Page 18 of Take Me (Cherry Blossom Lake #5)

“Guess those pre-wedding waltz classes came in handy,” she says as they sashay past me. “How the hell did you do that?”

Still dancing like a goddamn maniac, I grin at Erika. “Guess we know how to turn lemons into lemonade.”

The truth is, this question came up at O’Brien’s Family Feud night. Erika and I formed a team with some buddies, and although we didn’t win, we killed it on the question about the best songs for dancing in the rain.

And it is perfect. Abso-fucking-lutely perfect.

Bursting with joy and rosé and a lot of adrenaline, I spin Erika around in my arms. The mud slicks our shins, but we don’t even notice.

She spits out a hunk of wet hair and smiles into my eyes.

“We make a good team.”

Grinning, I dip her. “Damn right we do.”

By the time we get back to our cabin, we’re a little more sober. Not entirely sober—we did kill another glass each while dancing our hearts out to the Eurythmics’ “Here Comes the Rain,” followed by “Happy When It Rains” by The Jesus and Mary Chain—but we’re more tipsy than wasted.

And muddy. Very, very muddy.

“That poor shuttle driver.” Erika unlocks the door to our cabin. We stand on the threshold, dripping with water and mud. “He’s never gonna get the bus clean.”

“Guess that’s one advantage of using an old school bus instead of a limo.” Gripping the hem of my shirt, I wring out the muddy rainwater. “They can just hose it out.”

“Now what?” Erika looks at me. “I don’t want to track filth through our cute little cabin.”

“Maybe the front desk has towels.”

We glance in that direction, but the building’s pitch dark.

Erika peels off her brown denim jacket. Pretty sure it was blue before the wedding. “Do you have anything in your truck?”

“Maybe a sweaty gym towel.”

“Gross.” She looks down at her dress, which is covered in mud and dripping down onto her boots. “Screw it. You’ve seen me in a bikini. This isn’t that different.”

“What’s not that different?”

But she’s already stripping her dress off over her head.

As my jaw hangs open, she drops the soggy garment on the bench by the door.

I stare as she bends down to pry off her boots, forearms flexing and sprinkled with raindrops.

Soft bumps of vertebrae form a delicate path to the top of her silky black thong.

Straightening up, she throws back her shoulders and looks at me. “What?” Her chin tips up in defiance.

It’s all I can do not to stare at the flesh-colored stickers on her breasts.

“Um.” Holy shit. “What are—how?—”

“It’s an adhesive bra. Hazel told me about it.” She cups the sides of her boobs and lifts up. “They’re surprisingly supportive. I had to have something that worked with the keyhole cutout?—”

“Guh.” I can’t seem to form words. All I can do is stare at the sopping-wet goddess whose nipples jut proudly through those thin, adhesive discs. “Er, well.” My throat closes up, and I clear it. “Um?—”

“They’re just breasts, Mason.” She wrings out her hair like it’s not a big deal. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

Drama would require finding my tongue, which I can’t seem to do. I also can’t seem to stop gaping as she tosses her socks on the bench. “Stop staring and strip.”

Right. Ripping my gaze off her body, I peel off my shirt and start on my pants.

The fabric sucks at my skin like it’s stuck on with sap, yanking every single leg hair on its way down my thighs.

Trust me, it’s not even remotely sexy. Less like a striptease and more like I’m having a seizure.

My pants get wedged at my knees, and I grunt as my skin starts to burn.

“Motherfucker,” I manage, catching myself before I topple. I stand there swaying, staring at Erika, trapped by my own soggy pants.

She’s barefoot now, wearing nothing but panties and those stickers, along with an expression I can’t read. “Are you stuck?”

“I’m good.” I let go of the doorframe and start to topple again. “Mostly.”

“Let me help.” Snatching my shirt off the bench, she folds it a few times, then lays it on the ground at my feet.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you, idiot.” She kneels on my shirt and grabs hold of one pantleg. “Brace yourself.”

“What?” I stare at the top of her head with no blood left in my brain.

“Hold on to the house or something. I’m gonna start pulling.”

I barely manage to grip the doorframe when Erika starts tugging. She’s yanking my pants like this is the world’s hottest tug-of-war game. “Pull back, Mason.”

I do my best to help her, struggling to force some blood to my brain. Grunting, I help her work my left leg free. “Fuck.”

“Almost got the right one.”

There’s not a single functioning brain cell left in my head. I can’t find a way to form words with my mouth. All I can do is stare down at Erika, muddy and fierce and so fucking beautiful on her knees in front of me.

“Got it!” She wrestles my leg from my pants, then flings them aside like they’ve pissed her off. I know the feeling.

That’s also not all I’m feeling. The boner that’s tenting the front of my boxer briefs leers up at me like, what are you going to do about it?

