Fake It ‘Til You Sleigh It

CHAPTER TWELVE

Chase

Who do I have to fuck to find the light switch?

It’s two a.m. as I tiptoe across the chilly tile in my bare feet. I’m stumbling through the unfamiliar kitchen like a drunk raccoon. I’m thirsty, okay? Thirsty for water, I swear. That’s the story I’m sticking to. Definitely not because Ethan’s muscular arm was snuggling me in bed, stirring up all kinds of naughty thoughts that I shouldn’t be having.

After our disastrous smooch-and-splash today, we’ve been dancing around each other like awkward prom dates. I pulled the classic “headache” card and dashed off to bed. And when he slid beside me under the sheets, I pulled off an epic Sleeping Beauty act.

Did hearing him breathe get me all hot and bothered? Absolutely. Did I want to strip down and climb on top of him? Hell yeah. Am I really this sexually desperate? Appears so.

My fingers finally find the switch on the wall and—

“Sweet baby Jesus!” I gulp out, staring down at an alligator. Bubble’s beady eyes are fixed on me as if I’m a midnight snack. Fantastic.

I clap a hand over my mouth to muffle my scream. The last thing I need is to wake up the entire Barrett clan and have to explain why I’m having a standoff with their pet reptile in the middle of the night.

“Seriously!” I whisper-hiss. “I’d love just five minutes of not being scared shitless by things lurking around every corner. Fucking Florida!" I calmly approach the gator, cooing in what I hope is a soothing, please-don’t-eat-me voice. “Can’t sleep?”

Bubbles, unsurprisingly, says nothing. He doesn’t move, which I count as a win.

“Want something? A snack?” I ask, inching towards the fridge like I’m defusing a bomb. I realize I have no idea what gators eat. Cold cuts? Sauerkraut? Cucumber sandwiches? I spot a canister marked “Bubbles’ Treats” and grab it.

Please, God, don’t let it be filled with human fingers. Knowing this family it wouldn’t surprise me.

It’s a small container that might be holding dog treats. I take a whiff. Whatever’s in there sure as hell doesn’t smell like puppy chow.

The scaly beast whips its head towards me, fixing me with a predatory stare that turns my blood to ice. I’m pretty confident I just shit myself.

“It’s okay,” I say in baby talk for some reason. Am I talking like this for his benefit?

“You want a treat?” I say, presenting the container. “Open wide, Bubbles!”

To my utter shock, he obeys. Fuck me. Why would I tell a live alligator to open wide? I gasp at the rows of yellowed, razor-sharp teeth pointed straight at me.

He’s waiting… mouth gaping. Hurry up, dummy, or he’s gonna chomp on your leg.

I pop the lid and gag. I see a dead freakin’ frog.

“I bet Spielberg never had to be a reptile’s personal chef,” I sigh.

I reach for the frog but stop short. Bubbles eyes me suspiciously… as if I want to eat it myself. I’m just guessing because I don’t actually know what Jaws-Of-Life McGee over there is thinking.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I snap. “I don’t want to touch it, okay? Some of us didn’t grow up in the swamp.”

I’m trying to be cool, but my heart’s racing. Predictably, Ethan’s not here when I need him. He could control this stupid animal—keep me safe. He’s protected me before—when my fingers were trembling—with his big, strong hands and his deep, blue comforting eyes.

Snap out of it, Chase! You’re above his womanizing charms.

I grab a piece of chocolate cake from the fridge. “How about this? It’s sweet, just like you.” I waggle it enticingly, but Bubbles closes his mouth. Tough crowd.

“You know, sometimes we don’t get what we want,” I tell him. “I wanted to be in a cabin, alone, drinking wine and writing my next masterpiece. Instead, I’m in a crazy house where I’m bombarded with inappropriate thoughts and feelings—like wondering if Ethan’s penis actually feels like a slimy, limp fish.”

Oh God, did I just say that out loud? To an alligator?

“Don’t you dare repeat that.”

Bubbles takes a step forward, hungry, unimpressed, or maybe a little of both.

Was it my pep talk?

Is this gator judging my Ethan-centric thoughts?

Wait a minute. Can alligators sense sexual frustration?

“Fine,” I groan, ditching the cake and holding up the Frog à la Mode tub. “I get it, you’re hangry and conflicted. You understand how I feel, don’t you? Wanting to kiss someone and also wanting to punch them in the face. But for you, it’s biting their face off. Same difference, really.”

I eyeball the lifeless frog, wondering how my life choices led me to this moment. Here, in the armpit of the Sunshine State, playing therapist to a scaly beast while holding Kermit the Frog’s less fortunate cousin—this is rock bottom.

