Page 33 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
I’d said I was sleepy—that was very true—but I was also a red-blooded man who hadn’t gotten laid in the better part of a year. In no way could I break my word and come on to him now, so I lay down and counted on the wine we’d had at dinner to do the trick.
It had been a long day. I’d gotten too much sun, and between my nerves and mini-golf, I was barely awake when Epic came in and made himself comfortable. Thank God between the white noise of water from the shower and the waves I could hear from the shore, I fell into a pleasant, languorous sleep.
Of course, I didn’t stay that way. At three in the morning I woke again, feeling refreshed and wide awake. That gave me the opportunity to study Epic at leisure.
As I’d thought, he had an old Hollywood face. A square-jawed, East Coast, old money look that made him appear masculine and at the same time a little dreamy.
I could totally picture him on the big screen with Jimmy Stewart and Henry Fonda. He was still young, but he’d season into one hell of a handsome man. In the light coming through the window, I saw he’d put on a Chain Smokers T-shirt. He lay on his back, exposing his profile, and I almost laughed when I recalled Luis sizing him up.
He didn’t snore, but I did. I wondered if he’d noticed. If things were different, if he wasn’t my fake boyfriend, would snoring be a deal breaker?
It had bothered Luis.
A lot had bothered Luis—from my job, to my snoring, to the fact that I didn’t like ostentatious gifts and didn’t care who designed my clothes. He didn’t like that I wouldn’t take time off work for an impromptu trip to Greece on someone’s yacht.
I sighed and tried to get out of bed without waking Epic. I picked up a robe and padded into the living room part of the suite where I took out my laptop to check messages and get a look at the nightly news.
I was streaming a feel-good story about a dog who’d saved a little girl from drowning when Epic came out to find me.
“Hey.” He rubbed his eyes. “Can’t sleep?”
“It’s the booze. Once the alcohol wears off, the sugar takes over, and I wake up for a while. Go back to sleep. I’m fine.”
“But now I’m awake.” He pouted. Reaching for my shoulders, he began rubbing them in lazy circles.
“Oh, that’s heavenly.”
“That’s me. I’m positively celestial.”
I laughed, and something he did made me drop my chin to my chest like my neck was a noodle. “Oh.”
“You’re tight. Do you ever get massages?”
I shook my head. “Nuh-uh.”
“Mm. Maybe you should if you like it that much. My roommate, Bea, gives great massages. She’s getting her esthetician’s license in order to work at Pure Harmony Spa."
“Where’s that?”
“About fifteen miles south of St. Nacho’s on the 101. It’s a newer hotel, spa, and wedding venue like this one.” He frowned. “Well, not like this one, because seriously, this place is in a class by itself.”
His fingers worked some kind of magic, unlocking each of my nerve endings and turning me into a puddle of goo.
“You okay?”
“I am.” I sighed. “That feels so good.”
“I guess you kind of got thrown into the deep end this trip. First, I made you play mini-golf, and then we bumped into your ex. That can’t have been fun.”
“No.”
“Do you still miss him?”
I had to give that some thought. “Not him specifically.”
“Oh. The idea of him?”
“That’s it. The idea of that one person who really knows who you are.”
