Page 8 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

It’s perfect. Of course, it is.

Sitting down on the stool across from him with the island between us, I look at him.

He blatantly stares back. We eat in silence. Except it’s not silent. It’s thick with what we almost did last night... what we still might do… what I want to do.

Add in the fact that I dreamed about his hands, and what I know they’re capable of doing to me all night, while he was on the floor beside me, and how we always seem to involve food in our foreplay, I can’t look at the syrup without blushing

“So,” Chase says, biting into a piece of bacon, “how’d you sleep?”

I smile sweetly, though I can’t stop staring at his mouth as he chews. “Like a woman who didn’t almost make a massive mistake.”

He nods. “Cool. I slept like a man whose wife made him sleep on the floor instead of curved around her with her ass on his dick.” I swallow and he smirks. “Remember that team-building exercise at the last couple’s thing where you dry humped my leg, and then, ran off with my favorite spoon?”

I blink. “I did not take the spoon.”

He holds it up. It’s his favorite spoon. He brings it everywhere. It’s silver… and bent.

Damnit, Chase.

Memories of exactly how it got that way flood my head and my nipples bead.

I curse. “I hate you.”

“Lies.” He winks.

Before I can respond, the door opens and the other couples flood in. It gets loud. Fast.

Three people make a beeline for me.

As soon as I can escape to the deck, I find Chase leaning against the railing, sipping orange juice like a damn sunrise fantasy.

“You’ve been busy,” I say, arms crossed.

He grins. “So have you. Heard you tell Miguel you were emotionally repressed. That’s hot.”

I ignore that. “They think we’re back together.”

His shrugs. “So… we’re never really not together, Rox. No matter what you say.”

My brows draw together. “Did you say something to them for them to come to that conclusion?”

“I mean... what’s the issue? We’re married and we are in fact,” he points at himself, and then, at me, “together.”

I blink. “Chase!”

He shrugs. “Non-issue. Moving on.”

“Why not just tell them we’re getting divorced?” I snap.

“Because we’re not.” He growls and sets his fists on the deck railing.

Okay, we’re not, but we are, but…

“Separated, then.” I frown.

“We’re not that either. You say we are. I say we’re not. And we both know I’m going home with you when we leave, so can we just… skip the rest, Roxy?” He asks.

“We are! I kicked you out!” I yell.

---