Fake (West Hollywood 1)

“You can laugh,” I said. “It’s a Christmas miracle!”

“It’s April.”

“Eh. Whatever.”

“You did great tonight, Norah,” he said.

“Why, thank you.”

It was alarming the way my insides went all warm and fuzzy at his words. Maybe I should see a doctor. Or a therapist. The thing is, I’d finally met a man who not only liked me, but he supported me and said he was proud of me. He actually listened when I got verbal diarrhea. Too bad we were fake.

“Night, Patrick. Sweet dreams.”

Nobody would define me as being big on cuddling. As much I enjoyed kissing, hugging, and sexing, when it came time to sleep, I liked my space. Which was why it was a surprise to wake up with Patrick all over me. The man had not stuck to his side of the bed. Not even a little. One of his legs was thrown over mine, his arm lay curled around my middle, and his face was shoved into the back of my head. I knew this due to the soft in-and-out of his breath against my hair. And he was heavy. I wouldn’t be going anywhere without waking him up.

I had no idea the man even liked me this much. And he really did if the erect penis prodding my butt cheek was any indication. Just joking. Morning wood isn’t always caused by things sexual in nature. I looked it up once. But still, knowing it was there had me overheating in an instant. My nipples hardened and my sex ached. Every inch of me was suddenly wide the fuck awake.

Of course, he could have just stumbled across me in his sleep. This was the most likely explanation. There he’d been, dreaming of winning an Oscar or whatever, when he’d encountered another body in his bed. All perfectly innocent. Didn’t make it any less awkward, though.

It would therefore be best if I made my escape before he woke. Yes. Good plan.

I wriggled forward. Nice slow, gentle movements. Nothing that would wake him. But I’d no sooner managed a whole two inches of separation than the muscles in his arm flexed and he pulled me back against him. Heck. There wasn’t a breath of space between us from head to toe. Dammit.

“Patrick,” I said, giving his arm a little shake.

A groan from him.

“Patrick, wake up.”

He yawned and stretched and settled full body against me once more. And promptly went back to sleep.

There was nothing else to be done. I pushed at his leg and twisted out from beneath his hand and pulled down my shirt all at the same time. Hooray for multitasking. However, the whole twisting out from under his hand hadn’t worked out so well since his palm now lay warm across my thigh. His fingers even gave the flesh a little squeeze. This guy. I swear. While he might be a gentleman when he was awake, he was damn grabby in his sleep.

Big blue eyes blinked up at me all mildly perturbed. “Norah, what are you doing?”

And he was so cute all sleep rumpled. I really couldn’t help myself. Fucking with him was both a privilege and an honor. “Morning, big boy.”

“Morning,” he mumbled.

“Thought I’d make you breakfast. You must have worked up quite an appetite after last night. I love it when someone else does all the work,” I said. “Would you like waffles or pancakes?”

“Pancakes,” he said, closing his eyes once more.

“I’m so glad we gave in to our rampant lust and just went for it, you know?”

He frowned.

“You were amazing,” I purred.

Both eyes opened and he gazed up at me all confused. Then he snorted. “Very funny.”

“Thanks.”

“You could just say good morning like a normal person.”

“Indeed I could. But look where your hand is, my friend.”

He blinked some more and looked down our two bodies to where his hand remained curled around my thigh, all proprietary like. I’d never seen a man move so fast to unhand me without the aid of my knee in his groin. It was impressive.

“Shit. Sorry, Norah.”

“It’s okay.”

“I just . . . shit.”

“You already said that.”

“I didn’t mean to maul you in your sleep.”

“I know. Relax,” I said. “We were both out of it. And there are worse things in life than being your cuddle bunny for a night.”

He frowned some more. Then he grabbed at the blankets we’d kicked off and covered the middle section of his body. The poor man with his hard-on. This was why having a vagina was so superior in every way.

“You know,” I said. “Normally I toss and turn and wake up a few times and can’t always get back to sleep. My brain gets busy, you know? But you seem to have done the work of a weighted blanket. Because I slept remarkably well.”

“Great.”

“How did you sleep?”

For a moment, he thought this over. “Good, actually.”