“You’re my best friend. If we had sex, everything could change. I don’t want that.” I reach for his hand, but he moves it.
“You’re right. It would.”
I extend my arms for another hug, but Dax stands up, then abruptly walks to the top of the stairs. As he flicks the light off, I call out to him, “Good night, Daxon McGuire.”
He turns, hand on the banister, weight shifting from heel to toe as if he’s deciding something.
“I wish that…” He doesn’t finish the thought.
“You wish what?” I suddenly need to hear what he has to say.
Frowning, he bows his head. “Never mind. Night, Gems.”
I hear him descend the stairs. The clank, clank, clank as he gets farther and farther away. In a moment, he’ll be gone—I panic.
“Wait!”
I scramble to my feet, flip on the light, and peer down the staircase just as Dax reaches the bottom. “Don’t go!”
“It’s late, Gems. We both should get to bed.”
“You can’t go yet.” He can’t. Because Stuart. Because he never did finish that last thought. Because…
“Do you need something else?” he asks.
An excuse. A reason for him to stay.
“We never finished the spell.”
I descend the stairs with a composure and grace I didn’t know was in me.
“I know I stopped it before, but I really think we should complete it. Start tomorrow with a new leaf, right?”
His eyes flick to the door, but he nods. “If that’s what you want.”
I don’t have the birthday candle. Or the yarn, or even the chicken. “Maybe we just try picking up where we left off?”
There’s no need to explain which step that was.
Dax nods and steps toward me as I squeeze my eyes shut and wait.
This is a bad idea. This is a terrible idea. This is the worst idea I have ever had and—
Dax’s lips are on mine.
It’s a simple kiss. No tongue and he lingers for only a moment, but it’s nothing like I expected. His lips are velvet soft, and I catch a whiff of mint as he presses them to mine, and I am overcome with this strange sense that I’ve remembered something I didn’t know I’d forgotten.
“How’s the heart?” he whispers, his hands still cupping my chin.
I don’t know. It’s tired. It’s drunk. It’s worried everything is going to change.
“Still a little broken, I think.”
Dax doesn’t say a word. And even though my eyes are closed, I can sense that he’s still close. The solid, steady presence that’s been an anchor for the past four years of my life.
“Get some rest. I’ll call you in the morning.”
I feel him step away. When I finally open my eyes, Dax is already halfway across the room, reaching for my front door.
I’m left standing in my kitchen, wondering if I’m going to wake up tomorrow morning and regret all of it.
Chapter 4
Even before I open my eyes, I know that something is off.
It’s not the throbbing pain that stretches between my temples or the way my stomach churns unless I lay absolutely still. It’s the smell—AXE body spray and bacon—that alerts me to the fact that I am not in my own bed.
I crack open one eye, followed by the other. Sunlight streams in from a big bay window, illuminating a room that looks sparsely furnished on purpose. My naked butt is sprawled in the center of a California king covered in a cotton sheet so soft I estimate it took at least a thousand Egyptian threads to make it. It’s raining. No—someone is showering.
Despite my sour stomach, I manage to turn my head in the direction of the sound. It’s coming from behind a closed door. Most likely a bathroom. I deduce this just in time to hear the distinct sound of a shower being turned off. Then, with every available brain cell, I piece together the sounds of a shower door opening and closing. A towel being rubbed vigorously over a body. Then a lock being flipped, and a door handle turning. Oh fuck.
He emerges from a cloud of steam, like a cheesy sitcom fantasy scene. And I swear to god, I’ve never seen him before in my life.
“Oh hey, good. You’re up.” He rubs his still-wet black hair in a lazy way that conveys he’s not surprised to see me in his bed.
I assume this is his bed, as it is very much not mine.
What the hell happened last night?
I have a very fuzzy memory of diving into my bed. Then stumbling back downstairs. Then kissing Dax. Then nothing.
Holy hell, I kissed Dax.
I need to unpack that memory. Somewhere safe. When I’m able to really assess the carnage of that particular grenade on our friendship. Right now, I have more pressing problems. Like, this man is not Dax. And I have no idea where I am.
I take a second look at my surroundings. There’s a city outside the window. An early-morning sun peeking up over the horizon. And, yes, a semi-naked man at the end of the bed.
What did you do, Gemma?
My best guess is that I must have gone out, hit up a bar, and gone home with a stranger.
“I’m making breakfast,” the stranger says. “I know bacon is not your thing, but you don’t normally spend the night, so I wasn’t prepared.”
I’d be insulted that this rando has clearly mixed me up with another of his one-night-stands if I wasn’t still attempting to piece together what the hell I got up to last night.
And looking for the nearest exit.
And my pants.
And freaking the fuck out.
“That’s okay,” I respond like things are completely fine. “I am not hungry.” Just very confused and wondering what I’m gonna do next.
My stranger tosses the hand towel he was using on his hair onto the end of the bed and proceeds to open and close his dresser drawers, pulling out a pair of red boxer briefs and black dress socks.
My head is throbbing. My tongue feels like cheap velvet in my mouth. Although I really should be continuing to panic, or planning my escape, or something else much more logical, I’m waylaid as Horny Gemma takes over and instead, I pause to check the man out.
At least in my very inebriated state last night, I had the good sense to pick up a specimen.
His body is well muscled but lean in the right places. Great arms. Great abs. And judging from the curve of the white towel tied around his waist, great ass.
“You interested in some action before work?” He smirks, having caught me staring.
Before I have a chance to answer, he drops his towel.
And oh! Ohhhhh…My eyes drop low. He’s only half-hard and yet already pretty impressive.
He moves toward the bed, taking my ogling as acceptance of his invitation.
“I can’t.” I spring from the mattress with surprising agility, grabbing the very tiny hand towel in a pitiful attempt to cover up. “I…um…have a big meeting this morning and really need to get going.” It’s not entirely a lie, but it’s the least of my worries at this moment.