Page 19 of Fake Dating an Orc Cowboy

Ifelt bad that he was uncomfortable with the situation. Maybe he hadn’t brought much money with him, and he was worried about how he’d pay for a suit. I mean . . . gold?

He couldn’t hand over precious nuggets like that everywhere we went.

I’d handle this. He’d mentioned not bringing any “slices” of money with him.

Later, I’d assure him again that this was an expense-free vacation for him. Paying for what he needed was the least I could do when he’d come all this way just to pretend I was his girlfriend.

As for swimming, I reminded myself that his people lived underground and in what was basically a completely different world.

He said his people wore what sounded like full bodysuits to swim. Now he’d wear what might feel like almost nothing.

Ostor. Wet. Wearing almost nothing.

My mind spiraled at the image, and I was startled at the direction my thoughts were taking. Pictures of him in the water, his bare green skin glistening, fluttered through me. A flushburned its way up my neck, and I hurried toward a rack marked, “Orc Sizes”.

“Oh-kay, let’s see what they’ve got, shall we?” I sorted through the rack. At least they had plenty of options. “No worries about which one. Whatever you like, it’s yours.” Would that reassure him that he wouldn’t have to pay? If not, he’d see when I insisted at the register. I tugged an orange pair dotted with pink hibiscus flowers and bright green palm trees from the rack and held it up in front of him.

Kinda cute. The green would look good with his skin.

Ostor stared at the fabric like I’d offered him a gown made out of seaweed. He frowned, his brow ridge scrunching in confusion, and his tusks shifted as he slowly spoke. “Isthiswhat human males wear to swim? It's . . . unusual. You’re sure males wear pants without the lower halves and in colors that might draw predators?”

Predators?

“Um, yes,” I said. “They wear suits like this.”

He continued to frown as he stared at the swim trunks. “And they are able to hold onto their lower legs?”

“Why wouldn’t they?” I wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but his uncertainty was sweetly endearing. “We can skip this one that would be better for a beachside luau.” After returning it to the others, I spotted one possibility and held up a plain black pair. “Maybe you’re not a flaming orange and pink flowers kind of guy. How about this one?”

“Perhaps.” His brow wedging further, Ostor slid the suits along the metal bar, finally tilting his head, his eyes lighting up at another option. He tugged out a pair in a bright blue with thin, wavy yellow stripes running across the fabric. His eyes met mine and he grinned. “How about this? It’s calming, like water, and it may blend in enough that predators won’t notice. Is thissomething a human male might wear despite his ever-present fear of sacrificing his lower legs?”

I blinked, trying not to laugh because I had no idea what he meant. But with a clerk hovering nearby, listening in on everything we said, I would hold my questions for later. I would do and say nothing that might make this guy feel uncomfortable.

This suit would look good on him. Actually, with his size and build, the suit was going to look unfairly great on him.

“Yup,” I said. “That’ll work.”

I couldn’t wait to see him in this suit. We headed to the checkout, and after I’d insisted on purchasing it, Ostor grabbed the bag like he was handling precious cargo.

Back at the room, I entered the bathroom to change first. I shimmied into my floral two-piece bathing suit, leaning forward to wiggle my boobs into the cups. I tugged up the thankfully high waistband shorts. After, I stared in the mirror, turning this way and that, sucking in my gut and thrusting my boobs forward.

I looked . . . okay. No, no, that wasn’t right. I looked fantastic. Mindset, and all that. No one would point at me and say I shouldn’t be wearing a bikini. They’d better not or I’d snarl at them, because the best bikini was the one the woman chose to wear.

Why, then, did I feel exposed?

The seven-foot-tall reason waited in the bedroom. Knowing I was about to walk out in front of Ostor wearing very little clothing made me feel like I was fifteen again, dressing up for the school dance and fretting that the cute guy wouldn’t look my way. Maybe I should've brought a one-piece, because my belly . . .

“You look awesome,” I told my mirrored image. “He won't be looking at you that way.”

The thought made me sad, but I shored it up with the reminder that this was supposed to be fake. He wasn’t going to stare at me like he wanted to eat me.

My heart flickering with nerves, I opened the bathroom door and eased out into the room. “You’re next.”

He’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, but he rose when I appeared wearing only my bathing suit and slappity-slap flip-flops.

There wasn’t anything more confidence-boosting than seeing a hot guy’s jaw drop and his pupils dilate—unless he was so horrified he was going to back out of our fake dating agreement.

“Rosey,” he breathed. “You . . .” His gulp took a very long time to make its way down his throat. “Orc females do not wear clothing like this.”

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