Page 32 of Fumbled Into Love

I knew my training in evading Santi would come in handy. He may be younger, but he has four inches on me and a soul-deep love of gifting unsuspecting victims (Gracie and I) with wet willies, one of the most disgusting things to have ever been invented.

I throw my arms up in celebration when Deon’s massive frame collides with mine, and I careen toward the hardwood floor.

I land with a hardoomphas all the air is knocked out of my lungs. A split second later, Deon lands directly on top of me with athudand the air I had inhaled whooshes out.

Shit, he’s heavy.

“Agh!” Deon screams and the sound is so startling I scream in response.

His limbs flail, only pushing me further into the hardwood floors. Carved muscles press against my chest and lower thighs, and I am painfully aware his pelvis sits flush with mine. God, is he made of granite? There is an enormousitemdigging into my lower stomach I should know nothing about.

Now I know exactly what Deon is packing, and I’llneverbe able to forget.

“Did you just tackle me?” I finally ask.

Deon blinks, gaze unfocused. “I…uh.”

He shifts, his hips digging into my lower stomach. The blood in my veins is lava, my body ready to erupt like a volcano. Deon's golden chain dangles between us.

“If you wanted to get on top of me, all you had to do was ask,” I tease, attempting to diffuse the tension. Instead, I make things far worse and, if it is even possible, more uncomfortable.

The color drains from his face as he gulps. Sea-foam green eyes dart to my lips, and my stomach bottoms out.

I struggle to inhale a full breath while gravity forces his entire body weight onto me. The soft, clean scent of Deon’s cologne fills my nostrils, and I bite my lip to prevent myself from taking a deeper inhale of the smell.

There’s something unique about it I want to uncover.

“Deon?” His eyes flutter, searching for something, but the weight of his body hurts, and I need him to move. He hums in response. “Can you get off of me?”

“Shit, yeah. Shit.”

He scrambles up, reaching a hand out once he stands. He’s still holding my hand when I’m vertical, and I subtly cough to break his trance. Deon snatches his hand away.

Ignoring his odd behavior, I survey the beautiful room. Massive mahogany bookshelves stand tall in front of deep, evergreen walls. A sprawling L-shaped couch sits in the middle of the room, covered in large, fluffy throw pillows, and a massive flatscreen TV is mounted to the wall.

It’s shockingly well-decorated and meticulously tidy, like the rest of Deon’s home so far, but what stops me in my tracks is theLord of the Ringstheme of the space.

Framed posters from each of the movies line the only wall void of bookshelves filled with small figurines and memorabilia acting as bookends.

Holy shit. He’s secretly a nerd. A big, goofy, guarded nerd.

A laugh tumbles out before I can hold it back. If you haven’t seenLord of the Rings, you might miss the more subtle references. Fortunately for Deon, his fake girlfriend proudly owns the extended cut on Blu-Ray and spent her adolescence convinced she and Orlando Bloom would get married.

I’m still hopeful. If I thought I stood a chance, I would drop Deon and this fake relationship like a bad habit and ride off into the sunset on a white stallion with Orlando riding sidesaddle.

Deon quietly assesses me as I walk around the room, slightly uneven on my feet after his impressive tackle.

My eyes snag on aFellowship of the Ringmovie poster framed on the side wall.

“Is that…” I trail off, confident my eyes are deceiving me. There’s no way. I take a small step toward the most beautiful thing I have ever laid my eyes on.

My soggy, disastrous apartment is quickly forgotten in the presence of this glorious sight and Deon’s gorgeous home.

“It is.” He confirms. I refuse to peel my eyes away from the poster for fear it will disappear. Deon moves to stand beside me.

“Signed by the entire cast?” I ask.

“Every single one.”

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