Page 35 of Kind of a Bad Idea

“Don’t worry about it. A warm bath is fine,” I say. “Then, I’ll probably turn in early. I found the old sheets that were on the bed before in the hamper in the closet. I’ll use those to make up a bed on the couch and you can have the bedroom.”

Her smile falters for half a second, but it’s back in place again as she stands. “Okay, but I’m fine with taking the couch if you’d rather have the mattress. I can sleep anywhere, especially when I’m this exhausted.”

She disappears inside without waiting for an answer.

I finish my glass of wine and check on the water, finding all but the largest pot beginning to bubble. I dump the four boiling containers and by the time I’m done, the biggest is ready to go, too. All in all, it takes about ten minutes to get it all sorted. By the time I’m done, the tub is over half full and steaming in the cool evening, but Binx still isn’t back from changing.

I debate going to check on her, but she’s good about calling for help when she needs it—or squealing if she’s being attacked by overly-friendly groundhogs—so I grab my suit from my pack in the living room. I wouldn’t normally have a suit with me for a hiking trip in the fall, but there was supposed to be a hot spring near our camping spot on the last night of the climbing trip.

If any of that itinerary was real…

Wondering how far my daughter went to trick me into this, and if the owner of the rock-climbing company has any idea her business was used as bait for a Parent Trap scheme, I pop into the bathroom and change. By the time I step out, wrapped in one of the large beach towels from this summer, when Sprout would entertain herself running through the sprinklers while I worked, I head outside.

I arrive on the deck in time to see Binx drop her own towel onto the deck chair she’s pulled up beside the tub, revealing lacy black panties that stop me dead in my tracks. The lingerie rides high on her ass, covering only half of each cheek, the partial glimpse of skin somehow even sexier than if she were wearing a thong.

My gaze tracks down her toned, curvy legs and back up again. Then, she turns as she steps into the water, and I forget how to breathe.

Or maybe I gasp, I’m not sure.

I do something that attracts her attention because she looks up. Our eyes lock and hold in a moment of eye contact that would qualify as cheating if either of us were in a relationship.

But we’re not, and fuck, she’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in that lacy bra and panties. I’m pretty sure I can see the dusky outline of her nipples through the lace, but I refuse to look.

I won’t look.

I won’t…

But I do, of course, I do. My weakness around this woman has already been proven several times today.

When I look back up to her face, her lips are curved in a crooked smile. “Sorry, looks like I forgot my swimsuit.”

I try to swallow, but fail, and end up licking my lips instead. “It happens,” I say, my voice rough.

“It does,” she says, nodding her head. “Come get in. The water’s perfect.”

I start to drop my towel, but think better of it, in case the semi-hard-on I’m currently sporting becomes something more serious when I get closer to the siren easing into my bathtub. Instead, I keep it wrapped around my waist until I’m next to the water, then quickly chuck it and ease inside, keeping my gaze locked on the soap sitting in the dish attached to the side.

It’s pale blue and smells incredible. It definitely isn’t anything I purchased for the house. Before I can ask where it came from, Binx offers, “The soap was at the bottom of the basket. Guess our meddling family thought we might want to smell good for each other.”

“You always smell good,” I say, the words out before I can stop them.

“Liar,” she whispers. “I smelled like a wet dog most of today.”

“You smelled fine,” I say. “You smelled…like you.”

“And you smelled like you,” she says, shifting onto her knees, bringing her now wet breasts bobbing above the surface. The lace is now completely see-through, and I’m fully erect beneath the water.

I can’t stay here, or my hands will be on her, and I can’t make a run for the door without her knowing exactly why I’m bolting. Still, I’m about to do it—let her see what a weak-willed bastard I am—when she shifts forward, her hands braced on either side of the tub beside me, bringing her lips inches from mine.

“And the smell of you is enough to make me wet,” she whispers, making my jaw clench and my entire body burn. I want to touch her so badly it’s physically painful, but I’m still determined to get out of this tub, when she adds, “That’s why being friends isn’t going to work anymore. I realized that as I was changing clothes and just seeing your boxer briefs sitting in a drawer made me want to touch myself.”

“Binx,” I rasp, her name a prayer for her to have mercy on me.

“I know you are firmly against being more than friends,” she continues, “and I respect that. I don’t agree with you, but…it’s obvious you’re not going to change your mind. So, it seems like our only choice is to go our separate ways.”

I don’t want to go our separate ways. I want to drag her to my bedroom and keep her there for the next thirty years, but I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.

So, even though the words feel like they’re ripping my heart out of my chest, I say, “You’re probably right.”

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