Page 59 of Christmas Crisis
I nodded, recognizing the sentiment. My wake-up moment came when I met Miranda two years ago. Her friendship added layers to my existence I hadn’t even known to want. Now, I couldn’t imagine living without them.
“Where to next?” I asked.
“We’re on the clock since I promised Marley we’d be back for dinner, and I offered to stop by The Landslide to pick up some of that cider.” She tapped her lips. “But I suppose we have enough time to ask Bert behind the desk if we can have the keys to his Honda, so you can remember the joys of hand-cranking a window.”
I laughed as her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She ignored it.
6 MONTHS AGO - JUNE
Miranda flopped down on her bedand hooked an elbowdramatically over her face. “I was so close,” she lamented, her slurred words evidence of the many drinks we’d imbibed. “One more hand and I woulda had ’em.”
“Easy there, Panda. One more hand and the dealer would have been forced to give you a prize for being the world’s worst poker player.”
I sat down on my bed. Our room was on a higher floor, and we had a great view of the Strip. I had learned something new about Miranda today—she stunk at cards—but we’d had a ton of fun playing and exploring the city.
She turned her head toward me and opened one eye, pinching her thumb and index finger, leaving half an inch of space between them. “Soooooooo close.”
I grabbed her a bottle of water from the room’s mini-fridge. Our families had come to California to watch her graduate from her MBA program, but everyone else flew back immediately after the ceremony because Marley and James’s wedding was next week. Miranda was the maid of honor, but Marley gave me permission to take her to Vegas for a few days to celebrate her accomplishment properly.
Miranda’s friends from school were going to Chile on a hiking trip, and she’d turned down that invite. She told me she considered our Sin City adventure to also be a celebration of ending that chapter of her life. She planned to stay friendly with some in her group, but @theadventurousmiranda was winding down.
Unless, of course, her himbo of a boyfriend decided it would be good for his image for her to maintain it. I had a feeling she’d keep posting if he asked. I dreaded the next few months because Stone’s movie was coming out and that meant he’d be ending his ruse with Naomi. Miranda told me they’d wait a few months and then bring her own relationship with Stone into the light.
Would I lose her then?
So far, it hadn’t been as much of an issue as I’d feared. Stone was gone so often I could almost pretend he didn’t exist.
And she never brought him up. He seemed to be a non-factor in her decision-making. When I’d suggested Vegas, Miranda had jumped into my arms and agreed with no hesitation.
I handed her the water. She chugged down half of it and forced herself to sit up, looking green.
“I know myself,” she mumbled, as if her tongue were glued to the roof of her mouth. “If I lie down in this bed, I’m gonna wake up with a killer hangover. I need to take a shower and move around a bit.” She reached out to tug my pants. “Wanna walk around the Strip?”
“It’s two in the morning.”
“Perfect.” She drank some more water. “This is the only time of day the heat won’t melt our faces off.”
Rising, she began taking off her clothes. By the time she got to the bathroom, she was down to a bra and panties.
She must have been more inebriated than I thought. Since I'd told her about my asexuality, she always behaved modestly around me, treating me as though I was someone who could get aroused by her body. I appreciated that courtesy, one of many ways Miranda found not to “other” me.
Somewhat guiltily, I let my eyes roam over her backside as she attempted to open the bathroom door. The sight of her rounded ass didn’t exactly excite me, but combined with her cute little huffs of annoyance—reminding me that said ass was attached to my Miranda—something sparked beneath my skin.
My fingertips prickled. I wanted to touch her butt.
Shoving down the sensation, I stood behind her and slid the door to the side. “Apparently, you had enough rum punches to forget how a barn-style door operates.”
She pffted. “It’s confusing.”
Walking into the brightly lit bathroom, she neglected to shut the door behind her, so I did it. A moment later, the water turned on.
I let my mind consider the moment, registering my reaction like I were taking an exam. Miranda was naked, the water sloughing over her shoulders and back. Her ass. I kept myself from attempting to picture it, but I wondered abstractly what her breasts looked like. Not in a pervy way. More like a clinician. The last pair I’d seen were Ilona’s, over a decade ago. They had been teardrop-shaped, her nipples small and brown. Were Miranda’s the same?
I had a vague recollection of wanting to touch Ilona’s breasts. For the first six months of our dating, Idid thingswith her because I thought I was supposed to. Eventually, I realized I was touching her out of obligation and not lust.
But that was what I felt now with Miranda. Lust. Desire.
