A Thin Line (20 page)

I am awakened by the sensation of someone playing with my feet. Feather light touches on the soles, baby pinches on the toes. I jerk my foot away, but the hand finds my foot again and the gentle assault begins anew.

When my eyes don't open, he reverts to a different tactic; he grabs the heel of my foot and jiggles it. The motion grows in intensity until my body and the bed are shaking with the tremors.

"Okay!" I kick my foot away and roll over, willing my eyes to open. The room is bright and warm with morning sun.  My head lobs to the left. Preston is seated on the side of the bed, a towel wrapped around his torso. The spicy scent of body wash is wafting upwind.

"Is this your way of saying it's my turn to shower?"

"It's my way of saying get your ass up. We've got to be over at the hotel in a couple of hours and you know it takes you women forever to do anything–" He receives a pillow in the face, the one my head had been laying on. I sit up, bringing my legs under me so I can sit cross-legged.

I don't want to get out of the bed. The mattress is a plush pillow top and the sheets are the softest, most decadent fabric that have ever been rubbed against my skin and the comforter is a luxurious goose down that was like sleeping in a cocoon. I could get used to that. Very quickly, in fact.

"I'm tired," I croak, frowning.

"You should be," he responds, smirking. Flashes from the past twenty four hours pop into my brain. The sex on the couch. Then in my bed. Twice.
Three times?
Then in his tub. And then in his bed.

I groan. Yes, I should be tired.

"What was that you said, that one day on the running trail? My dick is the great equalizer? I know you were kidding right then, but–"

"There are other pillows on this bed, Preston."

"We don't have time for pillow fights," he says, sitting up and leaning toward me, lips puckered for a kiss. I lean forward so that our lips meet and let him give me a smooch. But instead of letting him go, I grab his face with both hands and pull him to me.

He chuckles through the kiss and moves across the bed, every moment bringing a ripple in muscle beneath skin. I lay back down; he lays beside me, adjusting the towel still wrapped around him.

I play with the tufts of hair on his chest, softened from the soak in the warm shower. It's surreal to be doing it, because it used to be my favorite past time, back in the day. I laugh at the memory and then the thought of doing the same thing twenty years later. Then I feel odd for playing with a grown man's chest hair and make myself stop, pulling my hand back and dropping it to my thigh.

Preston rolls to his side, leaning on an elbow. He picks up my hand from where it dropped and places it back on his chest. "Are you okay?"

My hands return to play and I smile up at him–well more at my view of him leaning over me, a hint of a grin on soft, plump lips. "I'm great," I tell him. Then ask," And you?"

He shrugs a shoulder but his expression doesn't change when he says, "I'm alright."

I alert at his tone, the words he chooses. He doesn't go out of his way to assure me that he's fine, things are fine, he's not having second thoughts.

"Just alright? What's wrong? You... we... this is what you wanted. Right?"

Should I have thought this out more?

"Angie..." He starts to sit up, forcing me up with him. "Hold on, before your brain totally runs away with you and we go another twenty years not getting along. You and me?"  He points from me to him and back to me, to indicate ‘us'. "We're good. Everything's fine."

"Okay. So. Alright means..."

"It means alright," he says, laughing. "Okay, I mean… I'm wondering how we're going to get through this, how we're going to pull this off without anyone knowing. I'm not into having to sneak around with you. Shouldn't we tell everyone?"

I am already violently shaking my head, no. "Absolutely not. No. We talked about this. I thought you got it.  Especially the part about not making this about us. If people know we're together, this whole trip will be about us, not about Nate and Morgan. And considering they're paying for our trip, I don't want to do that to them."

"I guess, but I–”

"And," I continue, talking over him. "Our friends are the nosiest, most annoying people. When they know that we've hooked up, they'll be relentless with demands for details. I know they're right. I know they were right all along. I don't want to have to hear it all week. I don't want know-it-all glances and jokes over breakfast. I don't want them up our asses all week. Please, can we keep it quiet for now? It's one week."

He sighs. Obviously, he's unhappy. He's used to being able to express himself, whether his expression is welcome or not.

"I hear what you're saying and it makes sense to me and I don't want that either." After a breath, he smiles and says, "Thing is, I've got this smug smile on my face all the time and I can't talk about who put it there. And how."

I heave a frustrated breath and roll my eyes.  "What if... what if I made it worth your while?"

