Brendon, completely unaware of her inner turmoil, smiled smugly and stood. “I don’t know. Looks like some pretty stellar chemistry to me.”
He rapped his knuckles against the back of the couch and returned to his seat next to Annie, who curled into his side as soon as he sat down.
Stellar chemistry? Margot’s jaw ticked as she leaned forward, fishing her phone out of her pocket.
Maybe Luke had perfect hair and perfect teeth and a perfect job, all points in his favor, but he had questionable taste in beer, and Margot would be damned if she let some Ryan Gosling look-alike mess up what she did have with Olivia. It might not be everything Margot wanted, everything she craved, everything her greedy heart desired, but it was something.
And something with Olivia Grant would always be better than nothing.
Margot rested the mouth of her beer bottle against her bottom lip and swiped at her screen.
Margot （11:03 p.m.）： What’s my record, four?
Margot pressed her phone against her thigh, screen side down, and feigned interest in the conversation happening around her. Jian was telling a story about something that had happened at work, lightly roasting Brendon, who took it like a champ, laughing along with everyone else. Margot laughed when everyone else laughed, nodded when everyone nodded, not really paying attention, instead glancing at Olivia surreptitiously from the corner of her eye.
Olivia wiggled her phone free from her pocket and looked at the screen, eyes briefly flitting up, glancing Margot’s way. Margot sipped her beer and pretended to be engrossed in the story. Her phone buzzed against her thigh.
Olivia （11:05 p.m.）： Record for what?
Margot’s lips twitched.
Margot （11:06 p.m.）： Times I made you come in one night.
Across the deck, Olivia fumbled her phone, dropping it against the couch. Margot bit her lip, swallowing a laugh as Luke reached for it, handing it to her without looking at the screen. Olivia’s face had turned a violent shade of red, her flush spreading down her jaw. Margot typed quickly.
Margot （11:07 p.m.）： God, you’re pretty when you blush. The best part is how you turn the sweetest shade of pink all the way down to your pussy.
Olivia must’ve swallowed funny because she started to cough.
“You should drink something, Liv,” she said, biting the inside of her cheek when Olivia leveled her with a heated stare. Firelight caught on Olivia’s blond lashes each time she blinked and turned the gold of her hazel eyes into a warm, cinnamon honey, only a thin ring of green hugging her blown pupils.
“I’m fine,” Olivia gasped, waving Luke off when he tried to offer her his beer, barely even looking at him. A flicker of satisfaction flared inside Margot’s chest.
A minute later Margot’s phone vibrated.
Olivia （11:09 p.m.）： Not fair.
Margot （11:10 p.m.）： How am I not being fair?
Margot （11:11 p.m.）： Am I turning you on or something? Making you think about last night?
Margot （11:11 p.m.）： Because I’m thinking about it.
Margot （11:12 p.m.）： You sound so sweet when you’re begging me to let you come. When you’re begging me to fuck you a little bit harder.
Margot （11:12 p.m.）： I promise I’ll be so fair, Liv.
Even across the patio, several feet away, it was obvious how Olivia’s hands shook when she typed. How her throat jerked convulsively with each swallow. How her blush had yet to abate, how if anything, it had deepened into a scarlet flush. Olivia’s tongue swept out against her full bottom lip, wetting it, and Margot had never wanted to bite something so badly in her life that she ached.
All the noise around her—the conversations, the laughter, the popping and cracking of the wood in the firepit—faded into the background when Olivia’s eyes lifted and locked on Margot’s face across the deck, expression intense and inscrutable, a precursor to the text that vibrated against Margot’s thigh.
With great reluctance, Margot tore her eyes from Olivia’s and looked at her screen.
Olivia （11:13 p.m.）： Is it later yet?
Staring directly at Olivia, unwilling to even blink and miss one of the micro-expressions that flitted across her pretty, flushed face, Margot tipped her beer back and drained what remained in one swallow. Neck of the bottle dangling from her fingers, she stood and addressed the group at large. “I hate to be a party poop, but I’m going to call it a night.”
Everyone wished her a good night’s sleep, the conversation winding down as others expressed their desire to hit the hay and wake up bright and early to hit the slopes.