Page 39 of Hat Trick

I meet Gwen’s gaze in the camera, not shocked to find that she’s now zoomed into herface.

I’d do the same if I had the energy or thestrength.

Between the game and this (unexpected) sex session, I’m all kinds ofdepleted.

But, holy hell, this is by far the hottest sexual experience of my life, regardless of whether or not Gwen’s back in Boston and I’m in Canada. I would never want this moment with anyone else, either—just Gwen,onlyGwen.

“Yeah, honey?” I ask after amoment.

Her blue eyes narrow though she’s smiling. “You better not strip any of my kisses from the tally because ofthis.”

I flop back onto the bed, reversing the camera so she can see my face and upper chest. “Don’t worry. I’ve just decided to give you a holiday bonus. I’m tacking on an extra twelve, one for every night ofChristmas.”

13

Gwen

“Why are you smiling like that?”

My hands close over a package of lean meat and I plop it into the carriage. “Smiling like what?” I askZoe.

She circles her finger in my direction, and I have the random thought that she’s feeling her antennae at me. Like she’s trying to figure me out. I snag another package of meat from the display, purposely giving my best friend my back so she can’t do her magical-readingskills.

It doesn’twork.

“You got laid lastnight!”

The butcher behind the glass-display counter gives me a creepy grin and an even creepier once-over. “Luckyman.”

So awkward. With a stiff smile—grimace? It’s more of a grimace—I turn the carriage away from the meat section of Stop & Shop and head toward an empty aisle. Zoe trails behind me happily, her high heels clipping across the shiny linoleumtiles.

“Can we not?” I mutter, throwing a canister of bread crumbs into the mix. In an attempt to make my mother happy after the whole Ty debacle, I decided to throw her a little dinner for tonight. Just her, me, and Manuel. When I clued her in this morning, she put up a small fuss about having chefs who can do the cooking for us—but ultimately caved when I mentioned that it’d give her the time to get a load off her shoulders andvent.

I don’t know what it says about my company that the prospect of a bitch fest was the enticement Adaline needed to spend time withme.

I push the sobering thought away. It’s neither here nor there—end of the day, she agreed to suffer through a dinner with me, and I suppose that’s all I can be gratefulfor.

With light fingers, Zoe snatches a small potato chip bag from a display at the end of the aisle and tears it open like a savage. At my lifted brow, she shrugs. “What? Mere mortals eat as they go, Gwen. Save the bag and pay later at the register.” She shoves a chip into her mouth. “Anyway, you can’t get out of this. You’re looking at me like I’m crazy and yet you can’t stop smiling—you had sex. Was it with someone new? Andre and the team are getting back from Toronto today, so it couldn’t have been withHunt.”

My cheeks burn with the memory of what Marshall and I did last night—or rather, what we didn’t do. I’d like to pretend that we were just two lonely people who agreed to a little mutual self-satisfaction, but that seems woefully inaccurate to describe my most vivid sexualexperience.

Regardless of whether we were in two different countries or not, Marshall gave me an orgasm I’ll neverforget.

Exactly the reason you woke up this morning and took care of business . . .again.

“Not someonenew.”

“Hunt, then?” Zoe asks, crunching away. “Who knew the two of you would develop some sort of telepathic sex system?” She waves her free hand in the air, as though she’s showing off a billboard. “Sign me up. It’s a lonely world when Andre is on theroad.”

“We didn’t . . .” Stopping in the noodle section, I eye my options and buy myself time before answering. Fettuccini or lasagna. Unbidden, a visual of cooking for Marshall pops into my head and I shove it away.Don’t get ahead of yourself. “It waslike. . .”

Popping another chip into her mouth, Zoe watches me like a hawk. “Yes. . .?”

My gaze darts from one end of the aisle to the other. Spotting an elderly lady on the far end, at least ten feet away, I lower my voice. “We had video chat sex,okay?”

Her chip bag releases a strangled-soundingpop! pop!as though she’s squeezed it too tightly. “Like Skype? FaceTime?Facebook?”

“Does it matter which platform it happened on?” I don’t know whether to laugh or poke her in the ribs for beingridiculous.

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