Page 59 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
She doesn’t seem to notice that I’m a horny, brooding idiot. I’m thankful for that, at least. She looks up at me. “Ready?”
The private chef has laid out a feast for us. Cedar-plank salmon, truffle risotto, and lime gimlet cocktails strong enough to fell a tree. It’s all incredibly delicious. Most of the team finished eating at the large dining room table before we arrived. I spot Shane yawning even though it’s barely eight.
It’s been a long, full day.
Juliet enjoys two cocktails, after which I put a can of bubbly water in front of her. Those cocktails were strong, and she’s a tiny person. She gives me a mischievous look but sips the water without complaint.
Jessa and Ivy bail early, citing the long day. Moose herds the rookies toward their cottage, muttering something about bedtime stories. Juliet catches my eye across the table, taps her wrist, and mouths,bedtime?
I push back from my chair immediately, pulse already drumming. “We should probably head out too.”
The walk to our house feels longer than it should. Every step makes this more real, more immediate. We’re about to spend the night in the same bed and I’m trying not to think about what that means.
She deserves someone stable. Someone who doesn’t flinch when the word mom comes up in conversation. Someone whose worst day doesn’t end up on ESPN with slow-motion replays. I can fake it for the cameras, but she’ll neverreallywant a damaged defender like me.
Not if she ever sees the full picture of who I am underneath all the performance, anyway.
But damn if I don’t want to take her to bed right now.
Our cottage smells like cedar and sea brine. It’s cozy, with a king-size bed dominating the main room and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the water.
Juliet ducks into the bathroom and emerges in silk shorts and a camisole, her face scrubbed clean except for that lethal red lipstick she never seems to go without. I strip down to boxer briefs.
She catches sight of my body, her eyes sinking down to my abs and then briefly considering my dick. Then her face flames.
“Huxley! Put some clothes on!”
I knew that would get her going. “I run hot!”
Really, I just wanted her to look. She fans herself with her hand.
“You’re the worst.”
I look down at myself, as if considering her words. “I don’t think you mean that. Look at these abs. Do you know how hard I’ve worked for these?”
She practically swallows her tongue, scowling, and climbs under the duvet. I watch as she immediately starts building a wall of pillows down the middle of the bed.
“Really?” I ask. “What is the pillow barrier for?”
“For… protection. So there are nomistakes.”
Juliet says that pointedly, as if I would be the one to feel her up in my sleep. The joke’s on her because I don’t think I can sleep at all with her half-naked in my bed.
I get under the covers on my side, amused by her pillow fortress. “This is ridiculous. Two grown adults, playing sleepover like we’re twelve.”
“Pretty sure twelve-year-olds don’t build pillow fortresses to avoid sexual tension,” she mutters into the blanket.
I grin. “So you admit there’s tension.”
She kicks at the comforter. “There’s no tension.”
“You’re lying through your teeth, Firecracker.”
A beat of silence. I hear her shift, feel the mattress dip slightly as she moves closer to the pillow wall.
“You really run hot or is that just an excuse to show off your abs?”
“Busted.”
