Craving His Best Friend's Ex

He rolled over and saw the empty expanse of the bed next to him. He closed his eyes and swore he smelled the scent of her perfume drifting through the open French doors that led to the balcony.

He got up and walked to the open door and saw the shadow of someone standing at the railing.

Crissanne.

He reached for his jeans and drew them on over his naked body. He carefully pushed his erection out of the way as he buttoned his jeans, and then scrubbed his hand through his hair as he stepped out.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, keeping his voice low so he didn’t startle her.

“No. Too much in my head,” she said, turning to face him. She wore a thin sleeveless nightgown that ended at her knee. The moon was full tonight and it shone down on her, making her look almost as if she wasn’t of this world. As if she didn’t belong here.

Hell.

He knew she didn’t.

“Did I wake you?” she asked, leaning back against the railing. The breeze stirred her hair, catching it and making it flow against her shoulder and then across her face. She tucked it back behind her ear.

“No.”

“I’m glad,” she said. “But what’s keeping you awake? Maybe talking will help.”

He doubted it was going to help either of them sleep if he told her he’d been consumed with images of her and that he couldn’t stop thinking about her mouth and wondering about her kiss. He rubbed his hand over his chest as his skin started to feel too hot. He needed her. He knew what lust felt like.

But this was Crissanne. Not a stranger, not someone he could simply hook up with and then smile at the next morning.

They had history.

And on his side...attraction.

So much wanting, he thought. In the moonlight with the shape of her body hidden by the flowy nightgown she had on, his imagination was running away from him. He wanted to lift the hem of that gown—

“Ethan?”

“Huh?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “No. What about you?”

“I definitely don’t,” she said.

“Want to play sips and lies?”

She laughed. “The last time we played that I won.”

“Only because I let you,” he said.

“Uh, sure.”

“It’s true,” he called back over his shoulder as he walked to the wet bar at the end of the balcony. “I’m a gentleman.”

“Whatever you say,” she said, moving over to the padded lounge chairs that were clustered around a portable fire pit. She sat down and pulled the throw off the back of the chair, drawing it over her shoulders.

He busied himself looking through the bottles searching for the Patrón that he knew was her favorite. And then he sliced a lime and put it on a serving tray next to the shaker of salt and two shot glasses.

He set the tray on the end table between two of the chairs. “Are you cold? I can light the fire.”

“I’m okay with the blanket,” she said, pouring both of them a shot of tequila.

“Who’s going first?” she asked.

“You.”

“The gentleman thing again?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Haven’t had time to think of a lie that you’ll believe.”

She started laughing.

He loved the sound of her laughter. He still remembered the first time he’d heard it all those years ago. She’d been sitting on the arm of Mason’s chair and someone had said something and she’d started laughing. It was such a joyous sound it always made him smile and at times had cut through the fog he’d allowed himself to live in for a few years.

The game, which they’d played many times in college and since then, was simple. They took turns telling a story and the other players had to guess if it was true or false. If the guess was right, the one telling the story had to drink, and vice versa.

“Topic?” she asked.

“First kiss,” he said. It was the first thing that had come to his mind, and as soon as he said it he knew that he was in trouble. He shouldn’t be sitting in the moonlight with Crissanne, drinking and talking about kisses. He didn’t have the strength that he’d need to keep his distance.

“First kiss? Well, that’s an interesting one. It was that time I kissed a frog,” she said. “I was at this party at school and I remembered the fairy tale about the kiss turning a frog into a prince. Molly Moore dared me to do it, and I thought what the heck and did it.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Was the frog an actual amphibian?”

“What other kind is there?” she said, not really answering his question.

“I’m going to go with lie,” he said.

“Truth. I got in trouble for kissing the frog and had to have detention,” she said.

“Why?”

“Molly and I were really there to free the frogs from the science lab, so me kissing one was the distraction while she set the others free.”

Their eyes met as he licked the back of his hand and shook some salt on it before licking it off again. Then he tossed back the shot, keeping eye contact with Crissanne, before he brought the lime wedge to his mouth and bit it, the tangy juice filling his mouth.

As he tossed the used lime wedge onto the tray, Crissanne reached forward, brushing her thumb over his lower lip and sending a jolt straight through him as she pulled her hand back and licked her thumb.

Yeah, this has bad idea written all over it.

Three (#udb74f83f-ef8f-557e-80a9-3ee4aae3b85e)