Mark’s lip twitches as he tries not to laugh.
I have to say, normally Tiffany is a fun neighbor to kick back with and have a few drinks, but she’s a stereotype of a stereotype.
Tonight, though, the edges of the world are fuzzy and my body’s full of adrenaline.
She’s still not my type, but that pitcher of margaritas is looking damn fine.
“Been a long day,” I say, rubbing my stubbled chin with my hand, then wincing. The knuckles ache from connecting with Blaine’s facial bones.
I grin at the memory.
“That’s better!” Tiffany giggles. “You look so fierce when you frown!”
“So fierce,” Mark mutters.
I glare at him.
“Like that!” Tiffany gushes.
“Smile, Drew,” Mark says with a laugh. His eyes dart from me to Tiffany, asking a pretty big question without saying a word. I shake my head no imperceptibly, except he catches it.
She doesn’t.
“Drew and I hang out all the time. You might call us pitcher buddies!” She shuffles into her apartment suddenly.
“You’re nailing her?” Mark asks under his breath as I grab his beer and finish it off. Suddenly, our serious conversation from before is so boring.
A door slams shut inside me.
Good. Let the demons pound on it from the inside. I’m done.
“No. She wishes.”
“She’s, um...”
“Well preserved.”
“You always were the one with tact.”
“If I’m tactful, you’re Miss Manners.”
He guffaws, the sound carrying on the blast of wind that pushes against my t-shirt, making me realize I’m sweating. One more shot and I’m close to snoozing out. I need to hold off.
I shouldn’t care.
An image of Lindsay in bed flashes through my blood, hot and coursing through me at a million miles an hour. Naked, wrapped in my arms, her sweet skin against me.
Hard. I’m hard in seconds. This day feels like emotional ping pong.
At the Olympics.
Tiffany re-appears, carrying a third glass, and she pours enormous drinks for the three of us, waving Mark and me over. “Come on! No one wants to drink alone. Especially with such intriguing men just a few feet away. Indulge me?” She gives us a duck face pout.
Mark shrugs and says, “Why not?”
I join them. As I sip my drink, I know I’ll regret it in the morning, but I don’t care.
I stopped caring the minute Lindsay disappeared with Gentian, who was following my orders, and didn’t say another word to me.
“Tiffany is one of my good friends,” I say, my body warm and the ocean night air some of the sweetest smelling breezes on the planet. Life is good. I have a place on the ocean, more money than I need, and I run a tight ship. A night here and there of relaxing and having fun should be a part of my life, right?
So why can’t I stop thinking about how Lindsay’s bare thighs felt in my lap earlier today?
“I am?” Tiffany says, leaning forward. Her top is basically two gold Band-Aids connected by gold string. “I didn’t know you felt that way, Drew.”
“Sure do, Lindsay,” I reply.
Her face freezes into a mask.
“Tiffany,” Mark says softly.
“Right. That’s what I said.” Didn’t I?
Mark raises one eyebrow. Tiffany smiles, but it’s a cold look.
“What do you do for a living, Mark?” she asks, her hand on his forearm, deciding to make him her target.
“Oh, you know. A little bit of everything.”
“Are you a personal trainer like Drew?”
Mark’s drink sprays everywhere. “Like Drew?” he chokes, avoiding my eyes, thumping his chest as he clears his airway.
I flex my arm and let my biceps bulge. Why not? I may not want to sleep with Tiffany, but at least she has a healthy appreciation for my presence.
Unlike some other women I know.
Tiffany squeezes my arm and sighs with delight. “Oooo. So strong.”
Mark starts gagging.
“Wow! You really swallowed wrong.”
He just laugh-chokes.
“I never swallow wrong,” she says to him with a wink.
I start laughing so hard I choke.
We’re a pair.
“You two are out of control!” she declares with a laugh, reaching up for the fakest stretch I’ve ever seen, showing off the fakest pair of breasts I’ve ever had in my face. They look like two cantaloupes stretched under a skin tarp. “I’m getting so tired,” she says as she pretends to yawn along with the stretch.
“Me, too,” Mark whispers. “Tired of Drew the personal trainer.”
“You guys could easily lift me, huh? Being men who work with their bodies for a living.”
I’m thinking Tiffany works with her body for a living, but in a very different way.
“What do you do for a living?” Mark asks, making conversation.
“I do camera work,” she says with a wink. He doesn’t ask any follow-up questions.
Smart man.