Slowly, I reach in and touch the slimy corpse. “Oh God, it feels worse than it smells,” I gag.

The frog’s leg is cold and clammy as I grip it with my fingers. I pinch my nose with my free hand and then dangle the carcass over Bubbles’ waiting maw, acknowledging the sheer stupidity of hand-feeding an alligator in the dead of night. I let go, and he snaps his jaws shut with an ominous CHOMP!

Quickly, I wash my hands. Because, ew, frog cooties.

Good. That’s done. Now back to me. What do I want? Orange Juice? Toast? Ethan? Ethan’s abs. His chest. His rugged face with that cocky smile. I want the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. Yeah, I want that .

Why can’t I stop thinking about him?

His lips.

That kiss.

Damn. My whole fucking body tingles at the memory.

“Bubbles, this is crazy, right?” I ask. “I mean, there’s no way. He’s an actor. He knows how gorgeous he is, and he uses it. Against me, against all women. If we hook up, it’ll inflate his ego even more, and he’ll be impossible to work with.”

I groan, covering my face. “Directors do not sleep with the talent. Period. It complicates everything.”

Even if it would be mind-blowingly, fan-freaking-tastic.

The creature is watching me with what I swear is sympathy. Or maybe he’s just bored. It’s hard to tell with reptiles. “You’re a great listener. Has anyone ever told you that? You don’t talk back, you never roll your eyes, and this may sound crazy, but I feel heard.”

“Let’s break this down. Banging Ethan—pros and cons. Pros: He’s hot as hell. Like, unfairly attractive. It would probably be the best sex ever. I mean, you’ve felt his hands on your body.”

“Cons: It could, no, it would wreck my career. We have half a movie to finish filming. Things would get weird on set, like super awkward. Plus, it’ll make him even more of an arrogant jerk.”

“Ugh. What am I supposed to do? I know you’re cold-blooded, but you get it, right? The way Ethan makes your skin heat up every time he’s near?”

Bubbles respects my thoughts with silence.

“Okay, I hear you. Shut it down. Slap on the chastity belt and lose the key. It’s only a few more days. Eyes on the prize.” I sigh. "You really are an emotional support alligator."

His giant mouth opens again, teeth so sharp they look like a freaking knife set.

“Got it, therapy session’s over. Time for more snacks,” I say, steeling myself. “Listen, big guy, I’ll feed you another disgusting treat, and in return, you agree this conversation never happened. Deal?”

He stays still, which I choose to interpret as agreement. I open the fridge, and I see zero mysterious containers.

“Uh, we might have a problem here, big guy,” I say.

He honest-to-God looks sad, and after all we’ve been through tonight, it breaks my heart a little.

“I can’t… Where would I even find more?” I plead. “Come on, quit giving me that look… I’m not going outside. I’m in my pajamas, dude. They’re silk!”

I swear he’s giving me the stink eye.

As I weigh my chances of making it back to the bedroom alive, Ethan saunters in, wearing nothing but boxers and a tight white T-shirt that clings to his abs like a second skin. He looks like sex on a stick—deep fried in lust, dipped in sin, rolled in temptation, and powdered with the promise of pleasure.

“I gave him the frog,” I blurt out.

Ethan stretches, all rippling muscles and golden skin. His eyes flick from me to Bubbles, and a knowing smirk plays at the corners of his mouth.

“He doesn’t want a snack,” Ethan says, voice husky with sleep.

“Excuse me?” I sputter. “I just touched a dead frog. Trust me, he wanted a snack!”

The king of assholes actually has the nerve to snicker. He leans over the counter, his arm brushing against mine, activating every nerve ending in my body. I’m tingling in places I didn’t even know existed.

“Actually, Miss Gator Charmer,” Ethan drawls, reaching for something behind the toaster. “He really wants…”

In one smooth motion that has no business being that sexy, Ethan tosses something towards Bubbles. The alligator’s jaws clamp around it faster than I can blink.

“Feathers,” Ethan finishes, looking so smug I could smack him.

I squint at the ratty flamingo stuffed animal now clutched in his mouth.

I hate it. I hate him.

“I hate Florida,” I say instead.

“It hates you too, sweetheart. You two have irreconcilable differences.”

Our eyes meet, and my breath hitches as his gaze drops to my lips. Suddenly, the kitchen feels like it’s on fire. Or maybe that’s just my self-control frying to a crisp.

Ethan inches closer, and I fight the urge to back up against the counter. Or, better yet, hop onto it and wrap my legs around his waist.

