Page 68 of Big Dick Energy

“We can figure that out after you're dressed,” she said.

“I don't know.” I tilted my head, watching the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “I'm starting to think you like me like this.”

“I think you hit your head in that shower.”

“Fine,” I relented, pushing off the doorframe, already walking toward my bedroom. “I'll get dressed.”

Six months of pretending to be in love with a woman I was definitely not falling for.

I was so freaking screwed.

CHAPTER 24

THE BED STANDOFF

DAVINA

I stood at the side of the bed like I was on a diving board, and I’d just realized I couldn't swim.

The king-sized mattress looked enormous and somehow not nearly big enough at the same time. Which was a neat trick of physics that my anxiety-riddled brain was currently performing without my permission.

My fingers twisted in the hem of the oversized t-shirt I'd borrowed from Dallas's drawer.

“Get into the bed, Davidson.”

I jumped about three feet in the air. “Jesus Christ, you can't just sneak up on people like…” My complaint died in my throat because Dallas was only wearing black boxer briefs that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, and believe me, my imagination had been working overtime all evening.

“I wasn't sneaking.” He padded toward the bed. “You were just having a staring contest with the mattress.”

“I was not.”

“No?” He raised an eyebrow, pulling back the covers on his side. “What were you doing?”

“Uh…” I tried to think of something, but my brain wasn’t working with me at that moment.

“Contemplating your life choices. Counting sheep. Wondering if you still had time to run.” He laughed, low and warm, and the sound did things to my nervous system that should require a medical license. “Get in the bed, Davina.”

“Bossy.”

His eyes met mine across the bed, and I scowled at him but moved to my side of the bed, climbing in.

“Comfortable?” He settled in beside me.

“Peachy.”

“You're on top of the covers like you're afraid the bed might eat you.”

“The bed isn't what I'm worried about.”

His grin turned wicked. “Scared of me, wifey?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Uh-huh.” He shifted, and I was very aware of the space between us. Which was a lot of space, technically, at least two feet of no-man's-land, but somehow felt like nothing at all. “Then why are you clinging to the edge like you're on the Titanic and it’s about to sink?”

“I'm giving you space.”

“I don't need space. I need you to stop looking like you're about to bolt.”