Scanning my key card, I check my phone as I enter the room. Leo and Henry texted after the game and said Ma didn’t have much of an appetite but was doing okay. There are no new messages, so I’ll probably watch sports highlights until I drift off to sleep.
When I flip on the light, I realize I might just have other plans.
There, in the middle of my bed, surrounded by a mound of pillows and a fluffy comforter, is my girlfriend.
My fake girlfriend.
My girl-who-used-to-hate-me-but-loves-having-sex-with-me-and-might-not-hate-me-anymore-friend.
My Claire.
“Did you get lost?” I ask, toeing off my shoes and unbuckling my belt. Earlier today, Claire said she liked seeing me in a suit, but she’s watching me strip right now, and she’s not complaining.
“No,” she answers. “I know right where I am, and it’s exactly where I want to be.”
I’m standing next to the bed in just my boxers and a t-shirt, and I can’t believe how lucky I am. There are no roommates to be found, no family coming home. It’s just the two of us, and I’m here for it.
“Maybe I’ll start calling you Goldilocks,” I tease, running my hand through the silky strands of her blonde hair as I lie down next to her.
“Don’t even think about it,” she says, turning toward me. She’s still swaddled up in the covers, but I can see her face in the dim lamplight. “I always hated that story. She was a vapid bitch who stole their food and broke their shit. Or,” she continues, her eyes widening, “she was a girl who did what she needed to do to get into the bear’s bed. Yeah, maybe I don’t hate her after all.”
This. Woman. “Were you here the whole time, waiting for me?”
“I was. Van gave me his key card, so I came up here after the game, showered, and crawled into bed.”
God bless my best friend.
Her words have me wondering if she planned all this? Maybe I’m a sappy bastard, but it makes me feel kind ofspecial. “I thought you said you’d see me at breakfast tomorrow?”
“I will,” she says, running her fingers along my jaw. “After you fuck me, you damn well better feed me.”
“Noted. Now are you going to show me these brand-new jammies or was that just a tease? I’ve been trying to decide if they’re black lace or if they’re flannel with rubber duckies on them.”
A look washes over Claire’s face that I can’t decipher. There’s no way she’s nervous or unsure. It’s me, the man she loves to tease. How bad can these pajamas be? “Wait, is that part of the surprise, too? Maybe there aren’t any jammies. Are you naked in my bed, Claire?”
She shakes her head. “No, but this was a dumb idea. Not the waiting-in-bed part, but the clothing choice. And if you hate it or if I crossed the line or something, then you have to blame the girls, because it was their idea. And Van helped, so be mad at him, too.”
“Uh, what the hell kind of pajamas require a whole committee?” I ask.
Claire starts to peel the covers down and I’m not sure what I was expecting, but never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d see her like this.
She’s not wearing a leather thong or a see-through bra.
There are no straps. There’s no lace. And there’s no corset.
She’s not wearing lingerie.
She’s wearing my jersey.
It’s so hot that I’m fucking speechless, but she takes my silence as a bad sign.
“You know what? It’s fine,” she says, pulling her hand back like she’s about to shrug my jersey off. “I’ll just?—”
“Leave it the fuck on, Claire,” I say, my voice low andneedy. There’s no way to disguise how turned on I am, or how much I want her, so I don’t even bother trying.
Her eyes find mine, and there’s no denying the heat in them.
I pull the rest of the covers back to reveal her bare legs. My jersey is a few sizes too big for her, but she’s so damn tall that it hits mid-thigh. I can’t wait to find out if she’s naked underneath.
