If Justin caught the lie, he didn’t say anything.
Antonio had enjoyed everything about the interlude. There were no regrets. But in that short span, he’d gone from denying anything could happen with Justin, to getting enough of a taste that he wanted more. Something told himmorewasn’t an option, but neither was putting the genie back in the bottle. It was official—Antonio was seriously fucked.
*
EMILY DRIFTED ON THEedge of consciousness, when her world shifted. She forced herself awake enough to see Antonio untangle himself from the pile the three of them made. She couldn’t drag her attention from his back and the ripple of muscle when he stretched. Without a glance behind, he padded from the room. She tried to be careful getting up, to not disturb Justin, but it didn’t seem to matter. Once he was out, he stayed that way until he was ready to wake up, and unlike Antonio, he didn’t strike her as a morning person.
She plucked her clothes from the ground, tugged on her jeans and T-shirt, and followed Antonio.
She found him in the kitchen, moving around as if he’d always been there, filling the coffee maker with water and then grounds, and setting it to brew.
As water hissed and heated, he turned to face her. “I thought you were kidding at lunch. When you were talking about how to feel the situation out.” His voice was quiet in the early morning still.
Did he think she’d set him up? The notion he saw her as deceptive gnawed at her. “I didn’t plan that.”
“You were inspired.”
“Are you upset?” Kinky sex and games was one thing, but she didn’t want to push him away. Even though technically, they only worked together, she cared what he thought.
He smiled and shook his head. “Not even close. Thank you. I’m a bit fucked, but that’s on me. Besides, you were incredible.”
The compliment brought back images of last night, complete with whispers of touch, sound, and smell. Heat flooded her face. “You too. That is... everything you said—me too. Or rather...” Hell. She was awkward. “I should get home. Change. Shower.”
“You got quiet after. Are you okay still? We’re good?” he asked.
“I promise.” Ignoring the fact that she wanted to close the distance between them. Trail her fingers over his bare chest. Steal a good morning kiss. He wasn’t hers, though.
He seemed to relax. “We’re taking the day off. We got a lot more done yesterday than we planned, thanks to your help. You should go home and enjoy what little weekend you have left.”
“Yeah. Definitely.” She’d enjoy it here fine, but it felt like ages since she saw Cynthia. “See you tomorrow.” She really wanted a goodbye kiss, but that way lay trouble. Instead, she walked to the front door with him, grabbed her keys and purse, and was on her way.
She was lucky for lighter-than-normal traffic on the drive home. It was an excuse for her mind to wander and replay the highlights of the night before. Being pressed between two men, stuck in the middle of intensity and adoration—that was the kind of thing she could sell for hundreds an ounce if it could be bottled.
It was barely seven when she arrived home. She let herself in quietly, not wanting to wake up Cynthia. It didn’t matter; her roommate sat at the bar in the kitchen, a mug in front of her and a scowl on her face.
Concern filled Emily. “Are you all right?”
“Are you?” Cynthia’s voice held an edge.
Because she was out all night again. “I’m fine. Sorry if I worried you.”
“We were supposed to go out and celebrate your new job last night. Paul said the two of you talked about it, but Saturday night rolled around andbam,no Emily.”
Emily cringed. “I’m sorry.” The apology felt flat. “We never set a time, and then...” She sighed. “It slipped my mind. I didn’t mean to stand you up.”
“I guess I get that.” Some of the irritation seemed to fade from Cynthia’s voice. “You know, it’s funny. A week ago, you balked at the idea you’d ever do something like pick up a guy in a bar, and now you’ve been out three of the last seven nights. You meet someone new?”
“Well...” Emily wasn’t in the mood to share details or even hints. It felt too intimate to lay out bare.
“Justin again?”
“Maybe.”
Cynthia pushed her mug aside and leaned in. “You know that’s the most supremely bad idea in the history of bad ideas.”
“I do. It’s just that...” What? Emily fumbled for the words to finish her sentence.
“As long as you know what you’re doing.”