I clear my throat loudly and dramatically, then pretend to choke on my own spit, coughing and sputtering. “Wrong pipe,” I wheeze, patting my chest and effectively breaking the tension.

“Why are you up?” he says bluntly.

“Plotting my escape. No, your demise. Yeah, that’s it. I was planning on luring Bubbles into your room and—”

“Ooh, kinky.” He winks. “But I think there’s enough going on in our bed already.”

Does he know? That I woke up clinging to him like he was my favorite teddy bear? A delicious shiver runs through me as I realize I’m not just wanting to be caught—I’m aching for it.

I can’t help the nervous swipe of my tongue across my lips. Ethan’s gaze locks on to the movement, his eyes showing unmistakable hunger. I lick my lips again, slowly, and he becomes a predator zeroing in on his prey. And damn, do I feel like letting myself get devoured. Repeatedly.

I gotta squash this, stat!

I avert my gaze, fixing my eyes on the floor. “Sorry, I’ve already decided. It’s gonna be cold-blooded murder for you. Death by Bubbles. Right after I get myself a glass of water.”

Ethan tilts my chin up, demanding my eyes meet his. I hold my breath, reeling from anticipation. Is he going to kiss me right here, right now? Without breaking eye contact, he reaches into the cabinet behind me, pulls out a glass, and fills it with sink water.

“Here ya go, Chase. But if you’re feeling adventurous, I’ve got a few other methods in mind to quench your thirst.”

I take a sip, trying to calm my heart that’s pounding like a drum solo. My mind keeps flashing back to that kiss in the Gulf. His hold on me was so damn strong and confident. The taste of him mixed with sea salt…

My lady bits are chanting, Ethan! Ethan! Ethan! They’ve really developed a mind of their own lately.

“Why are you awake?” I ask, opting for a snarky comeback instead of doing something stupid like jumping his bones. “Having nightmares about underwater performance issues? Worried that limp fish dick syndrome might be contagious?”

He barks out a laugh. “Nah, I never have nightmares. I do dream, though, and tonight’s fantasy was… inspiring.”

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow. “It was so incredible, it woke you up?”

“Actually, yeah. I dreamt about you.”

“Shut up,” I say instantly. “Really?”

“Really,” he murmurs, his eyes darkening. “And we weren’t wearing a lot of clothes.”

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry in spite of my recent drink. “You sure it was me? And not one of your co-stars?”

Ethan leans in, his lips brushing my ear as he whispers, “It’s the kind of dream that’s hard to explain. I’d have to show you.”

“Is that so?” I ask dryly. Ladies and gentlemen, Ethan Barrett, busting out “The Old Dream Seducer”, technique #357.

Ethan continues, “Come back to bed with me, and I’ll tell you about it. You know you want to. I promise it’ll be more fun than first-degree murder.”

“No thanks, pretty boy,” I say with a wave of my hand. “I’m going back to sleep. Stay on your side or else.”

I brush past him, but Ethan catches my wrist, his tone shifting from playful to serious. “Chase. We need to talk about us, about the kiss.”

I freeze. “There’s nothing to talk about. A momentary lapse in judgment. It was a mistake.”

“Was it?” Ethan challenges.

He steps so close that his body presses against mine, the heat of him radiating through my clothes. His hand cups my cheek, thumb gently stroking my skin. “Here’s the truth. I can’t stop thinking about you, Chase. You’re driving me fucking insane.”

His words slice through my defenses, burrowing deep into my core and igniting a desire I can’t ignore. “Ethan,” I breathe, not sure if it’s a warning or a plea.

“I want to kiss you,” Ethan says, his voice low and husky. “Your lips, the way you tasted, how you felt against me—it’s all I can think about.”

My heart races. The next thing out of my mouth surprises me. “Then why don’t you?”

“Because if I start, I won’t stop. Not until we’re bare-ass naked and completely spent and you can’t stop panting my name.”

I suck in a quick breath. My body can’t hide how much it craves those words. My breasts tighten. My clit tingles. There is not enough air in this goddamn room.

“This isn’t a good idea,” I manage to say, my body screaming for his touch.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he growls, his anxious hands now on my hips. “Tell me no.”

I should. I know I should. This is a disaster waiting to happen. A ticking time bomb ready to detonate. Every instinct is screaming at me to get out of here, to put as much distance between us as possible before it’s too late.

But I’m tired of running. Tired of ignoring this electric connection we have. Exhausted from fighting how my body reacts to his touch. For once, I want the messy, dangerous choice—the one that could leave my heart in pieces.

“Kiss me,” I command.