My Big Fat Fake Wedding - Lauren Landish Page 0,32

my pants before I can do anything about it.

Shiiiiit.

Violet is stunning, and I’m a total asshole for never noticing. But I’m sure as fuck noticing now.

“Now you . . . no ssshoes on the bed.” She pats the mattress next to her, and I realize that she thinks I brought her to my bed to fuck her. And in the surprise of the century, I want to. I want to fuck Violet Russo, the annoying pain in my teenage ass whom I honestly haven’t given a moment’s thought about until tonight.

But not like this. Not so drunk she doesn’t even know what she’s doing.

Someone should nominate me for sainthood.

Instead of doing what every instinct in my body says it wants me to do, I pull the sheet up over her body and she starts shimmying underneath the sheet.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my brow furrowing. She grunts a little, her pink tongue sticking out in concentration. “You need a drink? Some water?” I clarify.

She doesn’t answer, but getting a bit of space seems like a good plan right now because Violet’s writhing around in my bed is looking better than I would’ve thought it ever could. “I’ll be right back.”

Before I can even get to the door, her dress hits me in the back of the head. I glance back to see her triumphant face and hurry to the bathroom, where I stick my face underneath the cold water of the sink until I can actually think.

Violet Russo is in my bed. Naked. Lusting for me. Me? And I want her?

How did this happen?

My cock’s rock hard at seeing even a quick peek of her pussy, and I force myself to focus and play memory games, an old trick that I used back in my college days, reciting Super Bowl champions going backward until my brain’s able to take hold again.

It takes me all the way back to the Miami Dolphins before I feel the pressure in my balls subside enough that I don’t think I could crack a brick with my dick, and I quickly flush the toilet for my cover story. I splash my face again, looking at the confused, haunted eyes in the mirror when I’m done.

Holy Shit. Leaving my thoughts of naked Violet for a moment, I’m struck with the bigger reality of the night.

I said I’d marry her.

Not a silly flirtation we could play off as a one-time thing. Not a drunken night we could both ignore. Not even a short-term fling to get people off my back.

But I said I’d walk down the aisle with her, fake or not, in front of her friends and family. In front of my family.

What the fuck was I thinking?

The devil on my shoulder laughs, knowing exactly what I was thinking. That she’s sexy . . . and kissed me . . . and needs me.

And doesn’t knowing ball-buster Violet Russo needs me do something squirmy to my insides? Just yesterday, I would’ve said it was glee at getting one over on her. Tonight, I’m not so sure that’s what this warmth is. It feels bigger, deeper, hotter than our . . . what did she call it? Frenemies? Yeah, this feels like more than a frenemy-ship.

What the fuck am I going to do?

This is such a bad idea. I know it. She knows it. Hell, Abi set us both up, and even she’s gotta know it. Even if it would solve some problems temporarily, I don’t think anyone would actually believe that our bickering and teasing caught fire and led to insta-love and marriage. Would they?

Taking a deep breath, I head back to my bedroom. I need to break this off before it goes too far because this is so many types of mistake that I can’t even list them all in my foggy brain. And when Violet’s not desperate and drunk, she’ll see that I’m right.

But what I see at the doorway stops me in my tracks.

She’s an angel, sleeping peacefully on a cloud of high-thread-count cotton in my bed. Her eyes are closed as she snores softly. With each exhale, her lips poof out just a little bit, and as I watch, she hums softly before squirming and getting more comfortable. She hugs one of my pillows to her chest before sighing happily in her sleep.

I can’t.

I can’t what?

Fake marry her? Or not fake marry her?

Yeah. Both of those, at the same time. Which makes no sense, but there it is, swirling in my