Page 61 of Gin and Lava

“I’m surprised you’ve even heard of Lululemon,” Naomi prods. “Seeing that you shop at Horny-Hawaiian-Shirts-or-Bust.”

“The word Lululemon is printed above your ass, which I’ve been staring at for the last twenty minutes, so …” Naomi twists to see the logo above her backside. It’s followed by a glare in my direction for being a pervy shit. “At least I can read, right?” I throw out as a consolation, before grunting in my best caveman voice. “Fake boyfriend can read.”

She almost smiles.

And by almost, I mean she gives me her best Death Eater scowl.

“Fake relationship rule number forty-seven,” I say, leaning into the fact that she needs rules for this arrangement. “If you wear sexy shit, I’m going to gawk at you like a pervy asshole when you wear it.”

“The rule should be,” Naomi corrects, “that you have to be a gentleman, because I’d never date anyone who ogles me in public.”

“Except, I’m still me,” I point out. “I’m not going to be Mr. Perfect.”

Naomi walks up and buttons the top of my Hawaiian shirt. “In private, you can be a hot, dirty, maven of all things naughty, Mason. But in public—”

“Big words again, Princess,” I tease.

“Aficionado. Expert. Connoisseur,” she says, turning into a thesaurus. “Arbiter of all things freaky freak. An epicurean of the finer delights.”

“I know what maven means,” I say with a smirk.

“Then why’d you—?”

I cup her hips, sliding my hands dangerously toward that perfect ass. “I just like hearing you tell me how amazing you think I am in bed.”

She gives me an annoyed frown. “Rule number three,” she emphasizes, because we’ve only established two already:

One—Connor, Ned, and Esme are all allowed to know the truth, because there’s no way they’d believe it. It’s better to have them in on the scheme, than questioning it every ten seconds.

And two—No inappropriate groping in public (which makes what I want to do with my hands right now off limits). We’re allowedtastefulPDA: holding hands, sweet kisses, an arm around her waist … all the stuff that keeps Hallmark in business.

“Rule number three,” Naomi repeats, “is you don’t act stupid when you’re smart.”

“But we both know I’m not smart.”

“You are not a damsel in distress,” Naomi admonishes, snagging my fingers and keeping them in thepolitenear-her-waist region. “You own a business. You graduated from college. You know what maven means.”

“Maven, yes,” I agree. “But Epi-cure-whosy-whatsy, not so much. Though, I’m sure I can use your synonyms to figure it out.”

Naomi gives me a stare. “See? Smart.”

“That’s America’s average fourth-grade education,” I defend. “We all learned how to infer with like-words in elementary school.”

“It’s sexier when you don’t play dumb,” she points out.

“But I don’t want all the smart girls to feel inferior.” I play it up with a faux innocent voice, even though we both know it’s usually the girls who hide their smarts.

“Does that help you get laid more frequently?”

“Probably not.”

She nods mockingly. “And what happened toI am who I am? AndI can’t lie for shit?”

She’s totally calling me out.

“You realize I spent my formative years with Connor and Ned, right?” It’s my turn to smirk. “Those two were Tweedle-dee-golden-boy and Tweedle-dee-goldener-boy. We’re talking honors classes, AP, scholarships, law school, GPAs that put my giant cock to shame. Let’s just say my bar for smart is exceptionally high.”

“You need to stop comparing yourself to Connor and Ned,” Naomi says, and I shrug it off like I do everything, dropping my hands from her waist and heading up the trail.

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