25. Callie
CHAPTER 25
CALLIE
H ow did helping my elderly aunt get back to her room turn into this?
Miles eyes me, brows lifted in question. He doesn’t appear to be opposed. Maybe it would be easier to just kiss and get this over with so we can leave?
“Kiss her good, Max. I can tell you want to.”
I’m shaking my head in disbelief as Miles reaches for my hand. His eyes question me, and I respond with a small nod.
With a gentle touch, he lifts my chin and brings his mouth close to mine. “You okay with this?” he asks in a barely-audible whisper, his breath teasing my lips.
“Mm-hmm.” I nod once as he bends over me, tilting his head to one side, moving closer but not quite making contact.
I’m holding my breath, and my lips are tingling as he finally brushes against them. It’s the lightest of pressure, his mouth merely grazing mine, but then his grip on my chin turns possessive as he presses in for another taste.
My focus is on our mouths, but I’m also aware of the length of his body mere inches from mine, the scent of him, the warmth.
Miles. I’m kissing Miles. For a moment, he’s tangled in my head with his brother, but something about his kiss makes me suspect it’s uniquely his.
A stray thought skitters through my mind—wouldn’t it be interesting to compare their kisses?—but I chase it away.
My eyes have fluttered closed, and when Miles pulls back, I find myself standing there, wanting and hoping for more.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Aunt Iris stifles a big yawn, and I have to laugh, because that kiss was anything but boring.
“You two are going to make beautiful babies,” she says, and my eyes are wide open after that remark. “But not too soon,” she adds. “Have your fun first. Lots of fun.”
I need to help her get to bed, but I can’t pull my eyes away from Miles, and he’s looking right back at me, an expression in his gaze that’s new and intriguing.
The tips of his long fingers trail across my shoulder as he pulls back, taking something of me with him. I lean toward him, trying to be whole again.
“I really need to pee.” This loud declaration from Aunt Iris is exactly what I need to snap out of it.
Telling Miles to wait at the door, I walk her over to the bathroom. While she’s in there, I find a nightgown in her suitcase and offer it to her when she comes out.
“I’ll be fine from here, Callie. Thank you and your gentleman for helping me out.”
“You’re welcome, Aunt Iris. I’ll put a glass of water by your bed and we’ll show ourselves out.”
“Go have some fun, Callie. Live it up for me.”
That seems to be everyone’s message for me. Relax. Have fun. Don’t make things more complicated than they need to be.
Right now, the part of my brain ruled by hormones is telling me the same thing. It might tell me anything to get me kissing Miles again.
After we leave the suite, the shift in energy between us is palpable. Every part of me that gets within inches of him as we walk can feel him, almost as if I’m touching him.
I want to touch him, and I want him to touch me again.
When Max had his arms around me earlier, I felt warm and safe. With Miles, I feel needy and bothered.
At the elevator, I risk a glance at Miles, and find him watching me. Caught, he looks away, but his eyes quickly return. His gaze drops to my mouth, where I can still feel the press of his lips.
When people—mostly Ana—talked about me hooking up with one of the twins, I envisioned Max, not that I thought it would happen at all.
Max is funny and charming, bright as the sun. But now I realize Miles is every bit as appealing, in a subtle but possibly more potent way.
Neither of us says a word until we’re back in the room, where Max is waiting, his dress shirt open at the neck, his hair slightly rumpled as if he’s been lying down.
“How did the rest of the party go?”
My eyes dart to Miles before looking away. “I’ll let Miles tell you about it. I’m exhausted and want to get ready for bed.”
I find my pajamas—the set I packed, not the ones that Marissa added—and head into the bathroom, relieved to close the door behind me.
I can’t look at the men right now, not until I get my head straight.
I knew there was a good chance our dating ruse would require kissing. I didn’t anticipate enjoying it as much as I did.
I wonder what Miles is telling Max about it, because surely, he’d have to tell him as part of keeping their stories straight.
While I shower, I continually refocus my thoughts on anything except the gorgeous twins I’m about to sleep in the same room with, but my efforts aren’t very successful.
