Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Igrabbed a spare blanket from the armoire, lighter now that I’d confided in Frasier. For the first time in months, I felt as if I could breathe. I might not know what my path forward was, but I was confident that Frasier would be by my side just as he’d been for the past year and a half.
And the fact that I’d verbalized that I was feeling stuck, not just to Georgia but now to Frasier too, had released something in me. It was as if I’d taken that first step to unclog a plugged drain. I knew that things might only start flowing slowly at first, but at least they’d be moving.
I wandered over to the dresser where I spotted a gift bag with Allie and Kit’s monogram on it. Inside, I found a tube of luxury sunscreen, some aloe vera, and a box of condoms. Leave it to Allie to put condoms in the welcome bag for her wedding party.
I returned everything to the bag then went to the double doors, letting the salt air caress my skin.
The ocean waves crashed along the shore, and I peered up at the sky, enjoying the view of the stars.
I’d taken a long, hot shower, and I was puttering about the room while Frasier took his turn in the bathroom.
Most people would be thrilled by the room upgrade. The huge bathroom. The privacy. The view. It was incredible. And maybe I would’ve been, under different circumstances.
But I’d reserved a suite with two separate beds. In two separate rooms. Not…I glanced around and let out a heavy sigh. A romantic bungalow with a hot tub. And a freaking king-sized bed with a canopy.
I dragged a hand down my face. I’m in an only-one-bed situation with my best friend.
It was like a scene straight out of one of Meghan Hart or Penelope Glass’s romance novels.
Though, if we were in one of their novels, Frasier would exit the bathroom wearing only a towel, steam billowing out around him. I swallowed thickly at the idea. I was trying really hard not to imagine Frasier in a towel, droplets of water running down the defined ridges of his chest.
We’re friends. Just friends.
And friends did not imagine their friends naked in the shower. So I didn’t think about that as I lifted my hair off my neck and fanned myself. Nor did I think about the fact that we’d be sleeping in the same room, even if I insisted on taking the couch.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. I’d really screwed up this time. If I’d just confessed to Allie before the wedding, Frasier and I wouldn’t even be in this situation.
I appreciated that Allie was supportive of my—albeit fake—relationship with Frasier.
I was touched that she’d taken time out of her busy schedule to do something nice for me by upgrading this room.
But I also couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it than sheer enthusiasm.
If, deep down, she was relieved. Relieved that she wouldn’t have to worry about me and my feelings on her wedding day now that I was in a new relationship.
Or worse, a desire to not have my sadness dampen her celebration.
I tucked the spare sheets around the couch, laying a blanket on top. When the water switched off, I hopped under the covers, quickly closing my eyes and trying to pretend I was asleep. Trying to pretend I hadn’t been thinking about my friend and what he looked like naked.
The idea that he might somehow know that I was imagining him naked was even more uncomfortable than the couch I was currently lying on. Still…I was going to try. It wasn’t Frasier’s fault that my sister thought we were dating and should be upgraded to a romantic bungalow.
I heard the door to the bathroom open. A moment later, his dark chuckle threaded through the night air, curling low and deep in my belly. I rubbed my thighs together as if to ease the ache building there, squeezing my eyes shut tighter still.
“Bryn,” he rasped. “You better get your ass in bed.”
My entire body went taut as a violin string at the command, the power in his tone. Even so, I tried to remain as still as possible, hoping he’d believe I’d fallen asleep.
I guessed that was too much to ask because the next thing I knew, Frasier was scooping me up off the couch as if I weighed nothing. I flailed around in my blankets, completely caught off guard. But his grip was firm. Unrelenting. A bit like the man holding me.
“Put me down,” I hissed.
“Hold still,” he bit out.
I blinked a few times at his commanding tone. He’d never spoken to me like that. Never taken that tone with me. It was…kinda hot.
He shifted so he was cradling me, and that was so much worse.
His body was so warm—warm enough for me to feel the heat from his bare chest through the layers of blankets I was wrapped in.
And he smelled so good, like cedar and citrus.
If I closed my eyes, I imagined being wrapped up in his arms in a cedar A-frame cabin, eating orange slices together as we looked out over the snow.
There’d be a Christmas tree in the background and music playing softly.
Where did that come from?
