Suddenly, my own bed at home feels like it’s from a Toys “R” Us catalog.
I can’t stop picturing the bed’s owner sprawled across it naked.
“So where’s that famous crystal cock sculpture the tabloids were raving about?” I giggle, trying to bury my sudden nerves with jokes.
“I figured this place deserved some real art instead of my own massive crystal cock.”
“People might start questioning that playboy image of yours if they knew.” I sweep the dark, hyper-masculine space with widened eyes. “You’re letting me in on quite a few secrets tonight.”
He leans in the doorway, with a small smile. “Given you’re the first woman who’s not family or staff to step foot in here for ages, I’ll know exactly who to blame if the gossip mill kicks into gear.”
His words send a weird flutter through me.
He lingers in the doorway at a deliberate distance, but his intense eyes dissect my every breathless reaction. “You seem on edge.”
No shit. Between the killer views and über bachelor pad, this place has me buzzing out of my skin. But it’s not the decor that’s got me vibrating—it’s him.
I remind myself we’re keeping it light. Friendly.
“I’m good,” I lie, pretty much bolting from his bedroom before my self-control snaps completely. “Let’s grab that drink you owe me.”
Escaping to the relative safety of his kitchen-lounge, he hands me a glass of wine that’s definitely not from the bargain bin. My attention drifts to a Scrabble board on the table.
“Scrabble?” I tease. “There goes the billionaire bad boy image.”
“Watch it now.” A playful swat lands on my behind, a move so quick it’s like he momentarily forgets we’re just friends now.
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly.
I push down a flutter of . . . something, reminding myself we’re strictly in the friend zone. No funny business, no getting handsy.
We’ve tried lusting after each other. We’ve tried killing each other. We’ve tried fighting each other. And now here we are, venturing into the great unknown: just hanging out. No drama, no stress, just two people maybe having a good time together without all the extra emotional baggage.
He’s told me about his diagnosis, he’s let me into this house. He, dare I say it,trustsme.
It’s a novel concept for us. I owe it to both our sanity to at least try the friendship thing.
I sidestep, putting a safe distance between us, and head toward the lounge area.
“I was playing with Teagan the other day,” he admits with a small smile. “If you count making up nonsense slang teenage terms that aren’t dictionary approved ‘playing.’”
“A big softie for his niece,” I tease. Might as well lean into this wholejust friendsthing. What could possibly be less sexy than a game of Scrabble? “Bet I can beat you.”
“You wanna play Scrabble?” He cocks a brow, giving me a look that could make the strongest of women weak in the knees. “You sure that’s how you wanna spend your evening with me?”
I stand firm. Barely. “Why not? Friends play Scrabble.”
“All right, Lexi. But don’t underestimate me. I’m more than just a pretty face,” he says with a cocky grin that suggests he’s already won. “I don’t plan on going easy on you.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Quinn. I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve,” I shoot back, trying to match his swagger. “And don’t even think about pulling any dirty moves.”
He just laughs and saunters off, returning in a T-shirt hugging those illegal muscles and shorts showcasing two of the sexiest legs I’ve ever seen.
Well fuck me, talk about playing dirty.
He proceeds to set up the board with the kind of enthusiasm you might reserve for, I don’t know, something less dorky than Scrabble.
Catching me ogling all that bare skin, he winks. “Ready, angel?”