When I go back out, Miles isn’t there. “He went out to get ice,” Max explains.
I set out clothing for the yoga session I’ll be leading tomorrow morning, and then I look around the room for some sort of distraction. I don’t want to go to bed until Miles returns, and I don’t particularly want to make conversation with Max right now, because talking to him would require looking at him.
“I didn’t notice this door earlier.” I defeat my own goal of avoiding conversation, but the door takes me by surprise. “Connecting rooms make me nervous.”
Max seems unbothered. “Are you worried about noise or security?”
“Security.” Though, as I say it, I realize I’ll have not one, but two strong men in the room with me all night.
Max comes over and turns the deadbolt to the right, and then left again. “No one can get in, and if they could, I’d protect you.”
Miles returns then, the bucket of ice in hand, and I can’t quite meet his eyes. Instead, I focus on the duvet-covered elephant in the room.
“I feel guilty taking the bed,” I say. “I think the two of you should share it.”
In one of their coordinated twin movements, the men shake their heads in unison.
“You should sleep in the bed,” Miles says.
“The bed is all yours,” Max says. “Unless you want to share it with me?” He waggles an eyebrow, making it clear that he’s teasing. Before I can reject his suggestion, he says, “It’s probably best we don’t though, since you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off of me.”
And that’s all it takes for me to get an instant image of the two of us under that fluffy duvet, legs tangled, hands and mouths exploring…
Max turns toward his brother. “Miles, did I ever tell you about my first night out with Callie? She kept asking for dick pics.”
“I did not!”
“She was practically begging, even though I told her that wasn’t my style.”
“Oh my god!” I’m laughing, but now I’m also thinking about his dick. And his brother’s dick. And I have to sleep here in this room with them and try not to imagine them both naked.
“If you’re not going to take the bed, at least take the comforter. I’ll be warm enough with just the blanket.” I fold the cover down and hand it over to Max. “There are plenty of pillows to share, too.”
The men get their makeshift bed set up, most of the lights are off, and I’m ready to fall asleep—until Miles goes in to take a shower.
Sounds of the water spray immediately create mental images of that water hitting his hard, smooth muscles, sliding down over rippled abs, dripping down to powerful thighs, pooling at his bare feet.
I imagine him holding a bar of soap in his big hand, sudsing up his broad chest, bubbles sliding on rivulets of water, lower, lower…
I turn over, bunching up the pillow, trying to muffle the sounds, but my illicit thoughts persist.
Miles comes out, Max goes in, and I make the mistake of peeking through barely open eyes. Yep, Miles is shirtless, and I get a glimpse of several of those same muscles I just fantasized about. And wow, they’re even more impressive than I imagined.
He has so many hard-cut ab muscles, and such smooth, broad pecs. Something about the width of his strong shoulders has me imagining how easily he could pick me up and do whatever he’d like with me.
I turn over and try again for sleep, but of course, I have to look when I hear Max come out after his shower.
“Where are your shirts?” I wail, instantly regretting voicing my frustration out loud. I school my tone, trying to sound like I’m more concerned about their welfare. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable wearing shirts to sleep?”
“Would you be more comfortable if we wore shirts, Callie? Are all these muscles too distracting?”
I hate that Max reads me so well, though in this case, I wasn’t exactly being subtle.
“I just … want to make sure you’ll be warm enough.”
He chuckles as he pulls a white t-shirt over his head, and from where he’s standing, facing me, I swear he’s making a show of it.
He tosses a folded shirt to his brother. “Here, Miles, put this on so Callie isn’t drooling over us all night.”
I’m lying on my side, so I can’t see Miles, but my brain helpfully replays the image of Max pulling white cotton over tanned skin, the shirt somehow only emphasizing his size and strength.
“Goodnight, Callie.” Max’s tone is still playful.
“Goodnight.”
“‘Night, Callie.”
“Goodnight, Miles.”
I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. This is the weirdest, most frustrating sleepover party I’ve ever attended.