Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Emerson
I let out a long, low whistle as I walk into the suite. Twila entered first, holding the door for me as I tugged our suitcases inside, and she steps up beside me now, looking around with the same wide-eyed wonder. The suite is nice. Like, really nice.
There’s a seating area with four chairs around a low table next to a small kitchenette that bears a coffee maker, a sink, a microwave, and a mini fridge.
To the left is a full living room with a couch, a loveseat, and a giant television hanging on the wall.
There’s a door on either side of the large common area that I assume lead to the bedrooms, but it’s the long wall of windows that captures my attention. Twila’s too.
Leaving the bags, I move toward the windows, and she moves with me, both of us silent. The whole strip stretches out in front of us in what will be a magical view tonight when the neon lights flare to life.
“Wow,” Twila breathes, and I nod.
“Ditto.”
She chuckles at that, and I glance over at her with a questioning expression. She shakes her head, but the smile remains.
“My friend Joey has a thing for using movie quotes in everyday conversation. She would’ve said “ditto” right now, too.”
“ Ghost? ” I ask, and her smile widens as she nods.
God, that smile. It’s like magic and sunshine and a warm summer breeze blowing in off the ocean.
“Do you want to head down to the pool for a swim?” she asks, and I snap out of my musings.
“Yeah, that actually sounds great after the drive.” I turn my back to the view and look from left to right. “Which room do you want?”
“I don’t care. This one, I guess,” she says, pointing to the right.
“Sounds good,” I say, as we walk back to our suitcases.
Without another word, we roll our luggage to our respective rooms. After I use the bathroom and wash my hands and face, I open my suitcase and pull out my toiletry bag, as well as my swim trunks and a sleeveless shirt.
After changing, I swipe on a fresh coat of deodorant and spritz on some cologne.
The spray is overkill, especially since I’ll cover the scent with sunscreen and chlorine from the pool, but fuck, I’ll smell good in the meantime.
My preparations took all of three minutes, and I know Twila will need more time, so I grab my phone to look at the footage I shot today. A few clips of the beige scenery on the drive up. The thermometer in Baker. A shot of the strip.
Then there’s the video of me, talking to the camera about how I’d arrived at the hotel and was nervously waiting for my crush to arrive.
My muscles tighten as I remember the moment I felt her presence.
A strange chill rolled down my back as the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood up.
I can see it in the video. The way my words stumble to an abrupt halt. My head jerks up and my eyes widen.
Then, I smile.
There was no acting. No embellishment.
That was as honest a reaction as there ever was.
The video cuts off abruptly, and holy shit, it’s perfect. I couldn’t have scripted a better ending if I tried. Opening BingBang, I cobble the videos together and add some music at a low volume. Watching it all together, I’m happy with the result, so I post it, making sure to tag Twila.
Grinning, I grab my flip-flops from the suitcase and drop them to the floor so I can slip my feet into them.
Then, I head out to the common area to wait for Twila.
I’m enjoying the view of the crowded strip when I hear her door slide open.
Turning toward her, any words I might’ve said die on my lips at the first sight of her.
She looks like a vision in a teal bikini that makes her tanned skin glow. A white sarong covers her from low on her waist to mid-thigh, and my mouth waters at the thought of her taking it off to reveal more skin out in the bright Nevada sunshine.
“Emerson, your video is perfection,” she gushes, apparently not noticing my stunned silence. Her smile turns into an adorable pout as she goes on. “I’m so mad I didn’t get a reaction shot of seeing you for the first time like you did. It’s so good.”
“Thanks,” I say, finding my voice, at last.
“Here’s mine,” she says, approaching with her phone gripped in her hand.
It’s incredibly similar to mine, but her last shot is of the strip. It needs a better ending.
“I guess I could fake a reaction in the lobby,” she says, her tone revealing she doesn’t particularly like the idea.
“What if you get a shot of your hand slipping into mine?” I ask, the idea coming to me suddenly. “We could film it in the hall.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s a good idea.”
“I do have those every once in a while,” I say with false offense, and she giggles.
“You have all the best ideas,” she says quietly, and pride swells in my chest.
“You ready to go?” I croak, then clear my throat.
“Yeah,” she says, motioning to the large bag hanging on one shoulder. “I have sunblock, some water bottles, and my sunglasses. Oh, and the room key. Do you need to add anything?”
“I didn’t bring any sunblock,” I say. “I forgot.”
“It’s okay. You can use mine.”
“Thanks,” I say, dropping my sunglasses and phone into the bag as she holds it open.
We step out into the hall, which is well-lit enough for Twila to film the ending of her video.
