Touching His Abs by Mistake

I owned a body pillow with a sixpack printed on it. Every night, I had to trace those ridges and wrap my arms around it just to get a good night's sleep.

One night, halfasleep, I stumbled into my landlady's son's bedroom by mistake.

I crawled into bed, habitually lifted the "pillow's" shirt, and dragged my hands back and forth over those hard ridges.

Suddenly, a deep, raspy voice rumbled right above my head. "Are you done feeling me up?

Because I'm starting to react." Chapter 1 Walking through the front door after work, my eyes immediately locked onto the insanely gorgeous guy lounging on the living room sofa.

I lived alone. My brain hit the panic button—intruder. I carefully took a few steps back toward the door, fully intending to go grab Miriam, my landlady who lived next door.

But the guy sitting there was dangerously attractive. Long legs, broad shoulders, and cooltoned pale skin. Whatever, I had a fatal weakness for a sharp jawline.

I stopped in my tracks, my eyes glued to him for a few extra seconds. It didn't take long for me to realize the math wasn't mathing.

What kind of burglar kicked back in someone else's house with that level of relaxed confidence? Every ounce of his posture screamed that he owned the place.

But Miriam had never mentioned renting out the spare rooms to anyone else. The guy's sharp, icy expression made it clear he wasn't exactly in the mood for a friendly chat.

I turned on my heel, ready to hunt down Miriam and demand some answers.

My foot barely left the floor before his voice cut through the room. "Stop." I couldn't exactly pretend I didn't hear him.

I slowly turned back around, testing the waters. "Who are you? What are you doing in my house?" Hearing this, the gorgeous guy let out a low, breathy chuckle.

His long, knobby fingers lifted a whiskey glass filled with ice cubes, bringing it to his thin lips.

After swallowing a slow sip of the liquor, he leaned back against the sofa, looking at me with absolute composure.

A teasing edge dripped from his low voice. "Are you entirely certain this is your house?" "I wasn't aware that stepping out for the day miraculously turned my house into yours." My fingers dug into my bag strap so hard my knuckles turned white.

I froze in place, my gaze darting erratically between the hardwood floor and the tips of his expensive leather shoes. Was this his house?

Just as my eyebrows pulled together in utter confusion, the door behind me swung open. Miriam rushed in, holding an iced Americano in her hand.

Her gaze lingered on my face for a second, catching the completely bewildered, deerintheheadlights look in my eyes.

As if putting the pieces together, she instantly yanked me behind her back to shield me.

Pointing her free hand sharply at the guy, she scolded, "Did you say something harsh to Hazel?

Why are you being so fierce?" "You bought this house ages ago and just left it gathering dust. The poor girl needed a place to stay.

What's wrong with me renting it out to her?" The guy let out a sharp breath, looking like he was about to laugh from sheer disbelief.

Shedding his relaxed posture, he stood up from the sofa. "Mom, this is the house I bought for my future marriage.

You just rented it out without even asking me?" "My marital home, lived in by a total stranger? Do you think that makes any sense?" Miriam clamped her mouth shut, caught redhanded.

She stammered, fighting back, "Well… that… It's not even guaranteed anyone would want you! Marital home, my foot." "Do you even have a girlfriend yet?

Don't go throwing 'marital home' around." Christian didn't say a word.

He dropped back onto the sofa, crossing his long legs in a rigid stance that left zero room for negotiation. "I don't care. This is my house.

I bought it for me and my future wife." He tilted his sharp chin toward me. "So what does it mean for some complete stranger to be living here?" Miriam planted her hands on her hips and replied breezily, "It means you got lucky." The weight of his stare sharpened, pinning me down.

If glares were physical daggers, my skin would be shredded into a thousand pieces right then and there. Miriam kept pushing. "Our Hazel keeps this place absolutely spotless.

If it weren't for her, do you really think you'd be sitting there sipping whiskey the second you got back to the States?

You wouldn't even dare sit down without ordering a threeday deep clean!" I swallowed hard, my grip on the bag strap tightening even more.

Because the absolute truth was, I never cleaned this place. Hearing this, Christian slightly arched his right eyebrow.

