I smirk, spreading my arms wide. “I’m a sexy, brooding guy who doesn’t believe in costumes. Pretty convincing, huh?” I glance at her top. “Though I was hoping you’d lend me one of your coconuts so I could join you in… Hawaii?”
She rolls her eyes. “More like party pooper. And for the record, I wasn’t planning to show up like this. My single and much sexier friend Izzy lent me this after a wardrobe malfunction with my original costume.”
I tilt my head, genuinely curious. “Oh really? And what was that?”
“I was supposed to be a pumpkin,” she mumbles, as she grabs a bottle of water from the bartender. I would have loved to see that.
She takes a sip and suddenly jerks back as it splashes in her eye. “Shit!” she murmurs, wiping it away. “How do women enjoy this in those raunchy scenes? They have to be faking it, right? No one actually enjoys getting stuff in their face.”
I choke on my drink, laughing. “Wait—what kind of movies are we talking about here?”
“Oh my God!” she cries out, her cheeks turning a cute shade of pink. “That’s not—I meant… you don’t mess with mascara, okay? It’s sacred. Nothing should go in your eyes or your face. Ever.”
“Okay,” I smile, leaning in. “Do I make you nervous? Is it my hazel eyes or the fact that I tower over you?”
She fidgets, tearing the label from her water bottle. “I swear I don’t normally ramble like this. Or at least not with anyone else. Clearly, I’ve spent too much time with Izzy, and she’s starting to rub off on me.”
“For what it’s worth,” I say, trying to ease back off the teasing. “I’m with you on the mascara thing. Would be a shame to mess up those pretty lashes. Even if it was with my…” I pause, biting my tongue. “You know. Hypothetically.”
I think I’m making her uncomfortable. Suddenly, she steps back—and face plants. Drinks on the floor. Legs in the air. And…
Rip.
The sound of coconuts cracking against tile barely registers before she freezes, looking mortified. Jenna gasps, sitting back up. Her hands fly to her chest, covering the best damn breasts I’ve ever seen.
Without thinking, I step in front of her, blocking the view from the gawking crowd. Right now, I’m the only thing standing between her and full exposure. My hands hover awkwardly, unsure if I’m helping or just making it worse. I lean down to help her up, holding her against me to hide the fact that she’s topless.
“Oh… my… God,” she groans. “Did my coconuts just turn into oranges?” Her gaze drops to her hands, still wrapped around her chest.
Biting back a laugh, I shrug off my button-down shirt and hand it to her. Thankfully, I’ve got a T-shirt underneath. She clutches it, covering herself. “Thanks,” she mutters.
A few guys behind me groan in disappointment as I guide her to the hallway outside.
“Does this mean I get to borrow your coconuts after all?” I ask, grinning.
She pulls my shirt on, tying it at her waist. Somehow, it looks a hell of a lot sexier on her. “Someone up there really doesn’t like me,” she mumbles. “I swear, I’m cursed—or jinxed. Stuff like this always happens to me.”
“That’s impossible.” I grin, unable to stop myself. “I bet everyone likes you. Though, for the record, your coworkers definitely enjoyed the free show with your… uh… oranges.”
She shoots me a glare, but there’s a spark of amusement in her eyes as she swats my arm. “You know what would help me feel less mortified? You wearing my costume instead.”
“Deal.” I nod without hesitation. I’d do a lot more than that for her, though I keep that particular thought to myself.
We barely make it through the doorway back into the main party room when a woman bursts into view. She’s wobbling slightly, balancing a tray of drinks, dressed as an angel, but there’s nothing innocent about her costume. She’s blonde, petite, curvy, and radiates the kind of energy that turns a boring Monday into a wild party. And I’ve had my fair share of fun with women like this.
“Jenna! These are yours. Coconut Margaritas on the house.” She smirks. “Pretty sure the bartender scored front row seats to your little show earlier,” she adds with a wink.
Her gaze trails over me slowly as she passes by, and I can feel her undressing me with her eyes. Normally, I welcome this kind of attention. The easy distractions. But lately? It feels… empty.
She struts back toward the bar near the entrance, and we follow her down the room.
“Izzy, you know Dylan, right? One of the contractors fixing the office,” Jenna says quickly, her voice pulling my focus back to her. “He was nice enough to lend me his shirt, because well, you know why. I’m sure everyone knows why by now.”
Izzy grins, setting the tray down on the bar ledge. “Oh, I know who Dylan is. Half the women in the building know who Dylan is. Word is, you’re very good with your hands.”
Jenna groans, covering her face. “Subtle, Izzy. Real subtle.”
I laugh, caught between amused and uncomfortable. “I mean… they’re not wrong,” I say, deflecting.
