Waking Up in My Landlord's Bed

I have a life-size body pillow with a six-pack, and I can't fall asleep unless I've spent a good while groping it first.

One night I got up to pee, still half-asleep, and drifted into the wrong room.

The landlord's son's room.

I climbed into bed, lifted my pillow's shirt out of pure habit, and got to work. Rubbing. Kneading. The usual round.

Then a low, rough voice came from somewhere above my hands.

"You done feeling me up? Because I'm about to react."

Chapter 1

I got home from work, unlocked the door, and found a tall, criminally hot man sitting on my couch.

I live alone.

So my first thought was, logically: burglar. This is very bad.

I backed toward the door to go grab my landlady from next door.

Except. The burglar was distractingly good-looking. Long legs, broad shoulders, that cold-toned pale skin that looks color-graded.

Look, I'm weak for a pretty face. I stopped walking. I took a second, fuller look.

That's when the math stopped adding up.

Since when do burglars sit around someone else's living room, sipping tea, this relaxed?

Everything about him said the apartment was his.

But my landlady never once mentioned renting out the other rooms.

And the ice on his face said he wasn't going to be easy to talk to.

So I turned to go find her and get some answers.

I'd barely taken a step.

"Stop." His voice drifted after me, unbothered.

I turned back and tried my luck. "Who are you? And why are you in my apartment?"

He laughed, low and short. Two long fingers hooked around his teacup and carried it to a thin mouth.

He took an unhurried sip, set his hand back against the couch, and looked at me like he had all the time in the world.

"You're sure this is your apartment?"

"Wow. I step out for one day and my home becomes yours."

I stood there hugging my bag, not sure what to do with my face.

This was his place?

Right as the confusion peaked, the door next door opened and my landlady, Brenda, came hurrying over.

She had a stalk of sugarcane clamped in her teeth. Her eyes landed on my face for half a second, read the lost look there, and something clicked.

She pulled me behind her, shielding me, and aimed the sugarcane at him like a pointer.

"Did you say something nasty to Laney? What is with the attitude? You bought this place ages ago and never lived in it. The girl needed somewhere to stay. What's the problem if I rent it to her?"

He looked equal parts amused and furious. He'd been sitting there so composed, and now he stood.

"Mom. This is the home I bought to get married in. And you handed it to a stranger without asking me?"

"The place I bought for us to get married in. Occupied by some random woman. Does that sound reasonable to you?"

Brenda faltered, like she knew she was on thin ice.

"Well. It's not like anyone's even agreed to marry you yet. Marriage house! Do you even have a girlfriend? No? But sure. Marriage house."

He said nothing.

He sat back down, crossed one leg over the other, and delivered the verdict like it wasn't up for discussion.

"I don't care. It's my apartment. I bought it for me and my future wife."

He tipped his chin at me. "A stranger sleeping in it is what, exactly?"

Brenda planted her hands on her hips and answered breezily. "Your good luck."

His glare sharpened on me, second by second.

If looks could kill, this man had already killed me a thousand times over and was warming up for the next thousand.

Brenda wasn't done. "Our Laney kept this place spotless. If it weren't for her, Julian Vane, you think you'd be sitting here sipping tea the day you flew home?"

"Three days and three nights of scrubbing before you'd dare move in, and you know it."

That one made me sweat.

Because the cleaning? Was never me.

Chapter 2

He arched a brow, let out one short scoff, and fired back at Brenda.

"I have a cleaner come every week. She'd know that."

Oh. That explained it.

So that was why a cleaner showed up every week to deep-clean. I'd assumed Brenda sent her.

"If the cleaner hadn't told me my wife was apparently hiding a man in here and to get home fast, I still wouldn't know my apartment came with a wife and her boyfriend."

His gaze dragged over me again, thick with disdain.

My face went up in flames.

Because I knew exactly what hiding a man meant.

It meant the life-size ab pillow in my room.

When I first moved in, the master bed was too big, and sleeping in it alone felt cold and a little unsafe. So I bought a six-foot body pillow online. The abs had genuinely excellent hand-feel. Basically a boyfriend dupe.

Every night I groped it, hugged it, lived my best life, and slept like the dead.

Under a blanket, it has the length and shape of a person, so the cleaner took one look and connected all the wrong dots. No graceful way to explain that one. And a doll shaped like that is, frankly, a lot. I wasn't letting anyone else lay eyes on it.

The whole thing ended with Julian and me in an uneasy ceasefire, sharing one apartment.

One, my lease with Brenda wasn't up. Two, Julian had just flown back with no time to hunt for a new place, and he flatly refused to move in with his parents.

So in his own wedding house, he was stuck choosing between the guest room and the nursery. He picked the guest room, miserably.

The master bedroom had already been reduced to my personal den.

I felt bad about it, so I offered. "I can give you the master back."

His already-unfriendly face somehow went colder.

"I don't sleep in rooms other people have slept in."

I shut my mouth, sulking, and still couldn't stop the mutter. "It's just... I've lived here a really long time already."

