Page 51 of The Friend Situation

“Do you remember how Lexi said my ex’s name?”

“You flipped out about it, yes,” he says, dropping a large ball of ice into two glasses. He fills it with an amber liquid and then hands me one.

“Sam texted me. I think I’m going to meet up with him on Friday.” I wait for a reaction, but he conveniently doesn’t give one. When I turn my head, my mouth falls open when I notice the shimmery water outside. “You have a pool?”

“Yes. It’s heated.” His voice vibrates through the space.

“Can we go swimming? Please?”

Weston tilts his head. “It’s twenty-two degrees outside.”

“And?”

I grab the sliding door handle, my heart racing as I step out onto the balcony with my drink in hand. I shudder under the cold breeze as I bend down and dip my fingers into the warm water. Steam rises from the top. A wave of excitement floods over me, and I can’t resist.

Weston appears beside me, the bottle of bourbon in his hand. His presence radiates a blend of mischief and allure. I glance back at him. The cool night air mingles with the warmth of the pool as I set my drink down. I reach behind me to unzip my dress, letting it cascade down around my heels.

I can feel his eyes on me, and it makes my heart race. I look over my shoulder, standing in my delicate black lingerie, and offer him a teasing smile.

“Joining me?” I ask.

His eyes don’t deviate from mine as I dive headfirst into the inviting water.

When I resurface, laughter dances in my chest. Weston stands on the pool’s edge, the moonlight casting a silver sheen on his muscular frame.

“It feels amazing,” I say, a smile breaking across my face. “You should join me.”

“It’s the dead of winter,” he replies.

“Yep. Peer pressure,” I say. “Are you scared?”

I lean back, dipping my hair in the warmth.

A heartbeat passes, and he unbuttons his shirt, revealing more of those tantalizing tattoos that cover his skin. My gaze stays glued on him.

“What are you smirking about?” His belt clangs to the ground.

“Nothing,” I say, loving how warm the water is, trying to ignore the smoke show in front of me but failing.

My eyes slide down his body, and it’s all curves and dips and ink like he was sculpted from stone. In those boxer briefs, he looks like a bad-boy underwear model covered with tattoos. Confidence drips off him.

“Damn,” I say in a hushed whisper.

“And to think, you removedmeas your hall pass. But don’t worry; you can change your mind.” He bursts into laughter, and in one smooth, fluid motion, he dives into the pool, muscles rippling as he slips beneath the surface.

His head pops up, and he slicks his hair back.

“I hate that you know that.”

“I love it,” he says and swims toward the edge of the pool to grab the bottle of bourbon.

“If I pulled the card right now, would you have sex with me?” I bluntly ask.

Silence.

“Oh, so you’re not going to answer?” I ask.

“No, because it’s a trick question.”

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