“Those fucking beavers tried to kill us one dam at a time when we went hiking that weekend.”
“It wasn’t all bad. I got to meet your parents. Your mom was so sweet. Making me tinga de pollo to warm me up. The stew alone made it worth closingBuns & Rosesfor the weekend.”
“She fell in love with you on the spot that weekend. But then you refused to sit and helped her make the stew instead. It’s safe to say you earned a fan for life.”
“Mhmmm . . . I think that’s the moment she started plotting for grandkids,” Delilah says with a light laugh.
She’s not wrong, but I don’t want to scare her away, so I change the subject. “What’s on your travel bucket list now that you have more help?”
“Someplace warm, with a beach and a drink. Maybe in the Caribbean.” She sighs wistfully.
“Just a beach and a drink, that’s all you need? You can’t think of anything else?” I press the button to switch the call over to video.
“Now that you mention it, I’d love for Poppy to be there,” she says as her face comes into view on my screen.
“Poppy? That’s how you want to play this.”
“Mhmmm, she’s fun, looks hot AF in a swimsuit, and will get couples massages with me.” She’s twirling strands of her blonde hair around her finger, looking off into the distance, but the corner of her lip twitches as she teases me.
“I guess when I plan my time off in July and the postseason, I can see what the boys are up to—since you’ll be traveling with Poppy.” I prop the phone on the pillow and reach for the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head and discarding it. I’m not beyond using my body to remind her what she would be missing. I readjust my position on the bed, grabbing my phone and tilt it, giving her a full view of my naked torso—flexing my abs in the process.
“I—I guess it would be nice if we had someone to fetch us our drinks. Maybe someone with broad shoulders. So that they could carry multiple drinks without issue, of course.” Her eyes trace the lines of my body.
“Of course. It’s just too bad you don’t know anyone like that.”
“Actually . . .” She taps her lip with her pointer finger. “There was this customer the other day. He was pretty flirty with me and, if I remember correctly, he had a nice set of shoulders on him.”
“Delilah. Think carefully about what you’re about to say.” The idea of anyone else flirting with her makes me want to break someone’s face, but the way her pupils dilate at my tone tells me she’s enjoying this game.
She likes it when I’m bossy and demanding. I file that under fun facts I’ve learned about my best friend this week. Right next to how her moans sound when we kiss and the way her pulse flutters under my palm when my fingers are sifting through that hair at the base of her skull.
“I’m not feeling very cautious right now.” She shifts, so she’s on her back on the couch with the phone held above her. She’s not wearing a bra and her tits sit high and round on her chest in this position.
I lick my lips, weighing my options on how to play this. How far to push her. I meant it when I said I wanted to take things slow but. . .fuck.
“It’s not a threat if it turns you on, is it?” I watch as she rolls to the side.
“I suppose not. It’s more like foreplay.” She bites her lip.
“You think you’re ready for that? You’re not going to push me away and overthink it?”
She nods her head. Her blonde ponytail bounces behind her. “No more fighting this. I’m not going to push you away.”
“Tell me about the dream, Delilah.” Her eyes go wide. She thought I forgot that little tidbit, but it’s burrowed its way so far into my brain that it’s never leaving. In fact, it’s playing a starring role in all my daydreams about her. Especially the ones in the shower with my fist wrapped tightly around my cock.
She shakes her head again. “I can’t—not like this.”
“You want to tell me in person?”
“No—yes. Gah. I’m not sure. I wish I wouldn’t have said anything.” Her hand comes up to cover her face, one blue peering out at me. “Can you just forget I said anything? Wipe it clean. Use brain bleach.”
“Not possible, Hermosa. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since you mentioned it. There’s nothing you can tell me I haven’t already imagined.”
“You’ve imagined it?” she asks softly, peeking out from between her fingers.
I nod. “Will you tell me about it when I get home? I want to know what you think about when you dream of us together.”
She covers her face with her hands. “God, you’re really going to make me—”
