Fake dating my enemy, The playboy billionaire

JUNJIE

I stand at the door, certain she hasn't left yet. I know I'll be seeing that face again.

What did she call it? Little wiggly worm? Her tits might as well have saluted me right then; they were rock hard when she was ogling me and even firmer when she fell on top of me.

So much for her rating me a 3/10.

C'mon, Jun. Confidence. Nothing happened. You can do this!

I shake out the tension, the baggy borrowed sweats from Zian's closet hanging loose on my 6' frame. Zian is a giant at 6'3", with muscles that make me look leaner by comparison.

I grin, recalling her jaw-dropping expression when she caught sight of my naked chest. Good for my ego.

Yiren's eyes slowly rise to meet mine from the kitchen, and her cheeks turn the color of a ripe tomato.

Clearing my throat, I ask, "You still here?" Confidence, Jun. Nothing happened.

She points down to the floor, where Bear pokes his head from between her legs, still tugging at the white towel before he quickly retreats behind her.

This guy...

Yiren took a protective step forward, her nose pointed high in the air. "Don't."

"He's my dog."

"Currently under my protection."

I step into her personal space. She isn't tiny—standing at 5'7", she matches my height well. But without heels, it's amusing how she tilts her stubborn nose up to speak to me.

She doesn't back off even when our bodies touch. Her eyes remain locked on mine, and I catch a whiff of her fruity, fresh scent—it's borderline soothing.

"What are you doing here? This isn't your apartment." I know the answer; her tablet is still open, littered with notes. But the clock reads eleven.

My eyes sweep over her, taking in her wet hair tied in a bun and the oversized cotton t-shirt hanging loosely off one shoulder. I have no idea what she is wearing below that shirt, but the way her assets have reacted earlier made me suspect it isn't much.

"Stop checking me out, Juju. FYI, I'm wearing shorts underneath the t-shirt."

Oh, shit. How did she know?

"And yes, I'm not wearing a bra, because it's nighttime, and my boobs were dying to be out of jail after serving the entire day inside it."

Jesus. Scary.

Are women equipped with mind-reading technology that we men aren't aware of?

"How did you—"

She rolls her eyes so dramatically that I wonder if her brain is still intact. "Men."

"Says the woman who was ogling me like I was her next dessert." Now it is her turn to feel embarrassed. Take that bitch!

Before she can respond, the intercom buzzes. Breaking our staring competition, I press the button. "Yes?"

"Sir, delivery from Patiala Grill."

"Send him up." I walked to the door, feeling 's eyes on my back. "A faulty microwave short-circuited the entire electrical line in my condo. It will be fixed in a day or two."

"Shit. So, you'll be sitting on my head while I work here?" I could hear the footsteps trailing behind me. "Oh god, not this devil please."

"Please control your excitement. I'm afraid you won't get to ogle my naked chest again." I turn, holding the food bags, just as Bear runs from his curled position in the kitchen. "Oh yeah, now you want Daddy?"

She shoots me a scornful glare, and I respond with my biggest grin.

The aroma of Chicken Tikka, Lamb Chops, Garlic Naan, and spicy onions fills the apartment as I open the boxes on the kitchen counter.

Bear jumps up, trying to snag a piece of chicken. "Just a minute." I toss him two chicken legs in a bowl, and he nuzzles against my palm before dragging it to the living room in front of the TV.

Spoiled brat. He won't eat without his dose of Cocomelon.

Once I set Cocomelon on the screen, I make a show of filling my plate, barely stifling laughter at the loud rumble of someone's stomach in the background.

Her eyes dart between the food and me. I know she's a sucker for good food just like me, and no one can resist Chicken Tikka and Garlic Naan.

"I propose a truce."

"A truce?" Intriguing. Let's hear it.

"No sassy comments. No fights. No glaring daggers. Just peace. You can stay here and do whatever, but let me work in peace. Deal?"

My brows raise. "And what do I get in return?"

She mutters something under her breath—something like "asshole."

"We won't murder each other. What else do you want?" Her grin is so devilish, it could scare Satan away. "Besides—" she checks her painted red nails, "I'm an architect. I know a thousand places to hide your body."

"Joke's on you—I watch enough crime series to turn the tables."

A tiny smile struggles to break free from her lips. "You'd crack under the pressure of getting away with it."

I press my lips together, enjoying this playful sparring. She's always fun to banter with, never backing down. Most women wouldn't dare speak up, not wanting to get on my bad side.

I step closer and extend my hand. "Deal. But only because I don't want this condo to turn into a haunted house."

She shakes my hand, squeezing it until my knuckles grind together. "Right. A ghostly face won't look good on you."

I grin back, matching her brutal handshake. "Truce." Then I slide the prepared plate toward her. "Your favorite, Patiala Grill."