An ache between my thighs.
Oh, right. He means in my hand.
Honestly, I’ve lost track of what game we’re even playing so I set my cards down face-up and ask, “Did I get twenty-one or a full house?”
“Or both,” Elodie offers hopefully.
Maybe we’ve all lost track of the game.
“Looks like you’re winning,” Scotty says, then as he pins his gaze to mine, he adds, “Rachel.”
And did he say my name a little sensually? A little invitingly? I really need to figure out soon if I like mustaches.
I don’t have the answer yet, so I flash a grin, then return to the important topic with my friends. “Tomorrow night. I have a date with wine, my dirty imagination and the Man-inator,” I say, then add a roar for effect.
I giggle.
We all giggle.
“Or,” Elodie says, tapping her red nails on the felt, her impish soprano tone saying she has a clever idea. “Hear me out. Maybe you could get back on the real horse.”
My first instinct is to scoff and laugh. Me getting back out there for a hookup is a ridiculous notion. But my very next instinct is to tilt my head and consider her suggestion. A lot. I raise a glass. “You know what? That’s not a bad idea,” I say right as Carter comes up to the table next to me.
With the champagne in hand, I turn and stare, perhaps a little salaciously. Maybe even enough to bite my lip.
Because…Carter and his chest. Carter and his abs. Carter and his happy trail.
“It’s getting late. I need to take off,” he says, setting a hand on my arm. “Just wanted to say goodnight.”
He squeezes my shoulder. It’s friendly-ish. But it makes me tingly, too, right between my thighs.
And since I’m full of good ideas tonight, I raise my glass of bubbly, look him straight in the eye, and say, “You know what? I think I’d like to get back on the real horse after all.”
Juliet hoots. Elodie claps.
And Scotty clears his throat. “I’d be happy to help.”
I freeze.
I was not expecting someone to volunteer as tribute.
I snap my gaze to the flirty dealer, but I don’t even know what to say. It’s been years since I was hit on. How do I respond? I turn back to Carter, and he’s watching me carefully, studying my expression, perhaps asking if I need backup.
I swallow. Gulp.
I’m…at a loss.
Carter holds my gaze for a long, weighty beat, then says to the dealer, “Thanks, but the position is already filled.”
The table is quiet for a few seconds until Elodie breaks the silence by doffing an imaginary hat and shouting, “Giddyap, Carter!”
With a smile, he bends closer. “Need anything else, Sunshine?”
A Girl’s Best Friend, like, right now? Your saddle?
“I’m good,” I croak out.
Before I can say another word, he turns and walks away. I stare at him, slack-jawed and shockingly turned on, until he exits the bar and my sight.
7
BRIGHT IDEAS
Carter
During my run the next morning, I replay the scene at the party. But I am not second-guessing myself.
I’m making sure I did the right thing.
I peel off the miles a little after dawn, jogging down Divisadero Street, then through the Presidio before I curve up to the majestic bridge. Fog rolls across the Golden Gate Bridge, typical for most mornings here, but especially the ones in late September.
I try to outrun it, a game I play in my head. As I race the fog, every slap of my sneakers on the pavement brings me to the same realization—I offered because saving Rachel from the mustache man was the right thing to do. Hell, Ellie told me to look out for Rachel. Gotta follow orders from the pack. After all, that’s what friends are for.
With that settled, I turn back toward home, upbeat music from my sister’s favorite playlist blasting in my ears.
Along the way, my phone flashes a reminder—The meeting with Maddox is TODAY, you stud. In 1.5 hours.
When I near Alta Plaza Park, I’m a block away from my street, so I slow my pace to a walk. My heart pounds and sweat slides down my back, making my T-shirt stick to me, and my thighs scream with a good burn. The post-workout feel is the best. There’s nothing—except sex—that I enjoy as much as exercise.
When I reach my home, Monroe’s standing on his terrace next door like a stern daddy, tapping his watch, the tats on his forearm visible with the sleeves rolled up. He’s a man of contrasts—he wears a cardigan like a professor but his arms are covered in ink. He’s also in his mid-thirties but unfairly looks like he’s still in his twenties. The dude has gotten carded on two or three occasions when we’ve gone out with the guys. It’s ridiculous, especially since the fucker has an MD.
“You’re like a dog now, aren’t you?” I call out.
“I can tell time by my need to caffeinate,” he says.
As I bound up the steps, I hold up a finger. “Gimme two minutes to fire up the Slayer. Need to stretch the hammies first.”
He makes a show of setting a timer on his phone. “Fine. You’ve got two minutes to tell me about the party.”
Oh, boy. Here goes. “So, I guess there was a little role reversal in a thrift shop,” I begin as I bend my right leg and reach for my toes.
“Now, by role reversal do you mean she was wearing the secondhand PJ bottoms and you were wearing the tops?”
With my free hand, I flip him the bird. “Anyway, I needed a new shirt for…reasons,” I say, glossing over Rachel’s tears. Monroe raises an eyebrow, but he lets it slide, and I rush on before he changes his mind. “I was changing and stepped out of the room when I didn’t have a shirt on.”
“How thoughtful of you.”
“And it became this thing,” I continue. “You know how you said to joke about what had happened? Later at the party, she joked about it, and then I joked about it, and everything was defused…well, for a while.”
His eyebrows lift. “Sixty seconds. Keep going.”
Might as well skip to the good stuff. “And to make a long story short, right before I left the party, she said she wanted to get back on the horse, so I volunteered.”
Monroe straightens then just stares at me like I’ve lost it. “Well, that’s not really putting things behind you, is it?”
I hold up a hand. “Now wait a sec.”
“Sure. You’ve got forty-five more seconds on the clock.” He crosses his arms.
“I had to help out. This dealer dude was hitting on her. She clearly wasn’t into him. But when she said she wanted to get back out there, he threw his hat in the ring.” I sneer at the thought. That guy. How dare he. “And I was like no fucking way.”
“Ah, I see. You were simply white-knighting.”
Now he gets it. “Rachel was giving off serious save me vibes. It was the only thing to do.”
He sets a hand on his heart. “How very noble, offering to bang your hot bestie.”
“Relax, doc. I’ll see her soon and sort it all out.” Once I’m inside making him a cortado, I turn over his last words. Does Rachel think I was trying to get with her?