that his hipbones are directing every gazing eye to what’s underneath. I’ve seen this before in the many magazines he’s been in. Joshua has never been shy about his body. I’m thankful for that, although unwrapping him would be a nice surprise.
No, what’s making me weak in the knees, aside from the obvious, is the fact that he’s in bed, reading, and he’s rocking the sexiest pair of glasses I have ever seen. I let out an inaudible squeak that gets his attention. He looks up, setting his book down, and stares right back at me. This is do-or-die time—me in my every night face, with no make-up hiding my blemishes or chicken pox scars from when I was little. This is the me he’d get if we were living real lives.
I step into the room and pull the sliding door shut. I don’t have the sexy catwalk his now-and-again girlfriend has. I definitely don’t have any sexy moves. I stumble, hit crap and trip over nothing on the floor on my best day. Right now needs to not be one of those days. Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that if anything, we’re friends and this is just a slumber party. No sex. No touching. But maybe some kisses.
Kisses lead to touching, and touching leads to more intimate touching, which leads to sex, and he said no sex so there should be no touching.
“Joey?”
Shit, he’s calling my name and I’m staring at the wall like it’s the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen . I turn, give him a fake smile, and step toward the bed. I scan the floor quickly to make sure there isn’t something that is going to cause me to trip, and when my knees touch the side of the bed, I imagine myself sliding one knee onto the satin sheets, and setting my hands down to crawl toward him. He throws his book aside, but leaves on his glasses, pulling me to him.
In real life, I sit down and shuffle my feet under the covers without looking at him. Before my head hits the pillow, the lights in the room are dimmed and the bed is moving. My heart is beating so loud I can hear it over the hush of the room. He must hear it, too, but not care. I mean, why would he? He can have any woman in the world, and he’s stuck with me for three months.
A small light comes on and I turn sharply to look in its direction. I’m met with his dazzling brown eyes. He’s on his side, facing me with a smile that seems so tender.
“I thought we could talk some more.”
He says all the right things to make a woman fall in love with him. He’s smooth and sexy and so dangerous for my heart.
Mimicking his posture, I tuck my arm underneath my head. There’s a space between us, which would be perfect for us to hold hands. I’m just going to have to picture that in my mind.
“You look good in purple. It makes your eyes sparkle.”
My eyes close as I absorb one of the most romantic compliments I’ve ever been given. I have to diffuse the situation. I don’t want to be attached, even though I already know I am. This is a dream come true.
“Thank you,” is what I say instead of telling him to go to sleep.
“Who else is on your list?”
“Excuse me?” My list is something I don’t want to talk about, especially with him.
Joshua moves, closing the gap. “I want to know about that list you mentioned earlier. I can’t be the only one on it.”
I look at him like he has two heads, only to be rewarded with his laugh and a shit-eating grin. I shake my head ever so slightly, but he doesn’t back down.
“I’m your husband.”
“Low blow, Wilson,” I say quickly. “I’d be careful with how you use that word because I might request conjugal visits.”
“We’re not in jail.”
“Feels like it. I mean, sure, we can wear our own clothes and we have to pick up after ourselves, but we can’t leave and the cameras are always on.”
Joshua starts to laugh, and in the process gets closer to me. If this is the kind of sleeper he is—the bed hog type—it’s no wonder he hasn’t settled down yet. He probably gets kicked
No, what’s making me weak in the knees, aside from the obvious, is the fact that he’s in bed, reading, and he’s rocking the sexiest pair of glasses I have ever seen. I let out an inaudible squeak that gets his attention. He looks up, setting his book down, and stares right back at me. This is do-or-die time—me in my every night face, with no make-up hiding my blemishes or chicken pox scars from when I was little. This is the me he’d get if we were living real lives.
I step into the room and pull the sliding door shut. I don’t have the sexy catwalk his now-and-again girlfriend has. I definitely don’t have any sexy moves. I stumble, hit crap and trip over nothing on the floor on my best day. Right now needs to not be one of those days. Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that if anything, we’re friends and this is just a slumber party. No sex. No touching. But maybe some kisses.
Kisses lead to touching, and touching leads to more intimate touching, which leads to sex, and he said no sex so there should be no touching.
“Joey?”
Shit, he’s calling my name and I’m staring at the wall like it’s the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen . I turn, give him a fake smile, and step toward the bed. I scan the floor quickly to make sure there isn’t something that is going to cause me to trip, and when my knees touch the side of the bed, I imagine myself sliding one knee onto the satin sheets, and setting my hands down to crawl toward him. He throws his book aside, but leaves on his glasses, pulling me to him.
In real life, I sit down and shuffle my feet under the covers without looking at him. Before my head hits the pillow, the lights in the room are dimmed and the bed is moving. My heart is beating so loud I can hear it over the hush of the room. He must hear it, too, but not care. I mean, why would he? He can have any woman in the world, and he’s stuck with me for three months.
A small light comes on and I turn sharply to look in its direction. I’m met with his dazzling brown eyes. He’s on his side, facing me with a smile that seems so tender.
“I thought we could talk some more.”
He says all the right things to make a woman fall in love with him. He’s smooth and sexy and so dangerous for my heart.
Mimicking his posture, I tuck my arm underneath my head. There’s a space between us, which would be perfect for us to hold hands. I’m just going to have to picture that in my mind.
“You look good in purple. It makes your eyes sparkle.”
My eyes close as I absorb one of the most romantic compliments I’ve ever been given. I have to diffuse the situation. I don’t want to be attached, even though I already know I am. This is a dream come true.
“Thank you,” is what I say instead of telling him to go to sleep.
“Who else is on your list?”
“Excuse me?” My list is something I don’t want to talk about, especially with him.
Joshua moves, closing the gap. “I want to know about that list you mentioned earlier. I can’t be the only one on it.”
I look at him like he has two heads, only to be rewarded with his laugh and a shit-eating grin. I shake my head ever so slightly, but he doesn’t back down.
“I’m your husband.”
“Low blow, Wilson,” I say quickly. “I’d be careful with how you use that word because I might request conjugal visits.”
“We’re not in jail.”
“Feels like it. I mean, sure, we can wear our own clothes and we have to pick up after ourselves, but we can’t leave and the cameras are always on.”
Joshua starts to laugh, and in the process gets closer to me. If this is the kind of sleeper he is—the bed hog type—it’s no wonder he hasn’t settled down yet. He probably gets kicked
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