Page 105 of The Americana Playbook

“For a swim.” I bring my hands to the bottom of my dress to lift it and Fitz quickly spins me around.

“That’scalled skinny dipping.” When he pulls the fabric from my hands, his fingers graze my thigh, and I jolt. “Not swimming.”

I knit my brow together. “I was planning to keep my underwear on.”

It’s still dim, but Fitz’s face is highlighted just enough.

“Does that disappoint you?” I ask, tipping my head to the side.

His chest rises and falls slowly three times before he speaks, “Parker?—”

I step out of reach, lifting my dress over my head again. “I should be a good wife and make you happy.”

Before the fabric clears my body, I realize I didn’t entirely think this through. I was imagining a morestripping off our clothes as we ran and jumped into the poolscenario. Not this. Not Fitz’s eyes darkening as he scans up and down my body, leaving a trail of goosebumps on my exposed skin, lingering on the delicate areas still covered by my taupe-colored bra and thong. It’s a look just as powerful as the one he gave me outside during the engagement party.

I ran from that look.

But this one? It touches a different part of me and doesn’t let go. I’m held in place by the desire in Fitz’s eyes, the want, the need, like they’re thick vines of English Ivy.

“There are probably ten cameras down here,” Fitz hisses when I toss my dress onto a chair, baring more of my body to him.

I slide down the straps of my bra. “Let them look,” I say. “Your eyes are the ones that matter.”

My words are true, as true, if I’m being honest, as my kisses were yesterday, despite denying it.

I toss my bra to the chair behind Fitz. With his sweatshirt sleeves pushed up, the clip of it skims his forearm.

“Do you always do that?”

I’m confused by his question for a million reasons—his intense stare, the tight pull of my nipples in the cold air, the gruffness of his voice. “Do what?”

“Match them.”

My hands find the lace band of my underwear. “Do you like that?”

His throat swells with a swallow, his Adam’s apple protruding. The rhythm of his chest rising and falling picks up and I can tell his breathing changes. In this moment, as my mind races and my pulse ping-pongs through my veins. I want to say good riddance to trying to remain levelheaded and unproblematic when it comes to our friendship. That’s not who I am. I’m flooded with this intense desire to do what I shouldn’t.

“I know what I said yesterday. But what if, just once”—I lick my lips—“would it really be so bad?”

There’s little light, but I don’t need it anyway. It could be pitch black and I still would feel the potency of Fitz’s eyes tracing me, sliding from my face down to my breasts. There’s heat in his stare, and even though we don’t touch, it leaves a molten path in its wake.

I press my thighs together.

My breath hitches when he reaches and yanks his crewneck sweatshirt by the back of the neck, lifting it over his head. Now my breathing matches his. I’m drawn to the span of his broad chest, entranced by how it tapers down to his waist. I can remember the feel of him pressing me into the bed, squirming against him because I had nowhere to go but also nowhere else I wanted to be.

I’m so focused on Fitz that I don’t even realize he’s moved closer until I flinch when he lifts the sweatshirt over my head.

“Yeah.” He tugs it down so my body is covered. “It definitely would.”

“Parker. It’s locked.”

I jump when the light turns on behind me. Fitz now sits on the bed, running his fingers through his dark hair already sticking up every which way. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He was tossing and turning on the floor, where he’s now had to sleep for another night, and after getting up to check the door half a dozen times, I haven’t made that easier.

“Sorry.” I slide back beneath the duvet, facing away from him. “I won’t do it again.”

I’m talking about the door and the fact that hours ago, I stripped naked in front of Fitz and put myself on the table only to have him decline.

“I promise,” I add. It’s a futile promise for only half of what I apologized for. I’m already itching to check the door again.

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