

"Only after a certain amount of time together," I countered.

"Oh, yeah? How long of a timeframe are we talking?"

"Maybe a month or so?" I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. "I don't know. What's your experience been?"

"I have no fucking clue. I haven't exactly been in any meaningful relationships."

I leaned forward in my chair, suddenly eager to know more. This was exactly the kind of information I'd been craving. "Really? Never?"

He flipped the top of the sheets to the side and got under the covers, one big arm going behind his head as he relaxed back onto the pillows. "After losing my parents, my only goal in life has been to find success and independence so I never have to rely on anyone ever again."

Suddenly, Ethan made a lot more sense to me. His obsession with work, his loner status at events, only having a few people that he surrounded himself with, his reluctance to talk about himself much.

"Are you... are you a virgin?" I asked without thinking, belatedly wondering if he'd be like a typical dude and get offended at the question, like being called a virgin was the ultimate insult for a guy.

He smiled at me. "Why do you want to know?"

"Isn't that something a girlfriend would know?" I didn't hesitate to throw his words back in his face, earning a soft chuckle from him.

"Well played, babe. But no, I'm not a virgin. I may work a ton, but I'm not a monk or a saint."

A part of me was bothered by his answer because of course now I was left wondering exactly what he meant by that, images in my head running wild, picturing the type of women Ethanwould hook up with for hot, casual, no-strings-attached sex. And I didn't like it one bit.

"I'm going to get ready for bed," I said, grabbing my things and rushing for the bathroom.

I took my time getting ready, drawing out my usual skincare routine, then putting on a t-shirt myself plus a tiny pair of silky shorts, not my regular sleepwear. But it didn't matter. I wasn't really trying to impress Ethan, right?

Ignoring the flush in my cheeks as I looked in the mirror one last time, I finally left my little refuge and came out into the bedroom where Ethan was, holding my breath, wondering how this night was going to go.

But instead of picking up where we'd left off or Ethan lobbing some smart-ass comment toward me, the man was sound asleep.

Huh. I couldn't deny that I was disappointed.

With a sigh, I walked around and turned off the remaining lights, then got into bed, using the glow of my phone to see. Ethan's slow, steady breathing sounded beside me while I looked over our situation. True to his word, he'd put several pillows down the center of the bed, snug between the sheets and the comforter so I knew they wouldn't budge.

He'd taken the side of the bed closest to the door, and I wondered if it was just coincidental or if he'd done it as a protective thing that I knew some men did, something I hadn't experienced before because Chase always, always, always insisted on the left side of the bed no matter where we were. The prick.

Taking a full breath, I banished him from my mind, utter exhaustion sweeping over me as the jet lag and time difference caught up to me. No wonder Ethan had already passed out.

After putting my phone down, I turned to face him, wishing I could see him even a little. But there was no light left in here now.

Without thinking, my hand went under our pillow divider, slowly seeking him out, just wanting and hoping for the tiniest bit of human contact and connection, a craving that went soul deep. And I soon found him—or his hand rather—and settled for the barest of touches, my pinkie grazing the very edge of his.

Every muscle in my body tense, I waited for any sign of him waking up, but he didn't, his breaths still slow and deep.

I pulled my hand away, realizing that he probably didn't want to be touched in his sleep. Why was I being such a weirdo right now?

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