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Slowly, I try to open my eyes and stretch, looking around the dark and spinning room. “Where the fuck am I?”
I slide my fingers over the curves of my body. I’m wearing my underwear and T-shirt, and judging by past experiences, that’s a step in the right direction. I lie back, getting comfortable under the covers. Turning on my side, I stretch out my hand, bumping into something hot. What the hell? I turn my face, and Jesse is lying next to me.
He snores, and I stifle a giggle. I grab my phone from the nightstand, checking the time. One in the freaking morning. The blue light casts a shadow over his naked chest; the man is only wearing his boxers, and the blankets barely cover his defined legs. I rake both my hands through my hair. “How the hell did we get back here?”
My hotel key is lying on the nightstand, and our clothes are tossed together in a pile on a chair. For the first time, I can check him out without staring like the crazy person I am. He’s ripped, the muscles in his arms and chest outlined against his skin. His body basically glows, like he spends a lot of time outside and in the sun.
I lean on my hand, tracing the line of his neck down to his chest and south to his apparent six-pack with my eyes. When someone is wearing three layers, you don’t notice shit like that. I grin, focusing on a couple of tattoos on his ribcage and inner arm.
He shifts in his sleep, takes a deep breath, and puts one arm under his head. I follow the movement as his muscles flex in all the right ways. Asshole is beautiful, not in a centerfold way, but in a classic way. Like those old movie stars, he’s all man. Jesse looks like he knows how to survive in the wilderness, how to build a fire and chop wood. Like someone who makes love to you under a star-filled sky while the fire is burning. I giggle, focusing my attention back to his face. Damn, I’m still a little drunk.
I smile, checking him out more. The guy is kind of cute. I shake my head… okay, he’s hot.
Jesse is apparently five years younger than me; I checked his ID when we were walking into the bar. Doesn’t hurt that people think I’m five years younger than I actually am. So that kind of evens it out.
Thinking about Shane and the birthday party on Saturday, my stomach does a little backflip. He’s been ignoring me the last couple of days. I grab my phone and scan his last text. Sorry I couldn’t make it. I have a couple of important meetings and a dinner with potential investment guys. I open another app and scan his Instagram. Pictures of Shane with beautiful women hanging on his arms greet me, probably taken at one of the overpriced ski lodges. But something is off in his eyes; the same he gets when he looks at me, like he sees someone else.
Placing my phone on the nightstand, I get up, my head spinning the whole time. Taking a deep breath, I walk on unsteady feet to the bathroom, hugging the wall for support. After flushing the toilet, I stare in the mirror, the soft glow from the nightlight hitting my face. Smiling at my reflection, I groan. I look happy. My cheeks are flushed from being outside the last couple of days… or is it because of him? Shaking my head, I walk back to the bed, but hit my toe against the wood and let out a stream of swear words. Hopping on one foot, I plop back against the sheets and turn on my side, staring at the guy lying next to me. Should I wake him, or push him out of bed? Then again, he makes me laugh and pisses me off at the same time. We’ve kind of become friends, so why shouldn’t I let him sleep his hangover off?
I bite my lip. What the fuck am I doing? He sighs and runs his fingers over the band of his black boxers. I don’t like him, right? Not like that. What happened or didn’t happen between us yesterday was because of the booze, nothing more.
He moves his hand down and scratches his stomach in his sleep. The way his fingers trail the top of his boxers while he slowly breathes in and out makes my mouth water, and my clit twitches at the same time. Damn, I never have this reaction to a man, unless maybe when I’m watching Pride and Prejudice for the one hundredth time, but the way his bulge strains against the fabric of his boxers has me rubbing my thighs together.
I keep checking him out, shifting against the covers as the pressure between my thighs builds. I look up when he coughs. Leaning forward, I stare at his face. He’s still sleeping, judging by the way his chest moves up and down. Thank you, baby Jesus. I have to wipe at my mouth before I drool all over him. My cheeks flush when I get a whiff of his sweat, and my clit twitches again. I bite down on my lip, tracing my teeth with my tongue, until my mouth feels like sandpaper.
He shifts again and sighs deeply. Shit. I glance at his face, and luckily, he’s out of it. Staring at his package, I place my hand next to his boxers for measurement. My little doggo looks up from his dog bed and stares at me. “Do not look at me like that,” I whisper, and he yawns, stretches and goes back to sleep. Man, he’s bigger than I thought. I mean, I wasn’t really thinking about his package before, but having him lying next to me with barely nothing on, the heat between my legs spreads up to my heart. And damn, is it actually growing in size right now?
His chest moves up and down likes he’s laughing. What the fuck? I hold my breath, quickly meeting his stare, that cocky smirk on his face immediately heating my cheeks. “God,” I rasp.
“That’s one name to call it,” he jokes, his voice hoarse as he opens both eyes to look at me.
“I wasn’t,” I stumble over my words, trying to sit up. The right side of his smile hikes up even more. Without thinking, I shift and accidentally place my hand on his stomach. He swears when my fingertips brush his hard on pressing against the top. His skin feels like fire against my cold palm. He groans, taking my hand in his. “Babe, don’t fucking do that to a man who’s about two seconds to—”
I cut him off, “If you say blow, so help me—”
He laughs, his head falling back into the pillow, still holding on to my hand while he waggles his brows.
“You were awake all along?” I gasp.
“Yeah, of course I was awake. You snore like a fucking elephant.”
“Elephants don’t snore,” I counter, trying to get my hand back from his vice like grip.
“Sure they do, and when you went to take a leak, it sounded like a fucking stampede.”
“I don’t look like a hippo!”
“I didn’t say you looked like one. You sound like one,” he drawls, apparently loving every minute of this exchange.
“You’re an asshole. I was right the first time we met.”
He raises one eyebrow while I’m still fighting to free my hand. “It was like the freaking Serengeti in here.” He snickers, laughing at his own joke.
I swear under my breath. “Get out of my bed, Jesse.” The warning comes out as a breathless plea.
“No,” he replies. “I’m quite comfortable, thank you very much, and I can’t with the snowstorm outside.”
“Get out, or you are gonna experience a shitstorm.” I grit my teeth, losing the battle with him and his hand.
