Page 37 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
“Gregorian chant?”
“Totally. You?”
“Oh sure,” I said wryly. “I get down with my bad self to Hildegarde von Bingen too.”
“That racist bitch? No way. She’s cancelled.”
I glanced over, surprised. “How do you know Hildegarde?”
“Well, unlike you, I didn’t go to school with her.” He shot the playful jab with a grin. “I know a very little bit about a lot of things. That’s part of my charm.”
“Indeed.” I liked his explanation. “Is there anything you know a whole lot about?”
“You mean like…tantric sexual practices?”
My mouth went dry. “Mmhmm.”
“Not really. Who was it that said, ‘deep down, he’s really very shallow’?”
“Oh, I know this one." I raised my hand. "Dorothy Parker for the win.”
“Seems like you know a little about a lot of things too.” He glanced my way with approval.
“It’s my stock in trade.”
He went back to the classical station—Joshua Bell playing Chopin’s E-flat Nocturne—and put his seat back a few inches.
His hand rested on the console beside mine, and I had the most absurd urge to take it in mine. There was something about Epic, the way he moved, and laughed, and sighed when he was utterly, completely content that touched me in ways I never could have foreseen. It was as if we’d walked together but separately all along and closing the distance between us would feel as natural as breathing.
“Ryan?” he asked.
I had to clear my throat. “Mmhmm?”
“Are you happy I came along on your trip?”
“Very.” I did take his hand then. A blanket of warmth swept over me when he laced our fingers together.
“Me too.”
At the hotel, we left the car with the valet and went to our room to shower off and change. I wore board shorts. Epic returned from the bathroom in a microscopically small Speedo with a pair of swim goggles around his neck.
Smooth as silk, I fished my tongue out of my throat and stood up as though I was ready for this. “They’ll have towels poolside.”
“Okay, let’s go.” He took the towel he’d slung over his shoulder and flung it onto the bed.
As I watched him walk across our suite, I fought the urge to grab my fluffy hotel robe.
I’m not a vain man, never have been. I run, but that’s pretty much it. Biking today had cost me the use of my ass and legs, and honestly, I didn’t expect to do much in the pool besides float. I’d planned to take a healing dip in the hot tub as well as maybe grab a sauna—most of which were definitely medicinal.
Now, before me walked my young Adonis. Nearly my height but leaner with a cut swimmer’s body he hid beautifully beneath his clothes. He didn’t swagger, but he didn’t have to. His body was…breathtaking. Honed.
I’d noticed his broad shoulders and lean hips, but now I could see each muscle was defined down to six-pack abs and a V-cut. His body didn’t come from a gym but was the product of a lifetime of activity.
Before I even took off my flip-flops, Epic dove in, cutting through the water like a knife. He swam to the other end of the pool underwater, surfaced, and swam back to hang on the pool’s edge.
He raked water from his hair. “The temperature is perfect.”
I slid in beside him and decided it was cold. Keeping a smile on my face occupied the next few seconds of my life until I could breathe again.
