Chapter 21
Grayson
This woman, I swear to God.
I stand in the middle of the room for a full five seconds after Carly disappears into the bathroom and locks the door behind her like she's claiming the space permanently.
The shower turns on, and my jaw starts to ache from how hard I'm clenching it.
Steam starts slipping out under the door almost immediately, and I stare at the brass handle hard enough that, for one brief, deeply unhelpful moment, I entertain the idea of kicking it hard enough to open it anyway and reminding her exactly who she’s talking to when she calls me an ass in that tone.
Not my finest thought.
Also not a thought I should be having while standing six feet from the bed we just spent ten minutes arguing about when I can so easily move the image of her bare and soaking wet to the sheets.
I exhale sharply through my nose and force myself to step back.
I am not kicking down a bathroom door in my friend's ski lodge because Carly Drake has the mouth of a brat. Even if part of me would enjoy it.
I drag a hand down my face and force myself to think rationally.
Freshening up without access to the bathroom turns out to be an exercise in humiliation.
I find my toiletry bag, dig out deodorant, cologne, a comb, and spend the next few minutes doing the best I can with the mirror on the desk, making myself look and smell at least decently put together and like I didn't spend my morning half-sticky from Pen's maple syrup.
By the time I give up and head downstairs, I’m still annoyed, still too aware of her, and now also irritated that I’m the one leaving the room like some kind of exiled husband in an ad for a divorce lawyer.
The bar is warm and low-lit when I walk in, all dark wood and amber light and the expensive kind of quiet that makes everyone lower their voice without meaning to. The fire’s going in the stone hearth. A few people are scattered around the room, but the back corner is already claimed.
Cole sees me first and lifts his glass. “Look who survived check-in.”
I stop at the table. “Your room situation is bullshit,” I mumble, ignoring Cole entirely and glancing at Wade as I sit down beside Jackson.
“What?” Wade asks, his brow creasing.
Cole snorts immediately. “You already struggling, Gray?”
Jackson blinks at me. “What happened?”
A server appears at my elbow before I can elaborate.
I order a whiskey because I’ve earned it.
Cole’s got a club soda with lime in front of him, one I'm ninety-nine percent sure has nothing else in it because we'd be having a very different evening if it did.
Jackson is already halfway through a beer, and Wade has what looks like bourbon.
“You put Carly and me in a room with one bed,” I say.
Wade blinks.
Jackson glances between us. “Wait. One room? Is that an issue?”
“One room.”
“With one bed?” Cole asks, his mouth already grinning.
“Yes,” I mutter.
The laughter that bursts out of him is loud enough to cut through the entire room like a lightning bolt. He beams like it's the best thing he's heard all day, and I've never wanted to punch him more in my entire life.
I stare at him. “You done?”
“Absolutely not,” he says, still grinning.
Wade is looking at me like he’s trying to work out the last thirty seconds in his head. “Wait, I thought you two were together.”
Jackson’s brows go up. “Oh shit.”
“We are not together,” I say flatly.
Wade winces. “Fuck. Seriously?”
“Yep.”
Cole laughs again into his soda. “This just keeps getting better.”
Wade winces. “I can get you another room.”
“You said you were booked out,” I remind him.
“I am booked out, but I can try to move some things around, maybe put somebody in staff housing, maybe—”
I raise a hand to stop him. “It’s fine.”
Three sets of eyes lock on me.
I take the whiskey the server sets down in front of me and tip it back before I continue. “We’re adults. It’s one weekend. It’ll be fine.”
Cole makes a thoughtful sound. “That is the tone of a man lying through his teeth.”
“I’m not lying.”
Cole lets out a laugh and points at me with his soda. “Bullshit. You've been into her for over a month now and already kissed her twice. No kid around, sharing a bed… You’ll crack.”
I don't bother informing him that I've also buried my cock so deep in her that I'm pretty sure the feeling of how hard she'd clenched around me will be stuck in my thoughts forever. He'll just use it against me. “You ever think about shutting the fuck up?”
