Am I hiding out in the ballroom? Possibly.
Am I terrified of what my sister left lingering in the air? Yep.
What about the possibilities that could be if I had an adult conversation with Adrian, instead of letting it fall to the wayside because of some type of miscommunication? Also, a resounding yes. Absolutely petrified.
But will I allow myself to do anything about it? Honestly, I don’t know.
I want to. I think.
For the second time today, I construct a mental list of the possible pros and cons that can happen if I were to outright tell Adrian I have feelings for him. That I have since forever and want to try to pursue things.
Pros: He feels the same, and we try it out.
Cons: I lose a dear friend. I mess up a three-way friendship that’s been around since Google was founded. I potentially lose the best handyman the hotel has ever had.
Obvious weight leans on me, just keeping my mouth shut and trying to move on. Maybe what happened in the bathroom was a fluke. A misinterpreted moment of weakness when I was drowning in everything Adrian.
I do my best to ignore the squeezing sensation in my chest and slip out my phone as I walk to the piano. Flopping down on the hard bench, I press my back into the closed key cover and tap on the dating app.
For the next few minutes, I scroll through profiles and assess the men on the screen in less than five seconds. All of them the app matches me with are the exact same. Suits, ties, bright smiles, and perfectly uniform hair.
I tried this type before. Multiple times. And every time I go on a date, I always end up bored out of my mind. From the fancy restaurants, where we talk about their latest business venture to the missionary sex, where I never get off.
It starts and ends the same every single time. I need something exciting. Something that makes me feel alive.
Maybe then the lingering feelings will begin to dwindle. Maybe then I won’t feel completely pathetic and can move on from what I’ve never even had.
As if on cue, the ballroom door opens, and I twirl around, ready to mouth off to Willow. Only it isn’t my sister standing in the large doorway. It’s freaking Adrian.
I hit the button on the side of my phone, before placing it face down on the piano. “All done?”
He’s more disheveled than he was when he was working on Doris. His hair is tousled, falling over his forehead, while his Henley is no longer white, but is covered with an array of streaking grays, blacks, and browns. His jeans are low on his hips, sporting the same colors as his shirt.
Adrian nods, seemingly pleased with himself. “I am.”
I stand up and move around the piano, but still leave plenty of room between the both of us. “Thank you, seriously.”
He waves me off. “I told you, this is my home too. And you know it’s never an issue helping you ladies out. Better me than some townie who’s gonna overcharge you.”
“Still. Thank you, Adrian.”
He nods again as he lets his gaze drop to the instrument behind me. After a few seconds, he looks back to me.
“Remember when you got stuck in there.” He gestures to the grand piano with his chin, a sly grin on his face.
Ignoring the unexpected swell of butterflies, I guffaw. “Of course. I thought it was the perfect hiding spot.”
“If you planned on breaking the damn thing, sure.”
I roll my eyes. “I definitely didn’t intend to harm your precious piano. Just determined to finally win a game of hide and seek with you.”
“Bambi, we both know you will never win a game with me. Wherever you hide, I will find you.”
I bite into my bottom lip hard, an attempt to feel something other than the sudden ache in my core. “Sounds a bit stalkerish, but I get your meaning.”
He shrugs, seemingly indifferent to the higher octave in my voice. “Not my fault you suck at hiding.”
“Umm, I don’t,” I bite out, folding my arms over my chest. “You always cheat.”
This makes him laugh that deep, throaty laugh. “How do I cheat, Sam?”
I mirror his shrug, though a little more aggressively. “I don’t know. But there’s no way you should have been able to find me every single time.”
Adrian moves toward me slowly, each step in tune with slow-motion seconds in a movie. His gaze is hooded and predatory, his posture screaming for me to back up. Instead, I stand perfectly still, a strange response when my body is humming to do the opposite. But it isn’t because I’m afraid. It’s anticipation.
The closer he gets to me, the more my heart rate increases. The quicker my breath comes, the wetter I get. Scandalous, and so freaking forbidden, but it’s the very excitement I go out looking for, which is making it very hard for me to ignore.
