Page 41 of Fumbled Into Love

Sawyer chuckles.

“We need to see where you line up,” she says in response to my glare and stands beside Maren, their arms crossed as they survey the scene.

I stare into Declan’s blue eyes, wildly uncomfortable with what’s happening. Nathalie wraps her arms around my torso.

“What do you guys think?” she asks, leaning against my chest. “Do you think it’s realistic?”

Sawyer hums. Maren shakes her head.

“No,” they conclude at the same time. “Not without some bending.”

“That’s what I thought,” Nathalie hums before flipping, bending forward, and shoving her ass against my pelvis.

I nearly leap out of my skin.

“How about now?” she asks, grabbing onto Declan’s shoulders for stability.

The blood drains from Declan’s face. Maren snickers and Sawyer hums.

“It looks like it might work,” Sawyer says, before gasping. “Wait, what about the scene where one is holding her while they…”

“Fuck,” Maren finishes when Sawyer trails off again. “And then the other guy comes up behind her. Let's try that one, guys,” Maren declares.

Nathalie stands, head bobbing between Declan and me. Her eyes are wide and bright behind her glasses, and all the conversation of sex positions is making my joggers uncomfortably tight.

She shimmies her leggings up her hips, the tight fabric forming to her ass perfectly, and I nearly keel over. This is all too much. Too much touching. Too many smiles. Too much blood rushing straight to my dick.

“Which one of you wants to hold me?” She asks as if we’re discussing coffee orders and not role-playing a sex scene she read in a book.

I’m about to tap out—throw in the towel and head home to my puzzle—when Declan says, “I can hold you.”

Oh, hell no. Not happening. Before I can think logically, I’m lifting Nathalie into the air, my hands resting on the globes of her ass.

Nathalie giggles, a drunken yet adorable sound, as she re-adjusts her glasses. Her arms wrap around my neck, breasts pressing against my chest.

It means nothing. It means nothing. It means nothing.

I mentally chant the mantra when she leans closer and drunkenly whispers, “You smellsonice.”

Is it hot in here?

It feels hot.

“Okay, now Declan, you need to stand against her back and pretend to jackhammer into her,” Maren advises, sipping on a seltzer.

“Nope. No.” I twist my fake girlfriend away from Declan.

No one will be doing any jackhammering in her direction. Absolutely not. This is my line.

“Deon, stop moving!” Nathalie yells, “This isn’t a part of the scene.” Her lips are inches away from mine as we jostle around. She grips the back of my neck, nails digging into my skin. I avoid looking into her soft, brown eyes because if I do, I will cave.

Her knuckle tips my chin up.

Damn it.

Nathalie’s cheeks flush a deep red as she clasps my jaw and leans in close.

“When we get home, will you show me your label maker?”

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