Four Day Fling

His left eyebrow joined his right one.

“Okay, so I’m exaggerating, but that’s what she didn’t say.” I bit back a laugh, taking my bottom lip between my teeth. “Long story short, I’ve failed miserably at finding a date. So…the reason I was hovering over you like a weirdo this morning was because I was trying to figure out how I could leave you my number and explain this situation in a note without looking like… Uh, the weirdo I look like right now.”

He laughed. “The note would have been weirder. Trust me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Waking up to find that someone I’d had sex with left me a note to ask me to their sister’s wedding? I’d be a little weirded out. I’d also hope that you never found me again.” He snorted.

“And you weren’t weirded out by me?”

“A little. But, hey. Despite that, I kinda like you, Red.” He gave me a lopsided grin and tilted his head to the side. “And I get your situation. I have four sisters, and if I ever showed up to one of their weddings without a date, my mom would kill me.”

“That’s pretty accurate as to what’s going to happen to me this weekend. With any luck, she’ll ignore me entirely.” I paused. “I’ll probably have a better weekend if she does, if I’m honest.”

Adam had his mug to his mouth, and he choked, slapping his hand over his mouth. “Jesus. I know that feeling.”

“I take my kicks where I can get them where she’s concerned. Especially since she’ll make my life a living freaking hell after the wedding.”

He coughed again, thumping his chest. “What’s the deal with the wedding?”

I peered over at him. “What?”

“What’s the deal? Is it a one-day thing? A weekend?”

Was he considering this? Being the date for a crazy redhead who watched him sleep?

I didn’t, but it sounded more dramatic that way.

“A four-day thing,” I said slowly. “It’s down in Key West. Arrive Friday morning, leave Monday night. The wedding is Sunday evening.”

“This Friday?”

I nodded. “It’s okay. It was a ridiculous idea. I panicked.”

“Hey—I didn’t say no. I was just confirming it was this weekend.”

I stared at him.

No. He wasn’t going to agree, was he?

“I couldn’t get there Friday morning because I have a work meeting, but I can drive down after and meet you there.” He rested his arms on the counter and leaned forward. “If you want me to, that is.”

I blinked quickly. “You—you’d pretend to be my date for the weekend just so I’m not tortured by my mother?”

“Yes, but if the situation is ever reversed and we’re both still single, I fully expect the favor to be returned.”

“You’re going to be my fake boyfriend?”

“Does being your fake boyfriend include real sex?”

Well, that was a scenario I hadn’t considered. Judging by the night before, though…

“I’m gonna have to release stress some way, and I’m really not a runner. Plus, last night wasn’t exactly terrible.”

He grinned, confidence fully shining through. “I agree. Look, Red. I’m free. I can do it. Just as long as it doesn’t get too awkward.”

“Why would it get awkward?”

His smile faltered for the tiniest moment, and he looked at me as if he didn’t understand why I was asking that question. “I’m your fake boyfriend,” he said, almost as an afterthought. “And all I know about you is how to make you orgasm.”

“That’s solid knowledge. That’s all you really need to know to make the weekend a success.” I gave him my own half-grin.

“All right, Red. Let’s do this.”

***

“You’ve lost your damn mind,” Avery said, pulling the cork out of the wine bottle with a little pop. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. Does he have a magic dick?”

Maybe.

“He’s just helping me out,” I said warily. “I mean, he gets something out of it, too. He gets sex.”

“Oh, well, that’s okay. You get your mom off your back for a weekend and regular sex.” She stopped, wine bottle ready to pour. “Wait. I see your logic.”

I laughed, tucking my feet beneath my butt. “It’s crazy. I know it is. I don’t know anything about him except that his name is Adam, he has a really nice house, he has a magic dick, and he makes a mean omelet.”

Straight-faced, she met my eyes and said, “Marry him.”

“Avery—”

“I’m serious. Omelets are hard, girl. I don’t think I’ve ever made an omelet that hasn’t ended up as scrambled eggs.”

“You burn toast.”

“I did that one time, and that was because my dumbass brother turned the dial-up. You know that.” She finished pouring the second glass of wine and handed it to me. “I’m just worried about you. You know what your mom’s like.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m glad I have a date.”

“A date you don’t know.”

“I know him quite well,” I said. “I know how to make him come.”

“Oh, well, slap my ass and call me Suzy—that’s the kind of info your mom wants to know!”