Page 130 of Boyfriend of the Hour
The other eye opened, but neither of them seemed to understand what I was talking about. “Ah, no. I can’t say we ever had to share a bed when we traveled or any other time.”
I almost asked why, but then I remembered. Right. Nathan was rich. At least his family was rich. He had probably never even been to a roadside motel, much less had to share a bed in one. Or at home, for that matter.
“Well, I did,” I said. “Marie and I shared a bed until I was eight, and my brother moved out. My older sisters fought like alley cats over who was going to get the attic. Me, I was just excited to have my own mattress.” Suddenly, I was done playing games. I huffed and threw back the blankets. “Just explain what is the freaking matter. You’re acting like I’m a leper, and if you even look at me, you’re going to get some horrible disease. Is it that bad having me next to you? Should I sleep on the floor? Or go back to my sister’s break room?”
“No!” The word came down like a hammer, slamming between us. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“You’re obviously not fine. You’re so stiff, you’re basically a Lego Man, and you look like you’re in pain. What is going on?”
“Jesus, Joni, if you must know, it’s because seeing you in that gave me an enormous fucking erection, and it’s not going away!” Nathan exploded, face toward the ceiling, the wall, literally anything in the room but me. “I’m the one who suggested this charade, and now I’m sitting here like a thirteen-year-old boy who just saw a pretty girl’s bra strap. It’s fucking embarrassing.”
My mouth fell open. I honestly had no words. And that was a first—Ialwayshad something to say.
I looked back down at myself, trying to figure out what exactly was so appealing. I was ready for bed in the oldest T-shirt I could find in Nathan’s drawers, plain black underpants that wouldn’t impress anyone, makeup scrubbed from my face, and my hair tossed up with a bright pink scrunchy.
“Thisis what does it for you?” I asked, genuinely shocked. “Not the pretty dresses or the red slip, but a ratty T-shirt and underwear?”
“Apparently.” The word was mumbled through his fingers. “I’m a surgeon, for Christ’s sake. I’ve seen literally hundreds of bodies.”
“I mean…how big a boner are we talking?”
It was the best thing I could think of to break the ice. Because that’s what you should do when the beautiful, socially awkward man pretending to be your boyfriend confesses to having a giant hard-on just from the sight of your legs and how you look in his shirt. Ask for his measurements.
“Like this?” I held my hand about four inches apart. “Or this?” Six inches. “Tell me when.” I kept going. And going. And going.
All I received was a brown-eyed glare that made me want to cover that face with kisses.
“Big. Dick. Energy,” I whispered before slapping my hand over my mouth as another giggle escaped.
His head jerked toward me. “What?”
“Nothing!” I sang out. “I’m just being twelve!”
“What did you say?” he demanded. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No,” I said through an avalanche of giggles. “Yes. But no, not really. I just…well, I fucking knew it!”
Nathan’s deep scowl only made me laugh harder. “What the hell did you know?”
“You got that swagger, baby. That B.D.E. You don’t even know—oh my God, just call me Ariana Grande!” I could barely speak through the laughter. Tears were starting to stream down my face, and before I knew it, I was whooping into a pillow. “Oh, God! Oh myGod!”
“Who?” Nathan demanded again. “What the fuck are you talking about? Just explain!”
Before I knew it, we were playing some kind of demented game of tag in his giant bed, both of us half-laughing, half-shouting while I wriggled helplessly, and Nathan seemed to alternate between wanting to shake me in frustration and sit on his own hands to stop himself. In the tussle, the blanket fell off us both, once again revealing my bare legs (and apparently Nathan’s kryptonite) and Nathan’s shameful response to them through his boxer briefs. Which, if I was being honest, was nothing to be ashamed of. Not. At. All.
My eyes practically bugged out of my head. “Holy guacamole, Batman.”
Nathan turned about the color of a beet while he scrambled to right the covers. “You’re impossible. What the hell is ‘big dick energy’ and what does it have to do with a pop singer?”
I sighed as I sank back into my side of the bed, squeezing my legs together and now realizing that it was, indeed, going to be a very long night. “It means you have a really big cock, Nathan. And it means I appreciate it. You’re welcome.”
There was a long pause beside me. And then I felt, rather than saw, him relax a little. “Oh. Thanks. I guess.”
I nodded as I stared at the ceiling, trying and failing to catch my breath. “Anytime, baby. Someday, you’re going to make some nice womanveryhappy. Is that clear enough for you?”
Now, I was the one who couldn’t look at him. Not when my mouth was completely dry from hanging open, panting like a dog. Or when I was sure lust was probably scrawled all over my face. Even Nathan couldn’t misinterpret that expression.
When my heart had finally stopped banging like a drum, I got up the nerve to look at him. Nathan was watching me intently right back. Watching my whole face. My eyes, yes. But also my quivering chin. My bottom lip tucked between my teeth.
