Playboy Prince

"She's not at the store."

"You're bothering her at home?"

"You want the bikini or not?"

"I'm not telling you my bra size," I say.

"Fuck, Bri, I'm not asking to see your tits. What's it matter if I know your size? I'll give you a measurement in inches if it makes you feel better."

"I couldn't trust a self-report."

"You want to be the one to measure?"

"Yes, of course, I've been dreaming about the chance to hold a ruler next to your dick. It's my greatest sexual fantasy." I roll my eyes.

He smiles, charmed by my quip, desperate to reply with his own.

He's hiding his exhaustion well, but it's there. The heaviness in his shoulders. The frustration in his eyes.

Then he blinks and he almost fools me. I almost believe he's an obnoxious playboy who doesn't give a fuck about anything.

"I can do it now," he says. "Or wait until we're home."

I flip him off.

Again, he smiles.

Again, he doesn't quite sell it.

He's upset. He doesn't want to talk about it. He wants easy.

I guess that's fine. We're not really engaged. He's not really my life partner. He can keep secrets if he wants.

I don't like it. But maybe it's better. Maybe we need this line between real and pretend.

"It's hot today," he says. "You want to go for a swim?"

"Where?"

"I'll find a place. Somewhere private."

"How?"

"Event planner friend. She does corporate shit. There's always something free on weekends."

"Just the two of us?"

He nods just the two of us.

"Is this an elaborate scheme to get my bra size?"

"How'd you know?"

"Give her my number. I'll tell her."

"I can guess."

"You cannot. Cups are tied to band. So you can't just say I look like a c-cup. A 30c and a 36c are vastly different sizes."

"You're a c-cup."

"None of your business."

"I had a vision," he says. "When Harrison said he wanted a stripper with purple hair."

"He really said that?"

"He was fucking with me, trying to make me jealous."

"Did it?"

He doesn't answer the question. Describes his vision instead. "He's sitting on his bed. The lights are all red purple. You come through the door in this black bra and panty set. Some sheer mesh that makes him rock-hard in an instant."

"Where are you going with this?"

"Fuck, I'm supposed to go somewhere?"

"You told the story for a reason, I assume."

"Your tits. They were in my vision."

Honestly, his story is too absurd to annoy me. And maybe I want my boobs in his vision. Maybe I want him thinking about how badly he wants me.

He taps something into his phone. Shows it to me.

My bra size.

He's close. My sister's size.

"One cup up. One band down," I say.

"Damn. Was hoping you'd have to swim topless."

"Ha-ha."

"Where's the joke?" He smiles, effortless, charming, fraying at the edges.

"You sure you want to go swimming?"

"It's eighty and humid."

"Your place is air-conditioned."

"If you don't want to go, I'll drop you off."

"No, I want to go."

"Perfect. You're good with topless, right?"

I flip him off.

He smiles. I see it for a second. That aloof version of Liam I know well.

And the one who showed up at his office two weeks after his brother's death.

Tired and burdened.

But with what?

What is it he won't tell me?

Chapter Sixteen

Liam

"Why did I doubt you?" Briar looks up from her spot on the lounge chair. She takes in my blue Speedo with a soft smile.

"'Cause there's no one here to see me."

"True."

"Can't even brag about my dick."

Her eyes flit to the area in question. "Are you really going swimming?"

"Yeah. And I'm going to pull you into the pool in that dress if you don't change."

"You are?"

"Why do you say that like it's a question?"

"You're different today."

"How's that?" I ask.

"Something happened. With Preston."

"Yeah."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"Are you going to put on your swimsuit?"

"You're working hard to see me in a bikini."

"What did you say about hard?"

She laughs in that Liam, you're too much way. That Liam, I'm playing coy, hell yes way.

Or maybe my dick is trying to push my brain out of the driver's seat. This is already a stupid idea. It's hard enough not touching her when we're in our clothes.

And I find an empty pool?

I should call Simon. Invite him here to cock-block me.

It's Sunday. Are Adam and Danielle still in the city? Fuck knows she'll enjoy a new place to take pictures.

But then she might want to take pictures of us. Pictures of us without our clothes on. It's what she does.

Fish gotta swim. Birds gotta fly. Danielle Bellamy has to take photos of naked people.

"You promise you'll tell me?" She pushes herself up, presses her knees together, smooths her dress. "Really?"

"Promise."

She looks to the bar inside. The bartender is still there.

The only witness. I don't know if I want to curse him for keeping her clothes on or thank him for keeping my pants on.

Well, swimsuit on. The pants are long gone.