I burst out laughing. "Shit, really? I thought you were having some sort of existential crisis in there. That's why I backed off."
"Existential crisis about why you weren't helping me nut, maybe," he muttered, then beamed at me. "So, you were into me the whole time? At the calendar photoshoot?"
"Fuck, that was killing me. You kept doing your body roll dance move…"
He chuckled. "It is hot. If only I'd known that was why you were groaning, I might not have accidentally adopted kittens. No, never mind, I wouldn't want to imagine life without Olive and Cheeto."
"The horror," I said, deadpan.
He rolled onto his side and rested a hand on his elbow, grinning down at me as he ran a hand over my pecs, massaging the muscles there. "So, about Aimee, how do we ask?"
"Let's maybe wait until after the snake trauma dies down, Mr. One-Track-Mind," I said.
He huffed a laugh against my shoulder. "Good call. I guess. But don't make me wait too long, my brain gets all scrambled when I can't stop thinking about sex. Ooh, do you want to look up the best positions?"
"Rhett," I admonished. "Stop pretending you haven't already done thorough research."
"Mm," he said, nipping my earlobe. "There are dozens of options. The spit roast, with me or her in the middle, the train, the three-way spoon, Eiffel Tower, the cartwheeling trapeze artist—"
"Remember, babe. Thin walls," I said, nodding toward the wall that separated our bedroom from Aimee's. "We don't want Aimee… Wait, cartwheeling trapeze artist?"
"Look it up," he said smugly, and I groaned, wrestling him down to the bed and kissing him again, just because I could.
Chapter 12
Aimee
IcursedatRhettand Troy’s coffee machine, which was surely invented just to prank me. Why was no coffee coming out? With a huff, I paced across the room, picking up a framed picture of Rhett and Troy in turnout gear that was sitting on a nearby shelf. Then I caught myself mentally stripping them. It turns out the downside to imagining your friends naked while trying to stop thinking about snakes is that it results in way too many mental images of them naked.
I set out a pad of paper and started listing things I needed to do: retrieve my laptop from the police station, order a new phone, go back to my apartment and get some clothes.
A door opened down the hallway, followed by the soft padding of bare feet on hardwood. I quickly set the photo down, glancing up just as Troy rounded the corner. My brain short-circuited.
Holy. Fucking. Fuck.
He wore nothing but a pair of low-slung gray sweatpants, the waistband clinging precariously to his narrow hips, low enough that I was pretty sure a stiff breeze would be enough to turn this into a strip show. Morning light caressed the sculpted planes of his chest, highlighting the perfect definition of his pectoral muscles, the ridges of his abs, the tantalizing lines that disappeared beneath cotton.
His dark skin gleamed, still slightly damp from a shower, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from a single droplet of water that traced a lazy path from his collarbone down the center of his chest, over his abs, before disappearing into that tempting trail of hair below his navel.
“Morning.” His voice was morning-rough in a way that sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. “Sleep okay?”
I realized I was staring and quickly turned to look out the window, cheeks burning. “Uh, yeah. Fine.” In my mind, I could still hear their conversation about threesomes, still hear the way Troy had laughed about something with a trapeze artist, and the soft moan that slipped from Rhett right after it. The conversation had done nothing for my horny state, but at least it had kept me thoroughly distracted until I basically passed out in a post-orgasmic coma.
I couldn’t really share that bit of information, though.
Troy moved to the coffee maker, his back now to me—a back so broad and muscular it belonged in a magazine. Those firefighter workouts were clearly effective. I remembered how his arms had felt around me yesterday, strong and safe as I’d hugged him, thanking him for his help. The memory of his embrace stirred something in me that wasn’t just fear or gratitude.
“Rhett went to grab donuts.” He pushed a button on the coffee maker and suddenly, there was coffee. “Thanks for getting the coffee started.”
“I couldn’t actually figure out how to work the machine.” I grimaced.
“The key here is this button that says ‘power.’ It wasn’t on.” He pointed to the button.
I rolled my eyes, laughing. “Foiled again by a really obvious button.” My stomach growled, and I rubbed it. “How much of a wait for those donuts?”
“He went to Pink Pony, so it might be a minute.” Troy poured himself a coffee, then filled another mug and handed it to me.
“Why does he always insist on going there?”
