Page 15 of Real Fake Husband

“Sorry,” I say again.

Callum laughs. Dammit, I hate how sexy it sounds with his raspy voice.

“I’m not,” he says, clearly in no rush to move or cover himself. “You wanna rethink us consummating our marriage?”

“No! Of course not!”

“You sure? Youwerecozied up to me thirty seconds ago. The whole night, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I can’t be held responsible for what I do in my sleep.”

“I just find it funny how much you protested, and yet, here we are.”

“Oh, shut up!”

“Come on, Josie. Admit it, it felt good.”

It did feel good. He did feel good. Too good. Also, he smells really good. Like man, and bare skin.

I peek back at him. My face hasgotto be beet red—I know it is. I feel the heat in my cheeks. “It was just an accidental cuddle,” I say, jaw clenched. “Means nothing.”

“Uh-huh. Sure it doesn’t.”

He stretches again and places his hands behind his head, giving me a full view of his tattooed body. Dear God, the pecs on that man. He’s built, but it’s not excessive. His muscles look and feel like they come from hard work, not endless hours at the gym.

Just past him, I can see the alarm clock on the nightstand. “I don’t have time for this. I have to get ready for work.” It’s the perfect excuse I need to get out of bed.

“It’s not even six.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you work in the restaurant business.”

I grab a pair of clean black pants and my second pink uniform shirt, making a mental note to throw my work clothes into the wash before I leave or when I get back.

“I know how restaurants work. I was a busser way back in the day,” Callum says, sitting up. “I was talking about the fact that you worked last night and now you have to go back in less than twelve hours later.”

“The owner asked me to cover a shift.” I gather a few more items on my way to the bathroom.

“The owner should do it. I’d never ask one of my employees to work back-to-back shifts like that.”

That makes me pause. “You have employees?”

I’m well aware that I know little about Callum’s life. The few times Mrs. Blanchie tried to talk him up to me, she mentioned he was well-off, but never went into details about what he did. I didn’t ask. I had no interest in him or his employment endeavors. Now, my curiosity is piqued.

“Yeah, I own several Ashford Motors in San Francisco and the bay area, and I’m opening a new location here in the city.”

“A car dealership? You sell cars?”

“Motorcycles, actually.” Callum stands up, arranges his shorts (or what is inside his shorts), and stretches one more time. “Buy, sell, and fix.”

Without hesitation, he drops to the floor and starts doing push-ups. I have the mental image of him riding shirtless on a shiny motorcycle, his tan, tattooed chest glistening from sweat. I shake away the mental image.

“I guess I never thought of you as the responsible CEO type,” I admit.

He grins at me as he works out. “So, you’ve thought of me, huh?”

“Ugh.” I roll my eyes and leave, ignoring his smirk. Can’t have a regular conversation with this guy without him turning it around and being a cocky jerk.

I hurry to get ready, not wanting to be late. My morning routine is screwed up already from being in a new place, and I’m not sure how long it’s going to take me to get to the subway from here. I can’t afford to spend any more cash on an Uber until I get paid again.

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