Page 74 of Triple Play

“Maybe we should check into the hotel,” I suggest. “Make sure there are enough beds.” Or, better yet, not enough.

But when we pull up, my heart sinks. There are gonna be enough beds. Probably a bed for every person in this town and then some. “When you said hotel…” I aim the question at Blake, “you meant resort.”

He grins, unembarrassed. “What’s the difference?”

A sign stationed on the U-shaped driveway has arrows pointing to various amenities. “There’s a spa?” I ask.

“I figured something we didn’t have to drive to might be nice.”

And fuck, how much did this cost? I lower my voice so the driver doesn’t hear. “You didn’t have to do all this.” Would you have, if you knew I danced?

But Blake doesn’t look regretful so much as gratifyingly smug. “Maybe I wanted to spoil Felix.”

Whatever version of Blake this is—a newer, more daring one, who only goes a little red as he says it—I don’t want it to evaporate when we get to Florida.

“All right,” I say, “new rules.” That gets me both of their attentions. “We each get to pick something to do at this ridiculous-ass resort and the others have to go along with it.”

The second I say it, I almost want to bite it back. We’re not doing that again…right? Blake and Felix just danced in public, but mezcal and averting an engine fire are enough to make anyone act reckless.

“Anything we want?” Felix asks.

“You have something in mind?” I shoot back.

From the front seat, the driver gives a polite cough, possibly because we’ve been parked at the resort entrance for the better part of a minute.

“I could think of one or two things,” Felix says with a smirk, then climbs out to liberate our suitcases from the trunk.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Blake

Unsurprisingly, Shira picks the spa. For a second, my brain objects. What if someone sees me like this? No, that’s a thought for tomorrow when I go back to being Blake Forsyth. For now, I’m just the guy having lotion massaged into my hands by an esthetician.

“Sorry about the calluses,” I say.

She laughs. “That’s what he said too.” She nods to where Felix is sprawled in a cushy spa chair, a mud mask on his face. He looks relaxed—he emits a soft snore. Okay, he’s asleep.

Cute is a strange word for someone his size. For me to apply to a man at all. Cute. I savor the word. Practically suck on it. The mud masks make him look cute and Shira fierce—like she’s about to do battle on the Scottish highlands, even if she’s mostly just poring over her calculus notebook. Our rules said we got to pick whatever we wanted to do today, but all I want to do is look at them and feel this strange sudden warmth between us.

The esthetician digs her fingers a little harder into my palm. “You work outside?” she asks. “It’s tough on the skin.”

“Yeah.” I smile. “Something like that.”

She eases my hand from hers. “You want a manicure? Might help if you get hangnails.”

I haven’t gotten a hangnail since I was a teenager and started rice training—sifting my hands into buckets of rice to strengthen my forearms. I study my nails—someone might say something. I’m seeing Brayden tomorrow. He’ll definitely say something.

Don’t be foolish. Except right now, I kind of want to be.

“Hey”—I hold up my hand to Shira—“should I get my nails done?” I aim for a joke and miss entirely.

Shira’s smile ripples the drying mud of her mask. She grins harder than the question strictly deserves, like she’s happy for me for some other reason. “Why not?”

As if it’s that easy. Maybe, for once it is. “Can you do clear polish?” I ask the esthetician.

She blinks. For a second, I worry she might say something like most guys don’t get that, that I’ll have to laugh it off as a request. “Sure,” she says.

“Then a manicure sounds great.”

---