Page 141 of Break the Ice
I enjoyed it a lot. X
Shoot. That’s not any better.
We’ll celebrate tonight. After the game. X
I’m debating what to reply when Christina plucks the platter from my hand. Her eyes narrow on my phone before I lock the screen.
“Seventy-four...” she sing-songs with a cock of her brow.
I follow her back to the breakfast bar. “Jayden.”
“Yep, that guy. What a thing of beauty… the fuck me eyes could almost make up for the height discrepancies. A ride is a ride, and I bet he can fu?—”
“Christina Morgan Halliday, get our head out of the gutter…”
She grins at me, picking a grape from the berry basket. “Jealous?”
“No.”
“So, if I told you I’ve had the best fantasies about him…”
“He’s too tall and too chill for you,” I grumble her words back at her even though I know she’s bating me.
“I knew it. You’re into the two of them.”
“No! I love Elijah and?—”
A laugh explodes from her, causing my already frenzied pulse to go into overdrive. “You’re cute, but you’re also a shitty liar.”
Or she’s the best human lie detector.
I grab a water from the fridge and take a sip, hoping to clear my throat before I choke out, “I’m not lying. I love Elijah, but…”
“But?”
Dragging in a deep breath, I exhale slowly before I tell her, “It’s complicated.”
“Is it, though? If you’re into them and they’re into you… What’s complicated about that?”
“The part where there are three of us.”
“According to Warhol, three’s a party.”
“And Warhol knows best,” I chuckle, staring down at the perspiration ring on the counter from the wine bottle she pops open.
“Absolutely!” Christina’s pale hand reaches across the counter, palm up, waiting for mine. “You’re pulling that sulky face you do when you’re frustrated with something.”
“Sorry.”
“Stop fucking apologizing, dude. I’ve told you like a million times that sorry should be the last word in a woman’s vocabulary.” She throws a grape at my chest, dunking it right between my breasts with aWhoop!
“How’s the masters going?” I ask her, fishing the grape out and throwing it back at her.
She catches it between her teeth, making a thing of it while I focus on making up our lunch platter.
“Where are the glasses?” The groan answers my question when she slumps back into the stool and takes a long gulp straight from the bottle.
Handing her a couple of water goblets and the baguette she brought I load the platters onto a large tray and take her out onto the balcony.