“Not once,” he says cheerfully. “You stand no chance, by the way.”
Jackson leans back in his chair, looking deeply entertained now. “Oh, this is way more interesting than I thought.”
Wade blinks. “I genuinely did not know we were walking into this kind of weekend.”
“We’re not,” I say flatly. “Nothing is happening.”
Cole grins. “I’ll take that bet.”
I look at him. “There is no bet.”
“There is now.” He glances at Jackson. “Cash?”
Jackson nods immediately. “Cash.”
Wade lifts a hand. “Hang on, hang on. I'm confused. You brought her to Cole's two-year and you weren't even together?”
Cole sighs and leans back in his chair. “She’s his kid’s nanny and he’s desperate to fuck her. They’re both into each other, it’s a whole thing.”
“Oh my god,” I groan.
“You were definitely acting like you were with her,” Jackson says.
I look at Wade. “Please ignore them.”
Wade, incredibly, seems to consider this seriously before he shrugs. “Honestly, I’m with Gray. They’re adults. I'll join the bet against you two,” he says, turning his head toward Cole and Jackson.
Cole scoffs in mock disbelief. “Traitor.”
“I’m just saying,” Wade says, “one bed doesn’t mean they’re automatically ripping each other’s clothes off.”
Jackson sits back. “No, but the way they were looking at each other at Cole's place two weeks ago did.”
“It did not,” I say.
Cole points at me with his soda. “You are never this defensive unless we’re right.”
“I’m defensive because you’re idiots.”
“Mm.” Jackson lifts his beer. “I'll happily bet a thousand you sleep with her.”
I laugh once, harsh and humorless. “You’re out of your mind.”
Cole taps the table before fishing out his wallet. “I’ll match it.”
“This is pathetic.”
“This is fun,” Cole corrects. "Let me make my own stupid decisions that don't involve drinking."
Wade looks at me. “I’m taking your side, for the record.”
“Thank you,” I mutter.
“For a thousand,” he adds, setting down ten green slips of paper in the center of the table.
“I hate all of you.”
Cole grins far too widely as he counts his bet out in fifties. “Perfect. We’ve got a split table.”
Jackson drops his cash on top of Wade's. “You and Wade say nothing happens. Cole and I say you’re folding by checkout.”
“That’s insulting,” I mutter.
“To who?” Jackson asks.
I glare at him.
Cole’s smile turns positively vicious. “If you feel so strongly about it, join the bet.”
I should refuse on principle. I know that. But I've never been good at backing down from a challenge.
I slip my wallet out of my jacket pocket and put down ten hundred-dollar bills. “This is so fucking stupid. Nothing is happening,” I say.
The second Cole declares that he'll hold onto the four grand and gathers it all up, I hear voices at the entrance to the bar.
Mandy, loud and laughing. Dana answering her. A third voice, quieter, familiar enough that every muscle in my body seems to clock it at once.
I turn to look and nearly choke on the sip of whiskey I was trying to down. Carly's beside them, shrugging out of her coat.
Jesus Christ.
She’s wearing a little black dress.
I recognize it. It's one of the tennis ones she designed last year that actually went to production.
Sleeves cling all the way down her arms, the thumb loops rolled back to give the appearance that it isn't actually athletic wear.
The neckline scoops low, showing off both her collarbones and her cleavage, the fabric clinging from the waist up before flaring just a little over her hips and upper thighs.
It cuts off just below her rear, and dear god, those fucking stockings are going to be the death of me — sheer and so damn sexy with her boots that I nearly bite my knuckles like some kind of animal.
My brain, unhelpfully, offers me a full spread of images of what she would look like with that dress half peeled from her body.
Dana looks polished and beautiful in a dark green dress, Mandy in light blue. But Carly is the one who hits me square in the chest. Her hair is half tied up, half down, and I immediately decide that's my favorite way for her to wear her hair.
Cole leans in without taking his eyes off her. “We should raise the bet.”
I don’t look at him. “Shut the fuck up, Pearson,” I say under my breath.
But it comes out rough.
Too rough.