Page 52 of The Sweet Spot

I take the opportunity to look at her, the delicate lines of her bare shoulders, the way her slender waist flares out into the luscious curve of her hips. It’s hard not to touch her, knowing how soft her skin is.

Fuck it. “What’s the deal with you and Dallas?”

I can sense her smile even before she turns around. It’s a sheepish smile, though, and it only gets worse as she comes closer. “We really are good friends.” She stops a breath away from me, looking up. “It gets physical sometimes.”

Despite having figured this out, I’d hoped for a different answer. “Friends with benefits?”

She averts her eyes, faint spots of color blooming on her cheeks. “Yeah.”

I still want to touch her, but what I’m about to say helps me keep my distance. “I’ve known Dallas for a long time, Wren. I’m not trying to mess up what you two have.”

She swallows visibly. “We don’t have much. But I understand.”

“I can’t be that guy.” We’re so close I can see the goosebumps on her shoulders. Closing my eyes, I take a breath of her and step back. “No matter how much I wish I was.”

“You’re right.” Exhaling slowly, she looks at me with wet eyes. “You’re better than I am, Luca.”

“I’m not,” I promise her. If she knew the thoughts racing through my head right now, the urge I have to turn her around, flip that dress up, and find the hottest part of her, she might feel differently. “Come on, let’s go dance before Dallas comes looking for you.”

Chest tight, I follow Wren back out of the library. A jovial group emerges from the room across the hall, loud and drunk. I glance inside, spying a tricked-out photo booth in the corner.

Wren peeks past me and laughs. “Of course, they have one of these. What’s next, pony rides?”

Memories of another photo booth, another night. This girl. It hits me like a sucker punch, how badly I want Wren. All of her. “You want to?”

“I don’t know,” she says, gliding a tube of glossy stuff onto her lips. My dick twitches. “You gonna behave yourself in there?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Her perfectly red lips curve into a sly smile. “Then it would be a shame not to.”

A bored looking guy in a loose, rumpled tux sits beside the booth, fiddling with his laptop. He glances up, giving us a small wave as we approach. There’s a table covered with props just outside the booth—sunglasses, fake cigars, hats, masks—but we bypass all of that and slip inside.

“Just look at the screen,” the assistant says, his voice floating through the curtain. “I’ll give you guys a heads up when I’m about to start.”

Unlike the booths on the boardwalk, there’s nowhere to sit. Wren fixes her hair while I fiddle with my tie, and even though the guy mumbles that he’s starting, we’re both unprepared for the first shot.

“Whoops.” Wren snorts, which makes her laugh. “That one’s gonna be bad.”

The shutter goes off again, catching her in mid-sentence. Squealing, she throws her hands out. “Hold on, hold on! We’re messing it up!”

“Did you want a formal set?” I tease.

Tears of mirth glimmer at her eyes. Dabbing elegantly at them, she takes a deep breath. “No, actually. These will be perfect.”

Grinning mischievously, I shake my head. “I think you want to do it again.”

“Luca, no.” Giggling, Wren tries to pull me back as I pop my head out andlook at the assistant.

“We’re going to have to do it again.”

“Sure, buddy.” He winks, cracking an amused grin of his own. I’d love to see the collection of images he’s amassed over the evening—some of the people outside are pretty sauced. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

Turning to Wren, I run my hands over my hair. “You ready?”

To my surprise, she’s once again serious, although her flushed cheeks bear witness to the hysterics she just recovered from. “Your hair…”

“What’s wrong with it?” I ask, frowning.

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