Christmas in Coconut Creek (Dirty Delta, #1)(38)

I hid a laugh behind my fist and looked down at the two women working at our feet. One thing I'd always loved about Natalia was her unhinged transparency. Nothing seemed to make her blush or cringe. Growing up surrounded by three other hard-headed, outspoken sisters seemed to have done that to her. At home she constantly battled for attention, but in the real world that brazen confidence got her everything and anything she wanted.

My phone vibrated and I slid it open to read a new text from Frankie.



Frankie <3: What’s your favorite color?

Ophelia: Like an aqua blue, turquoise-ish

Frankie <3: ish?

Ophelia: Why does it matter?

Frankie <3: Curiosity

Ophelia: What’s yours?

Frankie <3: Green-ish





I made a humored noise that earned a flashing glance from the woman painting my nails.



Frankie <3: How many siblings do you have?

Ophelia: Aren’t you a little old for Twenty Questions?

Frankie <3: I didn’t peg you as an ageist, O. Is it not fun to do things that make you happy before you inevitably die?

Ophelia: An ageist and a cynic playing Twenty Questions sounds like the start to a terrible joke Frankie <3: Are you done, smartass?

Ophelia: For now. I have five younger half-siblings. My dad and his wife have Leo, and the twins Stella and Daisy, and then my mom and her husband have Gavin and Laila Frankie <3: Nice names. Leo is the oldest?

Ophelia: Yup, just turned fourteen. What about you?

Frankie <3: I have a younger sister, Addy Ophelia: Does she live in Coconut Creek too?

Frankie <3: She’s down near Miami with my mom





I felt an irking need to ask him more about his family, about the father he didn’t mention, but decided against prying too deeply. Nat reached over and put a bubbling champagne glass down next to me on the table with a wink and then reclined backwards.



Ophelia: Do you visit a lot?

Frankie <3: I try to when I can. The last couple months have been kind of hectic Ophelia: Too busy trying to get laid in the airport Frankie <3: I’m playing the long game





The tension of home and work unfurled from my body and relaxation settled in with every minute as Nat and I glided across the spa from comfy chair to cushioned table.

The rough hands of a massage therapist pressed into my back like leaded weights, and I groaned involuntarily. Modesty was not the policy where beauty care was concerned, especially not in this high-end spa where it almost felt rude not to get naked. I was entirely too exposed with my tits squished underneath me against the linen-sheeted table and more than a healthy helping of my ass crack on display.

I’d gone to the same waxer for ten years back home in Pine Ridge, and a level of trust had to be built and nurtured over that full decade before I even felt comfortable showing that much hole to a fluorescent light.



Ophelia: What’s your sign?

Frankie <3: Aries

Ophelia: I knew you were a drama queen

Frankie <3: Do you really buy into all that shit?

Ophelia: Of course I do. I’m a textbook Libra—social, perfectionist, and I’m hilarious Frankie <3: And vain, so very vain

Ophelia: Confident

Frankie <3: What else does the star thing say about me?

Ophelia: You’re passionate, stubborn, don’t mind putting work into your relationships Frankie <3: I’m not stubborn

Ophelia: You enjoy a challenge

Frankie <3: Accurate. What does it say about how I am in bed?

Ophelia: Disappointing, quick on the trigger, selfish





I snorted to myself as I sent the message. My face was becoming numb against the half-moon pillow it was cradled in, and my arms under the massage table tingled like television static.



Frankie <3: I’m gonna make you eat those words, sweetheart



I began to reply but another text came through first.



Frankie <3: And maybe those pretty red panties I stole too so your friend doesn’t have to hear it all the way down the hall





My phone slipped through my fingers and clattered to the hardwood beneath the table.

“Shit,” I swore, attempting to reach it without moving too much as the hands on my lower back stilled.

“You good, Phee?” Natalia asked from somewhere to my left.

I stretched my fingers as far as they would go to no avail. The text screen lit up and mocked me from a distance.

“I’m good,” I lied, then attempted to sit up so I could grab the phone myself before the masseuse did. In doing so, the very small towel covering my modesty pooled behind my knees and left me entirely, embarrassingly exposed in the small room.

“I’ve got it, ma’am,” the woman said, lifting the towel again to cover me.

“No, no, no. Don’t worry, don’t touch—thanks. Just leave it.” I chuckled nervously as I lay back down. “Distracting thing anyways. Don’t need it in the slightest.”



Our conversation continued well past the hours spent at the spa and bled into the next day. Frankie texted me from a Piggly Wiggly as Natalia and I sorted through racks of vintage clothes at a consignment shop across town.