Powerless (Chestnut Springs, #3)(43)

I snort. “No, Sloane. I haven’t been concerned with my skin of late.”

“It’s annoying. I bet you wash your face with shampoo, never moisturize, and only put sunscreen on when you’re on vacation. And you still look like that.” Her hand waves over the length of my body.

I reach into my pocket and pull out our room key, giving it a quick swipe before pressing into the room. “I wash my face with bodywash.”

She groans and tosses her head back dramatically, staring at the ceiling. “You can’t do that.”

“Why? My face is part of my body.”

“It doesn’t have the right stuff in it.” She sways as she pulls at her shoes, and I stifle a laugh. “Even if it smells heavenly, like mint and whatever else.”

“Mint and eucalyptus. Same bodywash I’ve used for years. What stuff does my face need?”

A shoe flies past us and hits the wall. “Whoa!” Her eyes widen and she giggles again. I count my blessings that she’s a happy drunk. I don’t think I could handle her being sad right now. “Vitamin C. Peptides. Exfoliating acids. You’re not getting any younger. You should consider a retinol, but then you need to put sunscreen on every day. Oh my god!” The next shoe follows suit and she swaggers into the bathroom. “I have the best idea.”

“Sunny, I’m not sure this is the moment where you’ll come up with your best ideas.”

“You calling me drunk, Gervais?” she hollers from the small room. I hear shuffling in there as I peel off my shoes and straighten hers by the door.

“Never. You are perfectly sober. But I’m going to grab you a bottle of water and you’re going to drink it, alright?”

“Are there any of those small bottles of Grand Marnier or whatever? Hotels are always stocked with alcohol that nobody drinks. I mean, who drinks Grand Marnier?”

I huff out a quiet laugh and pad over to the fridge. There are two bottles of water. “I don’t think this is a Grand Marnier type of hotel.”

She pops out from the bathroom doorway as soon as I straighten, with one plastic bottle in each hand. But she has some bottles of her own that she’s holding out.

“Facials!” she squeals.

“What?” I blink once, staring at her soft blonde hair and happy eyes.

She holds up a purple squeeze bottle and a green glass tub of something and shakes them at me like I’m stupid. “I’ll drink your water if you give me a facial.”

Gotta say, the first place my head goes is not to beauty products.

“Don’t worry. I’ll give you one too.”

The image of Sloane straddling my face, my hands on her ass while she stares down into my eyes, flashes into my mind.

It’s not the first time. Usually, I push the thought away, but tonight I’m feeling just loose enough to let it linger. To watch her move. To think about the sounds she might make.

“Buck up, Gervais!” She hops onto the bed, drops the skin care products on the mattress, and gestures me toward her, fingers folding down onto her palm.

Seriously, not helping. All the blood in my body rushes south, and I cover by tossing her a bottled water. “Drink this first,” I say as it flies.

But her reflexes are slow tonight and the bottle hits her in the face.

Square in the nose.

The guys and I toss each other water bottles on the bench all the time. It’s second nature. She flinches hard, and I gasp as I take long strides over to the bed to check on her. Her hands are clasped over her face, and her fingers move to check herself over.

I feel awful. I feel sick. The thought of anyone hurting Sloane—even me—has fire coursing through my veins.

When I reach for her shoulder, she peers up at me and she . . .

Bursts out laughing.

“Jas! You just threw that at my face, you awkward motherfucker!”

“I didn’t!” I’m shaking my head in denial. “I didn’t mean to! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

She laughs harder. “I’m fine! I’m fine. Totally fine.” Her words wheeze out around her laughter.

My palms squeeze her shoulders in time, which draws her attention up to my face. “Sunny, you are crazed right now. You need to drink some water.”

Her lips roll inward as she fights to hold it together. “Okay.” She nods and opens the water bottle beside her. She lifts it almost to her lips and stops, looks away, and bursts out laughing again. “I can’t believe you smoked me in the face like that!”

I scrub at my stubble, trying not to laugh, but it’s infectious. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know. But it’s still funny.”

I cross my arms now, trying to convey how serious I am to her. “It’s not funny.”

“That’s only because you didn’t see your face.” She contorts her features into a very exaggerated expression of horrified shock.

And then belly laughs some more.

I groan and toss my hat down on the desk. “Bet you used to get kicked out of class for getting the giggles.”

Her index finger flips out from around the plastic bottle and points at me while she takes a deep swig of water. “Facts.”

I can’t help but chuckle. I can totally see it. The bed sags a little when I sit down on the edge, not too close to Sloane. She continues to sip her water as her laughter subsides, and I pick up the two products she brought out of the bathroom.