Page 19 of Like It's 1999

But this is the second time Alice and I have had sex, and I don’t want to disappoint.

She doesn’t seem to share my hesitation. When I finally get the door open, she stalks into the room, tosses my jacket on a chair and turns to meet my gaze.

I point to the minibar. “Do you want anything?”

Her smile lights up the room. How have I kept my hands off this woman the past month? The past year? So what if she’s Kate’s best friend?

She shakes her head. “Just you. Naked. Pronto.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It’s the most torturous, delicious staring contest ever. She unzips her dress as I unbutton my shirt. We kick off our shoes in tandem. She steps out of her dress, I lose my shirt. My belt and trousers drop while she whips a satiny slip over her head. The half a second when I can’t see her eyes is literally painful, but I’m rewarded with a vision in lace. One strip of black lace cups perfect, palm-sized breasts and another outlines the gentle curves of her hips.

When I find her eyes again, they’re below my waist. I let her take a good, long look.

At least I try. Feeling like I might explode, like Ineedto explode sooner rather than later, I close the distance between us, find her mouth and then get this woman into my bed.

ALICE

When my eyes flutter open the next morning, it takes me a few moments to figure out where I am. The hotel. Kate’s wedding. The blinds are pulled shut, but a sliver of bright light peeks through.

As I yawn and stretch, the sheet pulls away from my naked body, and memories of the night before play through my mind.Fuck.I had sex with Hot Steve. Again.

And dammit, it was even better than the last time.

Wriggling in the sheets, I get hot all over again. I can still feel his fingers, his mouth, all his parts making all my parts happier than they’ve been since… well, since the last time we did this. I’m ready to go again just thinking about it.

But first, I have to pee.

Heading to the bathroom, it takes me a sec to realize that I’m not in my room. Duh, I’m still in Steve’s room. So, where the heck is Steve?

I’m just finishing up washing my hands when there’s a noise at the door, like someone’s kicking it softly. I grab the hotel robe. As usual, it’s way too big, so I shove the sleeves up to my elbows.

When I crack the door open and find Steve, I do my best Jack Nicholson crazy face. “‘Heeeere’s Johnny.’”

Jutting his stubble-covered chin at the tray of takeout cups in his hands while struggling to keep a bag pinned to his side, he says, “Glad you answered. I didn’t want to have to put all this stuff down to open the door.”

He enters and I follow the scent of coffee, waiting impatiently while he lays out cups on the little table in the corner. “They didn’t have cream and sugar to go and I don’t know how you take yours, so I’ve got four options: black, cream no sugar, cream with sugar, and lots of cream with lots of sugar.”

“That last one, please,” I say. “You are a god.”

He grins. “You said that a couple times last night too.”

I have no comeback to this, so I take a sip of coffee and eye the bag on the table. “Whatcha got there?”

“Every kind of pastry they had at the buffet breakfast downstairs.”

“Oh my god, you’re a godandthe perfect man.”

I’m joking, but I’m also worried. He might actually be the perfect man for me. Which is a problem. I can’t even decide which pastry to eat right now. The solution? Cut them all up so I can have a bite of each one. Which is kind of what I do with men. Sample them.

Thing is, Ilikehim. He’s a perfect partner in crime—for a man. He’s not my Katie Mae, but for a guy, he’s pretty fucking awesome—not to mention pretty awesome at fucking.

When he clears his throat, I realize I’ve probably been staring at him with a goofy smile on my face. I need to cut him off at the pass, though. If nothing’s going to happen here, I’d rather be the one to say it first, so I wipe my mouth and lift a finger in the air. “Now, just in case you’re getting any ideas here, you may be the perfect bridesman and the perfect breakfast bringer, but we”—I draw a line back and forth between us—“won’t work.”

Something crosses his face—maybe disappointment—but it’s gone too fast for me to tell. “Alice—Love ’Em and Leave ’Em Alice? And Hot Steve? Pfft. We’d never work.”

He’s good, I have to admit. I’m buying what he’s selling. But I can top it. “If we even tried to date, within a week I’d do something idiotic and you’d hate me.”

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