Page 76 of The Big Easy & Other Lies
We stared at each other for a minute, smiling.
“Is it weird if I think that’s super sexy?” he asked.
I laughed. “It’s weird to think of anything about me as sexy.” I gestured to my costume. “Even on National Dress Like a Slutty McHoho day, I’m covered up in a giant cape.”
He snorted, and it turned into a full-fledged laugh. “Slutty McHoho?”
I smacked him. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. Because I don’t think we’re slut-shaming anymore. Hashtag evolved, hashtag equality. But also, ‘sexy’ is exactly the right word for you.” He drew me up into a kiss and slowly walked me backward toward the bed. Heat licked along my nerve endings again, and they fired with hunger and alarm. This burned a hundred degrees hotter than when we had made out in my room, maybe because it seemed like we’d been inching toward something intense ever since. His teeth brushed along my neck, and when they closed around my earlobe, my knees buckled. I hadn’t noticed all of the nerve endings there even when I got them pierced, but every last one of them sang now. When my knees hit the mattress edge, I pushed against Rhett’s chest and broke off the kiss.
“I’m not ready for this,” I said, panicky at the seductive edge in his touch.
He looked stricken. “Whoa, Cam. I wasn’t going to—”
Oh.
I covered his mouth, feeling like an idiot. “Don’t talk or I might die of embarrassment.”
He pulled my hand down. “I would never push you for something like that.” His ears reddened. “I mean, I haven’t...either.” He swallowed. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. The bench is uncomfortable is all, I swear.”
He stepped back and reached up to jam his hands through his hair before he realized his uber-gelled spiky werewolf ‘do wouldn’t cooperate. He dropped them to his sides and stared to the left of me somewhere. “I feel like an idiot.”
I swallowed. “You shouldn’t. I didn’t mean...” What? I had no idea.
He shifted from foot to foot while he waited for me to finish my thought. When I didn’t, he cleared his throat. “We definitely should go do something else. Want the grand tour? I’ll take you to all the parts of the house where Angelique isn’t.”
Anything to escape the awkward vibe in the room. “Sure. The kitchen help rarely makes it up this far.”
“Funny. Come on. Time to do recon in enemy territory.”
Chapter 27
Even rich people’s upstairs hallways were fancier than regular hallways. The corridor was as wide as a hotel’s, ornamental light sconces gleaming at regular intervals. There were as many closed doors as a hotel hallway, too. “Check this out,” Rhett said, opening the door next to his room. I peeked over his shoulder to stare at a massive bathroom that must have been ripped from the pages ofElle Décor.
I stepped past him. “Whoa.” The disorienting sensation of walking onto a movie set gripped me—if we were talking a movie about princesses or billionaires or people who otherwise lived in palaces. A huge sunken tub dominated the space, surrounded by the marble floor and lit by a small crystal chandelier. The towels hanging on the brass towel racks begged to be touched and I darted to run my fingers over them, gasping at the warmth of the plush under my palm. “I have never felt a towel like this,” I said. “I want to wrap my future babies in these towels and push them around in strollers made of gold.”
“Discussing babies to defuse sexual tension. Good tactic,” he said, grinning.
I snorted. “Unintended genius, I promise.” But his joke eased the stress between us.
“Come on,” he said. “You should see the guest bedrooms.”
We poked our heads through a few more doors, and I gawked every time. The rooms were done in themes. French antique. Mediterranean. The mid-century modern one nearly made me swoon. “Is that a...?” I asked pointing at the cube-shaped black chair in the corner.
“It’s an Eames,” he confirmed.
I glared at him. “That’s in my AP Art History textbook.”
“Sorry.”
I didn’t know why it made me mad. It was probably the contrast of this very clean, crisp—and according to Rhett—seldom-used guest room against the madness of my own house. I shut the door, wondering when anyone would catch a glimpse of it again. What a waste.
“Angelique and her parents have their digs in the other wing.” He pointed.
“So that’s the lion’s den. Let’s not go there,” I said.
“No problem. What should we do instead?”
