A younger version of me would have already found a reason to join Delaney on the couch an hour ago, when she said, “I feel the same about you.”
The thirty-one-year-old version of me was more cautious, for various reasons. But goddamn, if the woman wasn’t as incredible as I’d said she was. Before I even had a chance to respond, Delaney bounded off the couch earlier, claiming she needed “to pee.” Either the woman had the smallest bladder on the planet or she hadn’t really planned to blurt that out. If she regretted saying it or not, I still wasn’t sure. But I did know my stomach hurt from laughing.
Delaney was a hoot. Not always from trying. She called them “blonde moments” but I’d told her that was a slander to blondes everywhere, which earned me a pillow to the head. One I had been dearly tempted to pick up and carry over to her to show Delaney what an adult pillow fight looked like. Namely, with her pinned underneath me, the pillow under her head, at the end.
“Another drink?” I asked as the conversation took a decidedly flirty turn. It had started out with Delaney telling me about her “smut books” and me asking for more details and… here we were.
“Sure,” she said, standing up with me. “You know we’re going to be shitfaced by the time the others get back,” she said. “Maybe I should down a water first.”
“Or two,” I said, knowing one water was not going to make up for what we’d drunk so far. Heading to the cabinet of glasses, I grabbed two and filled them with ice and water. Handing one to Delaney, I leaned against the kitchen counter.
“So back to your smut books.”
“How did I know we were going to circle back to that?” she teased.
“We don’t have to.” I tried to play nice. But she looked so damn sexy, drinking her water, as innocent as can be. Or maybe not so innocent. Delaney tilted her head down and peered up at me through her lashes. She probably didn’t even realize she was doing it, but the gesture was flirty.
Sexy.
I couldn’t ignore it.
Putting my water down, I headed to where she was standing. As luck would have it, Delaney was right in front of the bottle of Tito’s. As I leaned toward her, she didn’t move. She did look at my lips, though, and dammit if I didn’t want to kiss her so badly it was physically painful. On one hand, she’d been flirty today. Her body language told me to lean in. To kiss her. Pull her hips into mine and feel how well our bodies fit together.
On the other, she had made it clear the other day that we were friends.
Being friendzoned by someone you pictured naked, someone you’d imagined kissing so many times it almost felt as if you knew what they tasted like, was the worst sort of torture.
I reached behind her.
Delaney, realizing my purpose there, so close to her, put her hand on my chest. The feather-light touch should not have made my dick begin to harden, but it did. Resisting the urge to adjust myself, I took a deep breath. Willed it to behave.
Looking into those clear hazel eyes, trying to discern her intent, I waited for another sign. One that told me Delaney had changed her mind about her “this is not a date” talk from lunch.
Her lips parted.
“There’s the ski skippers.”
One second, I had been about to lean in. The next, I grabbed the bottle of Tito’s from behind her and moved back so quickly that I doubted Beck noticed much.
“Back so soon?” I asked as he took off his boots and coat, hanging them near the door.
“We were on the slopes by nine. Someone’s legs were tired. Give you one guess who couldn’t keep up.” He shook out the dirty blond surfer-looking mane more than one woman had lost their mind over.
Instead of answering his question, I made Delaney’s drink.
“Pia will probably have one too,” she said as Pia and the others filed inside.
“One what?” Mason’s fiancée said, taking off her boots and coat too.
“Guess,” Beck prompted me again. “Who wanted to quit?”
With a semi-hard dick and thoughts of Delaney’s lips parting, I wasn’t in the mood for Beck’s games.
He grabbed my shoulders from behind.
“You are no fun,” he said with a friendly shake.
“Cole,” I said, playing along.
