INDY
Daily update—that kiss you saw last week was fake, but I still had to change my underwear when I got home. So, kind of real?
STEVIE
If I help you move out, will the daily updates from hell stop?
I’m too far in, sis. Reminder—I warned you.
“And you’re sure?”
“I am. I checked with our provider yesterday. Our insurance policy doesn’t cover fertility treatments, and that won’t be changing at the beginning of the year. That will have to be an out-of-pocket expense.”
Falling back onto my bed, I sigh a defeated exhale. “Thank you for looking into it.”
“Of course, Indy. Have a good day.”
The head of the airline’s human resources department hangs up the phone before I grab a pillow off the side of my bed and silently scream into it.
Goddammit. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.
Last week, I went to dinner with the flight crew while on the road for work and spilled the details of why I was wanting to earn some extra cash. One of my coworkers could’ve sworn our insurance packages were changing with the year to include fertility treatment benefits, but unfortunately HR finally got back to me this morning to snuff that hopeful flame.
I’m making enough with my salary now that Ryan isn’t allowing me to pay rent, but it’d be nice to offer him something. Honestly, I wish he’d take even a little bit so I could maybe go shopping for a new outfit and not feel guilty that my best friend’s brother is giving me a free ride while I blow some cash on fun.
Heading into the kitchen, I turn on the sink and get to work. Ryan’s been on a weeklong road trip, and I somewhat cleaned the mess I made of the apartment, although I’m sure it’s not to his standards. But last night I got burnt out and left the dishes until this morning. Honestly, I’m surprised Ryan didn’t start doing them when he got home from the airport around three AM.
He left on a road trip the morning after that kiss, and if you think I’ve thought of anything else since, you’d be sorely mistaken. The way his hands took charge, claiming me, one on my hip, one through my hair. The way his lips were commanding, but soft enough to yield to mine. Most of all, the reason he did it—because he didn’t want Alex to think he’d come out ahead.
Sure, it was all for show, but good luck trying to convince my body of that. If that was a fake kiss, I’m not sure I could handle knowing what a real one feels like.
Seeing Alex was a painful dose of reality. I had the privilege of forgetting about him until that night. Well, maybe I didn’t completely forget about him because the damage he’s done feels like a deep scar that’ll never heal, constantly opening for the rest of my life, but he has moved to the back of my mind over the last few weeks.
That night though, seeing him, realizing he views me as disposable, as a forgettable piece of his life when he had been my priority for so long, has made me desperate to try to move on the way he has.
If he can live his life like I didn’t mean anything to him, why can’t I? Why is he the last man I’ve been with? Why shouldn’t I be able to disconnect sex and love? I’ve never done it before, but I need to try. It’s only been seven months since I was living the life I thought was my forever. My heart shouldn’t be ready to move on, but that doesn’t mean my body can’t.
Maybe a physical relationship will flush him out of my system and there’s only one man I want to test that theory with.
As if he could hear my carnal thoughts summoning him, Ryan’s bedroom door opens while I’m mid-load of the dishwasher. I’m bent over, ass out, but since everything has been so fake between us, it shouldn’t be a problem for him. The attraction is all pretend, right?
When I look back, I’m pleasantly surprised to find his blue-green eyes hooded over and staring at my ass. My shorts are a little too short, but that’s what he gets.
That’s right, take it in, Roomie. And good luck blaming the drool dripping down your chin on acting.
But then I see the rest of him, my eyes coasting down his bare chest because the motherfucker is in nothing but a towel, water still dripping down his body, fresh out of the shower.
He leans against his doorframe, corded arms crossed over his damp chest, stupid fucking dimples concaving with a smirk. “Indigo Ivers, are you doing…dishes?”
I roll my eyes. “Is this what your wet dreams look like, Shay?”
“Essentially.”
He pops off the doorframe, sauntering into the kitchen, and the rarely seen smug smile across his lips tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Where are your clothes?”
“In my room?”
“Why aren’t you wearing them?”
“Because this is my house.”
I feel him behind me, watching me as I swirl a sponge around a dirty bowl. His hands brace the counter on either side of me, his chest to my back, and the heat from his shower radiates off him, warming me.
He’s naked under that towel, and every part of me wants to lean back and feel his body on mine.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “Adding this image into your spank bank for your next lonely night on the road?”
His chest rumbles. “Yes.” His palm glides against my lower back as he backs away, giving me space. “Good morning, by the way.”
I swallow down the low moan from his simple touch. “Morning. How was your road trip?”
