Triplets Make Five

“Looks like we’ll be having a sleepover,” I teased.

“Nice try,” she said coolly, her eyes flashing up at me.

“What’s the supposed to mean?” I frowned. I walked across the room to the wet bar and I pulled open the glass door to the wine fridge, flooding the floor with blue light. I bent down, selecting a fresh bottle of Pinot Grigio, and then I grabbed two glasses and a corkscrew and walked back towards the couch.

“Come on,” Daisy said, keeping her eyes tilted up at me, “I’m not an idiot. You’ve been flirting with me all night.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, plopping onto the couch beside her. I started working at the foil wrapper on the wine bottle’s neck as she watched from her spot on the couch.

“Really?” she eyed me doubtfully. “Pressing up against me when we walked in the door? Brushing your knee against mine during the movie? All those little glances and smiles?”

She wasn’t wrong. Instead of making excuses, I offered a coy smile.

“And now this?” she gestured to the wine bottle in my hands.

“I figured we could enjoy a glass of wine while we wait for that phone call,” I shrugged innocently. “They don’t seem to be in any hurry.”

“Mr. Preston,” she snapped, “This little routine might work on other girls, but if you think you can charm your way into my pants with your flashy apartment and expensive wine…”

“Are you saying I’m not charming?” I glanced up at her, and her eyes flashed.

I stabbed the screw into the cork and started twisting, as I saw the resolve on her face soften.

“I’m saying that your charms won’t work on me,” she said firmly.

“Really?” I asked. I pried the cork out of the bottle and it made a gentle pop. Then I reached for one of the glasses and carefully poured the wine, watching it splash as it filled the glass.

I offered the glass to her, but when she reached for it, I pulled it away.

“Let’s not pretend that we don’t already know what I do to you,” I whispered, holding the glass out of her reach as she leaned towards me.

“What are you talking about?” she gulped, her eyes finding mine.

“I felt the way your body reacted to mine,” I said softly. “I felt the way I made your heart race and your blood rush…”

“You surprised me,” she insisted, but the slight tremor in her voice told me that even she doesn’t believe what she was saying. “That’s all.”

“You didn’t pull away,” I reminded her.

“I was just…”

“What?”

She shook her head, and when she reached forward for the wine glass I didn’t stop her from taking it. I watched her take a long, anguished sip before pouring myself a glass.

“Nothing is happening between us,” she said firmly.

“Fine,” I said. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you didn’t feel anything when your body touched mine.”

“I don’t have to explain myself,” she protested, but her voice was more strained than firm.

I closed the distance between us on the couch, and my knee brushed against hers.

“Then tell me to stop,” I challenged.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tell you to stop,” she replied breathlessly, and I smiled because that was exactly what I wanted to hear. I took a sip of wine, then I set my glass on the table.

As I brought my hand back up, I let my open palm catch on her knee, wrapping around her bare skin under the hem of her pencil skirt. She didn’t move away.