"Say more."

"How about if I
do
more?"

"What do you–" His words float away as he watches my fingers reach for the towel that is wrapped around his torso. I loosen the weak knot that holds it to his body and flip it open to reveal his lithe figure. He is already semi erect, a status that is changing by the second. He rises as if to greet me, to reach for me.

I slide my palm down a column of warm skin pulled taut over steel-hard muscle, close my hand around him and gently squeeze. He exhales, slowly and steadily. I work him, slowly stroking up and then down, gradually increasing speed and intensity. The head is red and bulbous and evidence of his arousal leaks from the tip. It's the most erotic view I've seen in a long time.

Preston lays back, a chesty, lusty groan rolling from him. His head falls back and his sounds take on a rhythm that matches the beat of my strokes. His hips undulate, seemingly without his knowledge and not under his power.

In one swift movement a hand snakes up from his side and wraps around the back of my neck, pulling me down to him, first crushing his lips with mine and then, as the kiss grows deeper, more sensuous, less passionate, his tongue dances with mine. All the while, I pump, I pull, I squeeze, I twist, I work him.

Preston breaks the kiss and falls back against the twisted mass of sheets and comforter and the pillows he slept on.  "
Fuuuuccckkkk,
" he groans, through clenched teeth. "Don't stop.”

"I wouldn't dare."

He is close. And then he is there. "I'm gonna... I'm co...
.haaaaaahhhhhhhh...
"

I grab the towel that was around his body moments before and lay it over his lap in time to witness his climax. He convulses while he spills onto the towel, grunting sounds of pleasure into the crook of an arm he has tossed over his face.

I don't stop touching him until he directs me to. He slides from my grasp and lands with a plop against his thigh. Sated, he removes the arm from across his face, revealing a wide smile. He manages to sit up a bit, leaning back on both elbows.

"Evangeline."

I blush at the mention of my name. Preston used to be the only person I would allow to call me that, because I liked the way he said it. He lost the high pitched nasally whine of our youth and as his voice deepened and our relationship grew, the sound of my name took on a whole new meaning and could elicit lusty and erotic thoughts.

Preston knew all along what saying my name did to me. That's why he insisted on doing it all these years. Another reminder to me of what we used to be. Another way to hold on.

"Preston," I respond, knowing I don't sound half as sexy saying his name as he does saying mine.

"Was that supposed to help? Because it didn't."

"No. It was supposed to be an incentive."

"Incentive." He stares blankly, blinking a few times and shaking his head. "Incentive toward what?"

"If you want more of what the last twenty four hours has brought you, including..." I nod toward the lump now lying against his thigh. "You'll keep your mouth shut. You'll play this game like you never played a game before. They wanted us to get along, so we'll get along. Really well. They'll think it's a miracle."

"But..."

"And then, when we are alone, and it's the two of us? I will reward you." I lean down and brush my lips across his. He is faintly smiling. "Handsomely. Deal?"

"Baby," he says, lifting himself up so our lips meet again. "My lips are sealed and the Great Equalizer is ready."

***

We arrive at the Embassy Suites, where the guests of both parties will meet up, post gauche and déclassé debauchery. At least that's what I picture Nate's party to be like. Preston won't give me any details of what he has planned for Nate's Bachelor party. He thinks I'll let something slip to Morgan, who can't keep a secret from Nate, and it's supposed to be a surprise.

The events staff lets us into the room that we've rented for the evening. It's already set up in the configuration that we discussed on the phone: round tables and chairs dispersed throughout the room, three tables along the back for punch, drinks and hors d'oeuvres, a wide open space for dancing and a few tables on the raised platform. The DJ will play tunes into the wee hours of the morning, or until we all pass out. The tables are already dressed in deep purple and light sage green cloths–Morgan's wedding colors.

"So we have a good start in here. We need balloons, centerpieces on the tables, food and drinks, and some decoration."

Preston is pacing the dance floor, arms crossed. "Sounds like a lot of work. Who's doing all that?"

I turn around to grin at him. "Who do you think, Mr. Holds My Bags Hostage? Mr. Don't Take Your Own Car, Angie? Mr. Trust Me, I'll Take Care of You? Who do you think is doing all of that?"

