Page 8 of Curvy Love

Which is one hundred percent not fair, because I’m pretty sure he’s not meaning to smolder at me. Alex is so hot that smolder is his default setting.

“You look gorgeous,” he says.

He looks pretty damn scrumptious himself in faded jeans that sling low on his hips and a black t-shirt emblazoned with his Guac-N-Roll logo. His hair is still damp from a shower and he’s barefoot, which for some reason seems so sexy. He holds the door open so I have to slip under his arm to step inside.

Once inside the aroma of dinner hits me and I close my eyes and moan. “It smells amazing in here.”

Then his face is leaning close and his lips are brushing across my cheek. “You smell amazing.” He grabs my hand and pulls me. “Come on, I’ll get you set up with a margarita or something while I finish dinner.

Walking behind him gives me the perfect view of his high, tight ass in those jeans. It’s a damned work of art. I wish this was a real date.

His kitchen is open concept and amazing, with sparkling white soapstone countertops and slate grey cabinets. He sits me down at a high-top table and puts a margarita in front of me. The table is already equipped with a basket of tortilla chips and salsa.

Omygosh, it’s like this man was specially designed just for me.

My mouth is watering and my heart is pounding feverishly in my chest. I’m almost tempted to look down to see if you can see my shirt moving with the beat. But then he’s standing in front of me, his big body wedged between my jean-clad thighs.

He searches my face and his smile is so sincere and so everything that I’m just lost. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here too.”

He bends down and takes my lips in a sweet and heart-stoppingly romantic kiss. No tongue, just soft nips with his lips that hint at something deeper than I’m expecting. My nipples harden and my panties grow damp, but he’s in no hurry. And I don’t know exactly what’s happening. Maybe he’s practicing. Getting us used to touching so that this weekend we’ll look like a real couple.

That’s believable, right?

Certainly more believable than Alex—aka Hot Taco Guy—kissing me—aka Boring Business Girl.

And then he’s ending the kiss and stepping away from me and back to the stove. “I’m almost done,” he says.

I watch his back, the way the thick slabs of muscles play under his tight t-shirt as he moves from one pot to the next. He pulls something out of the oven that smells so good, I’m pretty sure I’m drooling. Then he fries up some homemade corn tortillas and I think I might be in love. This man is like a wet dream in the kitchen.

And, who am I kidding? He’s definitely a wet dream in the bedroom, too.

Which is beside the point. Because I am not here to exploit his inherent yumminess. I am here to make sure that when we go to the wedding, neither of us blow our cover. If we trip up and do something to reveal that this is a fake relationship, I will look like a fool and Alex will look like a fraud.

I’m not unfamiliar with the whole “looking like a fool” milieu—after all, I’m chubby and shy and kind of a hot mess. But I really don’t want Alex to look like a fraud.

With that in mind, I pull out my planner from my giant purse and open it up to the monthly view. “So how long do you think we should pretend we’ve been dating?”

“At least three months,” he says like he’s got it all figured out.

We’re in May so that would have been since February. “That puts us around Valentine’s Day.”

“Sure. That’s a logical time to start dating,” he says.

He’s still got his back to me and I’m trying really hard to concentrate on the conversation and not stare at his perfect ass.

“How’d we meet?” I ask.

He glances over his shoulder at me. “At my taco truck. I lured you in with my carne asada.”

“Well, that’s true.” Still, I can feel my cheeks wanting to blush, since it’s not his asada I was staring at a second ago. To distract myself, I hold up my pen and say, “Speaking of, making a carne asada Frito pie taco is simply brilliant.”

He turns and starts bringing food to the table. His smile is wide and dazzling. “Thank you. I thought it was pretty inspired.” He sets things on the table, then sits adjacent to me. His gaze falls to my planner. “Mapping out our relationship?”

I bite down on my lip and lift a shoulder. “I like to be organized and can’t think well on my feet. I get flustered so it’s better if I prepare ahead of time.”

“Makes sense to me. I’m decent on my feet though so don’t stress. I can cover you.” He’s holding a plate of steaming food and my stomach growls loudly. “Considering how pretty your book is with your stickers and whatnot you might want to move it so you don’t spill mole on it.”

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