My Favorite Hal-Night Stand - Christina Lauren Page 0,3
of pointing to his head and the mass of auburn curls there. “Tell me we wouldn’t look great together.”
“I can beat that.” Alex brings up a foot to rest on the table and rolls up the hem of his jeans, flexing his calf muscle. “Reid is a leg man. Just look at these stems. I could spin you all around that dance floor.”
Reid watches each of them, bemused. “I mean, technically speaking, Millie is my type. Being female and whatnot.”
“Is it weird to anyone that this roomful of straight men is fighting over Reid and not me?” I ask.
Chris, Alex, and Ed seem to give this fair consideration before answering “No” in unison.
I lift my glass of wine and take a deep swallow. “Okay, then.”
Finally, Reid stands, carrying his empty glass into the kitchen. “Millie, you need anything?”
“Other than tips on how to develop an alluring female presence?” I ask. “I’m good. Thanks.”
At the counter Reid rinses his glass and bends to open the dishwasher, carefully setting it inside. It’s something I’ve seen him do a hundred times, and I don’t know if it’s the talk of dates, or the wine, or if Reid is just looking particularly good in that dark gray shirt, but tonight, I don’t look away.
I watch as he easily moves around the kitchen, picking up stray dishes near the sink and loading them into the correct tray. I can see the muscles in his back flex as he bends when he’s done, rubbing a hand over the broad head of Chris’s silver Labrador, Maisie.
I’ve had enough to drink that my limbs feel loose and pliable; my stomach feels warm. My brain is a little fuzzy around the edges—just enough to block out my tendency to overthink everything. Instead, my mind meanders around the fact that Reid doing something as mundane as loading a dishwasher and petting a dog is absolutely fascinating.
With the kitchen tidied up, Reid extends his arms above his head in a leisurely stretch. My eyes are like magnets and follow the lines of his body, the way the fabric of his shirt pulls tight across his chest and strains along the curve of his biceps. I get a peek of stomach.
Reid has a really nice stomach.
I bet he’d look great with that shirt all the way off . . .
Kneeling above me, arms outstretched, fingers wrapped around the headboard while he—
Whoa.
I mean . . . WHOA. Where did that come from?
I fix my attention down at the dining room table and it’s a full five seconds before I dare to move again. I just had a sex thought about Reid. Reid. Reid Campbell, who always roots for the underdog in any sporting event, who pretends he enjoys classical music so Chris doesn’t go alone to the symphony, who buys a new pair of running shoes precisely every six months.
When he returns to the table and sits down next to me, if the pounding of my heart is any indication, I do not look like I’m thinking about resuming our fascinating game of Monopoly.
I blink over to my empty wineglass, eager to point blame in the most convenient place. How many of these did I have? Two? Three? More? I’m not hammered, but I’m not exactly sober, either.
I’m the kind of tipsy where I should want to hug everyone, not pull my best friend’s pants down.
GAH.
Strictly platonic best guy friend. Strictly platonic best guy friend.
Heat rushes to my face and I stand so quickly my chair teeters on its back legs. Four sets of curious eyes swing in my direction, and I turn, making a beeline for the bathroom.
“Millie?” Reid calls after me. “You okay?”
“Gotta pee!” I shout over my shoulder, not stopping until I’m safely inside the bathroom and the door is firmly closed behind me.
Normally I laugh when confronted with one of the dozen roosters we’ve given Chris over the past two years. But now? Not so much. The cock thing began as a joke—Chris complimented a giant rooster painting at Ed’s mom’s house, and she gave it to him on the spot—so of course every birthday, Valentine’s day, and Christmas present since has been some form of rooster décor. But even the sight of one of my favorites—a RISE AND SHINE MOTHER CLUCKERS sign I got him for his last birthday—only makes me think of the cock joke, which makes me think of penises, which reminds me of the image of Reid naked, in my bed, on top of me.