Between Preston, Troy, Brandy and Matt who stop by after work, we have the room in working order and overflowing with festivity in a few hours. The dance floor is a sea of balloons, the two colors mixing beautifully. Each table is set with tea light candles, which will be lit by the events staff before everyone shows up. When the lights are dimmed, the candlelight at each table will give off a soft romantic glow.

All of the items on our to-do lists are checked off: the food order is confirmed with the hotel catering staff, Troy picked up the alcohol and it is waiting to be poured, the DJ is confirmed with a set up time around midnight. Everything's taken care of except for the partying itself, which will commence shortly.

Preston and I check into our suites. I'm feeling pretty fancy in my hotel room that looks more like a one bedroom apartment. The phone in the room rings. I already know who it is before I pick it up.

"Hi there."

"Hi," says the sexiest voice I've heard all day. "So, I'm in the room next to you. This doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't make sense?"

"That we're both paying for rooms. One of us is going to end up in the other's bed tonight."

“You make a good point. But we have an agreement. We have to look like we're not together."

"I get that. Smart guy like me picks things up."

"Then why are you calling to protest, yet again, not telling anyone?"

"I’m letting you know that I expect to be sleeping next to you tonight."

"Noted.” I sit back further on the bed, dragging the phone across the nightstand as far as it'll go.  "So, what time does Nate's party start?"

"Nice try. Can't tell you when or where. How about Morgan's party?"

"I'm not telling you."

"I don't care anyway. A Bachelorette Tea sounds boring."

I giggle, thinking that it’s been a long time since Preston made me giggle. "I'll see you later on tonight then?"

"See you later. You guys be careful."

"Turn that warning around and issue it to yourself. Kent still has a scar from his Bachelor Party."

He chuckles, as I knew he would. He's really proud of that particular party. "Touché. Have fun."

"I will. I lo– I mean... have fun."

He pauses for a millisecond. Then says, "We will. For sure. Love you, too."

A stretch SUV pulls up to the front of the hotel. As if on cue, the elevator door opens and spills out four women dressed in style–slinky black dresses, freshly done hair, immaculate faces, wide smiles. We're ready for a night on the town in honor of the Bride.

Morgan isn’t the Male Review type. We tried, a few years ago, to go to a Chippendales show. It was a disaster. Instead of putting her through that again, we decided to treat her to her heart's desire–theater, dinner, drinks and song.

The Limo pulls up to
Sleuths
, where we will be served a five course meal and unlimited drinks while being treated to a forty-five minute comedy mystery. Morgan has always wanted to go, and since we haven't told her anything about the evening, she's practically bouncing out of the car as soon as we pull up.

"This is going to be so much fun!" She keeps chanting as she marches up to the front door and slips inside. We follow, our party growing larger since some have met us at the restaurant.

We are shown to a private room, outfitted with several long tables covered by white cloths. We easily fill two tables with a few chairs to spare. Jackie chooses a seat on one side of me, Morgan on the other. Brandy is a few seats down and sprinkled among the rest of our friends are others who will be joining us on the island.

"I was thinking, Angie," says Jackie, nibbling on bread slathered in butter. "It’s pretty much couples coming to the wedding. Are you going to be okay?"

Mmhmm, I’ll be alright.
Out loud, I comment, "I’ll be so busy with wedding details, I’ll hardly notice. And Troy will be there. He's not coupled up."

"Uhmmm..." Morgan swallows a mouthful of wine and glances at me with a bit of a guilty expression. "Actually, he called about a week ago and asked about adding a person to the itinerary."

I'm surprised, since Troy hasn't told me about anyone he's interested in. I was counting on him to be my cover.

"News to me. So everyone will be all coupled up."

Jackie nods. "But if it's any consolation, I probably can't do any of the excursions, thanks to Junior in here." She rubs her belly and smiles. "Good thing I already love this kid. He's interfering with my drinking."

"So it's a boy, then?" She nods, beaming. "That's wonderful, Jackie! I'm so happy for you. Are you sure you can fly?"

"Cleared it with the doctor and everything. Actually I told him if I couldn't go on this trip it was going to cause me more stress than if I went into early labor. He said fine but get up and walk during the layover and drink lots of water."

"Good. I'll make sure you do that."

"You look really great, by the way. Kind of a..." She stares, her brows knit together in concentration.
Fuck, Jackie. Don't concentrate!
"Like... afterglow. Have you been having sex?"

