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followed Gonzalo’s and Daniel’s lead. Well, nobody present was really
complaining, probably fearing my sister’s reaction, who, at this point, was
cheering at every newfound shirtless male. Even Gabi’s frustration at losing
her grip of the group’s control decreased as the atmosphere turned lighter.
That was, until Daniel opened his mouth and brought down the fun
atmosphere.
“What about you, American boy?” Daniel pointed at the still fully clothed
man standing beside me. “Are you sitting this one out?”
American boy.
My eyes widened. He had just called my boyfriend—fake boyfriend, I
corrected myself.
Had my ex just called my fake boyfriend a boy?
Sure, Daniel was about eight or nine years older than Aaron. But calling
him a boy?
My head swiveled in Aaron’s direction.
Just in time to see his reaction. His jaw relaxed, the start of a … smile
playing on his lips.
Then, he didn’t hesitate. Calmly—scarily so—my fake boyfriend leveled
Daniel with a look that would make anybody run for the hills. The look that
had earned him his reputation back at work. It was the one he brandished as a
warning sign. And it meant trouble. Serious business.
Holding my breath, I watched Aaron’s fingers reach for the hem of his
shirt.
Oh my God, he’s gonna do it. My fake boyfriend and future boss is
undressing before my eyes.
He pulled it up, and in one swift motion—worthy of one of those perfume
ads where everything, except the compelling and otherworldly model in the
frame, blurred into the background—Aaron peeled off his shirt.
I blinked.
Madre de Dios.
Aaron was … he was …
Fuck.
He was … gorgeous—no, he was more than just that.
Aaron was a freaking sight to behold.
And his unbelievable, out-of-this-world, ad-worthy upper body was so
flawless that it made me want to weep.
I was a shallow, shallow woman. But I couldn’t care.