Eventually, he pulled his hand away, breaking our stare. “I mean, pretend to think about.”
We returned to silence, now less than a foot apart. I followed the line of his arm, tracing the muscles with my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said, cutting into my thoughts.
“Why?”
“You got quiet. I took the joke too far.”
“Not at all.” Please touch me again. “This is weird, though, right?”
“Talking about our pretend sex life?”
“Yeah.” I smiled, despite my sexual frustration. “Unless you do this with all of your clients?”
“It’s more fun with you than the last guy.” His voice was back to normal, the smile evident in his words. “And you smell better.”
I punched him in the arm, and he feigned injury.
He added in a more serious tone, “You’re not just a client. I hope that’s clear. I . . .”
His fingers twitched, and I hoped he might touch me again, pull me to him, kiss me, but he kept his hand where it was, and he didn’t finish his sentence. That was the moment to tell him about the Best Life assignment and come clean, but I let his statement hang there too long, scared about what telling the truth would mean, how it would change things between us.
“For the record, you’re actually kind of great, Wes.”
The silence between us returned, filled with the things said and unsaid. The heat from his body and mine formed a cozy cocoon. After a moment of my admission hanging in the air, I glanced over, seeing his arm curled under his head and his eyes pointed to the ceiling.
“You’re pretty great, too, Britt.”
38
THE SUN SHINING through the window pulled me from a pleasant dream I couldn’t grasp the ends of, except for the memory of Britta’s smooth skin and how good she smelled. A light breeze moved through the room as the distant sounds of rustling leaves and chirping birds brought the morning into a slow focus. My eyes closed again as I took in the warmth surrounding me, before my eyelids flew open because her sweet smell and warm skin hadn’t been part of the dream. Britta’s soft breasts and stomach pressed against me, one leg hitched on mine and her arm draped across my midsection. Her head rested on my chest, hair coming loose from the scarf she’d used to wrap it, and I had an immediate sense of rightness with my arm settled around her.
I stroked my fingers over the soft skin of her back. It was a half-hearted attempt to wake her; I was sure she’d shift away at any moment, pulling her soft curves and body heat away from me.
Britta released a soft moan in her sleep, her breath warming my chest through my shirt as she shifted, not away but against me, her hand sliding lower on my stomach, fingertip just under the waistband of my shorts. The sensation was like being struck by a bolt of lightning and craving another.
My dick, hard as a rock, ached for her fingers, her body to move just a little more. I stared at the ceiling, mind racing with thoughts and decisions. She’s still a client and my friend; this is wrong.
Britta stirred again, her finger curling under the hem of my T-shirt.
I should move away from her before I can’t.
“Britta,” I whispered, a hint of desperation in my voice as I nudged her hand away from my shorts. I meant to rouse her enough to slip out of bed, maybe to take a walk down the hall toward a hopefully cold shower. Instead, I dragged my fingertips over the nape of her neck, not wanting to startle her. I stroked my thumb back and forth, repeating her name in a whisper. I wished I could reach her shoulder from this angle so I could kiss her there and wake her up, use that as a proxy for verbally admitting everything I felt.
We’d joked about our fake sex life, but I’d lain awake imagining being with her. My thoughts weren’t all pure, but I’d wondered if it might be okay to hope for something real with her, to imagine being her partner for Spades, and the guy who got to hold her hand for no reason, not just when Calvin was nearby.
She stirred again, her breath coming faster as she realized her surroundings. She looked at me, then down at how our bodies were aligned. Her cheeks reddened, and she was obviously embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I—”
“It’s okay.” Our eyes met, and her plump lips parted. I’d stared at those lips so many times, imagining how she’d taste, and how she’d sound murmuring my name. My free hand dropped to hers, the weight pressing her palm to the exposed skin of my stomach. I couldn’t stand the idea of missing her touch again, and I searched her wide brown eyes. “Don’t apologize.”