The Player Hater (Accidentally in Love 1)

Or a nun.

Pity that.

“You feel so good,” he tells me as his palm cups my breast, caressing it until my breath hitches. It hitches again when he abandons it to head south, hand sliding down my stomach and over my belly button. Teases the hem of my sleep bottoms; leaves my heart racing.

“This was such a terrible idea,” he tells me. “How can we be expected to stop?

How can this be a terrible idea when his hands feel so good down my pants? How can this be a terrible idea when his index fingers begins a unhurried, but steady circle over my clit?

It feels too good to be terrible.

His mouth. His hands. The heat from his body keeping me warm.

“We should have just kept our hands to ourselves.” I declare with zero conviction, running a hand through his hair. “Then this wouldn’t be an issue.”

I nod solemnly, eyes almost rolling to the back of my head as his fingers work their magic. “And now we have to live with ourselves.”

It’s then that I realize I don’t want him to be gone when I wake up in the morning. I want to open my eyes, look over to his side and see him beside me.

I don’t want him to go.

Davis is gone in the morning when I rise.

I roll over as the sun pours through the camper’s small windows, I squint, aware of the fact the bed is cold and the sheets are pushed back and wrinkled, evidence that a man had been sleeping there the night before.

We’d fooled around before falling asleep, the memory bringing a small, tired smile to my mouth—the mouth he’d kissed until I needed Chapstick.

With anyone else I may be offended that he just slipped out of bed and snuck off, but I know he had an early flight: seven o’clock to be exact. I’d asked Thad.

Over an hour drive to the airport, checking bags and needing to arrive early, Davis had awoken around four, if I had to guess.

So no—I am not blaming him for stealing away without a good-bye.

I ease out of bed, tired as hell, needing another five good hours of sleep. Ha!

First things first: pee and brush my teeth, breakfast for sure, all in that order.

There on the mirror of the bathroom, in bold masculine scrawl, is a note:

JULIET,

SORRY I MISSED YOU THIS MORNING. HAD TO BE OUT THE DOOR FOR AN EARLY FLIGHT.

THANKS FOR THE LATE NIGHT SNUGGLES.

P.S.: DID YOU KNOW YOU DROOL IN YOUR SLEEP?

SO CUTE.

XOXO DAVIS

Cute?

Cute?!

Do I know I drool in my sleep?

Do I?

Oh god.

My fingers fly to my lips, pressing on the corners of my mouth. How could he possibly know I drool in my sleep? It was dark in the room and I wasn’t…

Oh.

He’s messing with me.

Briefly as I brush my teeth, I wonder where the paper came from, and the tape. I’m also grateful he’s not here because I look terrible.

Sleep deprived.

Bedraggled.

A hot mess.

Mia confirms this when she nudges me at the little buffet tables, a simple self-serve breakfast.

“Girl, you look tired. How late were you up?”

She should talk; Mia has bedhead and bags under her eyes, signs that she was up as late as I was, probably making sexy sex with her boyfriend at the same time I was making out with his best friend.

“Late enough,” I grin to myself, spooning scrambled eggs onto my plate.

She does the same, side-eyeing me. “What’s this look about?”

“What look?”

“You look…” She stops and cocks her head. “Wait, turn and look at me.”

I turn and look at her. “What?”

Her eyes scan my face, stopping at my mouth. “Are those…”

I shift under her scrutiny. “Are those what?”

“Your lips look puffy.”

I grin again. “Do they? Weird.”

“Juliet Jocelyn Robertson! Were you making out with Davis last night?”

Who else could it have been? And how in the hell did she guess that merely because my lips are puffy? Maybe I was sucking on a lemon this morning for all she knows.

I shrug, non-committed. “Maybe?”

Mia gasps. “Oh my god—I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“I knew you’d hit it off.” She fist pumps more than once, and as she’s about to do it a third time, I stop her.

“Please don’t. This isn’t Jersey Shore.”

Her arm goes down to her side. “Sorry.” She sidles up next to me, bumping our hips together, but lowering her voice. “I knew you’d hit it off.” Mia sighs. “It’s too bad he had to leave so early.”

I nod. “It’s too bad we all have to leave. Another day would have been fun.”

Fun. Enlightening.

Sexy, perhaps?

What would have happened with Davis if we’d all stayed one more day?

Distracted, my best friend begins plucking fruit from the serving platter and placing it onto her plate one by one, inspecting each and every strawberry.

“So, um, about that.”

I keep putting food on my plate, and dare I say, I detect a little reluctance in her tone?