What’s the worst sound to hear when you wake up hungover? Make that the second worst sound after a sledgehammer outside the window—which pretty much sounded like the one in my head.

That’s right—the chirping of a bird, happily pointing out you were an idiot last night for drinking so much. The one outside the window was also telling me if I hadn’t gotten drunk, I wouldn’t be feeling like crap.

No shit.

The memory of last night’s loss came rushing in with a vengeance, and I groaned.

A moment later another memory joined it—and my eyes snapped open.

Huge mistake.

Sunlight glared through the open curtains. I shut my eyes again, not that it made a difference. The sledgehammer in my head wasn’t vanishing anytime soon.

Reopening my eyes, I caught sight of the sleeping woman next to me. Her auburn hair glowed in the light like a halo, but angelic was the last word I would use to describe Holly. Not unless angels were talented at given multiple orgasms to mere men. I might not have remembered everything, but something about what I did remember made me think that last night might have been the best sex I’d had in a while.

So, what was the problem—other than the headache? Because what guy didn’t want to hook up with a woman who could make his cock sing hallelujah more than once in a night?

The problem was that most women I’d had sex with over the past few years were one-night stands. It was easier that way with my career. It was tough when you were on the road all the time. Girlfriends got clingy or suspicious that you were cheating. One-night stands didn’t care.

But here was the thing with one-night stands—sleepovers tended not to happen, for good reason. Having sex and then escaping while the girl slept avoided all the awkwardness the next morning. The fact that Holly wasn’t a one-night stand who I would never see again further compounded the awkwardness. She was the colleague of my best friend and his girlfriend’s best friend. Avoiding Holly wouldn’t be possible.

But did I want to avoid her? Not really.

Did I want to make what we’d shared last night a regular thing?

Don’t get me wrong—I enjoyed a good fuck like the next man. But I didn’t do the fuck-buddy arrangement. Too complicated. So as much as I enjoyed last night (well, what I remembered of it), it couldn’t happen again.

Unfortunately, my cock chose to ignore the memo. It was more than willing to sink inside her once more, to help me remember details about last night. It didn’t care that I was hungover. As far as it was concerned, I was still alive, which was good enough.

But while that might have been true in my dick’s case, I didn’t think Holly would share the sentiment.

I carefully shifted the bedding off me, making sure not to disturb her, and scooted to the edge of the bed.

I sat up—and Holly groaned.

Just not in the same way she had last night when she was getting all shades of turned on. This was more like a Why-the-hell-did-I-drink-all-that-alcohol? moan.

Either way, it was about to make my great escape more awkward.

“G’day,” a sleepy, pained voice said with an Aussie accent that sounded a little rougher than normal. A little rougher but a whole lot sexier—if that was at all possible.

I turned to look over my shoulder at her. “Hey, how are you feeling?” My voice came out not much different than hers, minus the accent. Neither of us had survived last night unscathed, but after our day yesterday, no one could blame us for our actions.

And fortunately, no one had to know about them.

“Remind me next time I wish to mourn a loved one’s death not to drink so much wine. And to skip on the daiquiris.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “And the tequila shots.”

In spite of myself, I chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Instinct told me to bail. For once I chose to ignore it. “I’ll be right back.”

Not bothering with my clothes, I left the bedroom, took a quick whiz in the bathroom, then after searching both there and in the kitchen, finally found some painkillers. After taking one myself, along with a good amount of water to rehydrate, I filled a glass for Holly and returned to her bedroom, picking up my trail of clothes along the way.

“Here,” I said, handing the bottle of painkillers and water to her. “I thought you might need these.”

She reached for them. “Thanks. Do you want some coffee? Or I can make us some food?” She didn’t say it in a way that sounded like she was hoping I’d stay—for the long term, in a relationship. It was in a friendly, no-commitment tone. My favorite post-sex tone.

“Sure, that’d be great.”

Twenty minutes later, we were sitting at the kitchen table, eating scrambled eggs and toast. While Holly had been cooking, I had showered, avoiding the awkward time until now. An uncomfortable tension sat between us—thoroughly enjoying how we had both been idiots last night when it came to getting off and the booze.

“So about last night,” Holly said after a few minutes of us pretending to be engrossed with the food. “Trent and Kelsey don’t need to know about it.” She quickly shoved a fork full of eggs into her mouth.

I nodded. “Agree.”

“I mean, it’s better they don’t know about it. There’s no point of them thinking anything could happen between us.” I bet runaway trains moved slower than the words spilling from her mouth.

“Agree.”

“That would only make things more awkward for everyone,” she said.

“True.” Why did I have a strange feeling I was forgetting something—something monumental?

Her phone buzzed on the table. Looking like the cat who had eaten the entire cage of canaries, she answered it. “Hey, Kelsey.…No, I’m fine. I had a few drinks then went home.” The entire time that she was talking, Holly glanced everywhere but at me. “I can later. I need to book my plane tickets for the funeral.”

At the last part, that strange feeling nudged me a little harder. I swatted it away like it was an annoying mosquito buzzing near my face.

Holly finally looked at me while listening to whatever Kelsey was saying. She flashed me an apologetic smile. In the book on one-night stands, this would be where the author recommended bailing if you hadn’t already. Great advice—but since Holly and I were friends, it seemed ridiculous to do that at this point.

A few minutes later Holly ended the call, then continued talking to me as if she hadn’t answered the phone. “Anyway, about last night. We were drunk and not thinking clearly. So, how about we pretend it never happened?”

