Page 208 of Faking the Goal

Warm skin. Firm muscle. A solid pec filling my palm so perfectly that my half-asleep brain sees absolutely no reason why I shouldn't give it an appreciative squeeze.

God.

I'm living my best fucking life right now.

"Mmm, this feels good," I mumble, pressing closer as my fingers wander higher, tracing the hard curve of muscle toward a collarbone.

God, please don't ever wake me up. I don't care what's waiting for me in the real world. Responsibilities? Cancel them. Work? I quit. Society? Never liked it anyway. I live here now.

My palm gives that glorious chest another sleepy squeeze.

Then the chest beneath my cheek rumbles.

A low chuckle.

My hand stops.

...Excuse me?

There's another quiet laugh, and suddenly I become aware of things my horny, half-conscious brain has been very conveniently ignoring. The arm around my waist. The slow rise and fall beneath my cheek. Warm breath stirring the top of my hair.

And the fact that I know that fucking laugh.

Oh.

No.

My eyes fly open.

Kentaro's bare chest fills my entire field of vision.

This is not a dream. Not a hallucination. His skin is pale and smooth, marked here and there by the faint shadows of bruises that I'm guessing came courtesy of hockey, and my hand is still resting right in the middle of his chest.

Oh, fuck.

My fingers are splayed over one of his pecs, and judging by where I woke up, I've apparently been touching him for God knows how long. Worse, I can still remember squeezing him a few seconds ago.

Twice.

Oh my fucking God.

I freeze.

For several seconds, the only part of me brave enough to move is my eyes. They dart past him to the nightstand, then the lamp beside it, the familiar stack of books on the floor, my jacket hanging over the back of the chair.

My apartment.

Okay. Good. I'm in my apartment. That's... good.

A little of the panic loosens its grip on me until my gaze drops back to the very large hand still resting around my waist.

Right. Still have to deal with that.

Slowly, I follow the arm attached to it upward, past a bare shoulder, until my eyes finally meet Kentaro's.

He's awake.

Not only awake, but watching me with one brow raised and a small, cocky smirk tugging at his mouth, like he's been lying there enjoying my entire morning performance.