The Fake Boyfriend Gambit - Chapter 8: Chapter 8
You are reading The Fake Boyfriend Gambit, Chapter 8: Chapter 8. Read more chapters of The Fake Boyfriend Gambit.
Morning light filtered through the curtains as I woke up sprawled across Lucas's sculpted abs. His pale skin bore faint pink marks from where I'd been pressed against him all night.
The man slept like the dead—hadn't moved an inch.
Three years as a ghost sharing his bed, but this? My first morning as a human tangled in his sheets. The initial giddy thrill had evaporated, leaving me embarrassingly aware of every point where our skin touched. My cheeks burned as I tried to wiggle free, but his hand snapped around my ankle, dragging me back against his chest.
His lips brushed mine in a teasing, lazy kiss. "Shy now? Didn't hear any complaints when you were demanding I call you 'master' last night."
A full-body shiver ran through me as I shoved at his shoulders. "I'm hungry."
Lucas's hands kept roaming, his smirk widening at my squirming. "Hmm?"
"My stomach is hungry," I clarified, just as it growled loudly enough to echo.
The disappointment in his hooded gaze was almost comical. He pressed my palm lower. "This one disagrees."
By the time we emerged from the bedroom, the housekeeper had laid out lunch—an entire spread of my favorite dishes.
Lucas speared a piece of fruit, watching me. "Plans today?"
"Can't remember," I said through a mouthful, batting my eyelashes. "Amnesia patient, remember? Tell me again—how'd we fall in love?"
His ears went pink even as he delivered the line with ridiculous gravitas: "You were obsessed with me. Couldn't bear to be apart. Eternal devotion, etcetera."
"Where'd we usually go on dates?"
Something flickered behind his eyes—too fast to catch, but the shadows lingered. "We... preferred staying in."
I nearly choked. My aching lower back vetoed that idea immediately. "Furniture store. Today."
His fork paused mid-air.
"This place feels like a museum exhibit," I pressed. "All sterile and... beige."
Lucas hated crowds, but our home reflected it too literally—every cold, minimalist surface screamed temporary. I needed to drown this emptiness in color, to stake my claim beyond just a closet corner.
Because Lucas still watched me like I might dissolve into smoke. If I vanished for ten seconds, he'd come barreling around corners, crushing me to his chest with ragged breaths.
"Jess," he'd murmur into my hair, voice cracking. "I thought—"
He never finished the sentence. Just held me until his heartbeat slowed.
So I'd fill every inch of this hollow space until it felt like mine. Until he stopped looking at me like I was something he'd dreamed up.
The man slept like the dead—hadn't moved an inch.
Three years as a ghost sharing his bed, but this? My first morning as a human tangled in his sheets. The initial giddy thrill had evaporated, leaving me embarrassingly aware of every point where our skin touched. My cheeks burned as I tried to wiggle free, but his hand snapped around my ankle, dragging me back against his chest.
His lips brushed mine in a teasing, lazy kiss. "Shy now? Didn't hear any complaints when you were demanding I call you 'master' last night."
A full-body shiver ran through me as I shoved at his shoulders. "I'm hungry."
Lucas's hands kept roaming, his smirk widening at my squirming. "Hmm?"
"My stomach is hungry," I clarified, just as it growled loudly enough to echo.
The disappointment in his hooded gaze was almost comical. He pressed my palm lower. "This one disagrees."
By the time we emerged from the bedroom, the housekeeper had laid out lunch—an entire spread of my favorite dishes.
Lucas speared a piece of fruit, watching me. "Plans today?"
"Can't remember," I said through a mouthful, batting my eyelashes. "Amnesia patient, remember? Tell me again—how'd we fall in love?"
His ears went pink even as he delivered the line with ridiculous gravitas: "You were obsessed with me. Couldn't bear to be apart. Eternal devotion, etcetera."
"Where'd we usually go on dates?"
Something flickered behind his eyes—too fast to catch, but the shadows lingered. "We... preferred staying in."
I nearly choked. My aching lower back vetoed that idea immediately. "Furniture store. Today."
His fork paused mid-air.
"This place feels like a museum exhibit," I pressed. "All sterile and... beige."
Lucas hated crowds, but our home reflected it too literally—every cold, minimalist surface screamed temporary. I needed to drown this emptiness in color, to stake my claim beyond just a closet corner.
Because Lucas still watched me like I might dissolve into smoke. If I vanished for ten seconds, he'd come barreling around corners, crushing me to his chest with ragged breaths.
"Jess," he'd murmur into my hair, voice cracking. "I thought—"
He never finished the sentence. Just held me until his heartbeat slowed.
So I'd fill every inch of this hollow space until it felt like mine. Until he stopped looking at me like I was something he'd dreamed up.
End of The Fake Boyfriend Gambit Chapter 8. Continue reading Chapter 9 or return to The Fake Boyfriend Gambit book page.