Page 24 of Fake Date with the Mountain Man

“No, I can find some coffee and keep going if you want.”

“I think we’ve put on a pretty good show. Might as well quit while we’re ahead.”

Ryan walks me off the dance floor and we say a quick round of goodbyes. By the time we reach the lobby, we drop each other’s hands. He doesn’t reach out and touch the small of my back when I step onto the elevator ahead of him. By the time we reach the room –ourroom – we’re more than a foot apart.

Maybe because I’m tipsy, or maybe because I’m almost too tired to stand on my own, but it feels strange to stop pretending so abruptly.

Inside the room, I stand by the bed and fish for the tiny zipper pull at the back of my dress. Before I can find it, Ryan is there behind me. His fingers brush the back of my neck as he moves my hair out of the way. He unzips my dress slowly, careful not to catch the zipper on the fabric.

He’s done this before. Lots of times, I’m betting.

The last bit of the zipper comes all the way down to the curve of my ass. Ryan’s fingers graze the lacy triangle of my thong while his breath dances along my neck. It sends a shiver up my spine.

It’s been a long time since a man touched me. Like,reallytouched me. Not just held my hand to fool his family into thinking that I’m his girlfriend.

My last relationship ended almost a year ago. There hasn’t been anyone since, not even a one-night stand. I like to think that I’m the relationship type, but I tend to cut them short at the first sign of trouble. I don’t like to waste my time if it isn’t going to work with someone, and I don’t like to drag things out for the sake of spared feelings. It only hurts us both more in the end.

Instead of a relationship, I have a nice little collection of colorful toys in my nightstand. But it isn’t the same as a man’s touch.

When Ryan takes a step back, I feel a strange sense of longing at his absence. If I did want to end my dry spell, Ryan wouldn’t be the worst option. Everything about the man screams sex. But the fact remains that I’m not interested in one-night stands, and I’mdefinitelynot interested in making things even weirder between Ryan and me. Within the last few hours, we’ve finally found some footing. A way to coexist together, maybe even a glimmer of friendship.

Sex would absolutely annihilate that, I’m sure of it.

I’m so lost in thought that it barely registers when Ryan clears his throat somewhere behind me. A draft of air wafts past the bare skin of my stomach, giving me goose bumps.

It also drags me away from my thoughts and to the realization that I’ve slipped off my dress right in front of Ryan. I’m standing there in a black lacy bra and matching thong. And nothing else.

At least I’m wearing nice underwear.

A quick glance in the mirror tells me I’ve gone full-tomato once again. More like a boiled tomato, actually. I feel like one, too. I’m a million degrees.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I say as I bend over and snatch my dress up off the floor. Ryan gets a good view of my ass while I do this. “I was just-”

Just what? Pondering your sexual aptitude? Making a mental pro/con list about having casual sex with you?

Embarrassing myself again? Yep, that’s it.

Ryan is standing between the two beds. He keeps his eyes fixed on mine. His hands are at his tie, frozen at the half-loosened knot.

“Sorry, I just zoned out,” I finally manage to say.

“It’s okay,” he says, but the words get stuck in his throat.

“I think I have a special talent for embarrassing myself in front of you.”

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed.”

Ryan’s eyes finally flick down, but they don’t linger. He clears his throat again. We both stand there for a second, seemingly frozen in place. The tension between us is so palpable that it forces me to reconsider my one-night stand rule for the second time tonight.

But this is Ryan – my coworker, my fake date, and my mortal enemy. Even the best orgasm in the world isn’t worth the trouble it would cause. And that’s assuming he wouldn’t shoot me down completely and then hold it over my head until the end of time.

I break eye contact with him, mutter another apology, and scamper off to the bathroom with my butt in clear view.

I’ll never live down the fact that Ryan Ehler has seen my ass in a tiny thong.

After splashing a few gallons of cold water on my face and brushing my teeth, I change into my pajamas. They’re the most modest pair I own – a gray waffle knit top and full-length plaidpants. I take a few deep breaths before walking back out into our shared hotel room.

Ryan is standing near the closet hanging up his suit. And he’s wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. It stops me in my tracks and I’m still taking in all the hard muscles of his back when he turns and smiles at me.

---