“Let’s go home,” Dex says quietly.
My gaze snaps to his, and he winces.
“I’m not implying to bed. Just back to Ivy and Gray’s.” He glances at his watch—a thick, black leather one that looks more like a cuff. “It’s coming on two in the morning. Bar’s going to close down soon anyway.”
“Okay, sure.” Home sounds like a good plan. Only I want to go alone and not have to face Dex anymore. Hottest kiss of my life or not, it’s not something I can do again. Ethan Dexter could become an addiction if I take another taste of him.
Chapter Two
Dex
In the course of my life, I’ve done stupid things. Who hasn’t? But kissing Fiona Mackenzie comes close to the top of the list. Ironically, it is definitely one of the best things I’ve done in my life as well. Painfully good.
Painful now. I’ve a hard-on that won’t go away and is bent awkwardly down the leg of my jeans. I’d adjust, but I know Fiona would notice. Not much gets by her.
Then again, she’s making a valiant effort to ignore me now, her gaze set on the window at her side as we drive Gray’s old pickup back to his house.
I love Grayson. The man is worth over 25 million dollars, and he still drives his high school truck. But now I’m thinking about the fact that I had my tongue in his baby sister-in-law’s mouth, and I have to resist the urge to wince.
I shouldn’t have done it. But my brain took a vacation. I know how good I am at manipulating a situation, and I saw the curiosity in Fi’s bright green eyes. So I cajoled, enticed, all but dared her to get up close and personal with my face. Had I expected her to kiss me? Hell no.
But I’d taken one look at her in that club and wanted her to touch me, to fucking see me more than my next breath. I’ve wanted that from the moment I laid eyes on her two years ago at her sister’s Christmas party.
Even then I knew Fiona wasn’t for me. I’m quiet, like to keep to myself. Fiona is life—bouncy, bubbly, snarky life. All wrapped up in a tiny, perfect package.
I’ve often heard Ivy compare Fi to Tinker Bell. I suppose that’s accurate. Only I’ve always found the little cartoon fairy annoying, and I could watch Fi all day. Just the lilting sound of her voice entrances me. And when her nose wrinkles and she glares? Hard as a fucking pike.
Yeah, I’ve got it bad. Which is not good. I know full well she doesn’t want anything to do with professional athletes. I’d heard her say that much outright at the wedding. A girl I was interested in during college ditched me for the same reason, and I’ve no interest in getting my heart stomped on again.
Which is why I shouldn’t have touched, much less kissed, Fi. Because I can’t stop replaying it in my mind. I know what she tastes like now. And she tastes like addiction.
Gripping the wheel, I turn us into Gray and Ivy’s driveway. They bought a massive townhouse in Pacific Heights. I have to admit, I’m envious. It’s the kind of place I’d love to call home. My place is a nice but fairly empty townhouse in New Orleans. I love its high ceilings, old wood floors, and natural light. But it doesn’t feel like a home. Then again, maybe it’s because I’m the only one ever in it.
We’re silent as we pull into the garage and climb the back steps to the main floor. I’m only vaguely surprised when Gray comes shuffling out of the kitchen holding a bottle in one hand and a pot in the other. He’s a mess, his blond hair flattened on the side, his sweats inside out and backwards. Deep circles shadow his eyes.
“Hey,” he mutters. “Have fun?”
He doesn’t look as though he cares much about anything other than sleep at the moment.
“What’s the pot for, man-mountain?” Fi asks him before gently taking it from his hand.
He blinks down at it. “Right. I was going to put that in the sink.”
From a flight above comes the irate squall of a baby.
“The tiny overlord demands his due,” Gray says. But he stops to kiss Fi on the cheek. His expression lightens a bit as he pulls back. “You smell like cologne, Fi-Fi.”
Hot pink washes over Fiona’s cheeks. “I smell like a nightclub.”
“Cologne,” Gray counters as he trudges toward the stairs. His gaze lands on me. “Dex’s cologne. And don’t bother denying it. I roomed with the guy for years.”
So much for keeping things from Gray. The guy might love to joke, but he’s an outright genius, so I’m not really surprised he caught me.
He doesn’t say anything more about it, though. His shoulders slump as he starts up the stairs. “I swear to God, I’d give someone five—no ten—million dollars right now if Ivy and I could just get one solid night’s sleep.”
Fi and I exchange a sympathetic look. It might be awkward between us, but at least we can escape to our beds and sleep.
“I’m going to go earn ten million dollars,” I say to her and head for the stairs.
She follows behind. “This I have to see.”
We find Gray in a nursery that would fit right into a design catalog. I know Fi decorated it, and she’s clearly talented. Gray’s slumped in a glider trying to give his agitated son a bottle. But the little guy is screaming, his tiny fists beating against Gray’s arm.
“It’s my turn to feed him,” Gray says without looking up. “So bottled breast milk it is. He hates it. I know, little dude,” he says to the baby. “I love Mommy’s boobs too, but she needs to sleep.”
From the far room, a muffled groan rings out. “Mother guilt has killed my sleep,” says Ivy’s disembodied voice. “And don’t discuss my boobs with my son, Cupcake.”