“I’m going to kill you,” I whisper-hiss into the phone the next morning.

“Because they ripped your body in two when they tried DP? I should’ve warned you to work your way up to that. You always have been an overachiever.”

What the hell is she talking about? “DP?”

“Double penetration. Put a C in the V and a C in the A, and you’ll get one giant, toe-curling O.”

“Are you even speaking English right now?”

“Oh my gosh, Emma, get with the program.” Daisy sighs. “A cock in the vagina and a cock in the ass. Double penetration. Everyone’s doing it.”

That just sounds painful. “You’re a virgin. What could you possibly know about double penetration?”

“But I’m a virgin who watches lots of porn and reads tons of dirty books. I know these things.”

Maybe I need to check out some of the books she’s reading. “There was no double penetration.”

“That’s okay, one cock at a time is probably all you can handle. You can work your way up to two. Don’t get discouraged, and remember to use lots of lube.”

“There wasn’t any penetration, and there won’t be any because you were wrong,” I shout, quickly covering my mouth because the last thing I want is for one of the guys to hear me.

She scoffs. “I highly doubt that. I’m rarely wrong.”

“Well you were this time, and now things are awkward and—”

“Everything okay in there?” Ryan hollers from the other room.

“Is that Ryan?” Daisy asks. “Let me talk to him.”

“Hell. No. You’ve done enough. Goodbye.” I hang up on Daisy before she has a chance to argue and then turn the ringer off because I know she’ll try to call back, and I’m really not in the mood to talk to her.

Ryan walks toward me and crosses his arms over his chest. “You okay?”

“Peachy.” I toss my phone onto the counter, walk across the room, and yank open the blinds for the hundredth time to confirm that the roads are, in fact, still covered from the mini-blizzard that dumped nearly a foot of snow in four hours last night. There’s no possible way for me to make an escape.

Damnit.

I’m going to be stuck here for another night with these two, and I hate that I’m not excited about it. I haven’t gotten to spend a lot of one-on-one time with them lately, and I should be looking forward to it. Instead, I’m trying to figure out a way to leave early.

Something shifted between the three of us last night, something I can’t quite explain, and it all started with Daisy and that itty-bitty, red bikini she snuck into my bag.

I guess I can’t blame it all on the swimsuit because it also involved champagne at dinner, one too many shots of tequila, a hot tub, and a game of truth or dare gone horribly wrong. I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Daisy yesterday, but I’ll be damned if her words didn’t spark something inside of me—something I’d forced myself to repeatedly bury over the years.

Feelings.

Feelings I shouldn’t have because I know better than to lust over my best friends. Not only did we grow up together but our parents are also close. And let’s not forget that I’m the complete opposite of any woman the two of them have chased after. And when I say the two of them, I mean exactly that. Because Daisy was right. Ryan and Grant are notorious for sharing women, and it’s been that way for as long as I can remember.

But they’ve never shared me.

I’d thought that might change last night.

I was wrong.

With my inky black hair, small chest, and thighs thick enough to cause a rumble of thunder every time I walk, I’ve never been in the running. Everyone knows that Ryan and Grant are into blondes. Tall, leggy blondes with more ass than I’ve got cellulite, and racks that could impress even the best plastic surgeon.

But I’m not jealous. Nope, not one bit. I’m proud of my body, and up until my little run-in with Ryan and Grant last night, not once has a man complained about my curves. Okay, my friends didn’t exactly complain last night either, but what else was I supposed to think?

We’d arrived at Lake Wapello Lodge, checked into our suite, cracked open a bottle of champagne over dinner, and I thought things were going well. They were flirting, I was flirting, and when we ended up in the hot tub with a bottle of tequila, I figured that maybe Daisy had been right.

They dared me to take off my top—something they did many times throughout our teenage years—and I had just enough alcohol in my system to say fuck it. I pulled the string and let the triangular flaps fall from my chest. What happened next can only be described as any girl’s worst nightmare.

Ryan sputtered, choking on his beer; Grant cursed and looked away; and a second later, they fled from the hot tub like nuns from a whorehouse.

I watched their tight asses run across the patio, and when they disappeared inside, I did what any respectable, confident woman would do. I finished off the entire bottle of tequila—topless—and then went to bed with Sergio, my trusty vibrator. And I wasn’t at all quiet about how well I enjoyed Sergio’s ministrations. Inevitably, I regretted that decision this morning. But I’m a big girl, I’ll own it.

“Would you quit checking the window and get your ass back in here?” Ryan says, walking back to the main room.

Daisy was right. This isn’t a hotel room. It’s like a mini house in the mountains. There are three full bedrooms and an open floor plan in the living area with a state of the art kitchen. A large, cozy couch and loveseat look out over floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase the gorgeous, snow-covered mountains. One would think the mountain view is the best part, but it’s not. The best part is the bathroom with its large, claw-foot tub and walk-in shower with not one, not two, but three showerheads.

I don’t even want to know how much Ryan and Grant paid for this suite.

“Emma,” Grant hollers. “Get over here.”

Swallowing, I shove my glasses up my nose and square my shoulders, preparing to face my friends head-on as though last night didn’t happen. Except when I turn around, I nearly stumble over my feet at the sight of the two men sitting in front of a roaring fire in nothing but faded jeans.

That’s right, ladies…sixteen chiseled abs taunting me, and there’s no way I can park my happy ass between them without melting into a big pile of goo or, worse yet, begging them to let me touch their washboard torsos.

Hell, no.

I am better than that, which is why I turn around and stride to the refrigerator to grab a beer.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Grant’s voice is as smooth as the tequila I drank last night, and when I shoot him a glare, he winks. “I mean, after last night—”

“Ah!” I hold up a hand, stopping him, and both men grin. “Under no circumstances are we talking about last night.”

But, he’s right. I put the beer back into the fridge and grab a bottle of water instead.

“But—”

“No!” I say, cutting Grant off. “You know as well as I do that I was drunk. Under normal circumstances, I absolutely would not have flashed you.”

“Why the fuck not?” Ryan counters. “What’s wrong with showing us your tits?”

I growl, causing both men to laugh. “We are not talking about my tits.”

Ryan holds up his hands in surrender and then reaches for his bottle of water, taking a long swig without taking his eyes off mine. Those deep blue orbs travel the length of my body, and for a split second, I regret throwing on my pink panther pajama shorts.

The men are sitting on opposite ends of the couch. I stare at the empty cushion between them, take a deep breath, and sit down on the loveseat instead. Grant reaches for my water, twists the cap, and hands it back to me.

“I could’ve done that.”

He just shrugs. “I like taking care of you.”

Narrowing my eyes, I take a drink. I shouldn’t have left my room this morning. I think I could’ve lasted the entire day in there, except I eventually got hungry, and Grant and Ryan—stupid men—knew that the smell of bacon would lure me out into the open.

Eat and run, that was the name of the game, but they were having no part of it. Now, here I am, sitting in front of a toasty fire, wondering if the bulge in Grant’s pants is really there or simply a product of my overactive imagination.

Damn Daisy. This is all her fault.