Charlotte
“I can’t believe we were all finally able to get together!
” I cheer from the back of the booth I’m squeezed into with Sage, Addie, and Finley.
Addie and I arrived almost an hour ago and have been waiting for Sage and Finley to arrive, so I’m already a few drinks in.
“Can we all pretend it’s a Tuesday and get tacos? ”
“You’re allowed to eat tacos on Fridays, too,” Addie says quietly from her seat next to me.
I narrow my eyes. “For the sake of our friendship, I will pretend you didn’t just say that. I will also buy your margaritas because we are celebrating!”
Finley looks up from her phone. “What are we celebrating?”
“The Stallions’ victory last Sunday, duh! And I get to fly on the team jet tomorrow for our game this Sunday!”
“We’ve lost twice since that game,” Sage groans. “If I could get a pitcher, we could turn it around. I’d sell my left kidney for one.”
“Not the right, though?” Finley challenges.
“If he would stay more than a year, I’d figure out how to live without either kidney.”
Addie takes a sip of her drink, her eyes ping-ponging between my friends.
I point my finger at Sage, moving it in a little circle in front of her. “You’ve been losing for years. I won my first game! So we’re celebrating me, not mourning you.”
She whacks my finger away. “Fine. Fine. I’m not moping. Though it’s mean of you to point out that we’ve been losing for years.”
“How’s it going with Callan?” Finley interrupts, and the look in her ice-blue eyes makes it clear why some of her players call her Ice Queen. “You two seem to have gone from arguing to friendly very quickly.”
Sage grimaces. “Is arguing like foreplay to you two or something?”
“No!” My next drink arrives, and I take a gulp, hoping the food gets here soon. My head is starting to feel real floaty.
“Are you planning on fake dating Callan for the whole season?” Sage asks. “What does that even look like? Is he not seeing other people? Are you not? Are you having sex?”
I regret texting Sage the update about Callan and I before dinner tonight, but since Finley and Addie both know, it felt like I needed to clue her in. Too bad she’s the most nosey of all my friends.
Finley grimaces. “This feels like too much information.”
I take another drink, finding my glass empty yet again. “We are not having sex.”
“But…” Sage prompts.
“But he’s fucking beautiful, okay? Is that what you want me to say?” I demand.
All three of them break out into giggles.
“The man is a fucking walking wet dream. Every woman and half the men want to sleep with him. Have you seen his eyes? His hair? His body? And then he puts on those goddamn football pants!”
“They’re almost as good as baseball pants,” Sage agrees.
I shake my head. “They’re obviously better, Sage. Be real. Baseball pants have no padding to help with the shape.”
“Okay, but have you seen—”
“Focus,” Finley demands. “So what are the fake-dating rules?”
“Undefined,” I reply with an assertive nod. I blink hard. Way too much movement.
Sage laughs, the sound like musical notes flowing together.
“I really want to know if you’re sleeping with your fake boyfriend.
Though I’m not sure if I should even call him that anymore.
From what you’ve said about how often you’re hanging out, it almost seems like it’s a real relationship, anyway. ”
I very slowly dip my chin. “It’s supposed to seem that way.
I’m not sure whether it’s supposed to feel that way, but”—I lower my voice—“it kind of does. I don’t know about the sex rules, though.
I don’t think he’d risk me losing the company just to sleep with someone else.
I hope not. I would be sad.” A sudden thought hits me.
“What if he’s sleeping with someone else right now? !”
I turn my head between each of my friends, their expressions more amused than concerned.
“What if he was?” Addie asks. “Or more importantly, what if he’s not? Would you be interested?”
I close one eye. “I think I might be too drunk to make that decision.”
The table falls into conversation around me. When the food finally arrives, I sober up enough to realize how much of the conversation I missed while thinking about what it would be like to have Callan kiss me for real. To share a bed with him. To feel his body against mine.
And the worst part is, I desperately want to know.
***
“Hey, Princess,” a familiar voice calls as I wait for my rideshare. “I heard you might need a ride.”
I move slowly, trying not to cause my head to spin to see a black pickup with the passenger window rolled down, and Callan smiling from within.
“How?” I ask, looking between him and my friends.
This is bad news. I’ve consumed far too many margaritas to be trusted with my fake boyfriend right now.
And Callan’s hat is on backward. Backward.
His hair peeking out from the sides as he leans over, his muscular forearm resting on the steering wheel.
Fuck, I’ll never be able to control myself.
“Come on, Princess,” he says again, his gaze flicking to the cars lining up behind him.
“I will find out which one of you did this,” I threaten my friends as they watch our exchange with unbridled glee.
“And will we be getting a thank-you card, or…?” Sage pointedly ignores the rideshare that pulled up to mock me.
“I ordered a car.”
Finley shakes her head. “I cancelled it for you when I was pretending to use your phone to call Beckett.”
Callan puts his vehicle in park, right there in the middle of the road, cars lined up behind him, and climbs out. “Everything okay?” His warm hand brushes against the back of my arm, and I can’t suppress the shiver that flows along my flesh.
“Yup!” I squeak. “So good. Thanks for coming to get me. You didn’t have to.
I know you’re normally asleep by now. But I’ve had too much to drink.
Though the food helped a lot. I’m not drunk.
I’m not sober, either. Definitely couldn’t drive.
But I didn’t drive down here either. I certainly could’ve gotten a rideshare home. ”
He lifts one shoulder. “It’s really not a big deal. Finley asked, and I wasn’t doing anything else.”
I shoot a look at Finley that I hope she interprets as the death glare it is before following Callan.
She smiles.
I hate my friends.
“You were already in your pajamas, weren’t you?” I question, using the oh-shit handle to pull myself into the passenger seat.
