Page 52 of Big Dick Energy

“I was making a practical assessment,” she said. “You're tall, and beds have dimensions. It's basic geometry.”

“Uh-huh.” I was definitely still grinning. “Geometry.”

“Shut up.”

God, she was fun to rile up. The morning sun caught the highlights in her hair, and even with her face scrunched in irritation, she looked beautiful sitting at my table, bare feet tucked under her chair, wearing one of my old t-shirts she'd borrowed after her shower.

I needed to stop noticing things like that.

We'd been out here for over an hour, her laptop open between us, going over every detail of our fake marriage. Travel schedules, living arrangements, what to tell people.

“Okay, then.” I stretched my legs out, letting the morning warmth soak into my muscles. My run earlier had been good. I'd needed the time to think, to process everything, including the fact that this beautiful, stubborn, sharp-tongued woman was now my wife. Temporarily. Fake wife. Whatever. And how much I liked waking up with her in my bed. “I think that's everything.”

She scrolled through her laptop, squinting at the screen. “Travel schedule coordinated. Living arrangements decided. Public appearance strategy outlined.” She looked up at me, and Christ, those eyes.

I sipped my coffee. I didn’t usually drink coffee, but I'd needed the caffeine to keep up with her this morning. “Anything else?”

She closed the laptop. “There's one more thing.”

I raised my eyebrows, waiting, trying not to notice how the morning light made her skin glow or how her hair was still damp from her shower.

“The podcast,” she said.

Relief flooded through me. “No, we covered that.” I waved a hand. “You go back at the end of this week, and you're having guests on the show until Brooke gets back at the end of the month.”

“Right,” she said, and the smile that tugged at her lips made my stomach do cartwheels. “But I think my first guest is going to have to be you.”

My coffee mug stopped halfway to my mouth. “Me?”

She nodded. “Yeah. We should get ahead of the rumors. We can try to control the narrative before the narrative controls us.”

I set down my mug slowly, my mind already racing. Going on her podcast meant answering questions, being vulnerable, and showing a side of myself I usually kept hidden behind the playboy persona. But she was right; if we controlled the story, we controlled the damage.

“Not a terrible idea,” I admitted, watching her face light up at the compliment. “That's kind of brilliant.”

“I hate lying,” she added quickly. “So we'll keep our story as real as possible by avoiding and dancing around words like love and future and all that mushy stuff.”

“Mushy stuff?” I couldn't help teasing her.

“You know what I mean. The forever and soulmate and when I first saw you across the crowded room nonsense.” She waved her hand. “We stick to facts. We got married. We're seeing where things go. Very casual, very us.”

Very us. Like we were already an us. The thought shouldn't have felt as good as it did.

“So you want to tell your listeners that you got blackout drunk and married a man you despised a few days ago?” I kept my tone teasing, but I was genuinely curious how she planned to spin this.

“Not exactly.” She scrunched her face in a way that was too cute for my peace of mind. “I was thinking more like... we had a spontaneous moment in Vegas, and now we're on an adventure.”

“Ah, yes, the PG version.” I leaned forward, unable to stop myself from getting closer to her. “The version where we don't mention the part about you calling me an overgrown frat boy with commitment issues.”

“Or you calling me an uptight control freak with a podcast.”

“That’s not exactly what I said.”

We grinned at each other across the table. This was dangerous, this easy chemistry. This was the kind of thing that made fake marriages turn into real feelings, and she deserved a hell of a lot better than me. She deserved the marriage of her dreams. Which was something I could never give her.

“We're doing our first public appearance tomorrow night,” she continued, and I forced myself to focus on her words instead of the way the breeze was playing with her hair. “So, Friday we'll have you as a guest on the show. By then, word will have gotten out.” She paused, her expression turning serious. “Oh, and you should be ready to answer questions about your past playboy status and the age-limit rumors, because my listeners are going to come for you with receipts and zero mercy.”

There it was, the reality of my reputation, the thing that had driven me to keep this marriage in the first place. My jaw tightened before I could stop it.