Laughter bubbled inside me at how flustered this conversation was leaving her. The regular Holly looked nothing like this. This version was adorable, with her hair adopting the I’ve-just-had-a-great-fuck messy look that turned men on. She was wearing black yoga pants and a white tank top with a comical koala on the front. Far from her usual fashionable self. Her face was makeup-free, and despite her hangover, she had a glow about her. A post-sex glow.

And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me want to bang my fists against my chest, caveman style.

What? Don’t judge me. There isn’t a man alive who doesn’t appreciate it when the woman he’s given multiple orgasms to looks beyond merely satisfied. If he says otherwise, he’s lying.

Holly’s phone pinged. She glanced at the screen, and it was like a vampire had suddenly sucked all the blood from her face. “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God,” she whispered before her hand covered her mouth as if to prevent any more “Oh, Gods” from escaping.

Now, I’d be the first to admit that usually when women were saying “Oh, God” that many times in a row, it was not because of a text. The strange feeling I was forgetting something? It was no longer a nudge. It was a full out push-you-over-the-cliff shove. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, God,” was apparently the only answer Holly planned to give me, her gaze still locked on the phone.

I removed it from her hand and read the text—even though it wasn’t mine to read. Why is it I have to hear from Simon that our baby sis is engaged? Thought I was your favorite brother!

While I was still holding the phone, another text came in. Can’t wait to meet your fiancé. That one was from Simon.

Oh. Fucking. Christ. The conversation from last night bulldozed its way into my head.

She had asked me to pretend to be her fiancé. I hadn’t given her an answer because we’d had sex instead—my one-track mind that easily distracted.

Holly dragged her gaze from the phone and settled her gorgeous green eyes on me. Warning alarms blared “Code Red! Code Red!” in my head.

“I swear, I’ll never ask you for another favor…” she said, “and I’ll do whatever you want just to make it up to you.”

“Sweetheart, there’s nothing you can give me that will make up for pretending to be your fiancé.” Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. A year’s worth of blowjobs would be a good start.

“Sooo, that’s a yes?”

I swear the woman could put puppies to shame with her puppy dog eyes. No one else pulled them off as convincingly as Holly.

“That would be a no.” Did I mention I was immune to puppy dog eyes?

She slumped forward, elbows on the table, face in her hands. “Oh, God, I’m screwed. Now I’ll have to spend the entire time there with my mum driving me insane. And I’ll probably agree to marry Wilfred just to get her off my back.”

“Maybe you can find someone else to be your fiancé.”

She shook her head, her face still in her hands. “Not on this short notice. And especially not someone who can fly to Australia.”

“Doesn’t engaged usually mean you’re expecting to get married at some point? Won’t they wonder when the big day is?”

Holly dropped her hands from her face. “I was going to pretend to be engaged for a few months and then call it off. It’s not like my parents expect me to get married next week.”

“But won’t your mom go back to pushing Wilfred on you again?”

“Not right away. So that will buy me time to come up with something else…like never returning to Australia again if it comes down to it.”

“Are you sure there’s no other way to get your mom off your back about this Wilfred guy?” Holly had never come off as the type of girl who let others tell her what to do.

Which meant her mother had to be a force to reckon with—much like a freaking hurricane.

She shook her head. “No, Mum’s stubborn like that. She doesn’t care that I don’t love the guy. Love is irrelevant in her mind.”

Sounded like she and my father would get on well. He didn’t believe in love either. “Except I don’t do relationships and I definitely don’t meet the parents.” I inwardly shuddered at the thought.

“Which is why you’re perfect for this, Josh. And it’s not like we’ll have to hang out with my parents. I can show you around Sydney. That will give me an excuse for escaping. Plus, then I can introduce you to the nightlife there. Which will be another excuse for me to not be around so much. And…and I’ll pay for your plane ticket, so really you have nothing to lose.” She tilted her head to the side, the way girls did when they flirted—a look I wasn’t familiar with on Holly when it came to her and me. “Other than the funeral and meeting my mum for the first time, I promise you’ll have fun.”

I’d be lying if I said I never wanted to go to Australia. If a regular one-night stand asked me to be her fake fiancé, would I do it? Hell, no. But Holly wasn’t a regular one-night stand. We had no expectations between us—other than to continue being the friends we were before last night.

“Okay, I’ll do it, but with one additional condition.”

Holly blinked, clearly unable to believe I had agreed to help her. “What’s that?”

“The next time I need a fake girlfriend, you’ll do it.”

The smile that appeared on her face was enough to steal my breath. “Okay. Sounds fair.”

“Even if it’s five years down the road and you’re married.” You never knew when a fake girlfriend could come in handy. Not that I had needed one yet.

She held out her hand. “Deal.”

A devious smirk curled onto my lips. “You don’t need to give me a hand job. But if you want to…”

Her hand returned to her coffee mug. “We’ve already established last night was a mistake. So, there’ll be no more sex or kissing. Or anything else along those lines.”

My smirk hadn’t gone anywhere yet. It just widened at the way she sounded flustered once again. “So you’re telling me we won’t be fuck buddies?” Yeah, not sure why I said that given it was the last thing I wished to do—but it also sounded like she wasn’t interested in that either. Perfect.

“Exactly. We’ll go back to being just friends—with no benefits. And fortunately, my mother is anti-PDA, so we won’t have to worry about faking that. And since their house is almost a mansion, you’ll have your own bedroom.”

Rule #1 about one-night stands…they are exactly that. One. Night. Break that rule and you’re asking for trouble of epic proportions. Most girls thought that if a guy wanted to have sex with them again, it meant they were now in a relationship. And that was never a good thing.

But while that might’ve been the rule, my cock was thinking, “Fuck that!”

I let out a mental sigh. This was going to be one very long trip.