By the time Adrian is a foot away from me, my nerves are shaking in anticipation. “You know what I think, Sam? I think you like it when I chase you. And even more so when I find you.”
I force my lids to lower, an attempt to be unphased. But my voice is too breathy, and the way his eyes flash to my neck tells me he can see my raging pulse. Still, I try. “Something tells me you like it just as much. If not more.”
“And if I do?”
My mind races, thoughts of what my sister said flashing through one by one. But only one of those stands out.
“Be an adult and confront it. If you both communicate, you might be surprised to find out how something that seems impossible is actually easy.”
I swallow, but it gets stuck in my throat. My eyelashes flutter as I choke in the moment. Fear of saying the wrong thing grips me too tight to speak.
A flash of resignation appears in Adrian’s eyes before he steps back, chuckling. “You should have seen your face, Bambi. Like a deer in headlights. I was messing with you.”
My stomach turns with his words. Embarrassment and naivety swirling around in my gut.
When I don’t say anything, he yawns. “I only came down to tell you I’m done, and I’m going to take a long shower. We still on for drinks?”
I manage to nod a quick yes, and the smile slowly fades on his face.
“Look, sorry about earlier, and now. The flight really must have done a number on me. I think I need some rest.”
His slight admission to the clear shift is slightly reassuring. It informs me I’m not losing my fucking mind with what I’ve been feeling this afternoon. “No worries. Probably jetlag.”
“Yeah. Probably. I’ll let you get back to your Tinder.” Like my sister, he doesn’t wait for a response and exits the ballroom.
For the first time in my life, I want to slap myself on the forehead. I’m a grown-ass woman. Adrian is my closest fucking friend. We talk about everything from the day-old yogurt I found in between my couch cushions one time, to that one occasion he had film in his belly button.
Yet I can’t open my mouth and be like, “Hey, I like you more than a friend. Want to fuck me?”
A horrific grunt burns my nostrils as I return to the piano bench, shame coating my insides in something grimy. In an attempt to forget about it, I open Tinder again and lose myself in the slew of men it matches me with.
After a few more minutes of scrolling left on the app, my eyelids grow heavy. I’ve done a lot, and with the influx coming tonight, I know I’ll benefit from lying down, even if I don’t get to sleep long. By now, I suspect Adrian is probably already in the shower. They are notoriously thirty minutes long, which is actually the perfect amount of time for a power nap.
Heading back up to the spare room, I talk myself off a ledge.
Things are fine.
It’s been a weird day.
A long week.
I haven’t seen him in a while, and we’re both pretty tired.
Everything is normal.
I just need a few minutes of sleep.
When I unlock the door, I open it with my redundant thoughts still playing on a loop. I don’t notice the bathroom door wide open. I don’t notice the tan muscles moving under the stream of water. Nor do I don’t notice the grunts of pleasure.
Until I do.
Holy shit.
Adrian is facing me, one hand above his head, clasped on the top of the glass shower door, while the other is down low, gripped around his massive erection. My body responds immediately, tightening and tingling, as I take in his form. His clenched abs. His flexing muscles. His dick. Fuck, why is it so damn thick?
Stop it.
Somewhere deep, my consciousness is able to scream above my arousal and tell me to turn around. To have some freaking decency and let my best friend masturbate in peace. To leave and just wait for him at the bar.
But the little voice in my head is fading. She’s drowning under the steady slaps of water as he works his hand up and down his thick shaft. It’s fading into the background the moment his groans of pleasure reach my ears.
The muscle in his jaw tics as his hand moves faster, his head falling into the crook of his arm with the increased speed.
My pussy aches, clenching around nothing as I bear witness to the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
I should leave.
I shouldn’t be turned on.
My hand sure as hell shouldn’t be lingering at the waistband of my pants, my fingers trailing along my lower stomach, sprouting goosebumps in their wake.
What is wrong with me?
I bite down on my lip and spin on my heels to leave. But the moment I touch the doorknob, one singular word stops my movement. It rocks my world and tears down everything I thought I knew.
It changes everything.
It’s a heady moan, full of lust not even I can misconstrue. And when he says it again, I come undone.
“Samantha.”
