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“Isn’t she sleeping with you?” Colt follows us, asking at her doorway. He’s going to bed, too.
“She said she won’t sleep with me again.” Why the fuck lie now? Amber’s gone, and so is the pretense. So I tell Colt, “She said she won’t fuck me again either. That’s the real reason for our bet because it’ll hurt too much when we have to say goodbye at the end of this.”
Colt just chuckles. I watch as he yanks his hair free from its knot. It spills over his broad, inked shoulders.
I hold my world in my arms and stare.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” he mumbles his new mantra while he disappears into his bedroom. “You’re the only one who thinks we have to say goodbye.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Do they make Epi-Pens for pussies?
BLAIR
My eyelids crack open to sunlight sparkling over the pool, the peaceful turquoise ocean beyond, and raised voices echoing from the living room.
“How the fuck was it my fault?”
That’s Colton. That’s the sound of a man spitting glass.
“How the fuck was it mine? The pass was complete.”
That’s Beau—I roll my eyes—and that’s the sound of another fight I’ll have to subdue with dildos.
Rough life, I know.
My feet land on the cool tile floor. I’m not sure who brought me to my bed, but I know the culprit when I glimpse my new sleep shirt in the bathroom mirror.
And I laugh.
It’s the rainbow Skittles candy logo, but instead, it says “Squirter” and “Taste my rainflow.”
How the hell did Beau get this shirt in time? We had less than forty-eight hours from when he asked me to be here to when we left.
Unless…
He knew all along I’d say yes. Or, he hoped we’d reunite in some prankish way in the future.
I’m so flattered; I roll with it.
While they shout in the living room, I shower, then brush my teeth, swiping on my red lips but leaving my hair to air-dry. Then I wet my new white T-shirt before tugging it back on, tying it real tight, right below my braless tits that are thrilled at the fact Beau must’ve admired them last night before putting me in this shirt.
In the dresser, I sort through the array of panties and goodies I brought from Delta’s. Smiling, it’s like this vacay was meant to be. I select the white cotton thong that pairs perfectly with my new T-shirt.
Why? Because it says DADDY’S PUSSY in red on the front triangle.
While they’re still shouting, “It was a pass rush!” and “You tipped the ball!” They might as well be speaking German because I don’t know what they’re saying, but they need to settle down.
I get they’re upset.
But I’m the only one who knows it’s about more than the Super Bowl. Either way, yelling is for dumbasses who have all volume and no IQ.
They need to talk it out.
So, I slide open my glass doors and walk around the pool to the wide-open living area. From where they’re sitting, shouting at the flatscreen and each other, they spot me, standing feet away on the sunny deck.
I cock my head and hip, twirling a strand of damp hair. Running a hand down my bare belly, I make sure they read my naughty thong like classic English Pervertature.
