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“I distracted you,” I say and push her hair out of her eyes. It’s a little tangled, and I smooth it again, and then, because I can’t help myself, I touch my lips to it. To her forehead and her cheek. She smiles up at me, and?—
God, that fucking Ivy smile.
“You want to watch it now?”
I don’t care what we watch as long as I get to sit here a little longer with my arm around her. “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah.”
She puts it on—thankfully starting from the end of the sex scene so I don’t have to watch myself having sex—and we watch together. She’s warm at my side, sleepy and cuddly. After a while she slides down and rests her head in my lap, and I settle my hand over hers.
It’s really fucking nice.
When the movie ends, I look down at her.
She’s asleep. Snoring.
Very quietly, more of a deep breath than a snore, but definitely asleep.
Carefully, I extricate myself from under her, replacing my thigh with one of her couch cushions. She stirs and mutters something but doesn’t wake. I find a fleece blanket folded over the end of the couch and cover her.
I stand for a moment, watching her. Feeling like there’s something else I need to do. Or say. Feeling unfinished.
But in the end, I can’t figure out what it is, so I slip quietly out of her house and drive myself back to the hotel.
28
Ivy
“I think I might have done something I’m going to regret,” I tell Nia as we sort through the costume closet together.
She stills. “Yeah? What’s that?”
“I kissed Shane.”
“That’s not news, Ive,” she says. “There’s a viral video of you kissing Shane.”
“No, I mean I really kissed Shane. And I did a lot more than kissing.”
Her eyes get huge. “Did you have sex with him?”
“Um,” I say. “How are we defining that these days?”
“Did anyone have an orgasm?”
I wince.
Her eyes get even bigger. “Did everyone have an orgasm?”
I press my lips together and nod.
“Oh, wow,” she says. “I mean, not that orgasms are required, either, but…okay, wow. Was it…?”
“Yes,” I say before she can finish the sentence. “Yes, yes, it was. And that was…without…dick,” I finish, blushing fiercely.
She’s trying really hard not to grin, but it seems to be taking over her face. “Dick is definitely not required,” she says, and then, “Ivy! You got up close and personal with Shane Fucking Hott!”
“And he was,” I say. “Extremely fucking Hott. But.”
“There’s always a but,” she says. “And in this case, I’m assuming it’s not that oh so fine ass of his.”
