* * *
Katie: Miracles happen!
* * *
Closing the thread, I turn down the music in the suite and get to work as the patter of hot water fills my head.
Nolan’s naked a wall away.
Nolan’s hands are sliding down his trim belly.
Nolan’s tipping his head back under the stream.
“Gah!” I need to check myself into a perv-no-more rehab center. “Focus, girl. Just focus.”
And with a deep, soldiering breath, I manage the Herculean task.
I blot out the sound of the shower and I edit the hell out of the video, working my ass off instead of picturing his naked one.
Until he strides out fifteen minutes later, a towel wrapped around his waist, his dark hair slicked back and wet, his black glasses on.
I look up. My jaw tries to come unhinged when a droplet of water sails slowly down his trim chest, heading straight for his happy trail. My tongue is jealous of the droplet.
“Whew, it’s a sauna in there,” he says, waving a toned arm toward the bathroom.
That arm.
His happy trail.
My hormones.
I ache so badly that I need an ice pack between my goddamn legs. “Cool,” I mutter, then with iron will, I return my eyes to the screen.
There. I did it.
For now.
Nolan declares the video a work of brilliance, and I send it to Evelyn, set the laptop on the bed, then hit the shower myself. Once I’m out, I implement my plan of libido attack to make it through the night.
Wrapping myself in a thick, fluffy bathrobe, I march into the living room, presenting the other oversized robe to Nolan. He’s changed into a T-shirt and basketball shorts.
“It’s bathrobe time.” I waggle it in front of him. “Do it.”
He flubs his lips, then shrugs. “When in Vegas.”
“I have one more thing for us,” I say. “A little surprise.”
His hazel eyes twinkle with delight. “I love surprises.”
I head to my bag and grab two packaged facial masks, grateful I bought an extra one when they were on sale at CVS the other week.
“Want to do a face mask with me?”
He arches a brow. “A face mask?”
“They’re fun. These are grapefruit. Have you ever done one?”
“No.”
“Self-care for the win. Let’s do it.” Because there is nothing sexy about goop on your face.
Face masks paired with oversized terry-cloth robes are proven lady-boner killers. No one has ever wanted to smash her face against her friend’s when he was wearing a face mask. I am brilliant on a scale of one to Einstein.
“I’m game,” Nolan says. That is one of the things I love about him. His easy attitude. His laidback style. His charm.
I mean, that’s what I love about him as a friend. I am only thinking friendly thoughts as he sheds his shirt and dons his robe.
We head into the bathroom, and five minutes later, his stupidly handsome face is covered in slippery pink goop, and I am a genius.
“Admit it. I look like a gumball,” he says, peering closely in the mirror.
Yup. Friendship talk only. “And I am a stick of cotton candy,” I say. “Now we leave these on for fifteen minutes.”
Nolan tips his head to the bedroom. “Want to watch those how-to-make-jam videos?”
Yes! How-to videos, face masks, and friendship rituals. We change rooms and he flops on the bed next to the laptop.
The sex bed.
No big deal, no big deal, no big deal.
I settle in next to him, near but not too close, and flick open the screen.
A notification pops up—a beautiful, tempting envelope icon with Evelyn’s name. “Open it,” I whisper reverently.
Her reply is short and sweet—This is a go! Can we post it tonight so their subs get it in the morning?
Nolan points at the screen in wild excitement. “Yes. The gods of the home page will love this.”
I love this. “Tell her yes. I’m shaking too much to reply.”
“I got your back.” He taps at the keyboard, then uploads the video too.
But I’m still shaking. Everything feels possible. I picture my bills. The student loans. The amount I owe. The amount I wasn’t supposed to owe.
I think of the chance this partnership represents and I can’t stop trembling with excitement.
“Breathe, Emerson. Breathe. It’s going to be great,” Nolan says softly, squeezing my shoulder.
“It is,” I say, choosing to believe.
And when I do, the nerves slink away.
We watch a jam video, debating whether we want to make a strawberry one at some point. Things seem right between us again, like the reset worked. The hotel room didn’t win.
I lift a hand and touch the stiff mask on my face. “Want to do the face mask crack? My friend Jo and I do it when we face mask on FaceTime.”
“That’s a thing? Face masks on FaceTime?”
“It’s so a thing.” I grab the arm of his robe and tug. “C’mon. We have to do it in front of the mirror.”