My heart drops to my feet. Jackie's not gifted at sensing things, just asking the right question at the right time. I will myself to remain calm, not to panic. There's no way they know about me and Preston already.

"Who would I be having sex with, Jackie?"

She shrugs and takes another bite of bread wrapped around a hunk of cheese.  "I don't know. But you look like somebody blew your back out."

Morgan nods. Now
she's s
taring. "You sure do. Weird."

"Yeah," I agree, reaching for a roll to shove into my face before I give myself away. "Weird."

Mercifully, the lights dim and the host comes out to introduce himself and tell us about the show. Each table will separate into teams and at specified times during the show, we'll have to discuss the events so far and draw a conclusion as to who the killer might be. As the show gets longer, we'll get more and more clues. The first team to come up with the correct answer wins.

I almost feel sorry for the other table. Morgan is fiercely competitive and drama is in her blood. She'll fight to win.

The next forty five minutes are the most hilarious moments I've ever experienced at a Bachelorette party. Belly laughter, screaming, clapping, good natured picking at one another from across the room, all fueled by a nice vintage of red wine, a few cocktails and a steak dinner. We roll out of Sleuths a cackling group of slightly drunk women. Morgan is hauling a plastic golden statue under her arm, our prize for being the winning table.

We pile back into the limo and head to our second stop of the night, Howl at the Moon. I booked the Bachelorette Package knowing we'd be low on inhibitions by that point in the night. We make Morgan wear a sash that says
Bride to Be
, feed her more drinks and peer pressure each other into doing karaoke. She performs her best Madonna impression, rolling around the stage and wailing to
Like a Virgin
.

I've never, ever laughed so hard before. When she finally gets from the carpeted stage, takes her bow and hands the microphone off, every table stands and applauds.

"Horrible!" I say to her, still laughing, wrapping my arms around her body as she convulses in drunken giggles. "That was just awful!"

"Thank you," she manages to squeal, and collapses into a chair.

Around midnight, I herd everyone off stage–which they've grown to love as the night wears on and the taps pour–and back to our ride back to the hotel.

"It's so cool that we're ending the night together! This was such a good idea!" Morgan drops an arm around me and squeezes while squealing into my ear. "I love you, Angie. You're my bestest, bestest friend!" Morgan is a loving drunk. "I can't wait to see Nate. The guys all left in vans around six o'clock. I hope he had a good time."

"Preston wouldn't tell me what he had planned," I say. "He didn't want Nate finding out ahead of time."

Brandy snorts. "I know Kent helped with planning but he wouldn't tell me anything either. But if I know Preston, I'm sure they had a great time. That guy knows how to party."

"You two have been getting along really well lately," says Morgan, jiggling my shoulder. "I'm proud o’ you. This is how it should have been, y’know? You've known each other forever. It's ridiculous that you weren't even friends. You're friends now, right?"

"Sure. Yeah. We're friends." Friends who fuck and are also falling in love again, but I won't admit that for at least another week.

"I mean… of course I understood your anger."

"Mmmhmm. That's why you forced me to plan your wedding with him. And the related events. Because you understood."

Morgan nods, her head dipping forward and then back, as if her neck can't hold the weight. "I did," she murmurs, while nodding. "I got it. I…did. But it went on for way too long. It's so… good to let go of all that. You know? Life’s too short. ‘M I right?"

The entire van shouts their agreement with Morgan's moving speech. I'd be cringing inside if I didn't have this little secret burning a hole in the pit of my stomach. Morgan's so damn smug, so sure that she knows everything. I can only imagine her reaction if she knew what Preston and I had been up to the day before.

Well, she's not the only one who's got something to be smug about. I hide the smile that wants to creep across my face and tamp down my excitement at seeing the sign for the hotel come into view. I'm minutes away from seeing Preston and I can hardly contain myself.

The driver stops at the front door and we all pile out. As a group, we look tired, spent and drunk.

"Okay, ladies," I say, hand on a hip, shaking my head. "We are looking rough. We should probably freshen up before we head to the party room. This night is just beginning."

***

Ten minutes after I get into my room and start freshening my makeup, a knock sounds at my door.  A glance through the peephole shows Preston in the hallway, looking one way and then another.

"Hey, hurry up," he mutters through the door. "Before someone comes."

