My Big Fat Fake Wedding - Lauren Landish Page 0,73

like it. I like it a lot.

It’s like before this wasn’t serious, but now it’s gotten real. Very real.

For me, at least. And isn’t that the million-dollar question? I’m not a casual sex person, usually, but with at least six months with Ross looming on the horizon, I wonder if I can be. Can I have sex, fake being in love, get married, and then walk away when the time is right without being broken? Can he?

Though questions are still rolling through my head, my bladder is telling me that regardless of any moral boundaries I might have obliterated, I’ve got some physical needs to take care of. I quietly slip off the sofa and hurry to the bathroom, where I freshen up.

“Good morning,” Ross says quietly behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing my neck. I arch my back, pushing my bare ass back against another part of him that’s woken up as he slides his right hand up to cup my breast and pinch my nipple lightly. “Mmm . . . so that wasn’t a ridiculously vivid sex dream last night.”

“No,” I say with a small smile, turning my head to look up into his eyes. “But thanks for confessing that you wanted me first.” I can’t help the tease as it slips from my tongue.

With a grin, I tell him, “We can’t right now . . . I’ve got an early client, and it’s just luck I woke up in time.”

Part of me, a big part of me, wants Ross to ignore what I just said and bend me over the sink so we can watch in the mirror as he gives me a very big good morning. And though I hate to admit it, I want him to make me say ‘please’ again because damn if he didn’t make it worth it.

But instead, he pulls back, a smirk on his face as he nods and heads over to the toilet cubicle, closing the frosted glass door behind him. It’s a nice customization and allows us to both be in the bathroom without actually having to watch anyone ‘do their business’. A little mystery is a good thing, especially when I’m not sure what side of the real-fake line we’re leaning toward.

“You know, I never really thought this would happen,” Ross says, broaching the subject while I start washing my face. “You know, us . . . sleeping together. I figured we had better odds of killing each other.”

I chuckle, though some small gash in my teenage heart heals a little bit at the longed-for recognition, and then we’re both quiet for a moment, our eyes locked on one another in the mirror as he stands behind me.

Ross laughs, and a moment later, the toilet flushes and he comes out and washes his hands. “Okay, point taken. But you’re Abi’s best friend, the same girl I taunted for years.” Seems his thoughts this morning are in line with my own. I wonder if they diverge from my wishy-washy uncertainty, though.

“That you did.”

Ross hums, then quickly bends down and literally kisses my ass. “Well, those chicken legs of yours have become finger lickin’ good!” His finger traces up the back of my thigh.

I shiver, gasping when he smacks my ass playfully. “Bastard! Do you know how much I hated that? You were the sole reason I learned how to do a proper squat and lunge. I did supersets every night for years.”

“I didn’t know that,” Ross says, stepping back, his smile fading a little. But then the teasing light comes back, though a little dimmer. “I’d say I’m sorry, but have you seen your ass? Whatever you did worked and was worth it, honey.”

I chuckle, and then we’re both quiet for a moment, our eyes locked on one another in the mirror as he stands behind me.

“I don’t regret what we did.” His voice is rough, like he’s talking over gravel.

“I don’t, either,” I reply, grabbing my toothbrush and green Colgate toothpaste. I prep my brush, then look up at him. “Look, we’ve crossed that bridge, and it was nice, ten out of ten, would ride that ride again. But I know the drill. Fake marriage, fake relationship, no strings attached. But there’s nothing wrong with us getting a little something extra out of the deal, I guess.”

“Rebel, you’re breaking your own rules,” he says, but instead of a tease, it sounds like a compliment. The way his eyes trace over the reflection of my