Page 99 of Mexico Can Choke On It
That mortifying slip-up:“I’m completely and utterly yours.”
Are you trying to fuck this up, Petra?
Bryce cannot discover I’ve carried this torch since high school. He has to think this attraction is new. Like I just discovered he has a penis and suddenly found it fascinating.
Back to the peephole—no movement. I march to the mirror for a final look at today’s unzip-me ensemble.
This olive-green jumpsuit I’m wearing matches perfectly with my trusty black combat boots. It’s cinched at the waist, clinging in all the right spots, and says “I’m outdoorsy—let’s make out.” I ease the center zipper halfway to danger, revealing my crimson bikini underneath.
Secret weapon time.
Digging into one of the many pockets, I pull out my faithful drugstore lipstick and slick on another layer of “come hither” red.
Footsteps in the hallway send me scrambling to my spy position.
Not Bryce. Hana. She’s skipping past my room in a tennis outfit so white and bouncy-bright, she looks like she’s headed to Wimbledon instead of an off-roading expedition.
We’re riding ATVs through the jungle, not sipping cucumber water at the country club.
Suddenly, his doorknob turns and my pulse skyrockets.Operation Make Bryce Sterling Regret His Smug Exit is officially a go.
Sarcasm: loaded. Attitude: armed. Fucks to give: zero.He wants to act the elusive, cocky billionaire. Fine. Two can play that game.
Three authoritative knocks echo off the door.
I yank the zipper down to my thighs in an impromptu burlesque move, letting the jumpsuit gape open to showcase my bikini-wrapped assets. Then, I fling the door wide.
Bryce takes one look and clears his throat loudly. “My apologies. I thought you’d be dressed.”
“I am.”
His gaze trails down my torso like I’m a buffet and he’s ranking appetizers to devour first.
I peek down at myself, feigning surprise. “Again? This stupid thing keeps slipping down. You better keep an eye on it, or I might trip and fall directly out of my clothes.”
I zip up—slowly—watching his fingertap-tap-tap.
“Come on, babysitter. We’ve got a sweaty playdate in the jungle.”
I brush past him, my breasts grazing his chest—totally on purpose. His sharp inhale behind me? Music to my chaotic little ears.
Let the games begin, Moneybags.
***
BackatCasaCashmere,we’re greeted by automotive paradise. Talk about sex on wheels—this garage has it all. Ferraris, Lamborghinis, motorcycles, and endless rows of off-road vehicles. Whatever a billionaire fancies, Casa Cashmere has it—detailed, dazzling, and ready to roll out.
Staff in matching blue polos swarm around the wedding party as they prepare for our 4x4 adventure. Helmets snap into place, headsets tangle in manicured fingers, and the row of ATVs rumble in formation.
Bryce and I gear up side by side. I drink in his transformation from corporate clone to rugged outdoorsman. Holy hell, Sebastian deserves a serious bonus.
Dark khakis sculpt his legs while that cream henley hugs his torso exactly where it counts. But it’s the half-buttoned olive gray shirt layered on top that causes my thighs to clench, bringing back the memory of his shirt flying open before he sank to his knees.
I want to strip him down, layer by layer, until there’s nothing between us but bad decisions.
Nope. Stick to the plan. Make him beg.This richie rich must be mind-fucked.
I snap my helmet into place and tap the microphone. “Testing, testing… So what’s the seating arrangement here? Do I get to steer this beast, or will you be maneuvering me like you did last night?”
