Wipe that smile off her face.

Do it.

“Do I want to snog you?” I repeat to draw it out. “Do I want to kiss you?”

She rolls her eyes, irritated.

“Sure. What warm-blooded bloke wouldn’t want to kiss you?”

There.

Diplomatic without being too candid, without spilling my entire stomach of guts.

I’m not here for a bloodbath; I’m here to go hot-tubbing.

She sits still on the opposite bench, boobs practically floating surface level, glass clasped between a few dainty fingers. Her hair is piled on the top of her head, and if the lights were up, I’d probably see her face flushed a bright red.

Thank god she can’t see me looking at her tits in the dark—not that I’m getting a good look, but they are wet and reflecting the blue light.

Whatever.

They’re fantastic tits.

“Your turn.”

It is that.

“Do you want to snog me?”

Georgia hesitates, bobbing slightly in the water. “Sure.”

Sure?

Sure? What the fuck. “Would you knock it off? All you’re doing is repeating what I already said.”

“Well it’s not like there are a million ways to say it!” She laughs, breaking the tension. “Sheesh, I’m not a thesaurus.”

“No one uses those anymore. It’s called google.”

“You’re so literal sometimes it makes me want to…throttle you.”

Throttle. A good British word if I ever heard one.

It’s her game now.

“Do you want to kiss me…now?”

Well done, Georgie, you’ve gone and made me blush down to my toes, which were already hotter than Hades in this hundred-degree water.

Do I want to kiss her now, do I want to kiss her now…

Here, in the jacuzzi.

I’m not sure if my head nods or my mouth opens or if sound comes out, but I at least attempt to say yes, not entirely sure she heard me over the sounds of the jets.

“What was that? I saw your lips move but nothing came out.” Georgia cups her ear with her free hand.

She’s going to make me say it again.

What a shite.

“Yes.”

Her lips make a surprised O, and it occurs to me then she might have thought I wouldn’t want to kiss her, now or any time at all.

“Oh,” she says as she breathes out. “You do?”

I don’t respond because that would give her two questions in a row and it’s my turn.

“Do you want to kiss me now?”

Georgia bites down, upper teeth scraping her bottom lip, white teeth winking at me.

“Yes.”

What to do now? Curb our enthusiasm and continue sitting on opposite sides of this hot tub? Or do I cross over and do something about it?

It’s a game of chicken, both of us rooted to our respective benches in the hot tub, the tension as thick as the steam rising from the water.

We could cut through it with a dull knife.

“Come here,” I say, setting my champagne flute down on the shelf behind me.

Georgia floats through the water, then stands in the middle to wade over to my side.

I watch the water drip from her stomach and bikini top.

She reaches behind me to set her glass down, too, so it’s out of the way and we don’t spill. Then she plops down on the seat beside me, shoulders exposed, damp hair clinging to the nape of her neck.

We stare at each other, thinking the same thing: Are you going to make a move or am I?

Slowly we gravitate toward one another, our breaths mingling as we get closer and closer; I freeze when Georgia touches the tip of her nose to mine. Brushes it back and forth in a move so caring and gentle I’m taken aback.

Playful and cute.

Unexpected.

It’s been a really long time since anyone has looked at me this way, least of all a young woman. I didn’t realize I missed it, because how can you miss something you never had to begin with? After tonight, if nothing else happens besides this kiss, I don’t think I’ll ever stop thinking about it.

I’m the one who touches our lips together, tentatively at first because that’s what the mood calls for, then pressing them together gently.

My body is humming.

Alive.

And we’re not actually kissing yet.

Everything about this moment is different than all the other lips that came before hers.

Georgia tilts her head so that when I cover her mouth with mine, our noses don’t bump, lips pressing. One chaste kiss. Another.

Another until our mouths open and our tongues timidly meet, shyly at first then growing bolder. She tastes like champagne and sweat, and warm Vegas air.

Was it necessary to fly all this way to have this moment?

Probably.

I never would have put a romantic hand on her at home, and she would have continued tiptoeing around the house to ignore whatever vibes were building.

We kiss like this for a while, open-mouthed, my hand rising from the water to cup her face, fingers wrapped lightly around the back of her neck.

Georgia leans in closer, boobs smushed against my skin, hand on my thigh beneath the water, kissing me sweetly.

Then.

She pulls back.

Moves to climb on top of me, the pair of us shifting so Georgia can wrap her legs behind my back as her arms wrap around my neck.

We kiss, tongues mingling, getting acquainted in a way we haven’t known each other before. It’s intoxicating, especially with the lingering alcohol on our tongues from the champagne we’ve completely forgotten about and don’t need any longer.

My hands are on her spine, slowly moving up…then down her gloriously wet skin, pulling her into me so she’s flush against my body, my hands now cupping her arse.

Squeezing the cheeks that fill my palms.

Running my fingers under the fabric of her swimsuit bottoms, grazing the smooth globes of her derrière.

She’s smooth from head to toe, freshly shaven legs I can’t keep my hands off. Silky from the fluid water we’re in.

Georgia’s hands roam my broad shoulders, fingernails lightly brushing my skin, thumb playing with the dips in my collarbone as her mouth sucks on my tongue.

Why does she feel so good?

Goddamn this hot tub was a good idea.

Georgia moans in my ear when I move her over my swelling shaft, the thin fabric of my trunks and her suit doing nothing to mask the pleasure.

I kiss the side of her neck, licking her wet skin.

Suck the curve of her shoulder.

Palms spread wide, I trail my hands up her ribcage, thumb brushing the undersides of her breasts. Her side boob.

Down her ribcage.

Up her ribcage.

Down her back.

Up her spine, fingers now dallying with the ties of her swimsuit top.

I pause, debating.

Hesitate so long it causes Georgia to stop kissing me and shift back a bit, to look me in the eyes.

“What if…” she whispers uncertainly. “What if we put the roommate and the friendship stuff aside and have fun this weekend without thinking about it?”

Does that mean she wants me to take her top off?

Still watching her, I let my thumb and forefinger pluck the string of her bikini top loose so that it falls away. Work my way to the tie around her neck and release that, too. They were tied in simple bows and it’s easy.

She’s on my lap naked from the waist up, hands in my hair.