He let out a short, dismissive snort and countered Miriam, "I hire a professional cleaning team to come in every week. She should know that." The realization hit me like a brick.

Chapter 2 So that was it. No wonder a professional cleaning crew showed up every week for a deep clean.

I had assumed Miriam was the one organizing it. "If the head cleaner hadn't called to warn me that my 'wife' seemed to be hiding a man in the house, urging me to come back and check, I wouldn't have even known my property was occupied by my wife and her boyfriend." His gaze swept over me again, his upper lip curling slightly in unmistakable disgust.

Heat rushed to my cheeks, burning all the way to the tips of my ears. I instantly realized exactly who the "hidden man" was.

It was the lifesized, sixpack body pillow in my bedroom. When I first moved in, the master bed was ridiculously huge.

Sleeping in it alone felt too empty, and the sheer space kept me constantly on edge. So, I went online and ordered a sixfoottall body pillow printed with a chiseled torso.

The texture over the "abs" was incredibly realistic—basically the perfect boyfriend substitute.

I spent every night wrapping my arms around it, tracing those hard ridges until I drifted off into the best sleep of my life.

Given its height and bulk, tucked under the duvet, it definitely looked like a grown man. The cleaning crew must have jumped to conclusions. I dug my nails into my scalp, paralyzed.

There was no way I was going to explain that misunderstanding. A pillow shaped like a shirtless, ripped man was humiliating enough.

I'd rather swallow glass than let anyone else lay eyes on it. The standoff ended with Christian and me forced into a temporary truce under the same roof.

First, my lease with Miriam hadn't expired yet. Second, Christian had just flown back to the States and didn't have the time to immediately hunt down a new place.

And he clearly had zero interest in moving back in with his parents.

So, in his own "marital home," he was shoved into the humiliating position of choosing between the guest room and the nursery. He took the guest room.

I had already turned the master suite into my own personal disaster zone.

I avoided his heavy, oppressive gaze, the toe of my sneaker mindlessly scuffing the hardwood floor. "I can give the master bedroom back to you," I muttered.

The rigid line of his jaw tightened even further, his features hardening into absolute ice. "I don't sleep in a room someone else has tainted." I snapped my mouth shut, but a mutter slipped out anyway. "But I've been living in this whole house for ages…" Christian caught it.

A sharp scoff punched its way out of his chest. "I'm putting this place on the market soon. The second I close on a new property, I'm out." I swallowed hard, opting for silence.

Squatting in someone's house until the actual owner was forced to move out felt wildly out of pocket. After Christian moved in, my nerves were completely frayed.

I tiptoed around, terrified of breathing too loudly and triggering his temper. What if he just snapped and threw my stuff on the curb?

But as the first month dragged by, I realized his work schedule was brutal. Even living under the same roof, he was basically a ghost. That invisibility bred complacency.

I let my guard down, completely forgetting I shared the space with a living, breathing man. I stopped bothering to pull my bedroom door completely shut.

One weekend, Christian was actually home. Stepping out of the guest room, he walked past my door.

His gaze casually drifted inside, then locked dead onto the sixfoot body pillow sprawled spreadeagle across my mattress. He froze for a beat.

A low, mocking laugh broke the silence. "What exactly is that?" My brain shortcircuited. "Huh?" Christian jerked his chin toward the shredded pillowman. "It's uniquely hideous.

Suits you perfectly." … I retreated into my room and stared down at the eightpack printed on the fabric.

It suddenly hit me that leaving my fake boyfriend's abs exposed 24/7 was a bad move. It was practically indecent exposure, and clearly, it attracted petty jealousy.

I went all in and ordered a large tshirt for the pillow. From then on, my nightly routine included an extra step: lifting the hem of the shirt before tracing the abs.

Not going to lie, the added layer made it feel way more authentic. Right after dressing the pillow, I headed out to shower.

Just as I reached for my body wash, my thumb hit empty plastic. Chapter 3 Thinking Christian wasn't home, I wrapped a bath towel around myself and walked out to grab a new bottle.

Perfect timing. Christian had just gotten back from the gym. But I still hadn't found my body wash, spinning around the living room like a headless fly.

Christian cleared his throat, his impatient voice hitting my back. "Can you put some actual clothes on?

