Page 9 of Play Fake
“Did you… did you fuck someone in my bathtub last night?” I demand, my voice barely audible since his hand still covers my mouth.
I will kill him. Just gut him right here as soon as I can find a way out of his unrelenting grip.
“What?” He says, blinking and furrowing his brow. He’s clearly still half asleep, barely registering anything that’s happening.
His eyes narrow, trying to focus, but his hand releases from my lips.
“If you did, I swear you’re going to spend the rest of your day bleaching every inch of this room with a toothbrush.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” He blinks again, and the look on his face tells me I’m finally coming into focus for him.
“You, Waylon. You are naked inmytub.”
He glances down at himself, as though attempting to process the information I’ve just given him, but as his eyes travel downward, they land squarely on my breasts. Breasts which are thankfully trapped between us in a way that makes it impossible for him to get a better look. Because while my mind is horrified at the idea of Waylon touching me, my traitorous body has other ideas entirely about how it feels. About how he smells. How he looks. All of which, by the way, are so fucking good despite the circumstances. It was not at all fair that this is how he woke up in the morning.
He finally wrenches his eyes from the tops of my breasts, up over my neck and to my face.
“You’re naked.” He says it in a tone that’s half confusion, half accusation.
“People generally get naked before they shower, Prescott.” I practically growl the words in response, as angry at my lady bits for staging a revolution on his behalf as I am at him.
His brow furrows, but his eyes are running again, all over every inch of me exposed in a way that’s making my skin heat. Little tiny goosebumps breaking out in a trail wherever his eyes touch. His thumb strokes across my clavicle absently, and a shiver of awareness flits down my spine. Not this again. It’s a sensation I immediately want to dispense with when I remember exactly who is standing in front me. His hard body’s pressed against me the same way it was pressed against that sorority chick last night when she demanded he come fuck her.
Hisveryhard body. A body currently getting even harder and bigger. Oh,hellno. I did not want to be thinking about the size of Waylon’s cock.
“Um, good morning,” I say sarcastically, bringing us both out of the daze we’re in and using my eyes to attract his attention downward.
Something snaps across his features, and he recoils from me lightning fast, prompting me to wrap both my arms around my breasts and press them tight against me. I was too blessed in that area to cover them completely, but I was damned if I was going to have a nip slip in front of this man. He’d be calling me Janet by the end of the day, and this little moment we were having was one I intended to make sure no one ever knew about.
“It’s just some morning wood, Mac. Don’t get so damn excited.” He grunts at me.
“Trust me, the only one who is excited about this morning is your little friend there.”
He covers himself with a wide hand and glares at me. I glare back, locked in a staring contest for several beats, before he finally relents and looks around the room, presumably hunting for his clothing.
I get a chance to really look at him then. Disheveled and hungover, but his body is still full of hard lines and chiseled planes. At his height and his size, he looks like a fucking Viking, pulled out of the history books and deposited in my bathroom. In fact, I think he might even have some runes tattooed on his side, and I’m trying to make them out when I notice his boxer briefs as he bends over to pick up his pants.
I have no idea how I missed them before. They are electric blue and covered in Captain America ephemera. Hewould. He absolutely would fancy himself Captain America and clad his perfectly sculpted ass in little shields with stars. A giggle bubbles out of my lips before I can stifle it, and it’s the wrong thing to do.
His body goes taut, and he lurches up, glaring back over his shoulder. Guilt creeps up my throat before reason stifles it. This man who is worshipped by half the women on campus can’t handle one giggle at his expense.
“Something funny, Mac?” his eyes snap up and down the length of me with a look that says I’ve been assessed and found wanting.
“Captain America undies? Are you seven?”
He glances down as though he’s surprised to see them. “My baby brother gave them to me for my birthday, and it was fucking laundry day. Are you always this pleasantly bitchy in the morning?”
Oh.Wow. He was going to go that way. If my hands weren’t currently employed in the task of a makeshift bra, I would have strangled him then and there, assuming I could get them around his giant neck.
“Only when I find naked barbarians in my shower! What the hell are you doing in here, anyway?” I shout.
“I needed a private place to sleep,” he grouches back at me.
A private place to sleep? My mind begins working in the scene, processing why he was mostly naked and in a shower after the last time I’d seen him, he’d been raging drunk with his girl of the night telling him to fuck her.
“If you brought one of your hookups in here, Iwillkill you. I told you to take it back downstairs.”
He’s managed to get his legs into both of his pant legs but not zip them, and he whips around and spreads his hands wide like I’ve lost my mind.
