Page 24 of Take Me (Cherry Blossom Lake #5)

Erika blushes as I peel off my jeans and kick them aside by a beer keg. Guess it’s a good thing we’ve already crossed the seeing-each-other-in-underwear hurdle.

“Jesus, dude.” Jake looks disgusted. “Haven’t we talked about wearing underpants?”

Whoops. Forgot about that.

“I missed laundry day for the wedding.” Guess I’m going commando under a skirt tonight. Good thing my stage isn’t high off the ground.

“For fuck’s sake.” Jake stomps out the door, and I glance at Kaleb.

“What’s his deal?”

“Beats me.”

My big brother returns ten seconds later with a red pair of boxers. “Here.”

“Please say they’re clean.” Not that I’m in a position to be picky. I pull them on as Erika pretends to study the side of a fermentation tank. “At some point we need to talk about why you keep underpants in your truck.”

Jake mutters something about needing a change of clothes when he’s at sea for long stretches. As I pull on my skirt, Kaleb looks at Erika. “Swear to God, he would have gone to school naked if one of us wasn’t looking out for him.”

That’s probably true, since we didn’t exactly have the world’s most present parents. But now’s not the time for dwelling on that. “Ready?” I ask her, and she nods.

“Let’s do it.”

I grab Erika’s hand and head for the stage. “Later, losers,” I call to my brothers.

We bound through the bar, leaping onto the stage just as The Carpenters croon to an end. Snatching two mics off the stand, I switch them both on and hand one to Erika.

The crowd goes wild when they see us, cheering and yelling and chanting for Kenny and Dolly. “The fans love us,” I murmur as Erika takes her position.

“Should a guy who nearly went freeballing in a skirt really have fans?”

“I don’t make the rules, babe.” Grinning, I lift the mic to my mouth and address the cheering crowd. “Howdy, folks.” I toss my Dolly Parton tresses and do a little hip wiggle. “What do you say we get this night started with some island magic?”

The crowd goes nuts, shrieking and whistling as I shimmy my oversized assets.

The music starts, and Erika cues up her Kenny Rogers swagger.

She belts out the first few lines, doing a damn fine impression of the late, great country crooner.

I chime in next, hitting Dolly’s high notes as well as I can.

Not too well. That’s the point with this routine.

But something feels different this time.

Maybe it’s how we keep touching. We’ve done it before, clutching each other in a choreographed embrace. We grind our bodies against one another through the chorus like we always do, singing about relying on each other— uh-huuuuh.

Only this time I’m hyper-aware of Erika’s body pressed against mine. Of just how thin this skirt is; that these boxers don’t hold me in quite as well as my normal, snug briefs.

By the time it’s my turn to howl about sailing away together, I’m half hard and hoping this song ends soon. It’s disorienting, to be honest. Never in my life have I felt aroused by my pal while performing a cheesy pop-country hit dressed in drag.

And I’ve sure as hell never felt turned on by a woman wearing a beard and gray chest hair. We warble our way through the final lines of the song, hands clasped together in a sweaty tangle.

Then we’re taking a bow and clambering off the stage to a hearty round of applause.

Three different people get up and beeline it for the signup sheet.

Two more start pawing through the costume box, one guy laughing as he pulls out the sequined jacket and jeweled glasses my customers love for their Elton John numbers.

A lady shouts in triumph as she finds the cone-shaped Madonna bra buried at the bottom of the box.

I guide us away from the stage to a quiet corner behind one of the speakers. We’re not exactly hidden, but we’re not on display anymore. Catching my breath, I hold up a hand for a high five. “We did it.”

“Yeah we did.” She smacks my palm with a glance at the far corner table where Kaleb and Jake sit swilling their beer.

Frowning, she grabs both my shoulders. Peering at me from under her gray Kenny wig, she looks deep in my eyes. “Okay, I’m just gonna say this fast so you can have whatever reaction you need to have without an audience.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I’m reeling a bit, seeing Erika so serious behind her gray beard.

She spins me around so my back is to my brothers. Holding my gaze, she tightens her grip on my shoulders. “Annabelle and Neil are dating.”

“I know. She wanted to see other people, so?—”

“They’re dating each other .”

“What?” This must be a joke.

“I’m not joking,” she says, reading my goddamn mind. “Neil dumped it on me at the diner today, and I’m sure that’s what Annabelle’s been trying to tell you. That’s it. That’s the big fucking thing they’ve been dying to talk to us about.”

