“Good.” He strokes his chin. “Good.”

I take my clothes off and step into the shower, letting the scorching hot water punish me for what I did.

I’ll fix it all.

Fix it all with Jolie.

The day drags.

By the time I stumble through my front door, it’s already ten at night.

Between my shift at the Happy Bunny—a diner off of Bordeaux Street—and a library session with Chelsea and Penny, I’m thoroughly spent. Too exhausted to even grab myself a bite. The minute I get into the apartment, I head straight to the shower, scrub off the day’s dirt, slip into my pajamas (conveniently located on a hanger in the bathroom right next to my towel to avoid any more embarrassing hallway encounters with Sage) and slide under my blanket without even turning on the lamp next to my bed. I scoot to the edge of my bed and close my eyes.

Mmm, this is nice.

So relaxing.

I can just drift and clear my mind and not think about…

Okay, something is poking my ass.

Correction: an erection is poking my ass.

Double correction: a bare erection is. Poking. My. Ass. Mothertrucker!

“Sage!” I jolt, partly pissed, but—let’s admit it—mostly turned on. It’s like Sage has the manual to my body and knows how to work it better than I do. Which is weird. We still haven’t spoken about the sudden escalation in our relationship, but since it’s already happened—what’s crossing another line, right?

“Shhh, baby girl.” His strong, warm palm slides down to cup my ass. “Let Daddy take care of you.”

“Call yourself my daddy one more time and I’m fishing your eyeballs out with a spoon.”

“Fuck, my girl has some pent-up aggression in her. So glad I’m here to loosen…” He glides the sleeve of my pajama dress across my shoulder and kisses it. “Her.” He lets the gown slip over my head and down my body, leaving me completely naked, save for my cotton panties. “Up.” His hand slinks between my thighs, cups my pussy, and squeezes. Hard.

“No need, as I’m perfectly loose,” I murmur, teasing him. He slides my panties down and I wiggle my ass into his erection so that his cock is halfway between my ass cheeks, putting pressure on my tight hole. He could dream. But then again, that’s exactly what I want him to do. Crave me like a fantasy.

“Nah, you’re not loose. Tight as your sweet little cunt, more like.” His tongue skates down my spine, leaving shivers in its wake. He is moving south. Who gave him permission to move south? This is like Game of Thrones. Wars should be fought to win the south. You can’t just knock on the door and expect me to open it up.

Wait, you totally can if you look like Sage Poirier.

“Too tired for sex, Mr. Fake Boyfriend. I’m not in the mood to move,” I protest one last time, just to tell myself that I’ve tried if things go wrong. Just to show myself that I really did try, I flip the lamp on for emphasis, like I’m going to be reading, or watching TV, or not thinking about having sex with my best friend (lie).

“That’s okay. I skipped my carbs today, Miss Real Girlfriend. I think I’ll just feast on you.”

Real girlfriend? Don’t dwell on it. He’d say anything to get into your panties right now.

“I think my juices are more, like, protein,” I blab. I should probably shut up.

“No such thing as too much protein in an athlete’s diet. Better go down there. Maybe even come back for a second serving later tonight.” He cups my face with one hand and twists my head around so he can kiss me. Our tongues find each other and do a happy dance together. My nipples tighten and pucker from the heat between my legs and the chilly breeze of the room and he twists one of them between his fingers. Then he lets go and slides under my blanket, where I can’t see him.

Sage throws my legs open and settles between them. He doesn’t say anything at first, and my self-consciousness kicks in. I know my pussy is perfectly normal. Waxed—every part tucked in like a virgin rose right before blooming—smooth to a fault and bubblegum pink. Everything is where it should be. So why is he not saying anything? Maybe he is suffocating under the blanket. I should check how he is doing. This is one obituary I wouldn’t want to make.

‘Died between my legs from lack of oxygen on the same day I had a tuna melt for lunch…’

Oh, God. I forgot about the tuna melt.

“Sage?” I murmur, scooting upward. He pins me down by my hipbones in one, swift movement, throwing my legs even wider.

“Shut up,” he says from under the blanket, this mammoth of a man shifting beneath the soft fabric. “JoJo? I think we need to break up our fake relationship.”

My eyes flare and my cheeks flush red. “Why?”

“Because I just fell in love. I’m talking love at first sight. Your pussy is just so darn pretty, I wanna marry it. Can I marry your pussy? The rest of your body can stay single, I swear.”

I laugh and playfully swat what I’m guessing is his head—or his shoulder, both are super hard and round.

“If you love her so much, you should give her some TLC. Show her how you really feel,” I encourage, biting my lower lip on a smile.

“Can I kiss her? Or does she not kiss on a first date?”

“She definitely does. She’s a little hussy.”