CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Finn
“I should say hello to my parents,” Noah says, backing away.
I’m sure I know what’s tucked in the back of the waistband of his boxer briefs. I grin. “Don’t you want to put clothes on before you greet them, honey bunny?”
“Honey bunny?” His eyes are wide and startled and oh so green.
I don’t bother to swallow my mirth. “I’m testing out pet names. What do you think? Or more hockey related ones? My sturdy stick? My sharp shooter?”
His face flames.
“Oh, um, whatever you think?” His voice rises as he speaks, and he flings his gaze back and forth, probably wondering how he’s going to gather his clothes without me seeing the various tissues he has tucked inside his waistband.
I flop onto my stomach, because to tell the truth I’m getting hard, but I’m not going to miss this.
Noah backs into the wardrobe we now share and scrambles for some clothes. He doesn’t look at them, he just grabs a t-shirt from the top drawer, then some sweatpants from the middle drawer.
Then he scurries to the ensuite.
The shower sounds, which is probably a good idea since he must be sticky, and I gather some clothes for myself.
Noah was saying my name.
And coming.
I mean, the guy was asleep, so it doesn’t count. But it sort of counts.
The tension I was feeling last night has dissolved into bubbles, and I don’t tease Noah when he strolls out of the shower looking super lickable in clashing clothes.
I hurry to take my shower and get dressed. I enjoy spending time with Mama. and Papa Fitzpatrick.
Noah is cooking breakfast. Avocado and smoked salmon eggs Benedict. My eyes gleam. “My favorite.”
Noah’s cheeks pinken. “Uh-huh. I’m going to make smoothies too, but I wanted to wait until you got out of the shower so they can be fresh.”
I wrap my arm around his waist. “I wasn’t going to take a long shower this morning.”
His eyes widen.
Maybe he doesn’t think that I need to get all lovey-dovey since his parents already seem to be under the impression that Noah and I are not only a couple, but a great couple, but I know better. I’m onto him.
And we’re so going to have a big, serious talk after his parents leave.
Probably good to eat lots of protein first and stock up on vitamins and micronutrients.
“I’ll plate the breakfast, babe,” I say. “You blend the smoothies.”
He nods and scuttles toward the refrigerator. He’s still under the impression he can avoid me. But he doesn’t need to do that. No way.
Maybe I should be freaked out that this fake marriage doesn’t feel so fake now, but I’m mostly thrilled that Noah’s feelings might be aligned to my own.
The day is good.
Mama Fitzpatrick invites us to New Hampshire for Thanksgiving.
“I mean, obviously, you don’t have to come,” Noah says quickly.
