Page 60 of Fumbled Into Love

His dark skin is flushed, likely from practice this morning, and he fills out the athletic wear wonderfully, muscles pressing against the fabric. The hotness blinders are long gone. I threw them out the window when I agreed to his proposition and then stomped on them when I realized I was in over my head and developed feelings.

I’m speechless as he clasps my hand and leads us to my office. He kicks the door shut and spins, crashing his lips against mine. I go from speechless to breathless, clutching his biceps as he presses my body against the door.

His palms slide down my back to squeeze my ass and drag me closer as he controls the kiss. I am entirely at his mercy as his tongue probes against my lips, attempting to deepen the kiss.

A massivethudechoes in my office, and we jolt apart.

I blink, clearing my vision to look down through the glass window on the back wall of my office to find Sawyer holding a basketball at her hip with a wild look on her face. She drops the ball, and her hands fling up with a double thumbs up.

Deon makes a choking sound.

“That’s not one-way glass?” Deon asks, shifting behind my desk to hide the erection I felt pressed against my abdomen.

I shake my head, afraid to move in case my legs give out. I manage to wobble to my desk and fall into the seat. Deon sits on the other side of the table, and a sense of déjà vu smacks me in the chest.

“I-Uh...” I fan myself in an attempt to cool my flaming skin. “What did you want to talk about?”

I choke out the question, and Deon smirks. He fucking smirks.

“I wanted to make sure we’re on the same page,” he says, placing my pencils and pens back into the cup, one by one.

“About?” I lift a brow in a flimsy attempt to take back control of the situation. He showed up, kissed the ever-loving shit out of me, and is now cockily lounging in my office, tidying the space.

I’d like to think I would be able to shoot the shit with him if I wasn’t on the precipice of a massive realization I developed feelings for ‘I-don’t-date-Deon Adams’, but alas, here I am, completely frazzled and unsettled.

He stacks papers in neat piles, focused on his task, and I take an eraser and throw it at him. He catches it smoothly and drops it onto the desk.

If I thought his grin was cocky before, this smile blows that one out of the water.

“About our deal on Saturday.” His features are sober. “I haven’t seen you, and I wanted to talk about it in the daylight without the influence of alcohol or McDonalds.”

“Oh.” I pause, and Deon must misinterpret that because his eyes focus back on the papers. I throw another eraser, and this time, it hits him in the forehead.

Bewildered eyes meet mine, and I make the stupidest decision of my adult life; I agree to our insane, fake-dating-with-benefits deal.

“I’d like to continue our deal if you do.”

I give him the out if he wants to take it.

“And it’s just sex?” he asks.

Well…That’s the idea.

Will I nail the execution? Unlikely, but I’m willing to give it a shot.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to fall in love with you or anything,” I joke, and Deon forces out a choppy laugh. Well, that didn’t land how I hoped, but I barrel onwards, trying to hide how uncomfortable I am. “I promise. It’s just sex. I won’t make it weird after the auction. Promise.”

He blinks, and instead of shutting my mouth, I continue to babble like an idiot with a crush. Which, I guess, I am.

“It will be like we never even slept together after we stop sleeping together. I’ll wipe your dick from my memory.”

“I think I get the idea,” he mutters, rubbing his temples.

I extend my pinky finger, and he grasps it, partaking in the most sacred of oaths. A heavy, long-forgotten sensation sparks right beneath my diaphragm.

Oh, fuck.

I quickly rip my hand away.

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