Page 83 of Faking the Pass
And who I was with.
That arm waswaytoo large to belong to Randy. And the body cradling the entire back of mine was way too long.
Presley.
A new sort of warmth flooded me, concentrated in my lower abdomen. Parts of me that were better off sleeping wokeallthe way up.
Based on the sound of his breathing, Presley was still asleep. His body was curved around my back and legs like one of those cozy full-body c-pillows.
But those didn’t feel like heating blankets—and theydidn’tcome with extra lumbar support.
There was an unmistakable firm pressure against my lower back. You know what I’m talking about.
At least IthoughtI knew what it was—it wasn’t my first experience with morning wood—but that particular sensation had never felt quite likethisbefore. It stretched from the seam of my backside to what felt like halfway up my spine.
It can’t be.I mean, yes, he was a big guy, but… wait, did he bring a tactical flashlight to bed in case of emergency?
I wanted to reach around and find out, but I didn’t dare. Instead, I shifted and did a little wiggle. Presley let out a low groan.
Nope. Not a flashlight. Butreally? Was thatallhim?
And now of course my mind was racing, trying to picture the logistics of how PartcapitalA could possibly fit into lower-case Part B.
But then there was no way all-star quarterback Presley Lowe was a thirty-four-year-old virgin, so itmusthave been technically possible, right?
The newly awakened parts of me prepared themselves to confirm or deny, tingling and filling with liquid tension.
Bad, Rosie.Wrong train of thought for someone who was stuck in a one-bedroom house with the guy for a week.
Time to deboard the Hard-on Express and find a new train of thought.
Shower. Yes. That’s what I need.
After a long day of travel yesterday, I definitely wanted one of those.
A cold one, preferably.
Moving gingerly, I attempted to extract myself from the human restraint harness that was Presley’s arm.
He made another sound in his sleep—not a happy one this time—and I realized it was his injured arm and shoulder that were caging me in.
Made sense. He wouldn’t have been able to sleep on the other side.
I really didn’t want to hurt him. But I was trapped there, spooning with the human equivalent of a whale harpoon.
So… I could either lie here and be pelted with uncontrollable sexual fantasies about my fake husband, or I could wake him.
“Presley, wake up,” I said, taking care not to wiggle my bottom again.
In fact I did my best to tuck my pelvis forward and escape the contact—but the damn thing just followed me.
This time my wake up call was louder.
“Presley.”
He lifted his head. “What? What’s happening?”
I knew the second he became fully alert and perceived the problem because he muttered, “Fuck,” and rolled away from me.
