Page 61 of The Enemy of My Enemy Is… My Fake Boyfriend?

Jesus. The woman could put away the champagne. I thought about physically putting a stop to it, but how exactly would that play out? The two of us wrestling over a glass bottle with everyone staring at us?

While she chugged away, I adjusted my junk, hoping that by the time we got off this thing, my erection would be gone. Or at least at half-mast. This was by far the worst case of blue balls I'd ever had.

Not that I expected anything in return. The last thing I wanted was for Aria to feel like she needed to return the favor. Because that hadn't been a favor. What it had been I couldn't exactly define.

Before she could grab my glass, I finished my own drink, not sure what the hell we were doing, what I was doing, hoping like hell that Aria wasn't drinking herself into oblivion because of me.

Did she regret me touching her? Did she hate me that much? Or was I not good enough?

It took me straight back to my childhood when I'd never been good enough, when I'd been the outcast looking in, so close to this other world but never welcome inside, and I fucking despised that feeling.

I thought I'd banished it in the years since, now that I was successful and didn't have to depend on anyone else in my life, but apparently not. Something about Aria brought it all crashing back.

The boat finally docked, and Aria stood up, tugging at her dress. I reached out to steady her, standing up myself, glad that my erection had mostly subsided, certainly helped by worrying about Aria as she drowned herself in champagne.

I made sure she was decent, especially knowing she was now going commando, her panties currently burning a hole in my pocket. For a second, I thought about leading her to the bathroom and giving them back. But she clearly wanted to leave, so I simply held out an arm for her to grasp as we exited.

And wow, did she lean on me. Part of me wondered if I needed to pick her up and carry her. Talk about a person being drunk on their feet, but she somehow managed to walk. Maybe it was because she clung to me, both arms flung around me, one around my back, the other around my waist.

She laughed as she nearly tripped going up the steps. "I love champagne so much!" she gushed. "And it loves meeeee."

Oh, boy. At least she seemed happy now?

I had no idea what to expect from a completely hammered Aria, so I kept my mouth shut, instead focusing all my attention on keeping her upright as I flagged down a passing cab. Thank fuck it didn't take long.

With a sigh of relief, I helped Aria into the backseat, and soon we were off, the soft glow of the city passing by outside the window.

All she did during the ride was smile a bit dazedly, humming along to the music the cab driver played on the radio. It was all in another language, but that didn't stop her. Or maybe she actually did know it. Nothing Aria did would surprise me.

After weaving through what I remembered as the Rue Saint-Dominique, I spotted our hotel, glad that we'd made it safely without Aria puking her guts out in the backseat.

I helped her from the car while she did the same leaning thing as before, both arms around me again. Yeah, she was only doing it because she was absolutely bombed, but I couldn't deny that I liked it anyway.

It brought out some kind of protective side of me, the feeling of wanting to take care of someone other than myself, something completely foreign to me. Growing up, I learned I had to look out for me because no one else would. There hadn't been much, or anything really, left over to even think about other people and their wellbeing.

Holding onto her tightly, I guided us through the hotel's old interior, up the elevator, and down the hallway to our room. The room with one bed. Shit.

I wouldn't think about that right now. My first priority was Aria and getting her comfortable.

She let go of me and staggered to the bathroom, singing along the way. "I need to peeeee."

Taking the moment to remove my shoes, I listened for any crashing noises coming from behind the closed door. At least she'd had the good sense to shut it and give herself some privacy.

No sooner had I thought that than she emerged from the bathroom buck naked, throwing her dress in the corner and kicking off her heels. So drunken Aria had a thing for nudity apparently.

My eyes couldn't help taking in her flawless tits. Fuck me. Just like the rest of her, they were perfect. No underwear, no bra, nothing hiding that stunning body from my greedy gaze.

But I wasn't that asshole. I would never take advantage of her like this. Even though my dick came alive once more at just thesight of her nude body. And even though I couldn't stop myself from staring. Just a little.

She didn't even notice I was there, stumbling toward the bed and flopping herself down on top of the comforter, face buried in the pillow, incredible ass cheeks on full display.

Attempting to ignore that amazing view, I went over to the edge of the bed. "Aria, do you want to at least get under the covers?"

She turned her head to face me, eyes closed. "Hmm?"

I lowered myself and repeated my question, this time slower and enunciating every word. "Do you want to get under the covers?"

"I don't want to move. I don't care if you see me naked. Iwantyou to see me naked."

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