And while he might bear a slight resemblance to the Prince Charming of my dreams, there were many critical differences. For example, my Prince Charming smiled a lot, and not just when we were drunk on Howling Turtles and flirting at the Thicket Tavern, like the night we met.
Prince Charming wouldn’t avoid even the most harmless personal questions as if the answers might incriminate him.
He’d also never say something egotistical (and patently false) the morning after our first night together, like “I can tell you’re a relationship kind of guy, Quinn, and I need to tell you, I’m not into relationships,” which really should have been my first red flag where Champ was concerned, because if he’d simply asked, I’d have told him I was soooo not into them either.
Prince Charming would be as sweet and funny when the sun came up as he was when he came by the shop at night to “check on you, because I saw your light was still on.”
He would not have a weird split personality that enabled him to talk sweetly to me for hours about everything from our favorite movies, to funny stories about Champ’s time in the military, to the ups and downs of owning a business, then sex me up until I was cum-drunk, then spend the night in my bed… only to freak the fuck out the next morning like he thought I might tattoo his name on my forehead as a symbol of my undying love if he acted the slightest bit friendly.
And Prince Charming—
The bedroom door opened so fast it hit the wall with a bang, and a tiny fluffball predator attacked my discarded pillow with glee.
Oh, yeah. Prince Charming wouldn’t be the most irresponsible dog owner in the entire freakin’ universe.
It was a good thing Aunt Cherry had decided to spend her retirement traveling around the country with one of her Bunco friends, because she would legit disown me if she knew I’d spent not one, not two, but twenty-six nights with someone like Percy Champion. Hell, I was ready to disown myself.
“How the heck should I know where your shirt is?” I demanded. My voice sounded rough and wrecked, which was partly because I was still half-asleep and partly because of, you know… other things.
Things like blowing Percy Champion’s monster cock the night before.
Twice.
Despite solemnly vowing on Sunday morning that I would break the cycle of booty calls and morning-after regrets by absolutely, positively never going anywhere near said cock again, and that this time, I meant it.
Damn it. I flopped back onto the mattress and squeezed my eyes shut. For real, Aunt Cherry could never know about this.
“It was my favorite vintage Harley T-shirt,” he grumbled.
“Oooh. Bummer.”
“It was faded to the perfect softness.”
“You should probably have taken better care of it, then, hmm?”
“And this is the third time one of my shirts has gone missing over here,” Mr. So-Not-Charming barked, like he was back in the Marines and expected me to give him a jaunty salute. “So could you sit up and help me look?”
Seriously, why did the universe make the hot ones so damn annoying?
“M’kay.” I rolled to a sitting position for the second time and gave the man a piece of my mind. “I’m gonna do the world a great service right now and clue you in on a little secret. That deep, commanding voice thing? It only works on me if one of us is about to get our dick sucked. Otherwise, if you want me to do you a favor, there’d better be a bag of fresh, honey-glazed donuts from Annie’s in your meaty paw and a big ol’ smile on that pretty face, baby.”
He stared at me for a second, and then his gaze heated. I couldn’t tell if he was turned on by my attitude or just imagining getting his dick sucked—again—but my stupid, traitorous body didn’t know how to not respond to that look. I was this close to sliding out of bed and getting rid of his bad mood the old-fashioned way…
And then he went and ruined it.
“Don’t call me baby. I hate pet names. And I am not bringing you donuts in bed, Quinn. Ever. That’s not… that’s not what we do. You know that, right?”
Ugh. Seriously? I flopped back down, pulled the blanket over me, and muttered, “I am aware that we are not in a relationship. Just because they’re ring-shaped does not make them a symbol of commitment, Champion.”
He shook my leg again. “I’m being serious. We need to discuss this—”
“I assure you, we do not.” But I was probably running late for work, so I sat up once more—three sit-ups counted as an ab workout, right?—and threw off the covers.
Champ made a kind of strangled noise and rubbed a hand over his mouth like he was fighting a smile.