I throw away the covers, get up, and swap PJs for a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. In front of the wardrobe mirror, I try to flatten my hair, preventing it from sticking out in all directions. I so wish it was still long enough to pull up in a bun. I miss buns.

Bun-less and still crazy-haired, I venture into the hall and almost collide with a semi-naked Diego. He’s wearing only a towel around his hips, presenting me with the kind of naked chest usually reserved for steamy romance book covers. I try not to look, but my gaze gets drawn to the inviting V of muscle disappearing just below the towel, and I involuntarily bite my lower lip. I mentally slap myself, and my eyes snap back up to his face. His hair, fresh from the blow dry, is wilder than mine and gives him a tousled look that’s hard to resist.

“Hi,” I say.

“Morning.”

“You been up long?”

“A couple of hours…”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I know you wanted an early start, but it didn’t feel right to barge into your room to wake you, so I worked out a little instead.”

A glorious image of him doing pushups and crunches bare chested is now permanently ingrained in my brain. And of course he’d be the kind of person who wakes up early on a Saturday to work out. A body like that just doesn’t sculpt itself. I think of my soft belly and take back everything I just thought. Early risers are horrible people whose mission in life is to make us late sleepers feel guilty about our love for cushy pillows and snuggles under the comforter.

“No, you’re right,” I say. “I should’ve set an alarm… What do you say we go out for breakfast?” I stare at my watch. “It’s too late to go shopping now, anyway. We can eat something and lay down the basis of our fake relationship instead.”

“Yeah, I’m starving.”

“Great, just give me time for a quick shower. Meet here in thirty?”

He winks at me. “All right, boss.”

My stomach responds with a weird little flip. Maybe it wasn’t the wink. Right, I’m probably just hungry.

We switch ends in the narrow hall, and I do my best to stick to the wall and not give in to the temptation to brush against all that bared muscle. Obstacle surpassed, I dive into the bathroom and hop into the shower.

One perk of short hair is that it takes less time to dry. So, in just under thirty minutes I’m all set and ready to go grab a coffee. Clad in black trousers and a gray knit sweater, casual-wear appropriate for the office, I go meet Diego down the hall and stop dead in my tracks again. Dressed Diego is no less heart-stopping than half-naked Diego. He’s wearing a pair of light-faded jeans that fit his rear side so well they should be made illegal. And his biker jacket does nothing to tone down the sexiness. My mouth goes a little dry—too much sex appeal to handle on an empty stomach and without an ounce of caffeine in my system. I need breakfast.