I sign off blowing a kiss to the camera, and then quickly add my hashtags. #lovelylia, #liainlove, #surpriselove, and of course, #xoxo.
"That was fast. I didn't realize when you talked about posting you meant right this instant," Xavier says casually. Probably a little too casually.
"Keeping up appearances. You post on Insta, I'll post on ClikClak, and then if the FBI or ICE comes calling, we have a nice little portfolio to show them."
"Right. Good idea. Maybe we can do another one later? I've got a call with Janssen in a bit, so after that?"
"Who's Janssen again?" He said it like I should know, so I wonder if I've missed an important detail about his life. I think his agent is Tony. Other than that, I can't remember who he's talked about specifically. I have no idea if he has any family or friends.
I should probably listen more instead of daydreaming scenes for my book, and many more books to follow.
Like the one I'm thinking of now that involves the top flying off the blender, getting doused in a smoothie, wiping each other down, and then a hot steamy scene on the kitchen counter.
My mouth goes dry just thinking about it.
Focus.
"He's the coach for the Buzzards. He used to be my coach with the Terrors, but they let him go during the shutdown. He's the one I talked to last week. I want to make sure this trade is happening."
Janssen, coach. Need to remember that. It seems important. More important than defiling my counter. "Right. Because it would be totally stupid for us to get married if you don't need to." I laugh. Can you even imagine?
"Completely. I'm going to hit the shower if you don't mind. What time's the appointment again?"
Appointment. Wedding. Holy shit, we're really getting married. I'm no better than one of those people who go on a TV show and marry a complete stranger.
Suddenly, the air seems thin. Too thin.
"Three-thirty. We should leave around two forty-five to get to City Hall." I try to appear interested in some work on my desk and not at all like I'm having a panic attack.
Breathe in, breathe out.
"Right. Good." He disappears into my bathroom.
I take a moment to look around. This is all happening so fast. He's put an air mattress on my living room floor, refusing to allow me to take the couch any longer. This place is definitely too small for the two of us, and it's not like I'm trying to create a scenario for the one-bed trope.
This seems like some dream that started the moment that first video went viral. And if not a dream, surreal, at the very least.
"Hey." I knock on the bathroom door. "After we … you know … do you want to take a drive down to Foxborough and look at places?"
Xavier pulls the bathroom door open, clad in only a towel.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
Check that. I'mallon board for the one-bed trope. We never need to move.
My mouth goes dry yet I start salivating all at the same time. Muscles ripple and cut underneath his skin. Writing in black ink wraps around his left side, just under his pec. I would like to look at it closely to see what it says. My gaze starts at his well-defined shoulders, travels down his firm pecs, continues down what has to be an eight pack, and ends on a trail of hair pointing down underneath the towel to what must be the promised land.
"Close your mouth. You're apt to catch flies."
I close my mouth but am still unable to blink at a normal speed. I'm afraid if I close my eyes, this vision of male perfection will disappear. Finally, I drag my gaze up to meet his.
"Sorry. You're naked and hot."
He tightens his grip on the towel as if I'm going to snatch it away from him. Not saying I would, but it's definitely not beneath me either. "I mean, I likeknewyou were sort of athletic and all, but …"
"I'm not sort of athletic. I'm an athlete, darling."
"Why are you fake marrying me then?" I glance down at my frumpy pajamas, oversized hoodie, and fuzzy socks. "Surely you could easily find someone who matches you better."
