Honestly, I'm Totally Faking It by Amanda Gambill

Author:Amanda Gambill [Gambill, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-02-06T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I took a deep breath, reminding myself to be cool. Chill. Professional. Or at least something similar to that.

When I walked into his bedroom, Pres was already awake, reading a report from yesterday.

“Good morning,” he said, slipping off his reading glasses. “Sleep well? Was the guest bedroom up to par?”

“That bed is amazing. My commute was even better.”

“Look at that, not even mayor yet, and I’ve already solved traffic.”

I laughed at his playful, cocky grin. “You should make that one of your campaign promises. Orgasms and arrivals in under five minutes.”

He laughed again, loud and big-hearted, his smile soothing any worries that things would be awkward.

Last night, I’d slipped out of his bed and tugged on what few scattered clothes I could find, saying I’d crash in his guest bedroom.

“To be clear, you’d rather sleep in my guest bedroom?”

“That’s what it’s for, right? Guests.”

He’d gestured to his disheveled bed. “You’re hardly a guest.”

Not quite a guest, not quite a girlfriend.

I’d smiled. “If you need me for any ankle-related situations, just call out.”

He’d rolled his eyes so hard I’d thought he’d injure himself again. “I’ll be fine.”

“But seriously, tonight was amazing, and, you know, I’m glad you were able to relax.”

“I didn’t go down on you to relax. I went down on you because I’m attracted to you. Was that not clear?”

And that’s when I knew I really did have a thing for blunt dirty talk. In true Rach fashion, I’d stuttered something about how he was super hot, cringed after I said thanks for the o, then left the room before I asked for more, more, more.

He stood now, careful to keep his weight off his injured ankle, saying, “I’ve been in bed for way too long. I need a shower, and I have at least twenty items that need my immediate attention. Feel free to do whatever you please until the day starts.”

I laughed, realizing he’d need a total personality transplant for things to be weird between us.

Pres assessed risks. He wouldn’t have kissed me, done anything with me, unless he’d already analyzed and determined it would result in minimal chaos. Which meant sticking to the facts.

We were friends, I was confident of that.

Professionally, we worked well together.

And, sure, yeah, we pretended to be in a relationship.

So if I were pretending to be Pres right now, I could even rationalize it made perfect sense this had happened.

And if I were being me, I didn’t expect more.

Anything more was impossible.

So rather than worrying, I surveyed his room. Sunlight tumbled onto the nearly spotless floor, and the only thing amiss about his neat, orderly life was scattered pieces of my clothes that had been out of reach last night.

Signs of me, out of place, once again somewhere I didn’t belong.

Proof of disruption.

As I tidied up, the same possessive streak that had washed over me last night bolted through my body again. I wanted to stake claim in something — someone — I didn’t have. I wanted to take more than I’d been given, be totally selfish.

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