I clasp my hands in front of me. “Do you still feel comfortable having me work for you on the movie?”
“Of course,” Colin says. “I’m excited about that. I think having a friendly face with me that week will be a fantastic thing for me. It’ll be a win-win.”
“And am I still invited to be your plus-one to Laila’s birthday party?”
“Of course. Nothing’s changed, Ames. We were drunk. Drunk people do stupid shit. You said yourself Drunk Amy has a track record of doing and saying highly regrettable things. Well, unfortunately, so does Drunk Colin.”
Dick.
I suck in my cheeks for a long moment, feeling the urge to punch his handsome face. That kiss wasn’t “highly regrettable,” and I’m insulted he’d say that. But, again, I decide to let it slide for now, to save face over my unfortunate texts.
“Gotcha,” I finally say.
“So, we’re good?” Colin asks, his eyebrows raised.
“Yep. We’re great. Same as before the kiss. Friends. Honorary siblings. Nothing more. Poof.”
Colin exhales like I’ve taken the weight of the world off his shoulders. “Awesome.” He shifts his weight. “So, are you hungry? Violet ordered enough breakfast to feed an army. It’s already been delivered to the room.”
“Let me throw on some clothes.”
“Take your time.”
I rummage into my overnight bag, grab some clothes, and head into the bathroom. And when I emerge a few minutes later, I’ve got full clarity. Colin doesn’t want to be anything but friends with me, despite the fireflies we both felt during that kiss? Fine. That’s his choice. But he’d better be good and ready to live with the consequences of his choice.
“Whew! I’m starving,” I say, striding across the hotel room. I grab my purse and keycard and follow him when he walks to the door and opens it for me. “Thanks.” Smiling sweetly, I pause in the doorway. “Thanks so much for telling me what Caleb did to me during the tour,” I say. “I can’t tell you what a confidence boost it’s giving me to know the truth about that.”
“Good. You should be confident. You’re amazing.”
“And so are you, my friend. Look, I promise I won’t mention our kiss again, once that door closes. But I feel the need to thank you for kissing me last night.”
He looks confused.
“I fully accept the fact that you didn’t feel sparks when we kissed. But I sure did. Which means you were absolutely right: I’m not defective. I’ve absolutely got all my working parts. In fact, I’m now convinced I’m an intensely sexual person, who’s ready, willing, and able to have an extremely active and fulfilling sex life with the right guy—someone who wants me as much I want him.”
Colin’s nostrils flare, but he says nothing.
“I hope that doesn’t freak you out to hear, since I’m like a sister to you,” I add, and somehow keep myself from snickering as I do. “But that kiss was so incredible for me, I had a sex dream about you this morning and woke up having a real-life orgasm.”
“Uh . . .”
“That’s a first for me! Awesome, right? Ha! I guess that means, whether you like it or not, you’re the first man to give me an orgasm. Whoops. Don’t worry, brother, I’ll take that naughty little secret to the grave.” I wink and then pivot like I’m going to leave the doorframe, but quickly return to his shocked face. “Oh! Also, thank you for telling me about The Sure Thing. Thanks to you, I watched Ball Peen Hammer’s video about it on repeat and now I’m super pumped to find someone to try it out on me. Someone who gives me fireflies when he kisses me. I know that someone won’t be you, of course. I fully accept that. But now that I know about that video, I can show it to whichever lucky guy I decide to have sex with next.” I cross my fingers. “Hopefully, the technique works the way Ball Peen Hammer says it does—because, damn, that sounds fun. Can’t wait to try it out!”
With that, I ditch the doorway and sashay down the hallway, swinging my hips as I go. I have no idea which room is Dax and Violet’s, so I don’t know where I’m going. But I don’t need to know. Surely, after Colin picks his jaw up from the floor, he’ll catch up to me and lead me to our destination. In the meantime, though, I wouldn’t have missed provoking the look on Colin’s face a second ago, for all the money in the world.
Thirteen
Colin
I do a quick lap of my living room, making sure everything is neat and tidy for Amy’s imminent arrival. I’m not anxious about seeing Amy again, only excited. Thankfully, after that awkward brunch on Sunday with the gang, everything went back to normal between Amy and me. In fact, every time Amy and I chatted on the phone in the evenings this week to talk about our respective days—Amy’s been working in the mail room at her father’s law firm this week, while I’ve been doing costume fittings and rehearsals in anticipation of next week’s shooting schedule—the vibe between us has been every bit as comfortable and easy as it was in Seattle before I screwed everything up with that kiss.
No, the thing making me nervous about Amy’s imminent arrival is the simple fact that she’s an O’Brien. Growing up on Cedar Street, the O’Brien house was the biggest and fanciest on our block, while mine was by far the smallest and most modest. While Amy’s house was stylishly decorated and immaculate, mine always felt “lived in” and in need of repairs. And so, knowing what kind of house Amy grew up in, and therefore considers normal, I can’t help wanting to knock her socks off with the home I chose for myself, and then had decorated to my taste, when money wasn’t an object.
There’s a knock at the front door and I barrel to it excitedly, my heart pounding—and the second I behold Amy in my doorframe, my eyes telescope in and out like I’m Donald Duck beholding Daisy Duck in a polka-dotted bikini. Who is this red-haired femme fatale standing in my doorway?
“Wow!” I blurt like a fool. “You look amazing, Amy!”
Amy bats her eyelashes, playing the part of Daisy Duck to a T, without even realizing it. “Why, thank you. So do you.” She giggles when I don’t move. “May I come in . . .?”
“Oh! Yes. Please do.” I grab her suitcase, feeling flustered. “Lemme get that for you.”
“Thank you. It’s got wheels, Colin.”
“Oh.”
Disregarding the wheels, I carry Amy’s bag into my house, still staring at her in disbelief. Her newly red hair makes her green eyes pop almost supernaturally. And speaking of things that look supernatural . . . Good lord, Amy’s tits are otherworldly! What magic spell has Amy cast on them to make them defy gravity this way? She couldn’t have gotten a boob job this past week, could she? No, she’s got to be wearing a push-up bra with extra padding. Or maybe the neckline of her low-cut dress is creating some kind of optical illusion?
“Your house is beautiful,” Amy says, gliding into my living room.
“Thanks. Wow. Your hair is fire. You look gorgeous.”
“You like it?” Amy touches her glorious mane. “I didn’t tell you about my little transformation because I wanted to see your honest reaction.”