The question hangs in the air, and I nearly swerve off the road.
“Careful,” Mason says, steadying the wheel with one hand over mine.
His touch burns, and I have to swallow hard before I can answer. “No. Can’t say I have.”
“But you’ve thought about it,” Dylan adds. Not a question. A statement.
I glance at him in the rearview mirror, and the heat in his eyes steals my breath. “Maybe. Once or twice.”
“Interesting.” Mason’s hand is still on mine on the steering wheel, his thumb stroking slowly across my knuckles.
Dylan’s hand appears on my shoulder.
“Because we’ve been imagining too. All night. Watching you in those jeans, that top. The way you moved and flirted. And we loved every second of it.”
A sharp breath catches in my throat. Heat races down my spine, pooling low and fast, and suddenly the truck feels way too small, like their words are hands, sliding under my clothes.
“I didn’t flirt,” I say, which would sound more convincing if my voice didn’t come out breathy.
Mason snorts. “Angel, you were killing us in there.”
I glare, but it’s weak. “I was being friendly.”
Dylan leans in, voice brushing my ear like a mouth. “Friendlydoesn’t make a whole room stop and stare.”
My pulse speeds up. I should laugh it off and tell them to cut it out. Instead, something reckless purrs awake inside me that’s been locked up way too long.
Because they’re right. Iwasflirting because I loved the way they stared at me.
I glance between these two gorgeous men who burn hotter than fire, and every red flag in my brain waves frantically. Going home with them is a bad idea. The kind of story that starts with a missing shoe and ends in someone’s bedroom.
But I’m tired of being sensible.
Of overthinking and protecting myself from everything before it even happens.
Nina is out there somewhere at the bar, having the time of her life with a guy who might as well be a pop star. And for once… I want to do something wild, stupid, uncalculated.
Just because it feels good. I straighten, chin lifting. “Maybe I enjoyed the attention,” I admit.
Mason grins like I handed him the keys to the kingdom. “Good,” he murmurs. “Means we’re on the same page.”
We’re pulling up to a house now, more like a mansion actually, which is enormous, modern, perched on the hillside with huge windows that probably catch the sunrise and show off every inch of the valley below.
“Fuck,” I breathe, staring. “You live here?”
“Home sweet home,” Dylan says. “Come inside?”
I should say no and call an Uber. “Just for a bit.”
“Sure,” Mason says, way too easily, a knowing smile curving his lips.
We pile out of the truck, and I hand Mason the keys, then follow them to the huge, wooden front door.
Dylan produces a key and leads us inside.
My mouth drops open. Large floor plan with soaring ceilings, exposed beams, floor-to-ceiling windows along the back wall. The furniture is modern with a massive sectional, an oversized stone fireplace, artwork everywhere. Warm. Expensive. Gorgeous.
“Wow,” I breathe, still staring.
