She scoffs. “I highly doubt that. I’m rarely wrong.”
“Well you were this time, and now things are awkward and—”
“Everything okay in there?” Ryan hollers from the other room.
“Is that Ryan?” Daisy asks. “Let me talk to him.”
“Hell. No. You’ve done enough. Goodbye.” I hang up on Daisy before she has a chance to argue and then turn the ringer off because I know she’ll try to call back, and I’m really not in the mood to talk to her.
Ryan walks toward me and crosses his arms over his chest. “You okay?”
“Peachy.” I toss my phone onto the counter, walk across the room, and yank open the blinds for the hundredth time to confirm that the roads are, in fact, still covered from the mini-blizzard that dumped nearly a foot of snow in four hours last night. There’s no possible way for me to make an escape.
Damnit.
I’m going to be stuck here for another night with these two, and I hate that I’m not excited about it. I haven’t gotten to spend a lot of one-on-one time with them lately, and I should be looking forward to it. Instead, I’m trying to figure out a way to leave early.
Something shifted between the three of us last night, something I can’t quite explain, and it all started with Daisy and that itty-bitty, red bikini she snuck into my bag.
I guess I can’t blame it all on the swimsuit because it also involved champagne at dinner, one too many shots of tequila, a hot tub, and a game of truth or dare gone horribly wrong. I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Daisy yesterday, but I’ll be damned if her words didn’t spark something inside of me—something I’d forced myself to repeatedly bury over the years.
Feelings.
Feelings I shouldn’t have because I know better than to lust over my best friends. Not only did we grow up together but our parents are also close. And let’s not forget that I’m the complete opposite of any woman the two of them have chased after. And when I say the two of them, I mean exactly that. Because Daisy was right. Ryan and Grant are notorious for sharing women, and it’s been that way for as long as I can remember.
But they’ve never shared me.
I’d thought that might change last night.
I was wrong.
With my inky black hair, small chest, and thighs thick enough to cause a rumble of thunder every time I walk, I’ve never been in the running. Everyone knows that Ryan and Grant are into blondes. Tall, leggy blondes with more ass than I’ve got cellulite, and racks that could impress e
ven the best plastic surgeon.
But I’m not jealous. Nope, not one bit. I’m proud of my body, and up until my little run-in with Ryan and Grant last night, not once has a man complained about my curves. Okay, my friends didn’t exactly complain last night either, but what else was I supposed to think?
We’d arrived at Lake Wapello Lodge, checked into our suite, cracked open a bottle of champagne over dinner, and I thought things were going well. They were flirting, I was flirting, and when we ended up in the hot tub with a bottle of tequila, I figured that maybe Daisy had been right.
They dared me to take off my top—something they did many times throughout our teenage years—and I had just enough alcohol in my system to say fuck it. I pulled the string and let the triangular flaps fall from my chest. What happened next can only be described as any girl’s worst nightmare.
Ryan sputtered, choking on his beer; Grant cursed and looked away; and a second later, they fled from the hot tub like nuns from a whorehouse.
I watched their tight asses run across the patio, and when they disappeared inside, I did what any respectable, confident woman would do. I finished off the entire bottle of tequila—topless—and then went to bed with Sergio, my trusty vibrator. And I wasn’t at all quiet about how well I enjoyed Sergio’s ministrations. Inevitably, I regretted that decision this morning. But I’m a big girl, I’ll own it.
“Would you quit checking the window and get your ass back in here?” Ryan says, walking back to the main room.
Daisy was right. This isn’t a hotel room. It’s like a mini house in the mountains. There are three full bedrooms and an open floor plan in the living area with a state of the art kitchen. A large, cozy couch and loveseat look out over floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase the gorgeous, snow-covered mountains. One would think the mountain view is the best part, but it’s not. The best part is the bathroom with its large, claw-foot tub and walk-in shower with not one, not two, but three showerheads.
I don’t even want to know how much Ryan and Grant paid for this suite.
“Emma,” Grant hollers. “Get over here.”
Swallowing, I shove my glasses up my nose and square my shoulders, preparing to face my friends head-on as though last night didn’t happen. Except when I turn around, I nearly stumble over my feet at the sight of the two men sitting in front of a roaring fire in nothing but faded jeans.
That’s right, ladies…sixteen chiseled abs taunting me, and there’s no way I can park my happy ass between them without melting into a big pile of goo or, worse yet, begging them to let me touch their washboard torsos.
Hell, no.