Page 122 of Revv

But this is different. There’s nothing to hide behind when we’re just lying here.

No flirting until one of us gives in, no crew around talking shit, no reason for me to pretend I’m only tolerating him because he happens to be useful sometimes.

It’s just Revel, and apparently, despite how much of a pain in the ass he is, I actually like the asshole. Which, I wish was more annoying than it actually is.

Talking to him is easy, even when half our conversations are just us giving each other shit. Whatever attitude I throw his way, he takes it without getting offended and usually sends something worse right back. Four hours trapped together in a car should’ve had me considering whether leaving a man at a gas station counts as a crime, but somehow, he made the drive fun. Then there was the coffee waiting for me this morning, like driving me to Miami was already part of his plans, and the way he grabbed my equipment without making some big macho production out of helping me.

It’s all annoyingly…nice.

Especially coming from him.

And when he isn’t running his mouth or looking at me like clothes are a personal inconvenience, he’s actually easy to be around.

Not going to lie, it’s becoming a little fucking inconvenient.

Wanting Revel is one thing. I can blame that on chemistry, poor judgment, and the fact that the man looks the way he does. But somewhere between all the flirting, arguing, and finally giving in to him, I stop just wanting him and start enjoying him.

That has consequences written all over it.

Still, I’m not about to turn this into something it isn’t.

We’re having fun. We get along.

The sex is ridiculously good, and apparently, we can spend an entire day together without one of us committing a felony.

Friends with benefits. Easy.

At least, it sounds easy when I say it in my head.

I let myself sink a little farther into his side until my head rests against his shoulder. His fingers pause against my arm for half a second, like he’s surprised I do it voluntarily, then start moving again. Thankfully, he keeps his mouth shut.

Smart man.

Because the second he gets smug about me cuddling him, I’m denying the entire thing and moving to the other side of the bed.

For now, though, I’m comfortable.

And maybe I don’t need to make every fucking thing more complicated than it is.

****

Saturday night comes way too fucking fast.

One minute I’m barefoot in the hotel bathroom finishing my makeup with music playing from my phone, and the next I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror wondering how the hell it’s already time to leave.

The outfit helps.

The dress is short, black, tight, and doing exactly what I bought it to do. The hem barely clears my thighs, little silver details catching the light when I move, and with my thigh-high boots, my legs look fucking fantastic. My hair is smooth down my back, my makeup is sharp, and if I ignore the nervous bullshit happening in my stomach, I look hot as fuck.

Good.

At least the outside of me has her shit together.

I’m smoothing my hands down the front of my outfit when Revel comes out of the bathroom behind me, halfway through buttoning his black shirt.

He looks up.

Stops.