“I play the drums,” I corrected.
“Whatever,” Mia snapped. She grabbed Frank’s box of chili dogs and fries and slammed them into the trash. “I suppose you would think it was a good idea to take a bottle of champagne to someone just discharged from rehab, huh?” She started to swipe the drink off as well, but it bounced off the trash can lid and landed straight into my lap. Busting on impact, the ice-cold orange soda coated my crotch, stinging like tiny daggers over my skin. “Fuck!” I shouted, leaping to my feet.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” Mia apologized.
What happened next could only be expressed as something out of a warped fantasy. With a wad of napkins in hand, Mia dropped to her knees before me—my dick eye-level with her gorgeous face. She began furiously toweling off the front of my jeans. It took all of two seconds for the visual, along with her ministrations, to have me at half-mast.
“Umm,” I began.
“Sorry, but this will stain if we don’t get it off.”
When I dared glancing over at Rhys, his hand covered his mouth, smothering the laughter that caused his whole body to shake. Frank wore an expression of amused horror. Okay, so Florence Nightingale couldn’t take a hint. I guess I was going to have to make it as plain as I could. Leaning over, I whispered into Mia’s ear. “Cari?o, as much as it kills me to ask you to stop this rubdown, if you don’t, you’re going to make another mess to clean up. Inside my pants.”
She jerked her head up and stared into my eyes. I watched as the realization of my words, along with what she had been doing, washed over her. My breath hitched as I waited for the usual signs of extreme mortification to follow—reddened cheeks, stammering speech, avoiding making eye contact. All the things that would make it easy for me to move in for the kill.
But I got none of those. Oh no, not from this chick.
Instead, Mia rose up and smacked the soggy napkins against my chest. As I fumbled to grasp them, she replied, “I’m so terribly sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” She then proceeded to give me a sickeningly, sweet smile—one that reminded me of Abby right before she gave one of us a verbal smack-down. When she edged closer to me, I knew I was in for it and then some. She cocked one brown brow. “How terribly embarrassing and inconvenient it must be for you to have such a sensitivity problem down there. I mean, chicks expect a night of passion with Mr. Latin Lover, and they get mere seconds.” She made a tsking sound in the back of her throat. “Pity.”
My mouth gaped open, and instead of a witty, maybe even scathing, come-back, I could only open and close it, like a dying fish out of water. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been rendered completely speechless by a female outside of my mother and abuela.
Mia eyed me one final time before turning to Frank. “Mr. Patterson, I’ll be back to check on you on the hour,” she replied before quickly side-stepping me and stomping out of the room.
When the door closed behind her, Rhys and Frank howled with laugher. “Holy shit, dude! I can’t believe what she just said to you!” Rhys exclaimed, wiping the tears from his eyes.
I stared momentarily at the closed door before a smile spread across my cheeks. “Now, that gentlemen, is the future Mrs. Resendiz, right there.”