One Last Time(17)

I shrug. “Not sure yet. I’m deciding what to do next.”

Since we wrapped on filming the series finale of A Thin Blue Line six months ago, I have way too much time on my hands. I’ve had a few casting calls but haven’t decided if I’m going to take a new job right now.

My agent wishes I’d move quicker, but I’m single, rich, and want to enjoy my life for a bit.

Kristin huffs. “Are you hot?”

“I’d like to think so.” I smile.

Her eyes bulge, and her cheeks turn bright red. “I didn’t mean it like that! I mean like, hot, outside hot. I’m so hot.”

“I agree.” I’m hot, she’s hot . . . I’d like if we were both sweaty hot together, but I’ll have to settle for drunk innuendoes.

She’s still standing and takes a step back. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe.”

“You shouldn’t flirt with me.”

I know this, but it’s too fun watching her react. “Okay, I’ll stop.”

“Okay, because you’re totally hot, and I really want to kiss you, but that would be bad, right? I shouldn’t want to kiss you. You’re drunk, and I’m drunk, and that would be wrong. I don’t do wrong things. I’m a good girl who follows the rules.” She rambles almost as if she’s forgotten I’m here. “Plus, I have to write about how sexy you are, which would be tooooootally awkward if we kissed. However, your lips are lickable. I would lick ’em.”

I grip the armrests to get up, and Kristin takes another step back. “Careful,” I warn as she gets close to the edge of the pool. “Come sit.”

“My husband . . . well, ex-husband-to-be”—she sighs while shaking her head—“says I’m not a great kisser anyway. Not that I ever did much right for him. I was really good in bed in college. I had a guy tell me I was the best lay ever.”

“Kristin,” I warn as she goes back further while rambling about things I’d like not to think about since I just got my cock under control.

She rolls her eyes and throws her hands in the air. “How do you go from the best ever to nothing? It has to be him, right?”

“You’re going to fall in the pool.” I try for a more direct warning this time.

“It must be because I’m totally a good—” Her eyes meet mine, and I watch her fall backward with a squeal.

Damn it. I rush over as she comes up for air.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

“Give me your hand.” I smile as she grumbles.

“I’m all wet,” Kristin notes.

“That’s what happens when you fall in.” I hold both hands out and she swims to the edge of the pool to grab them.

“My clothes, too! I’m so getting fired.”

Kristin places her fingers in my palm, and I start to pull her up. However, she falls back, and I lose my footing, causing me to go headfirst into the pool with her. I get to the surface quickly, only to find her giggling uncontrollably.

“You fell in, too!”

“You pulled me in,” I say as I splash her.

She leaps into my arms, and my heart races. “I’m sorry.”

“It was worth it.” She wraps her arms around my neck and her legs around my torso. There is no way in hell I’ll stop her this time. I don’t give a shit about right and wrong or friendships. I want her. I want to kiss her.

Kristin’s eyes stay on mine, her breathing accelerates. My hands are splayed against her back and then her eyes close. The urge to close the distance between us and kiss her is strong, but I don’t. Instead, I let her lead it. If she kisses me, I can’t be at fault, right?

Sure. We’ll go with that. It isn’t as if I’m the sober one and know better . . .

Her lips come closer, closer, until her head lolls to the side and falls onto my shoulder.

Okay, that was unexpected.

“Hey,” I say softly, but she doesn’t respond. I can honestly say this is a first.

Her legs go limp around me, and she lets out a loud snore against my ear. “All right,” I say as I lift her in my arms. “You’re asleep. In the pool.” I push her hair back, and she sighs as I pull her legs up into my arms and hold her against my chest. We get to the stairs, where she becomes dead weight as I climb out of the water. Her arms and head hang down, but I know she’s breathing thanks to the loud sound escaping her mouth.

I carry her to the chair and place her there.

Now what?

Eli’s house is fucking massive, there’s no way I can carry her up those damn stairs without falling. I’m not in my twenties anymore. Hell, I’m pushing forty.

Still, I can’t leave her here soaking wet and passed out drunk.

Thankfully, it’s hot as hell in Tampa, so I don’t have to worry about her freezing to death. I’m not sure what the protocol is here, but I don’t think she should sleep in her clothes. The idea of undressing her doesn’t exactly seem right, either.

I’m an actor, a damn good one, and I can put myself in a role. Sure. I’m her gay best friend and don’t give a shit about finding whatever is underneath these clothes. I’m not attracted to her in the least. That’s my role.

I’m a goddamn idiot.