Page 43 of The Enemy of My Enemy Is… My Fake Boyfriend?

"And what's this about you writing poetry?" she asked.

Right. As soon as I'd seen that in the article about our mysterious coffee date, I knew I'd get peppered with questions from everyone I knew.

"It's just a little creative outlet. Nothing important," I said, my voice strained from reaching as far as I could. "Mom, I've got to go. I need both hands for the roller."

"I still don't understand why you don't just hire someone to paint."

How could I explain to my mom that I needed to do this myself? After Chase had wanted everything painted white when he'd moved in, I was going to do this, add color back to my life with my own two hands, even if it killed me. She'd never understand though, living her whole life with everything handed to her... kind of like me I supposed. Up until this point.

"I want to do it myself," I said. "I'll call you later. Love you, Mom. Bye."

Barely giving her a chance to say it back, I hung up and stepped down from the ladder, admiring all the work I'd already done. I'd put down drop cloths to protect the floor and even put tape along the baseboards, not trusting myself to do an even job. And now, it was time to figure out how on earth to use a paint roller thingy.

"Amelioration," I said out loud. Today's word of the day, the act ofmaking something better or more tolerable. I had no idea if what I was doing was a good example of that or if I had the meaning all wrong. But did I care? Nope.

Before I got the roller out, I headed to the kitchen for a refill of my drink, cranking up the music along the way. Right when I added some chocolate liqueur to my iced coffee, there was aknock on the door, making my heart stop. It was pretty obvious I was home.

I despised any unexpected knocks, especially because who exactly could come up here? Mentally, I went through my safe list, relief flooding through me when I remembered I'd just added Ethan to the people permitted upstairs without security asking me first.

Confident that it was him, I opened the door without looking, and sure enough, his cocky smile met me. His gaze quickly went up and down my body, igniting a flare of annoyance that he'd just popped by and now he was seeing me at my worst, ratty t-shirt and shorts, paint all over my legs and the rest of me.

"Just because you're on my safe list now doesn't mean you can just stop by any time." I placed my hands on my hips. "You need to give a girl some advance notice, you know."

"No need to be embarrassed,darling," he said, seeing right through me. "I've already seen your bare—"

Grabbing him by the arm, I pulled him inside, cutting him off from whatever god-awful thing he was about to say. We'd never discussed that little incident where I'd flashed him front and back, and I had no intention ofeverhaving that discussion.

Once I'd closed the door securely behind him, I returned my hands to my hips and glared at him. "So what do you want? And don't call me darling."

He put his hands up in faux surrender. "Whoa, I'm just testing out the pet names for practice, babe. And I'm here to help. You mentioned something about redecorating, and I thought I'd offer you my services, like a proper fake boyfriend would do."

I had to smile at that. And I smiled even more as Ethan just waltzed right in and started putting the roller together, pouring paint into the pan. "Nice color," he said.

"Are you being sarcastic or serious?"

"Serious. Of course." Once he stopped pouring, he wiped the edge, then looked around. "You did a great job cutting in."

Ethan had shown up to help me, and now he was praising my newfound painting skills? In such a short time, my fake boyfriend was turning out to be way better than my real fiancé had ever been. Who could have foreseen this odd turn of events?

He loaded up the roller with paint, like an expert to my inexperienced eye. Once it looked ready, he turned to me. "You want the honors? Or would you like to watch?"

"I'd like to watch please."

The smirk he shot me was full of amusement. "I'll always let you watch. All you have to do is ask."

"Oh, my God," I groaned. "You're disgusting."

But honestly? Watching him smoothly roll out the paint onto the wall, the muscles of his forearms working, the way his broad shoulders moved, I had to admit, my mind went there. He'd started the dirty innuendo, but God, did I finish it.

What on earth would Ethan Locke be like in bed? I couldn't even imagine. Something told me he'd know exactly what to do, that he'd take charge, that he'd be almost overwhelming. Another thought hit me that was even more compelling. What if Ethan had a soft side, like he really, really loved to kiss? Or he was a big-time cuddler?

He stopped to look at me, roller in his hand, as my cheeks flushed. "Your turn," he said. "Now I get to watch you."

I rolled my eyes at him, disgusted with himandwith myself for letting my thoughts go wild. I had no intention of ever finding out how Ethan Locke was between the sheets or whether he liked to snuggle afterwards. Never.

Grabbing the roller, I mimicked his previous actions, trying my best to disperse the paint evenly on the roller then placing it on the wall. Something about it was incredibly satisfying, to getso much wall space covered in a short amount of time compared to the brush.

Feeling Ethan's eyes on me, I had to wonder at his thoughts. Too bad I hadn't bought two rollers so we could both work at the same time.

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