Grinding my teeth, already visualizing my hand gripping the base of my shaft and pumping hard and fast under the shower as soon as she leaves, I open the closet.
My hand shoots to grab a black t-shirt, but I pause. I could pick a white one, then her long, dripping hair would turn it into in a wet t-shirt contest... I’d get a peek at her perky boobs.
Nope. No perving on Addie.
I grab a black tee and a pair of joggers in case she wakes up first and I find her in the kitchen, wearingnothingbutmy t-shirt. “Do not come downstairs unless you’re wearing both.”
“Am I distracting you?” she asks, draping the joggers over the dresser and tugging the t-shirt on over her head.
“I can’t think straight when you’re only wearing a towel.”
Slowly, like she’s provoking me to make a move, she tugs the tee down, simultaneously pulling the towel lower. My brain turns to literal mush when I catch a glimpse, just a tiny peek, of her bare stomach and deep navel.
“Better?” she asks, her tone a little breathless. “Can you think straight now?”
“What are you doing, Addie?” I rasp when the towel hits the floor, and the hem of my t-shirt stops not-enough inches under her butt. One deep breath isn’t enough to calm my racing heart. There she is... two steps away, looking like she wants me to grab her waist, pin her against the wall and sink my fingers inside her. “Go to bed. You’re tipsy. Whatever’s going through your head, you’ll think differently tomorrow.”
“What if I don’t?”
“You will,” I insist.
Sex is not a part of this deal, and as much as I want to take what she’s offering, I won’t touch her when her courage comes from wine, beer and the adrenaline rush of the race.
She grabs the joggers, flinging them over her shoulder, then bends slowly down for the towel, almost showing me what I so desperately want to see, but not quite, and sends me a coy smile as she exits my bedroom. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Addie.”
***
The clock keeps ticking. It’s three in the morning and despite jerking myself off as soon as Addie left, I still can’t fucking sleep. The questions don’t stop, multiplying at an alarming rate while I wonder what the hell she was playing at.
Once that topic runs dry, and I decide the safest bet is to blame the alcohol, I wonder whether we prepared well enough. Whether this whole endeavor will backfire in my face the first day there. Whether I can fake intimacy in front of her family without crossing lines when we’re alone.
Lines she wanted to cross tonight.
Lines she probably won’t try crossing when she’s sober.
Fuck. We haven’t established ground rules for public displays of affection. Am I supposed to hold her hand? Offer a comforting pat? A peck on the forehead? A kiss?
No. A firmnoto kissing.
With a frustrated grunt, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, ready to head over to the guest room for answers, but my feet barely touch the floor before I change my mind.
I can’t handle seeing her in my t-shirt again so soon.
Falling back on the pillows, I pull my phone out and open the triplet-only chat, not expecting a reply until the morning.
Me: You set me up, so you’ll figure this shit out. Dos and don’ts regarding PDAs. Go.
Both of them start typing right away. Conor’s probably up with the twins. They’re in thesleep all day, party all nightphase, and Cody... I’d rather not imagine what I might’ve interrupted.
Cody: No full-on make-out sessions in front of her parents. Fair game in front of her brother, I’d say.
Conor: No ass-grabbing, either. Basically, don’t do what you wouldn’t feel comfortable doing with our parents in the room.
Me: This must be the first time you’ve been helpful.
Conor: Screw you.
