Page 49 of Fake It 'Til You Sleigh It

“Are you sure this is safe?” I ask, my voice embarrassingly squeaky.

“Totally. Nolan and I did this all the time growing up.”

“Yeah, and I bet you also thought Tide Pods were breath mints and Sharpies were fun to smell. Your childhood shenanigans aren’t boosting my confidence here.”

“You want proof you’ll be okay? Fine. Look at me. I’m alive. And you will be too.”

He’s too cocky to even realize we’re in danger. We’re about to be dragged through the water atoh-shit-miles-per-houron a glorified pool floatie, then launched off a ramp forty feet into the air.

What could possibly go wrong? Oh, I don’t know… EVERYTHING?

The reality of the impending disaster settles in. My chest tightens—I’m having a panic attack.

“Chase, nothing bad will happen.”

“Ifthe rope doesn’t snap or decapitate us,” I counter. “And if we don’t get devoured by a Kraken. There’s still a high probability of drowning.”

“Krakens aren’t native to Florida.”

“Neither is common sense, apparently!”

Ethan’s eyes soften, and he takes a real, long look at me. He lays a calming hand over my white-knuckled grip on the tube handle.

“I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

I melt. I believe him.

Damn him and his sexy reassurance. It’s one thing for his ardent fans to fall for this act, but me? Why is my body reacting this way? Every cell of mine is screaming, “Girl, forget the hate. Let’s get it!"

I pause, realizing what this is, and admit it to myself. I haven’t had sex in a very, very long time. My vagina has turned into a deserted playground, with rusty rides and no visitors in sight.

Staying single is common in Hollywood. Usually, the dating process lasts longer than the actual relationship. That’s certainly been my experience with guys in LA. So why bother? But right now, with Ethan’s thigh pressed to mine, “Why bother?” is starting to sound similar to “Why not?”

He shifts, turning onto his side to pull the phone from his pocket. He secures it into a wrist holder with a tight Velcro strapand connects the phone with a cord. No chance it's falling off in the water. He lies back, this time his entire body presses into mine—and good Lord, do I like it. A lot.

An endless GIF of this morning’s scenes keeps replaying in my brain. I woke up, draped over Ethan like he was mine. My face was snuggled into his neck—my lips grazing his stubble. Damn, it felt good.

I wonder how it would feel if my mouth accidentally landed on his.

My focus catches Ethan’s eyes roaming over me in a slow, sensual sweep, as if he’s mentally peeling away my skimpy bikini, revealing every inch of skin. His gaze drops to my mouth, and my heart races wildly.

I swallow hard, resisting the urge to lick my suddenly dry lips.Does he want to kiss me as badly as I’m dying to kiss him?

Gah! All of this fake relationship crap is really messing with my head. Maybe if I get a “fake boyfriend” tattoo, my body will get the message.

This is just a job.

A job to save my real job.

To save who I really am—who I want to be.

These feelings aren’t real. They’re… method acting.

I’m playing the part of Ethan Barrett’s girlfriend… for now. For a few more days. Soon, I will escape to my Christmas cabin and start writing my next movie.

One that doesn’t star Ethan “Walking Wet Dream” Barrett.

Nolan yells at us from the helm of the idling speedboat. He waves his hands until he sees he has our attention, then gives us a thumbs-up. That’s the signal.

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