After a brief discussion, she films a couple of seconds of my outstretched hand before slowly slipping her palm against mine and twining our fingers together.
We squeeze tightly, making our knuckles white with the effort before she ends the shot.
I watch over her shoulder as she reviews it, and my mind wanders away from the technical aspects as I muse over how good our hands look together. How warm her palm was against mine. How my heart skipped a beat despite the preparation and planning we put into the move.
“It looks good, right?” she asks, and I snap back to the present.
“Yeah. Really good,” I murmur.
She smiles and takes a couple of minutes to add the video to the ones of her drive up. She adds music and some text overlay about her excitement. She shows me the final product, and I give her an approving nod. Her grin widens as she tags me and posts it to BingBang.
Closing the app and dropping her phone into the bag, she meets my eyes. “Ready?”
“Yeah,” I say, then we fall into step beside each other as we head for the bank of elevators.
And, God, it’s a battle to keep my hand from slipping back into hers.
I’m fighting so hard against it, I almost jerk away when she takes the lead and slides her hand into mine. I glance over at her, and she shrugs.
“Just in case, right?” she asks. “We could be seen, and we need to keep up appearances.”
“Right,” I say, unable to stop my fingers from tightening around hers. “Appearances.”
I don’t remember much about the journey down to the pool. My entire focus remains on our hands knotted together and the way it makes me feel. When we suddenly emerge out into the hot, dry air, it’s a bit of a shock. I don’t know how we got here.
We find two lounge chairs in the shade of a large umbrella, and Twila saves them while I jog over to the towel rack to grab two for us.
When I get back, she has a bottle of spray sunscreen in her hand and she’s untying the swath of white cloth around her waist with the other.
I swallow thickly as I watch all that skin reveal itself, and I have to look away to regain my equilibrium.
“Can you do my back?” she asks, and I fight to keep a neutral expression as I nod and take the bottle from her.
She spins around to give me her back. Her long hair is tied up into a braided bun, so I lift the can and spray her from her shoulders to the waistband of her tiny bikini bottoms. Lifting the can over her shoulder, I wait for her to take it, hold my breath, and press my palms to her back.
I keep my gaze locked elsewhere as I quickly rub in the spray, because if I watch my hands rove over her soft skin, I’m going to embarrass myself.
My trunks aren’t tight, but they definitely wouldn’t hide anything if I popped a boner. Fuck, that would be creepy as hell, wouldn’t it?
I’m no creep, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.
I quickly finish rubbing it in, and she thanks me before spraying the rest of her exposed skin.
I stretch out on my lounge chair, keeping my eyes on the sparkling pool before me while trying not to imagine what Twila’s doing on the chair next to me.
“Want me to do you?”
I was concentrating so hard on the water, her voice startles me. My head jerks her way, and she’s holding up the can of sunscreen and wiggling it in my direction.
Fuck no.
“I’m good for now,” I say, proud that my voice only sounds the tiniest bit strangled.
If she puts her hands on me, it’s over. I’ll get hard in an instant, she’ll be disgusted, and this weekend away will end before it even starts.
“I’m going to cool off,” I say a bit too loudly.
Jumping to my feet, I rip my shirt over my head and drop it to the chair. Without even a glance at Twila, I jump into the water and dunk under, swimming to the far side of the pool without coming up for air.
When I think I’ve got my urges under control, I swim back to the other side and prop my elbows on the edge of the pool in front of Twila.
“You should come in. The water is perfect,” I say, and she smiles before rising from her chair.
She jumps in, feet first, next to me. When she surfaces, she’s wearing an evil grin.
Before I can move to protect myself, she splashes me in the face and turns to swim away.
My hand shoots out and brushes against her ankle, but she slips away before I can get a good grip.
Laughing, I swim after her. My long strokes eat up the distance in a second, and she squeals as I grab her ankle and drag her backward.
She twists in the water with a laugh and splashes me again, but my grip doesn’t loosen. I manage to get my arms around her waist, then I lift her and fall backward, dunking us both. She comes up sputtering, but wastes no time jumping on me, pushing my shoulders down to dunk me again.
We play until we’re both worn out, then we leave the pool to stretch out on our chairs to dry in the warm Vegas air. I offer to move her chair into the sun, but she declines, saying she doesn’t want to burn. After another half-hour, my stomach starts to grumble.
Twila must hear it, because she looks over at me and smiles. “I’m starving. Should we go up and get showered and changed? We can have an early dinner.”
“Sounds perfect.” I shoot her a grateful look.
“Let’s go,” she says, hopping up and retying her sarong around her hips.
Damn, she looks good.
This weekend just got started, and I’m already in so much trouble.