“It was all right. We split. Two wins, two losses. You’re leaving on yours today?”
Putting the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, I close it and turn to face him. Perfectly lean muscles across a broad chest, obliques tight and curving downward, creating a visual path I’d love to follow. Dusting of dark hair under his navel and—dear God, get it together, woman.
He laughs, breaking my trance. I love the sound but hate the haughtiness of it.
“Go put some goddamn clothes on.”
“You were the one who was obsessing over me being shirtless the first time you came over here.”
“Yeah, well, that was before I realized how annoying you were.”
A thumb dusts his lower lip as his wandering gaze works its way over my bare legs. He must know what he’s doing to me, and honestly, it’s not fair. He’s already turned me down once.
“Ryan.” I cock my head. “Really. What are you doing?”
“Just playing the game you started.” He pushes off the counter, taking two steps towards me. His index finger hooks under the hem of my shorts, igniting my skin with goosebumps. “Wearing these itty-bitty shorts and bending over in my kitchen. Don’t act all innocent, Blue.”
He turns away from me, grabbing a yogurt from the fridge while I inhale a needed breath. How is he so unaffected? My entire body is on fire because I need to get laid and the only person I want to do it is my fake boyfriend who is currently walking around our apartment in nothing but a towel.
Did he truly feel nothing from that kiss? Is he not sexually attracted to me in the slightest?
I slide in front of the silverware drawer before he can pull out a spoon.
He sighs. “Indy, what are you doing?”
“Do you think I’m pretty?”
He rolls his eyes.
“Do you?”
Ryan levels me with a look, serious and stoic. “I think you’re smart.”
Oh.
“Kind. Chaotic. A bit of a smartass and too charming for your own good.”
Oh, wow. I like that answer much more than the one I was expecting, but I divert because his response is far too detailed and knowing of who I am. “So, you don’t think I’m pretty, then.”
He chuckles. “Indy, I’m not blind, but even if I were, I’m pretty sure I could touch your face and understand just how fucking stunning you are, but it’s not the first thing I see anymore.”
Well, fuck me.
Stepping towards him, still blocking the drawer he needs to get into, my breasts press against his stomach, taking away any space between us. He can’t answer a question with that much sincerity after claiming he faked a kiss with me the other night.
I watch his throat bob in a swallow. “What are you doing?”
“Pretending.” I inch into his personal space, snaking my arms over his shoulders, my nails scratching the tight fade around his hairline. “Acting. Just how you pretended the other night when you kissed me.”
“Oh, yeah?” His neck bends, his lips ghosting over my jaw until his forehead falls onto my shoulder. “Mmm, that feels good,” he murmurs into me as I pull him closer.
Acting my ass.
My hips move into his, voluntary or not, I can’t exactly say, but I’m quickly reminded that this man is wearing only a towel.
A gasp escapes me as he easily swoops me up with one arm behind my back, hoisting me on the kitchen counter. Large palms hook under my bare thighs, jerking me towards the edge and while his face is still pressed into the crook of my neck, he spreads my knees apart.
He’s suffocating, crowding me like this, but in the best way possible. I pull back slightly so I can watch the pads of his broad thumbs languidly trace their way up my inner thighs. He takes his time, patient and frustrating as he pushes my legs farther and farther apart. Once he’s halfway up my upper legs, as he dots my throat with warm wet kisses, I close my eyes, head falling back and heat rushing south.
I want him.
I especially want him a few inches north. His thumb preferably, creating stiff little circles.
I’m lost in the feeling, my legs open around him, his breath and mouth on my neck. Involuntarily, my hips grind into the open air, searching for him.
A gentle bite of my ear sends a shockwave to my clit and a moan slips from my lips.
“You don’t want to play this game with me, Blue.” Pulling away, he bops my nose with a spoon. “I will always win.”
He grabs his yogurt once again and heads towards his bedroom.
Looking down, I find the silverware drawer pulled out between my open legs. That motherfucker distracted me and opened the goddamn silverware drawer between my spread thighs.
I’m hot and flustered and kind of pissed off. The audacity of this man to leave me on the counter panting for more. “How are you so certain you’ll win?”
His brows lift, sending me a pointed glance that screams you’re about thirty seconds from coming on the kitchen counter and you think I’d be the first one to cave?
Holding his stare, I don’t accept the silent answer.
Turning away from me, he heads into his room, but before he closes the door behind him, I hear him say, “I’m celibate, that’s why.”
