Page 18 of Fake It 'Til You Sleigh It

CHAPTER FIVE

Ethan

“Oh my God, thishumidity is a fucking disaster,” Chase complains.

We step out of the airport in Miami, and her hair goes full poodle. Picture if Medusa, Einstein, and a startled porcupine got together and said, “Let’s make a hair monster.” And they did.

“You look like you fucked a light socket,” I joke. “Most people need a whole glam squad to get their hair so teased out. You’re like a one-woman homage to Twisted Sister.”

“I hate this place already,” she groans, trying to tame her frizzy mane.

We’re standing in the rental lot, surrounded by a sea of shiny vehicles roasting on the asphalt. I wipe the sweat from my brow. The humidity is so intense you practically have to swim through it. Planes roar over us, and I can feel Chase melting down fromthe combination of heat, moisture, and noise. Seeing her so miserable, I realize… this is gonna be fun!

“Florida’s a whole different ball game. You either fall in love with it, or you’re booking the next flight out.”

The woman has been a nonstop complaint factory since we boarded the plane. First, she criticized my ‘excessive manspreading.’ Then she found fault with my ‘obnoxious’ chewing of the complimentary pretzels. She also went on a tirade about my ‘incessant knee bouncing’ and how my ‘unnecessarily large biceps’ were invading her personal space.

But then, miracle of miracles, she fell asleep... on my shoulder. I didn’t dare move a muscle. I sat there, stiff as a board, terrified that the slightest twitch would wake the sleeping beast and unleash fresh hell. There was one little bonus from the flight—that fact that I can still smell her alluring citrus scent on me.

And now she’s wearing all-black again for our fun Florida getaway. She views it as professional while I see it as a sad, misguided storm cloud crashing a beach party.

I pull out my phone, stand next to her, and snap a quick selfie. “Smile!”

I dictate the caption, enjoying how it makes Chase squirm. “MeetThe Frizzinator: my girlfriend’s new look, courtesy of Florida’s sultry embrace. #HairGoneWild.”

“If you post that —”

“Whoops,” I say, tappingPostwith a smirk. Before she can smack me, I tuck a wild strand of hair behind her ear. “This is what you signed on for. Unless you wanna call it off, darlin’?”

Chase fixes me with a piercing gaze. “Don’t. Call. Me. That.”

“What’s the problem, pookie?” I lean in. “Not a fan of pet names, sweetheart?”

“Not from you. And especially not ‘darlin’ or ‘sweetheart.’ I’m your director, not your actual girlfriend.”

She yanks her suitcase handle with enough force to take down a small child and starts marching through the row of cars. I follow behind, watching the sway of her hips. Even pissed off, she’s got a walk that could stop traffic.

“Come on now, honeybun. How else will my family be convinced of our steamy romance? Buttercup? Snookums? Ooh, I know, how about sugar tits?”

She whirls around so fast I nearly plow into her. Her chest heaves(hey there), and I force my eyes up to her face. Her very angry face. “How about you call me by my name? Or better yet, don’t talk to me at all.”

“Now where’s the fun in that, pumpkin?” I smirk.

“I’ve got a few choice names for you,” she growls, jabbing a finger into my chest. “Jackass. Egomaniac. Walking HR violation. Take your pick.”

I catch her fingers, pressing them firmly against my pecs. Her palm is warm, and I can feel my heartbeat pick up. “Careful there, lovebug. A guy might think you’re coming onto him with all this touching.”

Her eyes darken, and for a moment, I think she might actually kiss me. Or kill me.

She yanks her hand away. “Touch me again, and I’ll make sure you can’t sit comfortably for a week.”

“Kinky…” I wink. “I always knew you had a wild side, baby.”

“You’re impossible,” she mutters, pulling away.

“Impossibly charming? Devilishly handsome? Irresistibly—”

“Annoying.”

---