“Wow. That’s inspiring,” I said drily, mostly to keep from asking a litany of questions that shot up unexpectedly in my head. What kind of toy do you like? and Does it make you shake all over in pleasure, grab the sheets, and scream my name?
“And now it’s my turn to face my fears,” she said. “But I need help.”
Her eyes implored me, but I couldn’t resist. “You sure you don’t need to run another sex toy errand?”
A laugh fell from her pretty lips. What did those lips look like when she used her favorite toy?
“Roller coasters first. Sex toys another time,” she said, then squared her shoulders. “Will you ride with me?”
Before I could even fashion an answer, my brain pinged with questions: Had I always been attracted to her? Had I never realized it till we talked about sex toys? Or had I never admitted it to myself?
I didn’t have the answers. But I knew she’d asked for help, and that meant it was friend time, not the horn-dog hour.
“Yes. I will.”
We marched to the roller coaster and tucked our phones and my glasses into a locker. As we moved through the line, I psyched her up like a coach working with a boxer. I rubbed her shoulders, said you can do this, and reassured her that we’d have fun like she did when she was younger.
Then, we reached the front of the line.
“After you,” I said, a proper gentleman as I gestured to the cars.
She stepped in, and I joined her. The seat belts came down, snapping us in place.
“Have I ever told you my recipe for pancakes?” I asked.
“No,” she said, tilting her head, curious.
As the car lurched away from the platform, I told her precisely how I made amazing blueberry pancakes. As it chugged up the first killer hill, she reached for my hand and clasped my palm, then threaded her fingers with mine. Tight, and a little sexy too. She stroked the top of my hand while sliding her fingers in and out of mine.
It was . . . weirdly erotic.
While talking about pancakes in the chilly Vegas night air, we rose above the city, and she turned me on as I settled her down.
When we neared the top, she stroked faster and I talked quieter. The moment was wildly arousing in ways I never expected, like she was seducing me with her fingers.
New thoughts raced through my head.
She’s sexy.
She’s fun.
She’s the friend I want to fuck.
When we shot downhill, she screamed her lungs out—“Oh my fucking God” style, saying my name over and over again.
“Oh God, Nolan, oh God, Nolan, oh God, Nolan.”
My adrenaline shot through the roof from the roller coaster, the speed, the thrill. Her hair whipped her cheeks. Her face flushed red. She screamed my name like she was coming.
Every desire I’d suppressed about Emerson rose from the depths of a sea of dirty thoughts, burst through the surface, and reared up like Poseidon the Giant Prick.
That ride unlocked the sea monster of lust in my brain.
Thanks, thrill ride.
The roller coaster slowed and finally stopped, and we jumped off. Emerson turned, ecstatic and victorious, and flung her arms around me. “I could kiss you.”
I was too twisted in my own filthy mind to do anything but flash her a dopamine-charged grin. “I won’t stop you.”
Letting go of my shoulders, she grabbed my face and pressed a buzzy, heady kiss to my lips.
Just a thank-you kiss. I knew that. It was as chaste as a kiss on the lips could be. But I craved more, so before she could step away, I inched closer, hand on her face, holding her jaw. “Just one more kiss,” I whispered.
Her chin tilted up like I’d said the perfect thing. “Okay,” she said, all breathy and full of want.
We kissed once again. It was no longer an exuberant oh my God kiss. It was slow and sweet, with a question in it. It was a do you feel it too? kiss.
I felt it.
She sure as hell seemed to feel it.
It was an unexpected coda to the wilder kiss. An encore that said Yes, I want to kiss you again.
We stopped a few seconds later, blinking, breathing fast. She swept her hand along her hair, still messed up from the ride. “Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow.”
But there was no time to bask in the moment. The other riders had filed off, and we had a picture to pick up at the photo booth and then friends waiting.
Once we grabbed the image, we found our group in the concourse of the hotel. We joined Dina, Lauren, TJ, Flynn, and the others, and went to a dance club.
We didn’t dissect the kiss. Maybe because it was too short. Or maybe because it was long enough to matter. And if it mattered, it was a risk. One that could tip us out of the friend zone.