I leave another opened packet on the foot of the bed and then another on the kitchen counter. I then take the contents of all the packages, the lubricated latex of the condoms, wrap them up in paper towels and then stuff them in the bottom of the trash can as if they were used.

It’s only then I catch movement on the far side of the suite. Jase is standing there with his hair a wet mess, his jeans on his hips but unbuttoned, and his torso bare.

Good thing I’m over here.

“What in the world are you doing?” he asks as he scrubs a towel through his hair and moves toward me barefooted.

I drop another ripped condom wrapper on the edge of the credenza and laugh.

“Cookie?”

“You’re a rock star, right?” I tear another wrapper with my teeth and shove it inside the empty champagne bottle on the end table beside me. “Since it will undoubtedly leak somehow, we need to make sure whoever the hotel cleaning staff is, they don’t doubt what happened here.”

He barks out a laugh as he strolls around the room and takes in the various wrappers I’ve deposited. “I love the thought, the belief you have that I can perform like this, but if I can fuck that many times in one night, then I’m a goddamn god.”

“Exactly.” I look up at him and grin. “Only the best public image for my pretend husband.”

I love the astonished look on his face and what looks like embarrassment mixed with arrogance. It’s the cutest combination that doesn’t belong on that body of his. “Or they’ll think we had a wild orgy.”

“Oh.” My face falls and then my nose scrunches. “I didn’t quite think of that option. I’ll uh—pick them up. I’ll—”

“Don’t you dare.” He reaches out and grabs my wrist to prevent me. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

We stare at each other across the short distance. What is he thinking? Is he wondering why the “normal” baker he decided to marry is doing this? Am I what he bargained for? Does he look at my lips and want to kiss them again like I do his?

Nah.

Jase is a great guy, would probably tell me he wanted to kiss me again simply to avoid hurting my feelings, but I don’t have any delusions of grandeur that he couldn’t go out right now, snap his fingers, and have anyone he wanted.

“It’s okay, Jase. You’re not my type either.”

Truer words have never been spoken, but there’s something to be said about how much fun we had last night. The laughter. The ice cream. The dancing.

“Where in the world did you get these?” he finally says, breaking the silence, and he lets go of my wrist.