Page 31 of Fake It 'Til You Sleigh It

Holy barnacles! That’s not a tent—it’s the whole damn circus.

My brain malfunctions. I’m caught between erupting into uncontrollable giggles or bolting towards the door. I try to move, but his arm is wrapped around me like a muscular python. When the hell did that happen? And why am I not bothered by it?

“Stop overthinking,” I mutter to myself. “Just get up. This never happened.”

Easier said than done. We’re basically fused together.

Then Ethan stirs.

His hand moves. Down. Under the sheets.Oh God.

He reaches between his legs—rearranging his impressive morning salute—when he mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like my name.

No. Way.

Is he dreaming about… me?

His hand moves faster. Squidward’s nose bounces.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

It’s hypnotic and scandalous. SpongeBob looks absolutely horrified.

Is this a scratch he plans to finish? I’m not sticking around to find out. I scramble off the bed, my cheeks flaming. Grabbing my clothes, I bolt for the bathroom.

I ease the door shut and slink to the floor, trying to calm my racing heart. It’s no use. Heat courses through me like an inferno as I think about Ethan’s embrace and his very impressive erection. Why am I tempted to climb back into bed with him and see what happens? I can almost sense his strong hands commanding me, his lips trailing kisses down my—

No. Hell no.The biological reaction to sharing a bed is messing with my head. Nothing good can come from thoughts like this.Except maybe multiple orgasms. I could march back into that room, straddle Ethan’s hips, and…

I need a cold shower! Or maybe a hot one, where I can take care of this ache between my thighs myself. Because right now, the only thing I want to subscribe to is whatever Ethan’s offering under those sheets. And that is a recipe for trouble.

***

The car rumbles acrossthe bridge, and Marco Island looms ahead like a beacon. Sparkling water peeks between buildings along the shoreline. Sunlight dances on the waves. My eyes drink it all in. A blessed distraction from…

Nope. Not thinking about Squidward’s… nose.

Brain, I swear to God, if you go there one more time.

I shake my head so hard I nearly give myself whiplash.

“You alright there, Chase? You’re looking a little… twitchy.” Ethan’s voice oozes amusement.

Busted. “So, what’s the plan?” I squeak, clearing my throat. “How are we convincing everyone we’re more lovey-dovey than a Cherish Channel romcom?”

He flashes me that grin—the one that makes even grandmothers swoon and nuns question their life choices. “Don’t sweat it, sweetheart. I’ve got this under control.”

I bite back a snort. The day Ethan Barrett has anything under control is the day I’ll chow down on one of Darla’s flamingo-shaped oven mitts.

“I want details. We need a subscribers' plan.”

“Relax, Chase. Social media’s my playground. It’s my turn to take the lead.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “But first, my mom has a surprise for us.”

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