Well Matched (Well Met #3)(38)

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Much, much later, after some talking, some laughing, and a desperate dig through Mitch’s Dopp kit to find the second condom he swore was in there somewhere, we sat up together in bed, wrapped in the hotel sheets. We ate the last of his grandmother’s macaroni and cheese and washed it down with the cheap hotel champagne. It was the best late-night snack I’d ever had.

“Told you,” he said. His arm was around me and I nestled into his chest, high on carbs, alcohol, and the best sex of my life. I turned his words over in my head and looked up at him with a frown.

“Told me what?”

His lips twitched as he downed the last of the champagne in his plastic glass. “You’re a MILF.”

I snorted, which was painful when you had a mouthful of champagne. I sputtered and whacked him on the arm at the same time. His smirk turned into a laugh as he wrestled my glass out of my hand. I pretended to fight him, but who was I kidding, I didn’t want to. He leaned away from me to put the glasses on the bedside table, and when he turned back to me, I got his full attention—something I was still getting used to. The full force of Mitch’s attention was a lot, but thankfully he seemed to be about as tired as I was. We eased down under the sheets together over the course of a few long, lingering kisses, and he tucked the blankets around the both of us. He looped a lock of my hair behind my ear, his fingertips lingering on my cheekbone, and I studied the sleepy satisfaction in his blue eyes.

As we both began to drift off to sleep, I remembered how I’d woken up that morning. At the very edge of the bed, every muscle tense with fear that I’d move too close to Mitch as we slept. Now our pillows were piled together in the middle, our heads nestled close. He fell asleep with a long sigh, one arm slung over me, cradling me to him. I felt warm. I felt safe. Sleeping in Mitch’s arms was like being under a warm weighted blanket.

Weighted Blanket I’d Like to . . .

I wanted to laugh at the ridiculous thought as it floated through my head. I wanted to tell Mitch, because I knew he’d laugh too. But I was more asleep than awake at that point, and it was easier to close my eyes and slide into a dream. But with the night I’d just had, dreams had a lot to live up to.



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“April.” Mitch’s voice was very far away, but his hand was right there, warm on my shoulder, shaking gently.

“Mmmf.” I turned to bury my head in the pillow, not at all ready for it to be morning.

“Come on.” His mouth replaced his hand, placing lingering kisses on my bare shoulder. “Gotta get up. Brunch time.”

I groaned. “How are you so chipper? I didn’t get nearly enough sleep last night. And neither did you.” But I grinned into my pillow, because what a way to lose sleep. It beat insomnia any day of the week. I turned to peer at him over my shoulder. “Are you always this much of a morning person?”

“Pretty much.” He tugged at the blankets, and I half-heartedly tugged back, trying to burrow under them and capture some of the warmth we’d shared last night. I wasn’t ready for morning. Morning meant our night together was over. “I told you, I’ve trained for this. Now, come on.”

“Nope.” I pulled the sheet over my head, and he tugged it down again.

“See?” His arms went around me under the blankets, tucking me into his embrace. I gave a little hum of pleasure at being his little spoon. Yes. Let’s stay here all day. “I told you the real thing is better than the battery-operated stuff.”

I snorted at that, but also moved lazily against him as his hands began to wander. I wasn’t ready to renounce the contents of my bedside table, but he did have a point. “The battery-operated stuff is less demanding, you know. And lets me get more sleep.” I yawned extravagantly. “Give my regrets to your family, but I’m pretty sure you killed me last night.”

His chuckle was a low rumble against my back. “Sure. No problem. I’ll tell Grandma that you’re too tired to come to brunch from all the banging we did last night.”

“Hey, it’ll help sell the whole fake girlfriend thing.”

I expected another laugh, but instead he was silent, his hands pausing on my body. I turned in his arms, and when I caught his eyes he smiled, but it wasn’t a full smile. It was a smile like he’d had yesterday with his family—the kind you threw at someone when you were supposed to but didn’t feel it. The sight of that insincere smile made my chest throb. I didn’t like that I’d put that smile there, and I didn’t like that I didn’t like it.

“Fine.” I threw the blankets aside and levered myself up, groaning and trying to ignore all the cracks my joints made. That had been quite a workout last night. “I’m up. But you have to soap me down in the shower.”

Now a real smile was back on his face, and that made me happier than I’d expected. “Gladly.”

I gave him my hand and let him pull me out of bed. I wasn’t kidding; I could barely walk. My thighs were stretched and sore, like that one summer in college that I’d learned horseback riding. Which made sense—I’d done a little riding last night. Would anyone notice at brunch? Would it be obvious that something had changed between Mitch and me the night before?

And how was I supposed to forget all of this when I got home later today, and my fake girlfriend job came to an end?