Page 113 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
“You know me so well.” I turned his words back on him as he rolled us both and reached for the lube.
“C’mere you.” I came. Rather, I came again once he’d worked his way into my body and pounded me through the mattress.
God, he was beautiful. He fucked with every cell in his body. He fucked like it made him happy just to be fucking and he laughed about the silly things sex makes people do. He didn’t have an ounce of shame over squelching noises, or dripping sweat, or his ‘O’ face, when I knew mine was pretty slack-jawed and unhandsome.
We fell onto our backs afterward, and in no time Epic was asleep. I cleaned up, cleaned him, watched him sleep for a bit like a lovesick hound dog, and prayed he’d never know I was having stupid, purple-prose thoughts about his youth, and beauty, and goodness.
An hour later, he woke. We kissed in the shower. Kissed while applying shaving cream, kissed to mingle our colognes, kissed on our way out the door to the banquet.
I straightened his tie in the elevator.
He mussed my hair with both hands.
At the door to the correct ballroom, I handed my invitation to an usher, who led us to a table at the front of the room. AIM Environmental Energy’s theme for the night appeared to be “nature is awesome.” We had to dodge live trees and planters with twinkling lights that simulated fireflies.
“This is nostalgic.” The room had a definite outdoor-wedding vibe. There were even ivy-covered trellises leading to the stage.
“I like it.” I unbuttoned my jacket and sat in the spot reserved for me.
Epic sat beside me in a spot markedguest. “This reminds me of a Rainforest Cafe.”
Me too, especially because they were playing trickling rain sounds in the background.
“It’s nice.” The room felt cool and smelled of earth and ivy. “I like the lights. Firefly populations are declining worldwide, so it’s nice to pretend.”
Epic nudged me with his elbow. “Silver lining, meet big ugly cloud.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Let’s enjoy it.”
I turned to see how serious he was. “I enjoy anything with you.”
With a shy smile, he slid his arm around the back of my chair.
I found wine on the table and poured us both a glass.
Epic lifted his toward me. “To you, sweetheart. This is your night. I’m so glad your work is being recognized.”
“It’s the work of StolenLives, really. I only gather the information—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Epic knew exactly what I did at work now. He’d spent a month writing algorithms to streamline my data-mining process. “This award has your name on it.”
“I know that. I do.” But I couldn’t help it if I wanted to deflect a little. I didn’t crawl inside a cave everyday with my computer because I wanted to stand out.
He gently tapped my nose with his index finger. “No. False. Modesty. You’re awesome.”
“All right.”
Servers emerged to bring food to the tables as an emcee gave opening remarks. We sat with strangers. Epic tried to get to know them while passing wine and butter and salad dressing. He schmoozed effortlessly, chock-full of charm and good manners.
The entree came—meatless but created to please even a carnivore’s palate—and then came dessert—a trifle of fresh berries and cream and sponge cake soaked in sherry.
After the dishes had been cleared away, the awards ceremony began.
Epic craned his neck as person after person was called up and acknowledged for things like green architecture, creating kilns for pyrolysis to create biochar, and the introduction of next gen sterile drinking fountains to rid the world of the need for plastic bottles.
I frankly felt a little out of place because I certainly wasn’t doing anything like that. Toward the end, I got a little worried that I might be at the wrong banquet, or that AIM Environmental Energies group was playing a trick on me.