Frasier crossed the room, dumping me unceremoniously on the bed. I let out a surprised oomph. I was wrapped in blankets, swaddled like a baby. And there he was, looking hotter than he had any right to.
Shirtless. Hands on his hips. Athletic shorts sitting low on his waist. I could see the outline of every muscle, every… Oh god. I shivered.
I felt completely off-kilter. Something about his stern, controlling demeanor and those blue eyes glittering in the dim lighting was doing it for me. Oh boy, was it ever.
I was only just beginning to realize that our friendship might not be the same after this trip. Hell, it was already affecting our relationship.
I liked seeing this different side to him. And this sexy/stern combo was turning out to be my kryptonite.
I writhed and thrashed, fighting my way out of the blankets like a caterpillar emerging from its cocoon. Finally, breathless, I flopped back on the bed, chest heaving.
His jaw clenched. “The fuck are you wearing?”
I glanced down at myself and shrugged. “PJs.”
I’d packed this silky matching short and camisole set, expecting to sleep alone. I’d anticipated having a room all to myself.
So much for using my toys. I sighed. Not that they were all that satisfying. I missed the connection that came from sex as much as the pleasure.
Frasier pinched the bridge of his nose before looking down and away. The next thing I knew, a T-shirt was sailing toward me.
“Put. It. On.” His voice was tight, almost pained.
I would not be bossed around. I’d had enough of my family trying to tell me what I should do or thinking they knew what was best for me.
Hell, strangers on the internet loved to dissect my life and my choices.
Frasier was my friend, and I respected him.
But I also wasn’t going to be pushed around by him—or anyone.
Besides, he was being ridiculous. So I threw it back at him—hard. “You put it on.” If anything, he had on even less clothing than me.
His eyes met mine. “Bryn.”
“Make me,” I huffed.
Over the past year and a half, Frasier had become my best friend. But that was not how he was looking at me now. And I knew that wasn’t how I was looking at him either.
He looked downright pissed. And the exhaustion from the day coupled with the absurdity of the situation had emotion bubbling up inside me until I burst into a fit of laughter. Which only made Frasier’s glare deepen. And me laugh even harder.
“Oh, come on, Bear,” I teased. I got on my knees, righting my silky pajama tank. His eyes darted to my chest then to the ceiling. “Relax a little.” I planted my hands on his shoulders—both to steady myself and to get him to lighten up.
Once I was more stable, I released him, and he took a step back. He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. He was too uptight. Too in his head. We both were after a long day of travel and then the situation with us sharing a room. And I knew exactly what I needed to do.
I grabbed a pillow from the bed and lobbed it at his chest.
His nostrils flared. And somehow, even that was a turn-on. Or maybe getting a rise out of Frasier was the turn-on. I wasn’t exactly sure. But the sight of him, standing there in only his athletic shorts… My eyes lifted to his glorious chest and shoulders...the tats that wrapped around his ribs.
And my god, those abs.
I’d seen him shirtless plenty of times. But his muscles seemed even more defined. Or maybe I was just horny. Okay. Maybe both. But Frasier was undeniably hot.
I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I liked that he was a little unhinged. All goalies were. You had to be to stand in a net and watch as a frozen disk of rubber came flying at you at insane speeds, willingly putting your body into its path.
I picked up another pillow, unable to stop myself. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had this much fun.
“You sure you want to do that, angel?” He arched one eyebrow, and my knees wobbled. His tone. That endearment. The way he was looking at me…
It made me want to challenge him, to push back. Something sparked inside me, and I felt more…alive than I had in a while.
Bring it on.
I grinned and then launched myself off the bed, ready to smack him with the pillow. But he was too fast. Of course, he was. The man was one of the best goalies in the league. The reflexes he’d honed from years of drills and training were unreal. But that didn’t make it any less fun.
He grabbed me around the waist, tossing me back on the bed. “Now, stay.” He dusted off his hands as if that was the end of it. As if I would just do exactly what he’d told me to.
Ha! As if.
If anything, his words made me even more determined to defy him. I’d never liked being told what to do.
When I moved to get up, Frasier pounced. He braced his body over mine, hands pressed to the mattress on either side of me. “Bryn,” he growled, breath coasting over my nose, my lips. Minty. Fresh. Warm. “Stay.”