"‘Just finished fucking my boyfriend. His ex is missing out on his generosity.'"
"I was thinking ‘massive cock,' but that's good too." Generosity. He's generous. As in he wants to eat me out. I mean, not me, but…
"Leigh?"
"Are you generous?"
"Not discussing this."
"I'm going to take that as a no."
"Your call." His eyes narrow. It's a drop it, now.
Fine. Pushing him is only going to push him away. "Just come here and pose for the proper picture with me." I motion to the ground on your knees.
He laughs. "Subtle."
"Thanks." I motion to the ground again. "I'm waiting."
His smile spreads over his cheeks. He moves closer. Joins me on the selfie side of the phone. "What's this accomplish?"
"A reaction."
"Yeah."
I rest my head against his chest. Look to the camera with a smile.
He stares at the cell.
Click.
I look up at him. Stare into his eyes like he's the only thing I want.
No, he is the only thing I want.
But he can't know that.
He stares back at me, his blue eyes curious, his expression soft.
Click.
"One more," I whisper.
He nods. Leans forward. Brushes my hair behind my ear.
My eyelids press together. My head tilts to one side. I let out a soft sigh.
Click.
His eyes find mine. "You doing this now?"
"No time like the present."
He watches as I pull up Facebook. Pick the perfect three pictures—the hottest one of him, the most flattering one of me, the cutest one of us together—and add a caption. Ryan always makes me sweat.
I show it to him. "Okay?"
"All right."
"Put it on your Instagram too."
"She doesn't check—"
"Then what's it hurt?"
Chapter Six
Ryan
Red, orange, yellow, and green hit the pan with a sizzle. I grate ginger over sliced bell peppers. Add rice vinegar. Stir.
The shower turns off.
Footsteps move into the hallway. "I left my change of clothes at the shop."
Leighton is standing in the hallway, wrapped in only a black towel.
She holds it closed with one hand. Pushes her short hair behind her ear with the other.
She's dripping wet.
But I don't care that she's dragging water all over the hardwood floor.
Only that she's naked under that thin layer of cotton.
She looks so much like the Leighton I know.
Her hair is still hanging at her chin.
Her eye makeup is that same seamless line.
But her lips are bare.
Her tits—
I shake my head. Push away the mental image of her without that towel, my hand between her legs, her lips parting with a groan of pleasure.
My heart thuds against my chest.
My back tenses.
The thought of Leighton coming is hot as fuck, but it's confusing.
Penny was the last person I touched.
She's the only person I've touched.
Sex and lies are a tangled mess in my brain. What I have with Leighton is the opposite of that.
That's why it works.
We're honest with each other because we aren't making each other come.
"Ryan?" She cinches her towel tighter. "Clothes?"
"You can grab a t-shirt from my dresser. Top drawer."
"Boxers?"
"Might have a pair in the bottom drawer."
"Is it laundry day?"
I shoot her a really look.
"Oh." Her eyes light up. "You go commando."
"Yeah."
Her gaze shifts to my crotch. Her pupils dilate. Her cheeks flush. "I, um, maybe sweat pants. Or a parka. It's freezing in here."
"Like my soul."
She laughs. "That was good. You're improving."
"You think I can't make you laugh?"
"No." She spins on her heels. "I think you choose not to."
Maybe. I've never been a happy-go-lucky guy. I've always tried to have a sense of humor about myself. At least about how fucking miserable I am.
But I used to enjoy a lot more shit.
I used to smile at the guys' stupid jokes, even when I had to keep up that I'm the boss poker face.
I move to the kitchen. Drown the images flitting through my head—Leighton stripping out of that towel, lying on my bed, spreading her legs wide and motioning come here—in fixing dinner.
I combine the chicken and vegetables, add sauce, stir, turn the pan to simmer.
Sesame oil for the finishing touch.
My bedroom door opens. Footsteps move through the hallway, into the kitchen.
Leighton smooths my black Inked Hearts t-shirt. "You're too fit."
"Am I?"
"Yeah." She tugs at the pajama pants she's wearing. "They're tight on me."
"Guys have narrower hips."
"Still."
"You gonna tell me something about how you don't like your hips?" I force myself to stare into her eyes. "That's ridiculous, Leigh. You know you're hot."
"I do?"
"You wearing those tight dresses for your health?"
"It's hot."
"Exactly."
She laughs. "Another joke. I think I might be corrupting you. Tell me you're thinking dirty thoughts."
You have no fucking idea. "Grab your laptop. We'll start setting up after we eat."
The playfulness fades from her voice. "I don't remember agreeing to this."
"Then don't." I shrug, playing coy. "Grab drinks. I'll bring the food to the table."
She rises to her tiptoes to open the top cabinet. "Bourbon or water?"
"Water."
"Me too."
"You don't drink bourbon."
"But you keep Belvedere here for me."
I do. I keep a lot of shit here for Leighton, even though we do most of our hanging elsewhere.
"It's wrong when it's too hot for vodka."
"I thought it was as cold as my soul in here?"
"It is." She smiles. "There's this vodka lounge in Vegas where everything is made out of ice."
"Is there?"
"Yeah. Even the glasses. They give you a parka so you don't freeze to death."
"And?" I play the straight-man.
"It was much warmer than your apartment."
I laugh. It's a cheesy, obvious joke. It wasn't funny the first time. Or the second. But the fiftieth time? It feels like home. "Still don't believe this place exists."
"We can go right now." She looks to the time on the microwave. "Be there by midnight."
"Is it open?"
"It's a bar."
"That isn't a yes."
"If not, we can wait until tomorrow." She grabs two glasses from the shelf. Her ass brushes mine as she moves to the sink, fills the cups with water. "We can one-up Penny. Get married there."
"Crash her bachelorette party to announce it?"