Every time I close my eyes, I see Antonio.
His eyes boring into mine.
His teeth digging into his thick bottom lip.
The hands that gripped my waist.
No. The conclusions ofthatexperiment will remain a mystery.
Would a one-night stand even work among friends?
What happens in Vegas—
“Leads to blurred lines, possible bruises, and offering our relationship to the altar of bad decisions.”
Great, now I’m talking to myself.
I gather the toys to wash in the kitchen sink in a huff. Antonio hasn’t returned since I came back from my pleasure expedition, which is ironic considering I didn’tcomeat all.
He’s probably on round three with a leggy influencer or a women’s rugby player who knows how to scrum, or whatever it is they do. He’s been thoughtful of me since we arrived, but I know him. A chronic bachelor in Sin City leads to one thing: all-you-can-eat pus—vagina, and sex on repeat.
I rip open the bedroom door and stomp down the hall in knee-length socks. I’m happy my friend is deep-sea fishing with his penis between someone’s legs. His touch still haunts me, and I can’t pleasure myself without seeing his face, but good for him. Doesn’t bother me one bit!
Maybe if I tried—
Dear God, I’m being robbed!
The toys go flying, and my mumbles turn into a scream at the figure in the kitchen. It’s completely dark, minus the lights from Vegas crawling over the living room. The sconces above the counter illuminate.
Antonio pulls out an earphone. “You okay?”
“You scared me,” I say between breaths, gripping my chest. “I thought you broke in.”
“To raid the fridge?” He chuckles. “Got washed up and wanted a snack.”
“How?” The only bathroom in the suite is in the bedroom.
He lifts a shoulder and scratches his bare chest. “It’s past eleven. The lights were off, so I figured you were sleeping. Didn’t want to disturb you, so I washed up here.”
Sure enough, there’s a washcloth on top of a towel on the granite counter next to the sink I came to use.
My sex toys are still on the ground.
“Did you, um, hear anything?” I fold my arms over my chest. My ratty black nightgown is see-through from years of use.
Antonio follows the movement, and his gaze stalls at the swell of my breasts. A muscle in his jaw ticks. “I had these in.” He pulls out the other earphone. “What were you doing?”
“Nothing,” I blurt. “If you want to wash up with more than dish soap, feel free to use the bathroom. After your snack. With the food in the refrigerator behind you.”
“What fell?”
“Why are you asking so many questions?”
“Why are you dodging them?”
“I’m not.”
His eyes narrow. Light drips over his very defined deltoids as he leans over the counter. His lips quirk. “Want to know something fun about being your friend? Picking up on shifts in your behavior. You talk a mile a minute in detail when you’re nervous, and your voice sounds like Regina Hall’s when you’re excited.”
