Gabe’s brow arches. “How often do you use this?”
“You did not just ask me that.”
“You know, the clock’s ticking, Lo. And we’re getting closer to thirty by the second.”
“What’s your fucking point?”
“Fucking,” he says, and the way the word rolls off his tongue has heat pooling low in my belly.
Embarrassment claws up my neck and cheeks. If he only knew how often I’d used that dildo and imagined it washislength that filled me, his cock that pushed me closer and closer to orgasm with every thrust. “Fucking?”
“Maybe we should try it? I mean, I don’t wanna be married to a lousy lay for the rest of my life.”
“You’re an asshole. For your information, I am not a lousy lay.”
“Uh-huh,” he mutters, waving the dildo beneath his nose and inhaling deeply. He closes his eyes, and a smile curls the corner of his lip. My jaw drops, but Gabe ignores it as his eyes open and meet mine. “I like the way you smell.”
“Gabe!”
His throat bobs as he chuckles. “Relax, Freckles. I’m just fucking with you.”
I throw my head back, cover my face, and cry, “I hate you!”
“No, you don’t. Now come on, are you gonna lie around in a T-shirt and your little wet panties all day, or are you gonna come with me to Vegas?”
“My panties are not wet.”
“Aren’t they?”
“I’m going back to sleep.” I flop on the mattress beside him.
“Freckles. Come on, don’t make me drive all that way on my own.”
“I have one day off this week, Gabe.”
“And wouldn’t you really rather spend it with me than cooped up in your room all day?”
“No,” I say into my pillow. “Why are you even going?”
“I have an interview with a magazine out there.”
“Ooh, fancy.”
“Shut up. It’s good for the business.”
“Does that mean you’ll be working the whole time and I’ll have to entertain myself in a room that rents by-the-hour strippers just to keep me company?” I snuggle deeper into the pillow, torn between just ignoring Gabe and going back to sleep or rolling over and actually giving this Vegas thing some real thought.
“If you have strippers in our hotel room, I’m never leaving.”
Gabe’s thumb circles my lower back and I groan. “That’s nice.”
“I bet you say that to him all the time,” his words break off into laughter.
I frown and turn my head, glaring at my asshole best friend, then I glance down at my back and find he isn’t so much massaging me with his hands, but with my fucking dildo. “Get out!”
“Alright, alright. No more shit about your pet octopus, I promise. But please, Lo, please come with me to Vegas. We’ll stop at that frozen custard place you like.”
“Freddy’s?” My mouth waters just thinking about it. The flight to Las Vegas was only a half hour, but Gabe didn’t do planes, and the last time we’d all made the trek, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven when we ordered the frozen custard at a burger joint in Victorville. “I hate you.”