I held up my palm. “I don’t need a recap of every time I’ve assaulted you in public. I blame most of those on tequila.” And how incredibly hot Easton was. My fantasy partners always paled in comparison to what he could do with just one cocky tilt of his mouth.
“Most.” His hand closed tenderly around mine. “But not all.”
I didn’t respond, not when he softly kissed my cheek, then just beside my mouth, then the tip of my nose. His chest brushed against mine and I inhaled the subtle scent of his blackberries and beach cologne. “You’re trying to distract me,” I said, in the moment before his soft lips landed on mine.
“Is it working?”
“No.” I pulled away and sat on the closest padded stool. “This is serious, E.”
He sighed. “It’s not a big deal. He saw us together. You like public sex. We move on.”
“I’ve never had public sex where someone actually saw us. Not that close, and certainly not…” I pointed to my mouth and made a face as if I still had the gag in it. Our rare moments of public indecency had been the sort of quickies in public that might have been suspected but not confirmed—a blow job in the back stacks of the library, sex in the backyard in the middle of the day, a finger session on a transatlantic flight where I bit into a neck pillow to stifle my groans.
“I already told him he could stay. It’s going to be fucking awkward if I tell him he can’t now. Plus, where’s he gonna go? Back to his mom’s?”
“He could get a hotel,” I said, then realized how sullen I sounded.
Easton sighed. “Come on, Elle. Work with me here. If you’re uncomfortable around him, then I’ll keep you guys apart. But it’s Aaron. You love him. I don’t know why you’re acting like everything has suddenly changed.”
Maybe I was blowing this out of proportion. I’d lived with them before, for two weeks when I’d been in between apartments. It’d been fine. Unremarkable. A little annoying, their bromance one that sometimes made me feel like a third wheel. But fine. I could do it again.
He kissed the top of my head. “Are we good?”
“Yeah.” I looked down at the Aladdin slot machine, where 14 credits remained. Reaching out, I hit the Max Bet button and watched as the dials spun. Aladdin, Jasmine, and Jafar lined up in uneven formation, the omen eerie with its timing.
“Come on.” Easton slung an arm around my shoulders and pulled me onto my feet. “Let’s find the others and get something to eat.”
16
After the dry Vegas heat, Miami felt like an oven set to steam. My shoes still on, I laid on the top of the covers and listened to the drone of the lawnmower. On a normal day, I might have stood at the window and watched the man, admiring the way his shirt clung to his muscular back, his strong legs churning against the freshly cut grass as he pushed the walking mower.
Now, I didn’t have time for a fantasy about my sexy landscaper. I had bigger issues, which were currently occupying both ends of our living room couch, their feet kicked up on the ottoman, beers in hand, their eyes glued to the TV, masculinity reeking off them and infecting the room.
I’d popped the cap off my own beer and joined them, drawn forward by the familiar sound of the game. I’d avoided the couch and settled back in the big red leather recliner, tucking my feet underneath me and staring at the screen.
I’d lasted ten minutes before I’d realized that Aaron was studiously ignoring me. Every comment I made, every glance I shot over—he was polite and engaged in the game, but stiff as a board around me.
I hated it and left the room, making an excuse about needing a shower.
From the direction of the living room, dual shouts rang out. Easton yelled something at the top of his lungs. I shifted onto my side and wondered what had happened.
This was ridiculous, me in our bedroom, hiding out like a leper. I tilted my head toward the closet door and considered changing into something nice and going out. The realtors in our office were having a wine and cheese event at a downtown bar. I could join them, though the idea of hobnobbing with that many botox-enhanced foreheads sounded exhausting. Plus, I had no new contracts. No new listings. No achievements to casually drop while everyone else rattled theirs off under the guise of shop talk. My gaze drifted to the tall suitcase, parked by the closet door where it had sat for the last two days. We would both ignore it, avoiding the gold Samsonite until the dire moment when Easton needed his electric razor, or I wanted my red sling-backs.