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I’m about to ask him to elaborate when he speaks instead. “So you write about gang bangs?”

I’m so glad he can’t see my face right now. “Yeah, but it’s not just about the sex. That book is a reverse harem. One shy librarian who has three handsome billionaires swooning over her. They are all so in love with her that they are willing to share.”

“So you don’t write anything realistic?”

“You don’t think three guys could fall in love with one woman?”

“No. Guys are too possessive. It would never work.”

“Maybe you are just too possessive yourself to imagine it,” I accuse.

“Or you’ve never been with a real man before.”

“So what? Why would that matter?” The words slip out before I can stop them. I cringe immediately after.

“Wait, really? I was kidding. Do you mean . . . you’ve never dated, or you’ve never had sex? Or just not with a ‘real man’?”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Of course this is the moment my brain shuts down, and the only thing I can come up with is making snoring sounds, pretending I’m asleep.

“I know you’re awake, Piper Pen,” Adrian points out.

“Nothing gets by you, huh?” I joke.

“Not usually, no.”

“If you must know, the answer is no. To both.”

“You never dated or had sex. But you write sex books?”

“My books are about more than sex,” I defend. “And the technical term is smut.”

“Interesting,” he muses. “We’ll have to talk about this more tomorrow, but right now I need to find your off button so we can go to sleep.”

“There isn’t one. My parents have looked. And technically it’s already tomorrow, unless you actually mean tomorrow as in Sunday. Otherwise it would be today, Saturday.”

After a deep sigh coming from Adrian, he finally says, “Good night, June.”

“Good night,” I whisper back, still not knowing much about the guy I’m in bed with.

I should probably stay awake and alert, making sure I’m actually safe. Only, now that I’m lying in this comfortable bed in the dark, I can’t fight the urge to collapse anymore. I just hope I won’t snore.

Chapter Six

Adrian

I wonder if she knows she snores. Not terribly, not enough to wake a man out of a sound slumber, but the sound most definitely split the silence throughout the night.

I’m starting to believe the girl literally cannot be silent. If she’s not talking, she’s snoring. Have there ever been any studies conducted on her? If not, there should be.

Though it’s not completely her fault that I listened to her rhythmic snoring and occasional wheezing for hours. It wasn’t as if she kept me up—not really. I rarely sleep deeply as it is, and there are too many questions clanging around for attention to let me sink into blissful unconsciousness for very long.

That’s not taking into account the foreign physical presence of a companion I never asked for and certainly don’t want. I mean, she’s amusing. And there’s something to be said for not being alone twenty-four seven. But all things considered, given my druthers, I would leave her behind.

So why don’t I? I wonder. Good question.

At least I’m dry when I get out of bed in the morning, not a hint of drool on my shoulder or anywhere else. Glancing her way leaves me stifling a wry chuckle. She sleeps the way she lives: haphazardly. On her stomach, one arm flung out overhead, legs akimbo. Her side of the bed looks like a pair of frisky puppies went to town, rumpling the sheets and scrunching the pillows, but she is entirely oblivious.