I look back over my shoulder. He’s propped up on one elbow, sheet low on his hips, wearing that classic grumpy smirk that somehow makes him look both annoyed and entertained. The fucker is clearly enjoying this.
“Yeah?” I shoot back. “Why? You got a problem with the view, George?”
He stares at me for a beat, eyes dark. His smirk deepens just enough to be dangerous. “Looks like you’re enjoying the attention more than I am.”
“Fuck you.”
I stay exactly where I am and bend over anyway, grabbing my pants with zero grace. The cool air hits everything. My cock twitches hard and starts filling out more like the traitor it is.
George lets out a low sound—a scoff and a laugh he’s clearly trying to kill.
“There’s another one by the door,” he says, voice thick with amusement, but there’s heat there too. My face feels warmer now.
I glance at my dress shirt and socks near the door. For a second, I consider turning around to face him so I don’t have to bend over again. But that would mean giving him a full-frontal show instead.
Decisions, decisions.
Fuck it. Ass view it is.
I walk over to my clothes, bend over again, slower this time, feet still planted wide. I don’t even know what the hell I’m trying to prove anymore, but I do it anyway. My cock is now fully hard, heat crawls up my neck and spreads down my chest. I snatch my shirt and socks.
Straightening up, clothes in hand, I toss everything onto my luggage near the bathroom door and refuse to cover myself.
Let him look. I’ve never given a shit about being naked in front of him before. Why start now?
Except that it feels different. I can feel his eyes on me too much now, and some stupid part of my brain keeps reacting to it.
Jesus Christ, Bradford. When the fuck did we start doing that?
I slap myself back to reality, mentally at least, and head for the bathroom before I do something even stupider.
The door shuts behind me with an audible click. Once inside, I run cold water. I brush my teeth, splash my face, use the toilet. My body is giving no clear evidence that we had sex, and while the memory loss is inconvenient, the physical evidence is usually reliable.
I’m choosing to believe that we didn’t have sex—actively, with conviction, like a full-time job.
I look at the small mirror by the sink to check for any other signs on my body. We didn’t have sex. Almost certainly not. Maybe seventy-three percent not. This mark on my collarbone is…ambiguous. Could’ve been a jacket clasp, or Becca’s cousin getting way too into a hug. Could’ve been anything.
Wait. That’s a hickey on my collarbone.
Holy clusterfuck of all fucks.
Before I can spiral into a full-blown existential crisis in front of the sink, I jump in the shower, throw on fresh clothes, and go hunt for coffee. The panic attack has been rescheduled for the car ride home.
2
Lance
The others are already on the terrace when I arrive, scattered around the table in various states of the morning after.
Azure Tides stretches out around us, a high-end beachfront resort, glass and pale stone with the ocean running wide past every window. Late morning in June, the sun’s already up and warming everything, golden heat with a coastal breeze cutting through it. Terracotta underfoot, bougainvillea pushing hard in bright pink over the walls, salt in the air. It feels expensive, dialed in to the point it almost doesn’t feel fucking real.
The weird part is, I technically grew up around places like this. Business trips where the adults disappeared into conference rooms while me and a bunch of other kids got turned loose around infinity pools with too much freedom and hotel keycards linked to our parents’ accounts.
It still feels a little fake seeing myself back in one.
I would probably appreciate the view more if I weren’t busy running a full forensic investigation into the last twelve hours of my life while keeping my shit together.
Trevor lifts his coffee the second I drop into the chair across from him. He looks fresh and unfairly rested for a man who just got married. Loose white linen shirt, blond curls, easy grin alreadyin place. He works on brand partnerships for luxury resorts like this one. He’s got a marketing degree, but his real qualification is that he’s good with people.