His hearing was annoyingly sharp. He scoffed. "I'll sell the place before long. Once I buy somewhere new, I'm gone."

I went quiet.

Living in a man's home and steamrolling the owner into moving out. The whole world had officially turned upside down.

After Julian moved in, I was a wreck at first, terrified one wrong move would set him off.

What if he got fed up and threw me out?

But a month in, the man barely surfaced from work. Same roof, and I still almost never saw him.

Which is exactly why I let my guard down and kept forgetting there was another human in the apartment.

I stopped bothering to shut my door.

That weekend, Julian was home.

He came out of the guest room, passed my doorway, and gave the inside a lazy glance. His eyes snagged on the life-size ab pillow sprawled spread-eagle across my bed.

He paused a beat. Then, smiling, he asked, "What is that?"

I blanked. "Huh?"

He tipped his chin at the ab pillow. "Ugly in a very specific way. Suits you."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Nothing came out.

Chapter 3

Back in my room, I studied the eight-pack on my doll and sank into thought.

It landed on me that leaving those abs out on display every single day wasn't right.

Indecent. Also the kind of thing that invites petty envy.

So I committed. I bought the ab pillow a shirt. Now every night came with a bonus step: lift the shirt, then grope.

I won't lie. The immersion went up.

Once the pillow was dressed, I went to shower, reached for the body wash, and found an empty bottle.

Julian wasn't home, so I wrapped a towel around myself and padded out to grab a new one.

Of course. Of all the timing. Julian walked back in from the gym right then.

I still hadn't found the body wash and was circling the living room like a headless chicken.

He cleared his throat. His voice hit my back, impatient. "Can you put on real clothes? Is this apartment yours alone?"

Still digging, I apologized on autopilot. "Sorry, I forgot where I put the new bottle."

Found it, finally, in the storage cabinet. I stood, turned, and Julian was right behind me. He hadn't moved.

I looked up. His ears and his face were an alarming shade of red.

A few fine beads of sweat slid down his cheek, down the line of his throat. His jaw worked once, a hard swallow, and his breathing had gone heavy and uneven. His gaze cut off me, fast, like holding it cost him something.

Wait, what?

Did he redline the anaerobic sets or something? Man was flushed to the bone.

No time to overthink it. I was cold. I grabbed the body wash and speed-walked into the bathroom.

When I came out, Brenda had arrived.

She set down a clay pot and beamed at the two of us. "Fresh out of the pot, beer-braised duck! Absolutely incredible! Come eat!"

Brenda's cooking was beyond question. Any time she made something good, I was always the first to get a bowl.

Tonight was no exception.

I grabbed a bowl and hurried over.

Julian frowned, faintly put off. "Mom, I don't like duck."

Brenda scoffed. "Who said it was for you?"

"You think you rate me cooking from scratch?"

"Laney, come here, come here."

Julian said nothing.

Brenda kept petting my head while she talked, asking if it was good. Between the flawless cooking and the full-court charm press, I somehow put away the entire pot.

It was good. It was also, um. A little strong.

While I still had one thread of awareness left, Brenda smacked her forehead. "Oh no. I forgot you can't hold your liquor. I may have gone heavy. Poured half a bottle of my husband's best whiskey in there."

I had no words.

I didn't even get to grope the doll's abs that night. I just went down, warm and spinning.

Some unknown stretch of time later, a screaming bladder dragged me awake.

I hauled my fogged-up head off the bed and found the bathroom on muscle memory alone.

Then, on muscle memory, I walked back.

Door. Shoes off. Up onto the bed.

Blanket pulled over me.

Maybe it was in my head, but the second I was fully under, I caught a clean, really good body-wash scent on the blanket.

It wasn't mine.

Chapter 4

I gave in and pressed my face into it, nuzzling, making little happy noises.

How had I never noticed this blanket smelled so good?

Once I'd arranged myself into a comfortable sprawl, I did the usual and shifted toward my ab pillow.

The instant my body met it, a thought floated up: when did this pillow get so firm? And kind of... hot?

Whatever. My head was swimming. A hallucination or two felt on brand.

So, out of habit, I lifted the ab pillow's shirt and laid my hand flat on the abs.

The next second, the abs flinched back, like they'd been spooked.

My hand paused. Too lazy to open my eyes, not thinking much of anything, I went back to the routine. Roaming. Back and forth. Over and over.

For some reason the abs were extra good tonight. Solid. The exact right give.

I'd never touched the real thing, but this was indistinguishable from real.

Eyes shut, Julian's face surfaced out of nowhere.

And his face slotted right in, no friction at all, like I really was running my hands over his abs.

Not gonna lie. The man's build looked like an excellent time.

Usually a few strokes and I'm gone. Tonight I got more awake by the second.

I savored it. I swallowed, quietly delighted.

Not one to stay loyal to a single patch of abs, I widened my range, hand drifting up.

It stopped on a small raised spot.

Which part of the ab pillow was this? How had I never felt it before?

Right as I frowned, a soft cough came from just above my hand. Then a voice, strained to a rasp.

"You done feeling me up? Because I think I'm about to"

"react