“You better not have messed up her makeup!”Bryttni screeches.
“You look real nice, too,” I tell my date for the evening.The dateI still have for the evening.Bryttni smiles and steps into the sitting room.
“Thank you,” she says, giggling.
It’s absolutely true that Bryttni looks real nice.
It’s not true that Summer looks real nice.
Those words aren’t sufficient for Summer.If I were being perfectly honest, I’d say she’s sleek and sexy.A work of art.As radiant as a Hollywood starlet from the 1940s.The most delicious woman I’ve ever encountered in the flesh.
I’d have to say that my best friend is stunning, exquisite, regal, and a complete shock to my system.
Summer’s on fire.
And I’m on fire for her.
That’s what I would say if I were being perfectly honest with myself.
But I can’t do that!I know I told myself I should be, but I just can’t go there.
What kind of crazy, messed-up disaster would come from telling the truth to myself?I can’t do that to my friendship with Summer.I can’t look at my favorite girl in the whole world and think I’ll shrivel up and die if I can’t touch her.Taste her.Feel her skin on mine.
Bury myself to the hilt inside her.
This is wrong.All wrong.I’ve known her too long and loved her too much to go and do something as spectacularly stupid as deciding to be honest with myself!
And her.
Bryttni goes into one of the suite’s bathrooms to adjust her makeup, leaving Summer and me alone in the living room.I try not to stare.I fail.I let my gaze travel down the front of her flawless body to where the hem of her long silk dress grazes her strappy heels.Her toenails are painted a light pink, and I check out her hands.Her fingernails are the same delicate pink.I’ve never seen her nails painted.
What did she do to her hands?They look creamy and feminine.
Summer brushes her long, lustrous hair off her shoulder, and now all I can see is her cleavage.
“You must be cold,” I say.All right, I’m recovering.I’m doing fine.That’s the kind of friendly and helpful suggestion that a platonic friend might make.Perfectly normal.
“It’s Las Vegas, Declan.Nothing here is cold, even in the winter.”
“You should probably wear a sweater.”
“I don’thavea sweater.”
“But…” I’m about to point to her bare chest but stop myself.That would be rude.So, I reach out in her general direction with a floppy hand and make random circles in the air.“You’re not covered.”
Bryttni pokes her head out of the bathroom to shout, “They’re called boobs, Declan!And if you promise to be good, I’ll give you a lesson on all the wonderful things boobs can do for a man!”
She sends me an air kiss, giggles again, and resumes whatever she’s doing in front of the mirror.
Summer isn’t making eye contact with me.It looks almost as if she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, which is crazy because I’ve seen her do damn near everything with those capable hands.
Repair fence wire.Train a wild stallion.Castrate a cranky bull calf.But I’m right—in this situation, she doesn’t know what to do with her soft, pink hands.
I have some ideas.Plus, I know exactly what I want to do withmyhands.And now I’ve revved myself up into anger again.
She’s squirming, and I feel guilty for making Summer so uncomfortable.Hell, we’rebothuncomfortable.I can’t remember a time when we became so completely dazed with discomfort like this.The barbecue sauce incident was just a warmup compared to this level of numbness.And it’s all because she’s too beautiful and too much of her skin is showing.
Which is a stupid-crazy thing for me to think.
