Frankie smirked. “You might change your mind if you looked in a mirror.”
I glared in his direction, well aware of the state I must have been in. I knew what a night out did to the undersides of my eyes—I wasn’t twenty-one anymore. Not to mention Natalia’s makeup wipes were fucking scented, and I could feel the dry layer of skin begging for the expensive serums I had back at her apartment.
“I can’t keep track of names. I just call every woman I seduce into wearing my socks by the state I found her in.”
“So you should be calling me drunk and desperate, obviously,” I said, scoffing.
The corner of Frankie’s mouth lifted. He was pushing willfully at every button I had, trying to wear me down. “I’ve yet to see desperate,” he said with an edge. “I’m looking forward to seeing desperate.”
I choked up a condescending laugh that died on my tongue too quickly. It sounded more like a breathless grunt, further fueling the heat in my cheeks and neck as I found a place that wasn’t Frankie’s eyes or the outline of his dick to focus on.
“Okay then…O.” His grin turned toothy, fueling the tension. “Who were you riding in your dream?”
“No one. I was not having a fucking wet dream.”
“Those little noises you make put Tally’s to shame.”
I dismissed him. “You’re hearing things.”
“Right.” His snide smile dialed up to ten. “So…” He leaned over, the leather of the couch creaking beneath his shoulder in the otherwise quiet room. He ran a soft trail up the inside of my exposed calf with his fingers. “If I touched your pussy right now, would I find out that you’re lying to me?”
It was futile to hide the shock in my face, or the hitch in my breath. I had never met a man so outright unashamed.
“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“I wouldn’t dare.” Frankie kept his hand on my leg, drawing little circles with his thumb that reignited the thrum I felt elsewhere. “You know, avoidance is akin to admission,” he said. “Women that lied to me used to end up with their sweet little ass over my knee.”
I tilted my head, snorting complaisantly. It seemed like every reaction was lost in the delivery though; he was getting under my skin well and thoroughly. It was irking me even more that he absolutely knew it, too. As if he wasn’t chomping at the bit just as much. If he wanted to make a game out of fucking with me, it was only fair I played defense.
I sat up on my knees, discarding the comforter on the way and dropping onto all fours. Frankie’s eyebrow quirked, his pink tongue peeking out between his parted lips at my new position. I crawled toward him across the short gap and puckered my lips to his ear. This close, I could feel the sharp intake of his breath.
“Too bad I’m not a little girl, Francesco,” I whispered, licking a teasing trail up the shell of his ear.
Frankie adjusted himself with the heel of his palm, tugging his pants away from his crotch. He wasn’t the nearest bit subtle about it, and if anything, I’d sabotaged myself—that gesture further stirring the pressure between my legs. I wanted him to ache, but the feeling was unsatisfyingly mutual.
“You’re a sadist,” Frankie groaned.
“I’m starting to think so, too,” I agreed.
“I’m going to go shower then and take care of this.” He vaguely gestured to his dick, creasing a line in the fabric of his pants as he stood. “I’ll leave the door unlocked for you, O.”
“Don’t flatter yourself!”
I was hungover and sticky in all places a person shouldn’t, and wouldn’t, ever want to be. I ached for a toothbrush and some hot water to wash away the night before. There was glitter stuck to my fingers when I rubbed my face, which could only mean there was glitter in several other unappetizing areas of my body that would take the remainder of the trip to remove. And now that I was very much awake—thanks to Frankie and the visions of what he was currently doing in his shower—I needed some fresh air at the very least.
I stumbled across the house on my tiptoes. Now lighter than at midnight, it was easier to familiarize myself with the rooms. The floorplan was open, with lots of closets for storage and neutral gray and beige paints with white trim. Simple, but well maintained. A laundry room with several types of detergent—impressive, and also unheard of. Shoe rack, durable end tables, a few framed photos on the mantle of the gas fireplace.
I picked up one that I recognized. A group of men, arms and beers slung over each other's shoulders, Frankie on one end next to the man I now knew as Mateo. Two others were on his right—dirty blonds, with a brotherly resemblance.
“I knew it.” I laughed to myself at the glossy photo I’d seen on his dating profile.
There wasn’t much down the hallway. Closed doors that I surmised were more storage closets. Further down there was another wider one I knew was Mateo and Nat’s. Then Frankie’s bedroom, and the bathroom next door where I could hear the soft stream of a shower head running.
In the living room a sliding glass door opened to a lush, green backyard, and I slipped out into the thick Floridian air.
It had to have been mid-morning, but my phone was dead and still stuffed between the couch cushions inside so I couldn’t check. I hovered a hand over my eyes like a shade; the sun was high and bright enough to burn my poor, overused retinas on impact. It was already too warm for Frankie’s sweater and socks I had on, even for December, and I had to laugh thinking about the people back home at that moment in Pine Ridge slogging through two feet of snow. It was like I was on a completely different planet, never mind just in a different state.
I took the socks off, walking around on the warm pavers that provided a significant patio space in the backyard. There was a stainless-steel grill to one end, right next to a beautiful six-seat wooden dining table with comfy cushioned chairs that I gave a squeeze as I walked by. Opposite that, a big, covered hot tub sat under an oversized turquoise blue hanging umbrella. The rest of the fenced-in backyard was landscaped in grass, so short and manicured it looked like it was rolled straight off a golfing green, and then a large shed in the far corner.
“Giving yourself a tour?”
I didn’t hear the sliding glass close behind me, but Frankie was standing quietly outside holding two hot mugs of coffee. He was fresh out of the shower in board shorts and no shirt, the curling ends of his hair damp and dripping at the nape of his neck. His skin was beautifully tan. A soft trail of hair swirled his belly button and disappeared beneath the peak of his boxers that made my throat feel like a desert floor.
“It’s really nice,” I complimented, taking the second mug from him as he came closer. “Not bad for two men, I gotta give it to you. You even have a hot tub.”
“We like nice things, too. It’s not an inherently feminine trait.”
“What do you do for work?”
“Cybersecurity.”