“Holy fuck.” My body goes numb. It’s not anger or sadness or even hurt. Just… shock.

“I had the same reaction,” she continues. “Which I why I wanted to give you a chance to do it without your brothers turning it into some man-to-man talk, or Annabelle giving you poor-baby eyes. I thought you should hear it from a friend.”

“Friend,” I repeat like a big fucking idiot.

She’s right. Better to hear it like this—fake boobs and rhinestone bustier aside—than to have someone peering at me with a face full of pity.

“I need to sit down.”

“No, you don’t.” She squeezes my shoulders. “You need to show those motherfuckers they can’t get to us.”

She’s right once again, and I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” I’ve got this. I do. “Fuck having people feel sorry for us.”

“That’s right. Fuck them.”

“Yeah, fuck them.”

“Mace?” She lets go of my shoulders and searches my eyes. “You okay? What’s going on in your brain?”

“How long?” I don’t know why that’s the first thing I ask, but it is. “Were they seeing each other in secret for months?”

“Neil says no, but who really knows. He claims it’s been less than a month.” She licks her lips, and my gaze snags on her mouth. “They’re moving in together. Neil’s leaving the Navy, and they’re planning to shack up at her place.”

Jesus Christ. “How are you handling it?”

“Me? I’m okay.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

I’m conscious of the crowd buzzing around us.

Of the DJ cueing up a Carrie Underwood song, which is always a popular pick.

At the bar to our left, three women sit whispering, glancing our way every few seconds.

One of them points our direction, and I bite back the urge to curse my decision to live in a small fucking town.

“What are the odds?” I ask softly. “That your ex and mine would wind up together?”

“Do you think they did it just to piss us off?”

God, that’s a devious thought. “No. Annabelle’s not like that.”

“I don’t think Neil is either.”

We need to move soon. People are starting to notice us here behind the speakers. I wasn’t kidding about the hot new couple thing. We’re the best gossip since Kaleb locked lips in this very bar with America’s advice column queen.

I should walk over and talk to my brothers. Or go mill around glad-handing customers, maybe without these gigantic boobs banging around on my chest.

“Thank you for telling me,” I say.

“You’d have done the same for me.”

I would have. “Sorry you had to find out from Neil.”

“Would you have rather gotten the news from your brothers?”

“God, no.” With Kaleb and Jake, I’m the family goofball. With Luce, I’m her pain-in-the-ass twin.

But with Erika, I’m just… well, me . I glance at my brothers, who might’ve just noticed us over here.

Jake glares at the speakers and says something to Kaleb.

“They mean well,” I say as I look back at Erika.

“But I’m grateful you saved me from the compassionate bro squad’s ‘we need to talk’ brigade. ”

“Glad to do it.” Her mouth quirks under the beard. “Couldn’t have you getting blindsided while wearing a skirt and your brother’s underwear.”

“You’re a good friend, Erika.”

“So are you, Mason.”

Something in my chest starts to throb. Maybe it’s gratitude. Maybe it’s knowing there’s nobody else who knows me like she does. Who can see me stripped bare—figuratively speaking—and take me just how I am.

My brain starts to bounce with those bright, naked thoughts. I’m suddenly conscious of how close she’s standing. Of Erika’s pebble-gray eyes holding mine. The heat of her body, the fern-leaf smell of her skin.

All the longing I felt on that stage surges back to the surface. “I want to kiss you right now.”

Erika blinks. “Um?—”

“To give the fans what they want.” That’s not even remotely why I want to kiss her, but she nods like that makes perfect sense.

“Yeah. Okay, yeah.” She tugs down her beard, stretching the elastic at the base of her skull. “Gotta keep up the act.”

I don’t know why, but I feel the need to insist this is only for show. “It’s nothing personal.”

Dark pupils flare as she licks those plush lips. “Why would it be personal to mash our mouths together and swap spit?”

“It’s just that everyone’s watching, and half the town probably knows what our exes are up to.”

She winces, and I know she feels just like I do. Having everyone staring and pointing and feeling sorry for us—it’s the worst fucking thing in the world. “I don’t want their pity.”

“What do you want?” My voice sounds rumbly and low, the polar opposite of Dolly Parton.

She looks at my mouth, then lifts her gaze back to mine. “You.”

My heart hits the back of my throat. I know she doesn’t mean it like that, but for one-tenth of a second, I feel what it would be like to have Erika crave me.

That power, that thrill, has me pushing her back toward the wall.

I cup the base of her skull in one hand as our mouths crash together and her lush body molds against mine.