Snagging Erika’s soggy dress off the bench, I hold it in front of my crotch. She gets to her feet, dropping my wadded-up shirt on the bench.

“What are you doing?” Wiping her brow, she points at the dress. “Just leave it. I don’t think there’s any saving it.”

Oh, good. She thinks I’m being chivalrous and not a perv who can’t control his dick. “Uh, sure.” I don’t drop the dress. I just need a minute to cool down. Maybe if I step out from under the eaves, a fresh blast of rain will take care of things.

But she’s not having it. “Come on, Mace. Leave the clothes and let’s get inside where it’s warm.”

“Uh, I need to—” What? What do I need to do? “Check the chickens.”

“The chickens?” Erika blinks. “How drunk are you right now?”

Fuck it. We’re honest with each other, right?

“Look, you’re giving me a woody, okay?” If I say it like that, it sounds jokey and fun and not like I want to bang my best friend. “Not that I’m suggesting it’s your fault. This isn’t some patriarchal bullshit where I blame you for my body doing its thing instead of taking responsibility for?—”

“Mason.” Rolling her eyes, she turns to the door. “If you want to stand out here babbling about boners, be my guest. I’m going inside.”

She strides into the cabin, and I watch her go, which is a huge fucking mistake. “Since when do you wear thong panties?”

“Since Hazel told me I couldn’t wear boy shorts with a silk dress.” She’s shouting over her shoulder as she heads for the bathroom. “It’s not a big deal, okay?”

“Okay.” I can do this. I can .

Just to be sure, I step into the rain, letting it pelt me like tiny cold needles. I stand in my underpants, breathing the bright scent of wet grass and evergreen, telling myself this is not a big deal.

Inside the cabin, the water turns on. From here I’ve got a peek-a-boo glimpse of the shower. Of Erika stepping inside, still in her panties and boob stickers. She doesn’t look back as she pulls the curtain closed, steam wafting up from the top.

“Get it together, Mason,” I mutter under my breath.

Since I’m standing in the rain in my underwear, creeping on my best pal, I’ve got a long way to go on that goal.

“Ouch! Goddammit.”

“Erika?”

“Motherfucker! Holy shit, that hurts.”

Her next yelp of pain sends me bolting inside, kicking the door shut behind me. I don’t even think. I just charge through the cabin as Erika lets out another sharp hiss of discomfort.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow!”

I yank back the curtain, and Erika squeals. Whirling to face me, she covers one boob with her hand. “What are you doing?”

“You sounded hurt.” I drop my eyes to her hand, frowning at the angry red mark at the edge of her breast. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t get these stupid things off.” Dropping her hand, she reveals she’s still wearing the stickers. “I forgot the directions said not to get them wet. I’m not sure how to peel them off without ripping my freakin’ nipples.”

I sober up quickly, hating the thought of Erika in pain. “Would oil help?”

“Motor oil?”

“No, body oil.” I saw some fancy stuff sitting on the edge of the tub. “One sec.”

Letting go of the curtain, I pivot and locate the small plastic bottle wrapped up in gauze and a whisper of ribbon. Tearing it open, I return to the shower and peel back the curtain.

Erika’s bent over rinsing the mud from her hair. She’s still wearing panties, so at least there’s still blood in my brain. “Here.”

Flipping her hair up, she reaches out to take it. “Thanks. I’m thinking if I just squirt some of this on my boobs, maybe I can peel off—ow! Fuck .”

“Careful.” I shouldn’t keep standing here holding the curtain like this is my private peep show. “Maybe it needs time to soak in?”

“Ow.” Never one to be patient, Erika tugs at the edge of a sticker. Wincing, she smashes her boob with one hand. “The instructions said to hold the skin taut to remove them, but?—”

“I’ll help.” God help me. “Want me to squirt or hold your boob still?” These are my options? But yes, yes they are.

We’re stuck in a porn flick where a pizza delivery guy might stride through the door and suggest sausage, mushroom, and a threesome.

“Ouch, ouch, fuck !” She’s still trying to do it herself, so I snatch the bottle from her hand and step into the shower.

“I won’t touch you, okay?” I’m telling myself as much as her. “I just need the right angle to get the oil in there.”

“I’m hardly in a position to be modest here, Mason.” Cupping her boob from the bottom, she hooks her thumbnail under the edge of the adhesive. “Can you see okay?”

“Yeah.” I stare at her breasts and nod like a dummy. “Yep. Yesiree?—”

“Mason.”

My eyes snap to her face. “What?”

“Can you see the place where the adhesive won’t let go of my skin?”

“Oh. Yeah.” I order myself to concentrate. “You want me to squirt it right there?”

“Please.” Her plea sounds so breathless, and the shower’s all filled up with steam.