Christmas in Coconut Creek (Dirty Delta, #1)(15)
“Your boyfriend has terrible taste in friends.”
“Agreed.” Her laughter stopped.
“He’s a player.”
“Totally.”
“Misogynist.”
“Definitely.”
“He unmatched me because I was too much of a cock-tease.”
“Were you though?”
“Natalia!”
“Sorry!” She sighed, reaching over to pat the creasing green eyeshadow on my eyelid.
“Fucking shit. Why does he look so hot in those shorts?” I groaned.
Nat pressed her lips together to keep from grinning. Obviously she knew Frankie to a different degree than I did, but it didn’t change the fact that he played me for a quick ride on our shared flight, and I nearly fell for it. I didn’t even want to think about what it meant for the next three weeks that my host’s boyfriend was roommates and apparently best friends with the guy.
My mind raced with the hours-long conversation I’d had with Frankie. The comedic quips he gave about the military, his long-standing relationship with his roommate, the girlfriend who moaned like a ghost.
Oh my god.
“So, what are we gonna do?” Nat asked, tucking her long black hair behind her ear on one side and applying a new layer of red lipstick. I bit my tongue, recalling the way Frankie mockingly moaned next to me in the flight cabin.
“Right now?” I sighed, unwilling to let the night get away from us over a freak coincidence. “I’m going to go back out there and keep getting my drinks paid for until sexy Santa whose name I can’t remember—Lewis?”
“Lucas.”
“Lucas realizes I was never gonna let him take me home.”
“If I’m the meninist’s worst nightmare, you’re the photo they use on their dartboards.”
“As we should be.” I kissed her cheek and entwined our fingers. “Let’s go, Tally.”
Already, the wicked pinch of a hangover brewed behind my eyes, but I was way past the point of no return and opted for another sweet cocktail despite it. I’d rather black out and face the consequences than sober up before the rest of the party did and still end up bent over a toilet.
The bar must have run out of the coconuts, because when my new drink arrived it was in a plastic cup with noticeably less ice, and therefore warm all the way down my throat. I scrunched my nose and shrugged, taking several long swigs anyway.
“You move on fast.”
Fuck.
My eyes rolled involuntarily. I’d never forget the cocky drawl of that man’s voice for as long as I lived.
“Is that your type? Skater boy?”
I scoffed and took another long gulp, watching the way Frankie’s eyes roamed over my body head to toe as I did. Fine, let him look. It was satisfying to know he might lie awake at night kicking himself over the loss.
“He’s a little young, though,” Frankie commented, leaning his hip against the ledge of the bar. “Probably not a lot in his retirement fund.”
“And what’s your type, exactly?” I flicked the sign on his chest. “Walks and has a pussy?”
“There’s that smart mouth.” His gaze shifted down to my lips for a fraction of a second while he toyed with the string of yarn that held his booty-call sign. “Cap’s idea.”
“I’m starting to think you need ‘Cap’ to wipe your ass too,” I jabbed. “Maybe you should stop taking his advice on finding a woman to fuck you, because holy shit are you zero for two in one day.”
Frankie pouted as he checked the time on his watch. “All I’m hearing is that I still have an hour.”
“Good luck, soldier.” I saluted him and began to walk away, but he grabbed me tenderly under the arm and pulled me back.
“Hey—wait, wait, wait.”
My brow lifted skeptically, but I fell back into place.
Blame it on the alcohol. Definitely not the tall, dark-haired man with his bare chest nearly pressed to mine in the crowded club. Our breaths synchronized as I waited for him to say something, thinking he would take the time to apologize or explain himself. Instead his expression turned from contemplative to curious.
“What are you wearing?” He reached out to massage one of the fluffy white pom-poms hanging from my waist between his fingers, his knuckles brushing lightly against the material just below my bust.
“I know your game Frankie, don’t play cute.” I batted his hand away half-heartedly.
“You look surreal.”
“Oh, you like?” I played with the hem of my top. “This is my ‘get over the asshole from the airplane that unmatched me’ outfit.”
He averted his eyes, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “You noticed that?”
“Of course I fucking noticed that! I’m telling Nat about the guy I met on my flight, only to see you unmatched me thirty seconds after I walked out of the airport. I guess it wasn’t too much of a loss though. You probably wouldn’t even last that long in bed.”
“We could test it?” He shrugged.
“You could go fuck yourself.”
“I’m really trying to stop doing that so often. That’s kind of how we got into this mess in the first place.”
I blinked rapidly, nursing my expression from amused back to unimpressed. I wanted so badly to hate the man in front of me, but I was uncharacteristically smitten and unavoidably fucked.