He waits until he’s seated next to me to reply, “Do you really think I sleep in pajamas, Princess?”
My gaze drops to his crotch, and I quickly pull it back to his face. “Do you sleep naked?” I whisper, like somehow the knowledge cannot be shared at a normal volume.
He turns his head quickly, our eyes meeting briefly as he whispers, “I do.”
And, oh fuck, it’s like a bolt of lightning went straight to my core.
I scoot my hips in the seat ever so slightly, hoping the light pressure change will be enough to kick Horny Charlotte clear the hell out of this car.
That not working, I slip my heels off to see if a little more air on my skin will help. Maybe I should roll down the window.
“Do you sleep naked?” Callan asks with a cough. This is not the conversation I needed to get my damn libido to calm the fuck down.
“I sleep in a chemise. You know, one of those silky little dresses, with lace around the edges that you see in movies?”
“I”—he clears his throat—“do know. Yeah. Just didn’t think people actually wore them in real life.”
“What did your last girlfriend sleep in? Actually, you know what? Don’t answer that.
I’m not sure I want to know. I really like the way it feels on my skin.
And I sleep hot, so I like having something on, but it has to be cool.
I have about ten different ones. My favorite is this royal-blue one I got in New York.
It’s so soft. In the winter, I sleep in a two-piece satin pajama set that’s silk pants and a cami. ”
I’m barely aware of the garbage coming out of my mouth at this point.
My mind has fully left the present, taking this moment to show me exactly how much fun Callan and I could have if we were to show each other our sleep attire.
Fuck, imagining Callan naked, his body pressed against mine.
Pushing my nightie up slowly as I wrap my fist around—
What if someone else already got to see Callan’s sleep attire tonight? The thought from earlier surges back, consuming the far more interesting fantasy.
Shit. Is he fucking someone when I’m not around?
I know he isn’t when I’m there, which I appreciate, but I can’t remember whether we discussed it.
We definitely should have. It seems like an important thing to include in this whole fake-dating agreement.
Though we didn’t really have much of an agreement.
He simply said yes. What if some other woman asked him to fuck her, and he said yes? What if—
“Are you sleeping with anyone else?” I blurt out.
Callan’s eyebrows reach for his hairline. “Anyone else? Am I sleeping with someone I wasn’t aware of?” His tone is teasing, but his hands are tight around the wheel. Maybe he doesn’t want to tell me.
Fuckity, fuck, fuck. “I meant—”
“I’m not.” His eyes dart to me quickly before going back to the road. “I’m not sleeping with anyone currently.”
I give him a thumbs-up. A fucking thumbs-up. “Okay. Great. Just wanted to double-check, because, you know, the fake dating and all.”
It definitely has nothing to do with the way my heart rate is spiking, my thighs pulling together as I try to relieve the pressure building inside me.
We sit in awkward silence for a moment before he asks, “Are you?” His eyes remain locked on the windshield. “Sleeping with anyone?” I swear his molars grind together, but I’m not sure why. Unless he feels as possessive as I seem to.
I slowly shake my head. “I’m not. Haven’t been for a while.”
Another silence.
“So, we shouldn’t have any problems with the dating timeline we came up with on that front.
Nobody to call me out for sleeping with them while we were together.
” It’s the best I can do. I’m barely holding in the words to ask him why not.
To ask him if he wants to sleep with someone. To ask him if he wants it to be me.
Callan pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and gnaws on it for a moment before saying, “I shouldn’t have any problems with that timeline, either.”
I slip my shoes back onto my feet as we approach the house. “I guess we’re just two horny assholes, then.”
His throat bobs. “You’re horn—I guess we are.” It’s a low murmur, one that feels like he’s stroking the inside of my thighs.
This is fake. This is fake.
This is fake.
I have to get out of this pickup, or I’m going to jump the man’s bones. I don’t know if he’s ever pulled the vehicle in this slowly. I swear seven years have passed since we turned onto the driveway. I need to—
The pickup stops, and I’ve got my door open before Callan even shifts it into park. I cannot be responsible for my actions if I’m near him any longer.
“Thanks for the ride!” I call as he slowly climbs out of his seat.
“Not a problem,” he replies. I swear my hormones must be fucking with my hearing because I’ve never heard his voice sound as sinful.
Oh my God. I’ve got to get out of here before I beg him to help me relieve the ache building in my core, making my clit throb with need.
“Charlotte, are you—”
“Night, Callan!” I yell to stop the conversation. It’s a high-pitched squeak that probably has all the mice in the area unsuccessfully trying to answer the call of their brethren.
I’m practically sprinting as I make my way to my room and start rummaging through my half-unpacked boxes.
Having refrained from masturbating the entire time I’ve been here, I haven’t gotten around to unpacking my favorite toy.
But tonight, that all ends. Holy fuck. The combination of alcohol and Callan is wrecking any self-control I have, and even I can admit I’m not starting at the world’s highest level.
Callan is moving around in the kitchen, probably getting a glass of water for bed like he does every night.
Hydration is important. I cannot find the right box, and all I can hear is that Callan is still awake.
That he’s still— There it is! I grab the handle of the deep-purple dildo and let out an audible sigh.
It’s all going to be okay.
I quickly shuck my clothes off, throwing them into a pile on the floor. The bed has never looked cozier. I slip into my blue chemise, groaning as the soft fabric flows over my peaked nipples. It’s like I’m about to combust.
Callan is still making noises in the kitchen, so while I’ll have to be quiet, there’s no possible way I can wait. Relief is almost more necessary than oxygen at this point.
I slip my finger between my legs, using the moisture already there to coat myself. Moving slowly, I start to ease the ache that’s been building since the day I moved in with my fake boyfriend.