But it is to me.
For the first time, I’m genuinely happy that Chad was such an epic screwup. He’s going to make me shine brighter than I ever could have on my own.
“I’m going to say this, and you can take it however you want.” I force a swallow. “If we were actually married, I wouldn’t give a shit if we were fighting or not. It would have no bearing on my desire to get you naked and in bed as soon as humanly possible.”
If her cheeks were pink before, they’re red now.
She lifts her chin. “I don’t know how to take that either. So I’m just going to say thank you and then pretend you didn’t say it.”
She spins on her heel and heads toward her bedroom. I follow, because I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to do. I definitely don’t want Dottie coming in and finding me alone with a raging hard-on after just talking about sex with Sophie.
Sophie stops at the threshold of her room. I lean against the other wall and wait for her to tell me what to do. I hate it, not being in charge, but this is definitely a situation in which I need to let her call the shots.
At least some of them.
I watch her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and remember the sweet smell at the nape of her neck. The softness of the curve of her hip. What it felt like to have her in my arms.
The taste of her is still on my lips. As I lick them again, I realize I’m screwed. Sadly, not in a literal sense. But if I want to maintain any semblance of normalcy, I gotta get the hell away from her.
Now.
“I’ll go on upstairs,” I say, my voice squeezed by my need to resolve the explosion building in my core.
“What?”
“I said, I’ll go on up to my room.”
“Oh no. You can’t do that,” she insists, shaking her head. “What happens if Dottie goes up there and finds you in your room?”
I slow blink. “I’ll close the door. I’ll be quiet.”
She shakes her head harder in defiance. “I hate to tell you this, but you have to sleep in my room. On the floor,” she adds.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious. We can’t blow it now. If we do, what was the point of all this today?”
While sleeping on the floor in her room is not the best-case scenario, as she’s pointed out, it’s not the worst case either.
We’re both adults. Moreover, we’re friends. We can manage this.
I think.
“Okay. Fine. I’ll sleep on your floor,” I say.
“You can have the bed if you want it.”
“Right. Like I’m going to let you sleep on the floor.”
She shrugs as she opens the door. I follow her inside.
“Liv has way too much time on her hands,” I say, taking in the scene in front of me.
My bag has been moved from the room upstairs and placed on a chair by the door. There are four or five heart-shaped balloons in the corner. An ice bucket with a bottle of champagne sits by the bed, next to two long-stemmed glasses. It’s not the most romantic thing in the world I’ve ever seen, but it’s a lot for the time she had to work with.
“Well, this makes things awkward,” Sophie mutters.
She marches over to the champagne and pops the cork like an expert. She fills one glass most of the way. She takes little time in emptying it again.
It’s clear she’s amped up by this whole thing, and I can’t say I’m sorry. Knowing I’m not alone in my over- yet understimulation does help. There’s a bit of satisfaction in that, and right now, I’ll take all that I can get.
She holds a hand to her mouth to cover a belch as she looks at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say with a grin.
“Do you want a glass?”
“Nope. I think one of us needs to stay reasonable.”
“I’m reasonable.” She narrows her eyes before pouring herself another drink. “I don’t normally drink like this. Or ever. But since you came around, here I am.”
“I don’t think a lot of that has to do with me.” I take a couple of blankets off the end of her bed and spread one on a rug on the floor. The sooner we separate and get the light off, the better. “The first time had nothing to do with me, actually.”
She shrugs as if the point I’ve made is moot.
I take a pillow off her bed—one from the farthest side from the door—and plop it down on the blanket. She monitors my progress while downing the second glass of champagne.
The vibe in the room changes, as does the feeling between us. Instead of being playful and lighthearted, veins of uncertainty run amok. She feels it. It’s obvious when she goes for the champagne again.