“Are you not attracted to me?”
My jaw falls. My head rings. She must be crazy. “Are you serious?”
She nods. “Answer the question, Holiday. Is that what the whole ‘let’s just focus on being friends’ thing is about?”
“You’re gorgeous. You’re beautiful. You’re stunning,” I say, rattling off compliments like a salesman on a street corner. “I also don’t want to ruin our friendship. It’s too important.”
She shakes her head. “You still didn’t answer the question.”
“I said you were beautiful.”
“You said that about the Hopper, too. Are you attracted to the Hopper?”
I swallow. I try to string words together, but all that exists in my head is the film reel of last night. Of what I did to her when I was home alone with my hand, and my fantasies, and all the fucking things I want to do with my best friend. Because I am wildly attracted to her—I’ve learned that during the last forty-eight hours. Like, stratospheric levels of attraction. Like, the power-an-airplane-around-the-world kind.
“Do I look insane?” I ask, and my voice is strained. I hate that she’s asking, and I love that she’s asking, and I am strung so goddamn tight right now because this whole day was supposed to be about us being friends.
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
“Yes.”
“No. You don’t look insane. You look annoyed. Just like me. So I guess we’re both pissed.”
“No. I’m not pissed,” I say, and I wrap my hand around hers and uncurl her fingers, then I slam her body against mine. “I’m not pissed. I’m fucking turned on. Because I’d have to be insane not to be attracted to you,” I tell her in a harsh whisper.
Her eyes light up like sparklers. Like I’ve said the one perfect thing. Her irises dance with mischief and joy.
“You are?” All that anger is stripped from her tone. She’s soft and feathery, and that voice wafts over me and makes me want her even more. Makes me want to hear her say other things in that voice.
“Yes.” I speak through gritted teeth. With my hand around her waist, I somehow yank her closer, then I drag a finger along her jawline. “But you’re not supposed to be attracted to your best friend like this. That's not how it works. I’m probably going to have to get checked into a facility to deal with the amount of attraction I have for you. I’ll ask them to remove it, and they’ll say, ‘Sorry, sir, it’s spread across your entire body and we can’t take it out.’”
Her smile grows wide. “Really?” she asks, but it’s hardly a question, more like a statement of wonder.
Now that she’s got me going, I won’t back down. It’s not in my nature. “Don’t make me prove it,” I say, egging her on.
Her eyes sparkle. “Prove it.”
“Challenge accepted.”
In seconds my hand snakes up her skirt, and she gasps when it registers what I’m doing. My fingertips climb up the soft flesh of her thighs, and when I reach her panties I flick my index finger across the cotton panel. They’re damp, and my dick does its best impression of the Empire State Building. I groan. Never taking my eyes off her, I slide one finger inside her panties. Her shoulders shake and my blood heats as I run that finger across her wet, hot, slippery pussy. I bring it to my lips and suck off her wetness. She tastes like all my fantasies. This time, my groan echoes. It rumbles across the ladies’ room, and Charlotte trembles in my arms.
She watches me lick her off my finger, and this is the moment when there is no question. When everything is clear. She parts her lips, and says, “There’s something I want to prove to you, too. Tonight.”
“What is it?”
Before she can answer, the door creaks open. I break apart from her, and she smooths a hand over her shirt, then her skirt. Just so she knows, so there’s no fucking doubt at all, I bring my finger back to my mouth, and I suck it one more time. With my eyes locked on hers, I whisper, so fucking hot.
She shudders, and her lip is quivering. I brush my finger against her lower lip, then push it past her teeth. Instantly, she draws it into her mouth and sucks.
I stare at her, burning up everywhere. I take my finger out, nip the corner of her mouth, unlock the door, and back out. I give a quick wave to Mrs. Offerman.
She blinks, then fixes on a smile and waves.
I return to the family knowing one thing for certain—I have no clue what is going to happen when Charlotte comes over tonight.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When I open the door, I hand her a virgin margarita.
She thanks me and takes a sip as she walks inside my apartment. She’s wearing jeans, black flats, and a dressy gray tank top with some kind of lacy neckline.
Dammit. She’s camouflaged. I have no clue what her intentions are based on her outfit. Admittedly, I might be oversimplifying matters, but if she were wearing a short black dress and fuck-me pumps, I’d be a lot less in the dark. Then again, I’m in jeans and a black T-shirt, so I’m not sure my clothes spell Game for Anything to her, but I hope they do.
She dangles a bag of gourmet gummy bears. “Farm fresh,” she says.
“Locally grown, too, I hope?”
“Of course. Within a fifty-mile radius from farm to table.”
“Excellent. They better be small-batch made, too,” I say, mocking the food purists of the world, glad I can at least still banter with her.
She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re from Brooklyn. Of course they’re small batch. Though I still don’t understand why if we can send a man to the moon, they can’t remove the green bears from the bag.”