SMOOTH HOPERATOR: A FAKE-RELATIONSHIP ROMANCE
After tanking my career in politics, I’m looking for new direction. But my GPS must be broken because it keeps leading me to a kooky librarian’s front steps.
It’s not easy, but I’m doing my best to let go of my old ambitions and embrace the simple life of slinging beer at my family’s brewery. But some powerful players from my past are determined to cause problems for me and my family.
When a chatty local librarian with the wardrobe of a third grader and the optimism of Spongebob begins sticking her nose into my business, I want to tell her to get lost. As fate would have it, though, Sunny and her ill-tempered grandfather are my only remaining option to get free of my past for good.
It will take some convincing to get this goofy, goat-loving librarian on board with my risky plan. But if she’ll do things my way, I’ll return the favor by playing her fake boyfriend to make her true love finally take notice and fall head over heels.
But the deeper we get into this venture, the more I realize there’s nothing fake about Sunny at all. Including the way I’m beginning to feel about her.
My first indication that I’m not in the attic at home is the mattress spring digging into my back. The second is the warm hand on my junk that doesn’t belong to me. I may have just awoken this second, but my dick has beaten me to it by several minutes, at least.
When I blink my eyes open, sunlight filters through the closed curtains of the motel room, allowing enough illumination for me to make out the body of my bedmate—the very same one whose hand has wandered during the night. Sunny’s hair is splayed over my shoulder, and she’s using my chest as a pillow.
My dick jumps because that’s what dicks do when they’re being felt up. It clearly remembers last night as well as I do. But instead of causing Sunny to withdraw her hand, the movement only appears to encourage her. She burrows her face into my chest and throws a bare leg over my thigh. In other words, she’s trying to kill me.
I’d love nothing more than to roll her onto her back and explore all the skin and curves I didn’t get to last night, but after her confession and that panicked exit, I can’t touch her until we talk. And I doubt she’ll be happy if she wakes up like this.
I try carefully sliding to the side so I can stand, but as soon as I start moving, she grabs onto me like a spider monkey and pulls me closer, using my dick as leverage. I bite down on my cheek to keep from howling.
“No,” she says, her tone scolding.
Here we go again with the sleep talking.
This time, I gently pry her hand from my junk, one finger at a time until I’m gripping her hand just above it. So, of course, that’s the moment she awakens.
I witness as each synapse fires and she comes fully awake to find me holding her hand over my obviously aroused dick. Thank God I’m still dressed at least.
“What are you doing?” She jerks her hand out of my grip.
“Nothing, I swear.”
She lifts her head from my chest and retreats until she’s back on her side of the bed. “It didn’t look like nothing.”
This is ridiculous. I was trying to be sensitive to her emotions, but she can’t honestly think… I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Look, I just woke up, and you were holding my junk and using me as a pillow. That’s all I know.”
She eyes me skeptically. “What happened to the covers?”
We both inspect the bedding and while my side of the bed is as tucked and neat as it was when I first lay on it last night, hers is a mess of twisted sheets and blankets, both pillows buried somewhere within.
“I have no idea.”
She glances around for a few more seconds and then untangles herself. “Oh. I guess I must have moved around a little in my sleep.”
Unfortunately, I still have the issue of the tent in my pants, and now that Sunny is fully awake, she is not shy about looking, which does nothing to help the problem.
“Did I…?” She trails off, pointing at it now. Jesus.
“While it does usually make its presence known first thing in the morning, it’s never this… cheerful.”
She tries and fails to hide her self-satisfied grin. “Sorry about that.”
“No need to apologize. I think I’ll survive.” My tone is as dry as my mouth is.
USA Today bestselling author Sylvie Stewart loves bad jokes, dirty rom-coms, country music, and baby skunks—preferably all at the same time. Most of her steamy contemporary and romantic comedy novels take place across her favorite state of North Carolina, and her characters never run out of snarky banter or snacks. When her laptop closes, Sylvie is a sucker for hugs from her twin boys and a good laugh with her hot-nerd hubby. If you love smart Southern gals, hot blue-collar guys, and snort-laughing with characters who feel like your best friends, Sylvie's your gal.
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