He takes away the plate he’s just set in front of me. “You’ve only been out of the hospital for two days.”
“Three nights,” I correct him, holding up a trio of fingers. “And you heard the doctor. She said I’d feel a thousand times better and could resume normal activities right away.”
Ezra’s face flashes crimson, like maybe he’s replaying that conversation in his mind.
“Having sex won’t be a problem, so long as you’re feeling strong enough.”
We didn’t ask, but Dr. Renz includes it in her instructions anyway. She spends a few minutes discussing methods of birth control in front of Ezra, which is awkward as hell.
“What do you think?” I turn to Ezra, pretending to involve my husband in this decision. You know, for the show.
“Your body, your choice, honey,” he replies like a perfect spouse. “Whatever you’re most comfortable with.”
Ultimately, I decided on the pill. The thought of having a miniature pogo stick floating around my uterus sounds dreadful.
“Can we do something fun today? It’s supposed to be our honeymoon,honey.” I bounce on my toes and bat my lashes dramatically. I don’t want to be laid up in bed any longer. Not unless someone is laid up on top of me. Now that my period has packed her bags and taken off, I’m hella horny, and while the man standing before me is a natural caretaker, he’s not helping in the way I want him to.
I briefly think about faking my period for one extra day just to get that nipple treatment again. I’ve got to release this tension somehow, and it’snotgoing to happen in the bedroom.
“I have some things to take care of for Kane, but after, I’m all yours.” He passes a mug to me, then picks up his own. The bitter notes of coffee and Earl Grey swirl between us. He’s dressed in navy shorts that hug his thick thighs at the perfect length—I secretly call this pair hisslutty shorts—and an ivory short-sleeve button-down clings to his biceps like a koala to a tree.
“Do you need me to come with you?”
We still haven’t told Kane our marriage is fake, and I can’t help but worry that we’re doing the wrong thing by keeping the truth from him. But that’s Ezra’s choice to make. His lawyer knows we’re not married, at least. We have zero interest in trying to fool officials or doing anything illegal.
“That’s sweet of you, but I think you should rest.” The space between his brows furrows, the sight urging me to smooth the line with my thumb.
I resist and instead let out a sound of frustration. “That’s sweet of you,sweetie, but I don’t wanna fucking rest anymore.” I consider stomping my foot, but I’d hate to be a cliché.
“How about this?” Ezra steps forward and takes my hand in his, his palm hot from the tea. “Do you have anything to record today?”
Lips pressed together, I nod.
“If you promise to sit your butt down when you record, I’ll consider that enough rest. Then I’ll take you out for dinner. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Once Ezra heads out, I trade my coffee for water and do my vocal warm-ups. Narrating audiobooks and recording erotic stories for LULU has brought me so much joy and solace since I was basically forced out of my role inMamma Mia. I get to perform without being judged by the way I look and without panicking because I can’t wiggle into my costumes. The only thing missing is dance. Oh, how I miss dancing.
Besides the night at the karaoke bar, I haven’t moved my body like that in months. Dancing makes me feel the way a good orgasm does—alive and on top of the world.
I record an hour of a paranormal why-choose romance—that was a first—then two scenes for LULU. I thought I’d be exhausted after faking orgasms—the only time I’ll allow a fake one,thank you very much—but instead, I’m energized.
Screw Ezra and his bossiness. Rather than rest, I need to release this pent-up energy.
Headphones on, I scroll through my playlist until I find just what I’m looking for. Once I tap my screen and the first strain of “Unwritten” plays, my hips don’t stand a chance. I can’tnotbop around when I hear this song. I turn the volume all the way up, and with Natasha Bedingfield’s voice as my guide, I release all my inhibitions. When it’s over, it starts from the beginning again. Huh. I must have clicked the repeat button. This time, the formally trained dancer in me can’t help but choreograph to the lyrics. It comes naturally, and I’m riding a high when I spin and?—
My heart lurches out of my chest when I catch sight of another person, and when I realize it’s Ezra, my cheeks heat in utter mortification.
“Oh my god.” Wishing the floor would open up and devour me, I whip my headphones off and throw them at him.
With one hand propped on the doorframe, he catches them, his face breaking into a wicked grin.
I slap my hands over my face and whimper. This is almost as bad as the time my roommate in college caught me masturbating. This was before I discovered vibrators, so she walked in on me full-on humping a stuffed animal. (NotBunny.)
“Hey,” he says, his tone concerned. “Are you—are you embarrassed?”
“Of course I’m fucking embarrassed.” Hands still covering my face, I drop onto the bed.
