Page 30 of Proposal Play

“I know,” she says, tone playful again, and that’s a promising step in the un-spiraling. “I just mean—let’s have a great time. Let’s not think about anything else. Just…this night.”

I know just what the doctor ordered. “One second,” I say, then hustle over to the bar, grab the champagne split and loosen the cage. I hold the bottle at an angle, then pop open the cork.

Maeve joins me, her hazel eyes twinkling with mischief. “Do not even bother with a glass. Let’s drink it just like that.”

I lift the open bottle. “To fun. Just fun. Nothing else is allowed tonight. Got that?”

“Just fun,” she echoes, then snags the bottle from me, lifts it, and brings it to her lips. I don’t stare, I swear I don’t stare, I seriously promise I don’t stare.

Ah, fuck it.

I stare unabashedly as her lush lips meet the green glass and she tips some bubbly down her throat. Then she lowers the bottle, and hands it to me. “Your turn.”

“To just fun,” I say, then knock some back. I’m not thinking of where her lips were. I’m not tasting her raspberry lipstick.

News flash: I fucking am.

But I set down the bottle like a good friend. Not a dirty fucker. “It’s my personal mission to make sure you have fun tonight. Think of me as your fun guide.”

And failure is not an option.

Her smile is buoyant, and it feels like old timesbetween us. “We’re going to have the best time at the concert tonight,” she says, patting my chest. It’s a friendly gesture, like she did after the kiss that we don’t speak of.

Her hand on me feels annoyingly good—so good I want to cover it, press her palm closer to my pecs, kiss that lush mouth one more time, and tell her to sink to her knees.

And that inappropriate thought was brought to you by Las Vegas.

I shake it off as I check my watch. We should get a move on. “I’d better shower before we head out.”

Then I picture stepping under the water and great. Fucking great. That won’t be awkward at all with her in the next room. I guess I didn’t think this one-room thing through clearly. But there’s a door in the bathroom. It’s no big deal. It’s fine. It’s totally fine.

“Good idea. You shower first, and then I’ll go,” she says with a dash of awkwardness in her tone. Or maybe it’s me hearing things.

“Sounds like a plan,” I say, doing my best to keep an even tone, already unzipping my bag to unpack. This is supposed to be a night of no complications, an evening of fun with my best friend. And dammit I will make it fun. I will make it easy. I will make it care-fucking-free.

That’s what she needs, and that’s what I can do. But as I unload the contents of my bag onto the bed, something black and shiny catches my eye. Nestled between my clothes is a box of condoms. I freeze, staring at the black box as the pieces fall into place. Those assholes in the locker room must have slipped it in after practice.

Before I can shove it back into the bag, Maeve pads across the carpet. Her eyes go wide, and then, with a smirk, she says, “Got a hot date tonight after the concert?”

For a split second, I wonder if she’s joking or if she actually thinks I’m planning to hook up with someone here. The idea leaves me momentarily speechless. “No,” I say quickly, irked. “I’d never do that while I’m with you. This is just a locker room prank.”

But saying it’s a locker room prank raises the question of why this wouldbea locker room prank. I’m definitely not telling her a thing about the whiteboard.

Maeve raises an eyebrow, her smirk deepening. “Sure, sure,” she teases lightly, but there’s an edge of curiosity in her voice. “You can if you want to.Just funand all.”

I quickly shove the box back into my bag, trying to recover. “First off, I didn’t come to Vegas with you to hook up with someone else. Second, the guys were being dickheads.”

“For suggesting you might need condoms for—?” But she stops before finishing the question, maybe exactly aware of where that sentence was going—that I’d need condoms for her. “For Vegas,” she course-corrects with a strangled sound.

“Yes. Exactly,” I grit out, and I need some space right now. I need hot water and a moment to clear my head. But right when I’m about to claim the shower, I realize how selfish that’d be—showering before her when she probably needs more time to get ready. “Do you want to shower first after all?”

“Sure,” she says and grabs some items from her bag, then turns back to the window. But there’s a new tension in the air, something unspoken lingering between us. So much for thejust funtoast. The easygoing vibe from earlier has shifted.

What seemed like an easy solution to someone else’sproblem—giving up our second room—now seems like a dicey solution tomyproblem.

Actually, it seems like it’s a whole new problem for me. Because once she’s in the shower, I can’t stop thinking about her naked.

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