I open the door and find him as handsome as ever. His suit fits so perfectly, like it was cut with him in mind. His lips bend into a smile as soon as he sees me and his eyes give me a quick once over, down my body to my feet and back up, lingering at my chest both times. His tongue flicks out of his mouth to give his bottom lip a swipe before he says, "So, can I come in before someone catches me staring?"

I step back and open the door wider so he can walk in, then close the door behind him. As soon as the door is closed, he pounces. I'm wrapped up in strong arms that close around me, assaulted by the pricks of his beard growing in as he buries his face between my shoulder and neck. The rug burn is made better by the feeling of his lips on my skin, dropping wet kisses up my neck and across my cheek. I laugh at the deep groans that are coming from him and the unmistakable bulge pressing into my belly.

"Did you miss me?"

He growls in answer, then says, "So much. You don't even know." He lifts his head briefly but only to drop a kiss on my lips. "Did you miss me?"

"More than I thought I would. I was mostly excited to get back here and see you."

His hands are busy roving my body, up and down my back, then cupping each cheek of my ass and squeezing, pulling me close to him. "Mmhm, I was looking forward to that too."

"Where did you guys go? Did Nate have a good time?"

Preston rests his forehead on mine while his hands run down my bare arms until our fingers tangle together. "Did you know that the Bachelor Party hails back to Spartan times?"

"Is that so?"

"Mmmm. It used to be called the Gentleman's Dinner. Over time, the dinner part got replaced with the party and the tradition of honoring a man that was going through this rite of passage turned into ogling naked women and getting drunk."

"And this has to do with Nate's party, how?"

"Well, I wanted to bring back the original meaning of the occasion."

" Minus the Taser?"

Preston laughs. He's never going to live that party down. "Don't put ten drunk guys in a room where the bartender says he has a Taser."

"So tell me about Nate's Gentleman's Dinner. Where did you go?"

"Uhmmm... Scores?"

"You drove Nate to a strip club in Tampa?"

Preston starts moving us over to the couch, bit by bit, but without our bodies losing contact. I let myself be led across the room, and then sit next to Preston when he takes a seat. He drops an arm around me and pulls me closer.

"Gentleman’s Club, baby. It was nice.  VIP room for dinner, bottle service, our own wait staff. We had surf and turf, some cheesecake flown in from New York. And then..."

My eyebrows lift at his pause. The glint in his eye usually means trouble. "Champagne room, some drinks, some stogies... watched some fine ass ladies dance around...."

"They can be fully nude there, right?" He nods, biting his bottom lip to keep from smiling. "
That's
why you went to Scores. Did you get a lap dance?"

"Do you really want to know?"

I ponder this question, honestly, for a few seconds. Then, honestly, answer, "Yeah. I do."

"I bought two dances," he says plainly, watching me for a reaction. "One for Nate. He didn't know what to do with himself." Preston does a striking imitation of Nate sitting straight up in a chair, hands out to his side, look of shock on his face.

I'm amused, thinking of poor awkward Dr. Nate, especially knowing the story about the resident he slept with during his brief break with Morgan. He probably ran right back to the hotel to confess.

"The kid had a good time. He had a grin on his face a mile wide. He is sufficiently ready to get married."

"Good job, Best Man." I lean over to kiss him and let my lips linger on his for a few seconds. He still tastes a little like the cigar he smoked. "The bride had a great time too, but we didn't make naked men gyrate on her."

"Knowing Morgan, that wouldn't go over well."

"We did Mystery Dinner theater and then really, really terrible karaoke where Morgan sang enough for everyone."

"Did she do her
Like a Virgin
thing?"

I nod and laugh. "You must have seen it before."

"Couple times," he answers. After a few quiet moments, I feel a hand in my hair, stroking through the style I meticulously created.

“You’re messing up my hair, Mr. Reid.” I tip my head up, until our lips meet and enjoy a long, slow, romantic kiss.

“I’ll fix it,” he mumbles, when our lips part. "I thought about you at the strip club."

"Sure, you did."

"I did," he mumbles against my lips before claiming them again.  A few minutes later, he continues. "When I planned this thing, I obviously didn't think I'd be back with you. And now people can't know about us. So, I maintained status quo. For you."

"Oh, for me?"

"Well, more for me. But I was thinking about you. And my reward. And how much better that reward was going to be than some bony, naked woman rubbing her ass all over my new pants. So I gave my dance to Troy. He had a good time with it."

"You didn't have to do that. I would have understood if you enjoyed your dance."