“Wow,” I breathed. “You’ve even branched into the animated sector. How fascinating.”
“Yep. I do it all. Do you know any famous pigs?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“Well, I could use the business is all. I can give you a few cards—”
My index finger shot up. “Ms. Piggy?” I interrupted as soon as my rolodex of a brain found a pig he hadn’t already named.
He sat up taller and glanced around the restaurant. “I’ve got an airtight non-disclosure there. But just between me and you… Let’s just say her teeth aren’t the only work she’s had done.”
I couldn’t hold it back anymore. A laugh that I swear caressed my soul breezed through my lips.
I could pretend I didn’t love him.
I could tell myself he didn’t own my heart.
I could even convince myself I was some crazy version of myself having a nonchalant, no-strings-attached fling at a work conference.
But the truth was every version of me was head over heels for every single version of him—Harley Steele included.
“Well, color me impressed.”
He dusted off his shoulder. “You’re kinda sitting with orthodontic royalty.”
“Excellent. Then I won’t feel bad when I order the lobster.”
He grinned and took my hand, bringing it to his lips, where he kissed my knuckles. I could see in his eyes he was about to say something sweet. Something real. Something so profoundly Bowen Michaels that there would be no way for me to deny that we were flying way, way, way too close to the sun with this absurd little game.
But I wasn’t ready to lose him yet.
“So, what do you do for fun, Harley?”
He stared at me, pained understanding crossing his face. I had to give him credit. He rebounded like a champ.
“Oh, you know. Just the usual. BASE jumping. Climbing Everest. Racing speedboats.”
I scoffed. “BASE jumping? Seriously? I once heard you scream when Clyde knocked you out of bed.”
“What? Who’s Clyde? Don’t act like you know me.”
I know that I would give anything to sit at this table and bullshit with you for the rest of my life.
Smiling, I packed that down. Deep deep deep deeeeeep down. “Sorry. I must have been thinking of someone else.”
“Mmm,” he hummed. “I don’t know the guy you speak of, but he sounds like a true pillar of strength and masculinity. It can be dangerous, falling out of bed.”
“Right.” I nodded. Biting my lip, I slipped my red heel off under the table and traced my foot up his leg. “Maybe you should see what’s taking our waiter so long so we can order and then both scream while falling into bed. Sooner, rather than later.”
He squared his shoulders and shot me a wink. “Excellent idea, Raven. I like the way you think.”
Remi
On the shallow end of the jacuzzi tub, facing a very naked, very wet, and very buff man who’d obviously spent a lot of his newfound free time at the gym, Harley What’s His Name, I couldn’t remember having a better time in my life.
Dinner was great.
After dinner was still better.
My feet propped on his shoulders, I struggled to keep my head above the water. I sloshed around to keep my eleventeenth glass of wine from going under with me.
He was laughing and tipping back a bottle of beer we’d had delivered along with my massive bottle of Sav Blanc. We’d ventured way past phony names and occupations to family members and adventures we’d never taken. Three sheets to the wind, we were now on fake stories for the scars we had all over our bodies.
“Mmmm,” I began as I swallowed. “See this one?” I turned my head to the side and moved my hair out of the way for him to get a glimpse of the six-inch scar that ran from the back of my ear to the middle of my scalp.
“Looks like a doozie. Let me guess…” Adorably, he squinted and rocked his jaw side to side as he contemplated a whopper of a story. “I’ve got it. Dollar beer night at a drag show.”
“Close. My head almost got cut off in a plane crash.”
He stared at me, pained for a beat, but I laughed hysterically and the water nearly splashed out of the tub. The quasi truth was equally as ludicrous as the lies. But it felt good to let go of some of the seriousness and just fucking laugh. At lies. At funny pop culture references. But mostly at ourselves.
“Good thing almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades,” Bowen said, trying and succeeding to once again get lost in the moment.
“Ah, man. A hand grenade would have been a good one.” I almost fell out of character but rebounded quickly. “And what a coincidence since that’s how I lost both of my arms in a freak war museum catastrophe.”
We howled.
“What are the odds?” he asked, placing his empty bottle on the floor beside the Olympic-sized bathtub.
