Page 56 of Exposed

“Maybe. But seriously, my sofa is lumpy. May the leaping cows be ever in your favor.”

“I didn’t take you to be a dystopian fan after the story you told tonight.”

“My entire life is playing out as dystopian fiction right now, King.”

She bites my name out as if it were a curse word, which I know never touches her lips. It doesn’t sound anything like it did in my head when I imagined having my mouth between her legs at four in the morning in the hotel room that was so epic, it should be retired and never used again because there’s no way anything could live up to that fantasy.

“Goodnight,” she goes on. “I don’t have an extra toothbrush, and if you even think about using mine, I will tear up the contract and head north.”

“But I’ve had my tongue in your mouth,” I point out, remembering it in great detail. “What’s the difference?”

“That fact that you’d even say that makes me want to sleep with my toothbrush under my pillow.” She closes her eyes, holds her hands up, and sighs like she’s about to give up on life solely because of me. “Goodnight, Agent Jennings.”

I watch her tight ass encased in biker shorts that are too short to actually bike in.

I have no fucking idea what they are, but I like them.

“Goodnight, Marigold.”

And with that, her bedroom door slams. Even the turn of her lock sounds frustrated.

I toss the pillow and blankets on the sofa and head to the bathroom.

Undercover work might not be my forte, but I don’t think it’s going to be hard to be possessive of Goldie Carter.

That might be the easiest thingI’ve ever done.

Goldie

My head fallsto my pillow, and I stare into my shadowed room.

I lied to King.

I’m not brave.

Not at all.

It’s why nothing exciting or sensual or spur of the moment ever happens to me.

My one long-term boyfriend back in Virginia enjoyed missionary. That little depressing detail might as well be the slogan for my life.

Safe. Basic. Boring.

I’ve always wanted more.

But not this.

This is the kind of more that only plays out on cable TV and causes me sleepless nights.

I’m not cut out for this kind of more. The only kind of more I want is the fantasy love story that spilled from my lips when King demanded I create our fake history. I was so lost in it, I could have gone on and on and on.

Sans Dex and the Carter Cartel.

The fact I have to carry the same last name as my half-brother is bad enough.

I’m banking on King being good at his job. I need this to be over. I’m not sure how many more times I can walk into The Pink and see it crawling with Dex’s crew like a bad rat infestation.

Because that’s just what they are.

---