Clearing his throat, he let his gaze slide over the lineup of bottles. Lotion, hair products…he picked up a bottle of pink liquid. Aha! Strawberry body mist from Bath & Body Works. He pressed his nose to the dispenser.
“What are you doing?”
He turned. She wore an emerald-green dress made out of some drapey material that crossed over one shoulder like a toga before flaring out from her hips, 1950s-style. She looked like a cross between a green Greek goddess and Marilyn Monroe. Crap. The sight, combined with the smell of her, even if wasn’t emanating from her but from its bottled source…he could only hope his jeans and open blazer would cover the evidence of just exactly what she was doing to him.
“This is why you always smell like strawberries,” he said, demonstrating a talent for stating the obvious.
“Yeah,” she said, moving around the bed to stand next to him. “Mason always thought it was unsophisticated.” He bit back a protest. “I used to wear Strawberry Shortcake perfume when I was a girl. I loved it, so I just never stopped. Mason said it was embarrassing for a grown woman to wear a cartoon perfume.” She trailed her hands over the framed photos on the dresser. He watched her face. It didn’t change as she traced the edges of the frame holding the picture of her with Mason. “He had a point, I guess, so I upgraded to the more respectable Bath & Body Works version.” She rolled her eyes self-deprecatingly. “It still only costs eight bucks a bottle, so it’s hardly Chanel, but it seemed to placate him.”
“Mason is a complete fucking idiot, because this shit smells incredible.” He couldn’t help it. It had to be said.
She turned from where she had been looking at the photos, startled, but then a slow smile blossomed on her face. “You”—she poked him in the chest, and her finger might as well have been a brand because he had to bite his lip to keep from groaning—“are turning out be a surprise.” Then she opened the bag she had slung over her shoulder, grabbed the photo of herself with her brother, and dropped it in. “Ready?”
He waited a moment to see if she was going to pack another photo. He wanted to make sure she didn’t pack the one of her with Mason. Not that he cared, personally. But it wouldn’t be good for her to hold on to it. “Ready,” he echoed, gesturing for her to precede him out. Once her back was turned, he reached out and laid the photo of Mason on the dresser, smug, self-satisfied face down.
Chapter Seven
Dax Harris in a hotel room. Finally, Amy had him where she wanted him. The whole proposal thing had been a trip, but it had ended up being surprisingly emotional. She didn’t want emotional. So instead, she was returning to the plan she’d been formulating before her every move was projected onto the Jumbotron at the stadium. It was time to usher in the era of Amy the Single Girl—the phase she’d totally skipped because she’d gotten serious with Mason so young.
Wild. Oat. Time.
Dinner had been amazing, but endless. They’d opted for the tasting menu, which had been composed of seven tiny, perfect courses, each one an explosion of flavor. But seven! It took forever. She had stopped after one glass of wine so he couldn’t accuse her of having impaired judgment this time. He’d followed her lead, so they were both stone-cold sober as he clicked them into their room—Julie and Jason’s room—on the twentieth floor of the Ritz. She’d thrown on her best underwear when they’d stopped at her house after the game. She might even have tossed a condom (or three—hope sprang eternal¸ right?) in her handbag.
The hotel room was a stroke of good luck, actually, because she wasn’t sure it was proper to take a hookup to Cassie’s apartment. Even though Cassie would never know, it just didn’t seem right. So there was nothing stopping her now except a wicked case of nerves. Which she planned to cheerfully ignore. People did this all the time. She had even done it once or twice herself before Mason.
“You should stay the night,” Dax said as he drew aside the curtains and stood against the glass wall, gazing out at the city. “Treat yourself. Hit the spa tomorrow.”
She went to stand beside him. The view was good, but they were spoiled by working in the Lakefront Centre. They had views like this—better than this, since they were higher up—every day. “I just might. But let’s have a nightcap before you leave.”
“Want to head up to the rooftop bar?”
She shook her head. “Let’s stay here.” Bending over, she examined the minibar. “What do you want?” When no answer was forthcoming, she looked over her shoulder to find Dax…staring at her ass. He looked like he wanted to pounce on her. There was no mistaking it. And she hadn’t even been trying yet. Score! Maybe this was going to be easier than she thought. She raised her eyebrows in what she hoped was a provocative fashion and said, “What do you want?” And God help, her, she stuck her ass out a little more.