So, of course, offering to bunk up with Delilah seemed like the best course of action. Iris surely wasn’t going to do it, and if Delilah and Astrid shared a room, the trip would probably end in some sort of bloodshed.
Claire was the obvious choice.
But now, as the door shut behind the two of them in their room, a pang of nervousness shot through Claire’s belly.
“This is nice,” Delilah said, rolling her suitcase to the bed and flopping down on the crisp white linens, spreading out like a starfish.
“Um, yeah” was all Claire could seem to get out. In her flopping, Delilah’s black tank top had ridden up, revealing a stripe of smooth, pale skin. A belly button. Hip bones.
Claire turned away. Breathed. She set her own suitcase on an armchair in the corner and unzipped it, rummaging pointlessly through her clothes in an effort to do something, anything, other than watch Delilah snow-angel on the bed.
The room was nice. Dark hardwood floors, light gray walls with bright-toned artwork to offset all the neutral colors, a huge bed with a white duvet cover and sheets, blue accent pillows arranged just so. A wide window covered most of the back wall, and the view was incredible, all shimmery distant valleys and rows of juice-filled grapes rolling like green-leafed waves. And as Claire brought her toiletry bag into the bathroom, she walked into what was pretty much a mini spa with its sea-glass tile floors and huge glass shower, a dual vanity with white porcelain bowls and bronzed nickel fixtures.
She turned on the water in the far sink, running her fingers under the cool stream while she got her head on straight. The suite was ridiculously huge for one person, the bed like the state of Oregon itself. She and Delilah would hardly even notice each other.
Probably.
Maybe.
“Hey.”
Claire jumped as Delilah appeared behind her.
“Whoa, sorry,” Delilah said, dropping her own toiletry bag onto the marble counter. “You okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” Claire managed to smile at her, but then Delilah leaned on the counter and she had to look away.
“I guess we should get undressed, huh?”
Claire dropped the little pot of lip gloss she’d mindlessly opened, finger swirling through the shimmery pink just for something to do. It clattered into the sink with the water still flowing, soaking the gloss before Claire could snatch it back.
“What?” she asked, grabbing a fluffy hand towel and wiping the pot dry.
In the mirror, Delilah’s eyes flicked to the lip gloss and back to Claire. “Massages? Thirty minutes?” She brandished a creamy rectangle of paper that detailed the services Astrid had already arranged for them. This schedule, thankfully, did include Delilah.
“Oh,” Claire said. “Right.”
Delilah looked down at the paper. “It says here we’re supposed to undress and put on the robes provided before we head downstairs to our assigned massage room.” She set the paper on the counter and grabbed the two fluffy white robes that hung on the wall next to the shower, holding one out to Claire.
Claire took it, curling it to her chest, and then she just stood there, staring at Delilah like she was waiting to see who would start undressing first.
Delilah cleared her throat and Claire jolted.
God, was Claire waiting to see who would start undressing first? She was officially a disaster. A horny, stressed-the-hell-out disaster.
And from the small smile that lifted the corners of her mouth, Delilah knew it.
“You want to change in here and I’ll take the bedroom?” she asked.
Claire nodded way too vigorously. “Yes. Good. Perfect.”
That little smile again. “Good. Perfect,” Delilah said before leaving and closing the door behind her.
Claire slumped against the counter, rubbing her forehead with the robe. She had to get a grip. It was just a robe. It was just a spa. Delilah was just a person. A gorgeous person, true, but a person nonetheless, like Claire. A person she had absolutely no business thinking about naked or what the skin just under her ear might taste like.
“Do you think we’re supposed to leave on our underwear?” Delilah called from the other room, her voice completely guileless.
Claire groaned into the robe. “I don’t know!”
“Hmm. I’m taking mine off.”
Oh, for god’s sake.
Claire stripped down to her undies and bra—decidedly leaving both on—and splashed some cold water on her face. Then she wrapped the cloudlike robe around her, securing the tie around her waist, and sat on the edge of the huge soaker tub while she took a few deep breaths. What she really wanted to do was call Ruby, but her phone was out in the bedroom. While she sat there, trying not to think about tonight or nakedness or Delilah’s underwear on the floor, a knock sounded on the outside door.
“Who is it?” she heard Delilah call.
“Me.”
Claire recognized Iris’s voice and stood up.
“Me who?” Delilah said.
“Iris.”
“Prove it.”
Claire cracked a smile and opened the door into the bedroom an inch, just to make sure Delilah was robed—she was, and sat on the end of the bed scrolling lazily through her phone—and then went to let Iris in. She was thankful for the distraction in the form of her best friend, her voice of reason when it came to Delilah Green.
“Hey,” Iris said with her own fluffy robe in place, her red hair piled on top of her head just like Claire’s. She glared at Delilah. “Are you always like this?”
Delilah looked up. “Define this.”
“Annoying bitch?”
“Iris,” Claire said.
Delilah’s smile was beatific. “For you, I put my best foot forward.”
Iris sighed and popped her hands onto her hips. “Fine. Whatever, I’m sorry. So what’s the plan?”
“Plan?” Delilah asked.
“Yes, plan,” Iris said.
“To . . . get massages and a mud mask?” Delilah said.
Iris shook her head. “To dethrone lover boy.”
A pit opened up in Claire’s stomach. Last night, she and Iris had definitely decided that they needed to get serious about Astrid and Spencer. But the decision had been alcohol-induced, fueled by witnessing his covert dickishness and empowered by seeing Delilah haul him into the river. Actually doing something about it in the sober light of day, essentially ruining their best friend’s wedding, was a whole other matter.
Claire pressed her hands to her stomach. “Iris—”