…a thing?
I chew on the end of a piece of bacon, gnawing whilst I think, still stroking Georgia’s leg.
“Oh, I’m getting so full,” she says, putting down her fork and pushing the sheet off of her body. I take my hand off her leg so she can roll off the bed, toward the bathroom. Her feet hit the ground and her arse wiggles.
“I’m going to use the bathroom and brush my teeth—be right back.” She gives me a little smile as she disappears behind the closed door.
Satisfied by my own breakfast, I begin stacking all the plates and clearing the mess whilst she’s doing her thing, picking up the napkins, placing everything back onto the room service cart. I push it toward the door so it’s out of the way, taking a healthy swig of water that’s been sitting there, swishing it around in my mouth.
I should definitely brush my teeth, too.
Georgia doesn’t take long, so I slip in the bathroom after her to take a piss and brush my teeth, eyeballing the gap in my mouth quizzically from another perspective.
The imperfection is something Georgia likes about me.
I clench my teeth together and stare at it in the mirror.
Bruises have mostly all gone away, cuts are healed. A few light scars here and there and I’m no worse for wear.
There’s mouthwash on the counter and I swirl it around—I want to feel minty fresh when I finally fuck her again.
The morning sex foreplay has been drawn out so long my body starts to buzz with anticipation, knowing that soon, I’ll be getting my rocks off.
Lowering my head, I run the cold water on the tap and splash my face.
Blot it dry with a towel.
Clenching my teeth again, I give myself one more cursory glance before flicking off the light and rejoining her in the bedroom.
“Hey stranger, what took you so long?” Georgia asks, patting the spot on the bed beside her. She’s lying on her side on top of the covers, playfully flirting at me with her eyes.
I crawl up the bed to join her on all fours, up over her body as she moves to her back to accommodate me.
“You are a vision, Georgia Parker.” I kiss her shoulder.
She blushes. “A vision? I’ve never been called that.”
I wager there are plenty of things that’ve never been said to her that she’s been missing out on all these years, but then again, she hasn’t really dated anyone either so any little thing I say, I want to make sure it’s sincere so she never has room to doubt me. I brush the hair back from her shoulder after kissing it to make room for my lips at the base of her neck. It’s something I noticed she loves—any time I put my mouth anywhere near her jawline, she begins to purr like a kitten.
Soft, butterfly kisses lightly touching her skin make her shiver.
“I wager there are things I could say that would make you blush more than you are right now.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Like…the first time I saw you wasn’t when you walked up to me at the house party.”
Her eyes go wide at that information.
“I saw you walk in when you first got there.” How could I not have noticed her? She’s a head taller than most women and beautiful to boot with her long brown hair and big, innocent eyes. “Saw you looking around the room.”
“I was looking for you,” she murmurs.
She was looking for me; she just didn’t know it. But isn’t that how these things work?
Fate and destiny and shite, all that mushy stuff?
“You walked in and I thought you were so fucking pretty.”
Georgia does blush again, tilting her head slightly.
Coyly.
“You did?”
“Why are you surprised by this?”
It’s light outside and we’re having this moment stone-cold sober.
What if we put the roommate and the friendship stuff aside and have fun this weekend without thinking about it?
What if, what if, what if…
I wouldn’t be saying any of this if we weren’t in Vegas, no fucking way.
“I would never assume I was anyone’s type, physically.”
“Bollocks.” I laugh, kissing her lips. “You’re probably everyone’s type.”
“You’re just saying that because you like me.”
Georgia has a point; maybe I am just saying it because I like her—but that doesn’t make it any less true.
“What else you got? That didn’t make me blush.”
She’s lying—it did make her blush; she usually does when the attention is on her.
“One of my favorite things about you, as I’ve recently discovered, is your boobs.” The word tits almost leaves the tip of my tongue, but I don’t want to be unnecessarily crude.
“You’re a breast man?”
I am now. “And an arse man, and a leg man.” I run a hand down each body part as I say it. “I’m an everything Georgia man.”
“Stop it,” she demurs, pursing her lips as an invitation for a kiss.