Do you think you're the only one living here?" I kept digging through the cabinets, throwing a casual apology over my shoulder. "Sorry, I forgot where I put the new bottles." Finally locating it in the storage closet, I stood up and turned around—only to realize Christian had been standing right behind me the entire time, completely still.

I glanced up. His ears and face were flushed an angry, dark red.

Beads of sweat slid down his sharp cheekbones, tracking the aggressive bob of his Adam's apple as his chest heaved with heavy, rapid breaths. Wait.

Did he just max out on deadlifts or something? Why was he so flushed? I didn't have time to overthink it. The AC was freezing.

Clutching the body wash, I sprinted back into the bathroom. After showering, I walked out to find Miriam in the living room.

She was holding a steaming clay pot. "Freshly braised beer duck!" she announced to Christian and me. "Absolutely delicious. Get over here and eat!" Miriam's cooking was toptier.

Whenever she made something good, she always brought me the first taste. This time was no different. I grabbed a bowl and hurried over.

Christian's brows pulled together in a tight knot, his body leaning back to put distance between himself and the pot. "Mom, I don't eat duck." Miriam rolled her eyes. "Who said I made it for you?

You think you're worthy of my cooking? Hazel, come here, sweetheart." [Christian: …] Miriam kept patting my head as I ate, eagerly asking if it was good.

Under the combined assault of Miriam's lethal culinary skills and gentle mothering, I singlehandedly demolished the entire pot of duck.

It was delicious, sure, but… I was getting really dizzy. Right before my consciousness totally checked out, Miriam slapped her forehead. "Oh, no!" "I forgot you're a lightweight!

I was heavyhanded with the liquor in the sauce… I poured in half a bottle of your uncle's vintage Moutai…" [Me: …] I didn't even have the energy to grope my fake boyfriend's abs that night before I passed out in a drunken haze.

I don't know how much time passed, but the desperate need to pee jolted me awake.

Holding my heavy, spinning head, I crawled out of bed and relied purely on muscle memory to navigate to the bathroom.

Then, I relied on that exact same muscle memory to stumble back. I pushed the door open, kicked off my slippers, and climbed onto the mattress. I dragged the duvet up to my chin.

Maybe it was my alcoholsoaked brain, but the second I slipped completely under the covers, a crisp, incredibly fresh scent of men's body wash wrapped around me.

It definitely wasn't mine. I couldn't help it. I pressed my cheek into the fabric, letting out a soft, contented hum as I nuzzled against it.

Since when did this blanket smell so damn good?

After wiggling into a comfortable sleeping position, I shifted my body closer to my sixpack body pillow, just like every other night.

The second my skin brushed against the "pillow," my brain stalled for a fraction of a second. Why is it so solid tonight? And radiating heat? Whatever. My head was spinning.

Hallucinations were normal when you were this hammered. Operating purely on habit, I lifted the hem of the pillow's tshirt and planted my bare hand flat against the abs.

The muscle beneath my palm contracted, flinching hard like a startled animal. My hand paused. I was too lazy to open my eyes and too drunk to care. I just started rubbing. Messily.

Back and forth. Over and over again. For some reason, the abs felt phenomenal tonight. Dense, scorching hot, and perfectly sculpted.

I had never touched real ones before, but these felt impossibly, dangerously lifelike. With my eyes squeezed shut, Christian's face suddenly flashed in my mind.

And oddly enough, picturing his face didn't feel out of place at all. It just felt exactly like I was tracing his abs in the dark.

Chapter 4 I have to admit, Christian's body looked absolutely delicious. Usually, tracing the ridges on my pillow put me right to sleep, but tonight?

The more I touched, the more wired I got. Savoring the friction, I swallowed hard, totally lost in the feeling.

Not content with just the abs, I expanded my territory, letting my palm wander blindly upward. My fingertips snagged on a small, hard peak. What part of the pillow was this?

I didn't remember it having this kind of… detail.

Just as my alcoholfogged brain paused in confusion, a sharp intake of breath sounded right above my head, followed immediately by a raspy, dangerously tight voice. "Are you done feeling me up?

Because I think I'm…" "…starting to react