Aleks
I realized two things very quickly as I washed the sand and sunscreen from my body later that evening.
There wasn’t a cold enough shower to rid my dirty mind of Mia in that yellow bikini.
And there wasn’t a day I would exist and not think of what it felt like to kiss her — even if it was fake.
A thunderstorm rolled through the bay not too long after our little stunt, and Mia and I retreated inside, both of us running through the downpour as I attempted to keep her dry with a flimsy beach towel held over her head. We hadn’t had a moment to breathe once we made it inside before Marci was grabbing Mia by the shoulders and shaking her with a high-pitched squeal of victory.
“Oh, myGod— that was incredible. Isabella is calling in ten. She’s overjoyed. Everyone is losing their minds!”
I’d slipped away while Marci dragged Mia over to her laptop to show her the media attention, smirking to myself a little as I disappeared up the stairs to the room I was staying in for the weekend.
Now, I was standing under the frigid water, trying to scrub the image from my mind of Mia’s perfect body and the memory of her mouth opening for me.
But it was useless.
I’d told myself it wasn’t her I was thinking of as I stroked myself when the water was still running warm, when I’d planted a palm on the cool shower tile and grunted out a release that somehow left me wound even tighter than before.
The truth was buzzing under the surface of my skin, though — a constant reminder that I was completely fucked.
When the cold water did nothing but turn to steam after hitting my hot skin, I gave up, slamming my hand on the faucet to shut it off. I toweled myself down quickly before pulling on basketball shorts and a t-shirt, and then I made my way back downstairs.
It was quieter in the house now, nothing but the soft dripping of rain outside and the distant roll of thunder filling the open space of the giant house. When I rounded into the living area, I spotted Mia at the kitchen island, her phone in her hands, back rounded, one bare leg crossed under her and the other hooked onto the barstool next to hers.
I slowed even more at the sight of her, at the flash of a distant past that hit me seeing her in this way. She must have taken a shower, too, because her hair was wet and clinging to her tan shoulders. She wore a pair of sweat shorts, the thick band rolled once at her hips, and a strappy crop top tank showed the smooth skin at her lower back.
If I closed my eyes, I could almost remember her just like that when we were kids, sitting in her sweats at the kitchen island and eating Honeycomb cereal while she tried to figure out lyrics to a song playing nonstop in her head.
“Well, is mysituationall over the Internet?”
Mia jumped a little at my voice, covering her chest with a flat palm as she spun in her chair to face me. She was wearing large, tortoise-shell, framed glasses — another visual that made me think of the past. She smiled as I made my way toward her,shaking her head and thumbing the screen on her phone before she laid it flat on the counter and shoved it my way.
That’s when I realized she wasn’t wearing a bra, and I once again felt my brain going haywire. She hadn’t been wearing one last week in the hotel, either, and it’d taken everything in me to keep my hands to myself. I knew I wasn’t good enough for her, that I was trouble in her mind and just playing my part in her carefully laid plans to get her album release on track. But that didn’t stop my thoughts from wondering what it would be like to walk my fingers up under her shirt and palm her, from wondering if she’d let me, if she’d be shocked and angry, or if she’d closer her eyes and sigh and lean into the touch.
She’d leaned in on the beach,part of my brain argued.She’d moaned and gripped and pulled.
She was doing it for the cameras,the smarter part of me argued.It was an act, just like the hundreds of other times she’s performed.
“Sure is,” she said. “And don’t worry — only half the comments are talking about how small and disappointing the view is.”
I pinched her side, right where I knew she was the most ticklish, before picking up her phone and taking in the view for myself.
The article on the screen was fromPop Star Entertainment, and though my junk had been blurred out in their photos, it was onlyjustenough blur to not be able to see the details. There was still plenty to view, and I found particular joy in the close up of Mia’s wide eyes and her hand covering her mouth as she watched my white ass jog away from her.
“Hmm… your expression here doesn’t saysmallto me,” I pointed out, zooming in on her face.
Mia smacked my arm and ripped her phone from my hand, but not before I got a couple more scrolls in and saw the pictures of us making out.
The one with her leg hiked up over my hip and her chest arching into me was enough to give me another hard-on, so I rounded the kitchen island to stand on the other side of it just in case.
“Mission accomplished, I’d say.” I leaned over the countertop on my elbows, nodding to where she was now typing away. “Isabella happy?”
“Thrilled. I’m sure Giana is, too. You should check your phone — it’s been blowing up.”
I followed her gaze to where I’d left my phone in the kitchen earlier.
“You sound a little jealous,” I noted. “Want to go through my phone, Strings? I promise, you’re the only girl I’m texting.”
