Chapter 9

Camryn stepped into her pajama boxers and stared at the navy blue leather sleeper sofa, then at the pool table. Who had a pool table in their guest room? Then again, the house had originally been a two-bedroom, and this part was a very large edition he’d converted into a game room. The space was roughly twenty feet by eighteen. He probably didn’t have guests often. Regardless, no way was the bed going to pull out with the table that close.

“Um, Troy?”

His feet padded down the hallway. “I’m coming to get you, Barbara,” he said in a gloomy drone, mimicking the line from their movie.

She almost smiled.

He leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms over his bare chest.

Geez. She hadn’t seen him without a shirt in a long time. He’d filled out. Gained muscle and sinew. Bare chest. Bronzed, sun-kissed skin. Bulging biceps. Six pack abs. Or maybe it was a twelve pack.

All the moisture left her mouth as her belly heated. Her gaze darted to his pajama bottoms for reprieve and to distract her from a sudden what-the-heck wave of lust.

Yep. That had helped. She barely resisted an eye roll.

He followed her gaze. “What?”

What, indeed. “You’re wearing SpongeBob SquarePants pajamas.”

“Yeah. And?”

“Do you have on Batman underwear, too?” God knew, though. Even he could make SpongeBob sexy.

He grinned, causing her face to heat to match the scorch in her belly. “Nope. Plain tighty whities. Wanna see?”

Her skin was going to burn off her face. “No.” Yes.

“What’s wrong with SpongeBob?”

She stared him down, shoving her physical reaction to him in a box. This was Troy, after all. “Aside from the fact you’re thirty years old, you mean?”

His eyebrows lifted. “I knew I should’ve worn the Scooby Doo ones. These don’t turn you on, do they?”

She sighed.

He laughed. He had a great laugh. An uninhibited sound meant to dissuade unease and born to light every nerve in her body.

“Where’s your shirt?” she asked, irritated he could get to her just by doing nothing. He did nothing better than anyone she knew.

He shrugged.

“You promised me pajamas. That includes a shirt.” Please, for the love of all humanity, put on a shirt!

He nodded. “So I did.” He left the room and came back seconds later wearing a Kermit the Frog tee. “Better?”

Dear God, she was going to be sharing a house with a man who just stepped off a preschool choo-choo train. “Do you own anything without a cartoon character on it?”

“Technically, Kermit’s a Muppet.”

Oh, for crying out loud. “Never mind, Troy.”

He took a step closer. “Why does it bother you?”

“You’re an adult.”

He shrugged again. “One should embrace their inner child.”

“Or never outgrow it, in your case.”

He stared at her a moment, letting a slow, easy grin form. Curse him. “Even you were a kid once, Cam. Don’t you ever wake up early on a Saturday morning, just for the hell of it, and eat a bowl of cereal while watching cartoons?”

He was hopeless. “No.”

“What a shame.” He was watching her again like he wanted to laugh at her. Or start a pillow fight. “Emily bought me these. Every Christmas, Anna takes her shopping for my gift. I wear them because they remind me of her.”

“Oh.” Oh. Now that was really sweet, actually.

She tore her gaze away and glanced around the room to avoid looking at him anymore. The vision of him without a shirt would be permanently etched in her brain forever, combined with the sweet sentiment of him wearing something his goddaughter bought him. What right did he have to flaunt his sexiness anyway? It was even more charming he cared that much for Emily.

The walls were a baby blue color and had framed prints of baseball team logos scattered throughout. He’d refinished the hardwood floor to a nice cherry color last she’d been in here. It was a nice mancave, far as they went. Very him.

And what had she called him in here for?

Bed. Right. “I can’t pull out the sleeper sofa with the pool table so close.”

He sauntered up behind her, pressing his chest against her back. Something strange happened to her insides at his touch. Liquefied them. Boiled them.

She froze, pinching her eyes shut. He had her boxed in now. Plus, he smelled so good, like the outdoors in early summer. And soap. His breath fanned her nape, warm and toothpaste-scented.

Mentally, she told herself to close her mouth. Physically, she couldn’t even swallow.

Leaning forward, he slid his hand over her belly, holding her in place, and wrapped the other around the handle on the sleeper in front of them. His arm brushed hers as it hung limp at her side. He had such dark, tanned skin compared to hers. Hot and hard, too.

The springs creaked as he pulled. Half the bed emerged.

She looked over her shoulder, realizing the bed would clear the pool table. Barely.

“Oh. I guess it does fit. Never mind,” she said, feeling like an idiot. And flustered. Troy could always get under her skin so easily. “I got it from here.”

He didn’t move, still determined to help. The heat from his body had her temperature mounting. They both reached for the bar to extend the bed the rest of the way, and while ensued in a battle of who could yank it out first, they flew backward. She landed on top of him on the pool table, her back to his front.

She paused, arms sprawled, respirations heavy. “This is awkward,” she muttered.

“I don’t know,” he argued. His voice sounded strange. Deeper. “I’ve never had sex on this table. Might be fun.”

She uttered a sound of distress and scrambled off him, landing on the sleeper mattress. “Would you be serious, Troy?” She sort of wished he had been.

“We are supposed to be dating,” he answered, as if not disconcerted in the least.

“Not without witnesses.” She pushed her hair away from her face with both hands.

His laughter filled the room for several seconds as he sat upright and hopped off the table. “Can I help you with anything else, Cam? Finding the shower? Using a blanket?”

Exhaling, her eyes narrowed. Infuriating man. “Does the neon Miller Lite beer sign turn off? It’s a bit bright for a nightlight.”

He pulled a string hanging under the sign on the wall, sending the room into near darkness. “Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Now get out before a fantasy pops in my head. Again.

Troy stared at the pool table as if thinking the same thing as her. He blinked and retrained his gaze on her. “Why don’t you take my room? I’ll sleep in here.”

“No, no. I’m fine.” Sort of.

“You sure? I have Transformer sheets.”

Swallowing, she looked him in the eye, wanting to know what he was really thinking with all his obvious avoidance. “Why are you doing this?”

A flick of irritation crossed his face. “Doing what?”

Being nice. Distracting me with movies. Making me want to know what’s under the boy-child clothes.

She crossed her arms to block out a chill she attributed to the AC. “Agreeing to date me. Or fake date, rather.”

He stared at the pool table again, expression haunted. “I don’t know, but I said I would.” He looked back at her, gaze roaming her face and dropping to her mouth, where it hovered for several seconds. “I’d do just about anything for you. You know that. And you know why.”

Her mouth popped open. No, she didn’t know that or why.

He glanced away and rubbed the back of his neck. “’Night, Cam.”

“Troy.” She struggled to stand. “Thank you.”

He turned from the doorway. “No need to thank me.”