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After another round of hugs, Daphne and Jackson take Laurel's directions and retire to their bedroom.
The second the door closes, Laurel pulls out her cell phone, connects to their speaker system, blasts a playlist of new dance music.
She loves EDM.
She loves falling into the flow of the music, melting into someone as she dances.
And I love being that person.
No. I did. Once.
Now—
My dick wants her more than ever. But my brain now possesses the ability to overpower the motherfucker.
I name the artist.
Laurel nodsof course. She raises a brow, already shifting back to the girl who finds me impossible. "Am I not with the times enough for that?"
"Not everything is an insult."
"Tell that to your face." She slips her phone into her purse and sets the bag on the kitchen counter.
"Why was he wearing a suit?" I ask. "It's one a.m."
"Why do you think?" She shakes her headisn't it obvious?"It's a sex game."
"How's that a game?"
She raises a browreally?"What do you think he does with the tie."
"Your brother is into BDSM?"
"Yes, he is my brother, so thank you for putting two and two together. I don't want to talk about it."
"But how do you know?" I ask.
"'Cause Daphne is worse than Cass. She can't stop gushing about her husband's amazing sexual skill. I don't blame her. I like when people know my man is talented." There's a sharpness to it, but I'm not sure where she's trying to send the knife.
Is itI've had way better sex.
Orwe could have been that couple, the one everyone envied because we had it so fucking good.
"It's not a big deal." She shrugs, making great effort to sell her effortlessness. "People have sex."
"Laurel Steele doesn't think sex is a part of life?"
"It's an important part of life, sure," she says. "But it's not always a momentous occasion."
Since when?
She watches me attempt to form a thought. "Listen, Romeo, I know you think I'm some sort of Malibu Barbie, who's so busy picking out her next pair of shoes she doesn't notice your contempt, but I'm not an idiot. If you want to be friendly, drop it."
"Drop what?"
Her eyes narrow. "Friends don't remind each other they had sex three times."
"You counted?" I ask.
