Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
When we reach my hotel—a boutique hotel with a view of the waterfront, a total treat booked some time ago when I had more cash as well as a great sale on hotel rooms, plus points from my credit card—Florian hesitates outside the front steps.
The sky is pink with predawn light, and seagulls reel on the breeze over the sea.
“Are you coming in or planning on sleeping rough?” I ask Florian.
He smiles and shakes his head. “No to sleeping rough. I certainly don’t want to impose.”
“Where are you going to get a hotel at this hour?” I point out. “And for only a few hours? I have a late checkout at noon, thankfully. We can crash, and then we can go back to London. You can find your car, and I’ll find the train.”
Florian blinks. “Of course I’ll drive you back to London.” As if he didn’t even need to think about it.
Then I smile at him. “Thanks. That’s really great.” I’m about to offer petrol fare, but I think Florian can handle it with his corporate empire. “C’mon.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure. We’re just crashing. I used to crash with my mates all the time.” I shrug, using the fob to tap into the entry, with Florian behind me.
We walk back up the steps to my hotel room.
The room fills with morning light. Once in the room, I step out of my shoes by the door and slide off my suit jacket.
I hang it in the wardrobe, along with Florian’s.
Then, we both pause. Florian looks a little flustered.
I turn my attention to drawing the curtains.
“Please, go ahead with the en suite if you like.” I glance over my shoulder at him.
Florian does. I take advantage of the opportunity to change unobserved into my boxers and a T-shirt, being extra neat with my clothes, rather than tossing them over the desk chair, so Florian doesn’t think I’m a slob.
He probably has staff to hang his clothes for him. And do his laundry. What a thought.
When he emerges, I beeline into the en suite.
As I wash my face, it occurs to me that it’s probably a wild, wine-fueled idea to have Florian stay in my bed like it’s totally normal.
Even by fake boyfriend standards. I mean, I’d totally have my boyfriend stay in my bed.
Once, when I briefly had a boyfriend in uni, Jack slept in my bed.
At the same time as me. Totally legit. Facts.
I wash my face a second time for luck and continue getting ready for bed. I’m still a little drunk, thank God, which takes the edge off the unreality of this. When I step back into the room, with all lights off except for a hint of the sunlight outside, Florian’s sitting up in bed.
Shirtless.
Act cool. Like I happen by hot guys in my bed all the time. Even if they’re weird. Think unsexy thoughts. Don’t get distracted. “Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi.”
I clear my throat, walk to the other side of the bed, and slip in.
The cotton sheets are cool against my legs.
A double bed isn’t that big when I think about it.
Like, that’s probably why I got the room on sale, because everyone else wanted a king, even with the sea view from the bay window.
Shifting around, I try to get comfortable without touching Florian.
Which is challenging because the bed is small and we’re not small and oh God help me, I’m getting hard.
At least Florian can’t see my situation.
“Okay?” Florian asks after a minute of me scooching around in bed, trying to find any position that will make my cock soften and not betray me.
On my back is out because the last thing we need is my dick making a tent out of our bedding.
Turning with my back to Florian seems rude.
Which leaves us with only one option, nose to nose.
“Yeah.”
Florian smiles at me. His expression has eased, making him look younger. More vulnerable. He looks sleepy but not upset to be in this situation. “Thanks for letting me stay,” he murmurs. “I hope you don’t think I’m taking advantage.”
“Definitely not. If anything, I am.”
Florian laughs. “I see.”
“This is very fake boyfriend of us,” I point out.
“Authenticity, remember.”
“Yes.”
We’re quiet for a long moment.
“Matty?”
“Yes?”
“I had fun tonight. Thanks for inviting me.”
I blink. Florian, thanking me? It’s hard to believe this is the same person who lost his mind not that long ago in a lift when he was in an enclosed space with me the last time. “Me too.”
He smiles again, letting his eyes drift shut, with his hair fanned on the pillow.
And I don’t know what I expect—or want—in this moment.
Do I want him to pounce on me? I mean, fair, we’ve had a lot of wine and we’ve been up all night and he needs to get some sleep to drive safely later.
But when he falls asleep and relaxes further, with his hand on my arm, I can finally relax enough to sleep too.