Accidental Third Base

Chapter 10: Accidental Third Base

I stirred, feeling a heavy warmth pressed against me. My leg was tangled over Roman’s thigh, my hand—oh God—resting right on his very naked hip. His arm was thrown lazily over my waist, fingers curled like they owned me.

My eyes fluttered open and met his—already watching me with sleepy amusement.

“Morning, Mrs Blackwood,” he drawled, voice raspier than ever.

I blinked at him, confused, until I realized my thigh was dangerously close to the thing that could ruin our friendship forever.

“Roman,” I said slowly, “on a scale of one to ten, how weird is it if we’re just casually rubbing parts right now?”

His lips twitched. “Depends. Are we talking friction with intent, or… accidental third base?”

I bit my lip, then smirked. “You tell me, you’re the one pitched like a tent over there.”

Roman glanced down, completely unbothered by the situation. “Don’t flatter yourself, Hart. I always wake up like this.”

“Right,” I teased. “Because your subconscious gets off to spreadsheets.”

“Don’t knock it. Numbers are sexy.”

We broke into soft laughter, still entangled, too comfortable to move—until Emily’s giggles echoed from the hallway.

Roman groaned. “Well, there goes the erection.”

“Tragic loss,” I said, rolling off the bed and grabbing a robe. “Maybe next time, warn me before spooning me like your personal body pillow?”

“Only if you stop grinding in your sleep,” he shot back smugly.

I gasped. “I did not!”

“Oh, sweetheart…” His grin turned positively sinful. “You really did.”

~~~~~~~~

My father and mother had gone off to some political brunch immediately after breakfast—leaving behind chaos in the form of Chloe, Dean, Lizzie, Alyssa, Emily... and Roman, shirtless and swimming laps across the pool like he was preparing for the Olympics.

The sun was high, glistening off the water as the rest of the family gathered by the pool. I sat at the edge, sunglasses shielding my eyes, a long T-shirt over micro denim shorts.

Chloe was in a yellow bikini with her hair pulled into a bun atop her head and a pair of sunglasses sitting on it like decor.

She was playing ball in the pool with Dean who used every opportunity to shamelessly cup a feel.

Disgusting pervert.

I leaned back on my palms, oversized shirt billowing around me, while Roman swam slow laps now, like a shark circling prey.

“Comfortable?” he asked, voice husky from the swim.

“Very,” I replied, eyes flicking down to the way his wet hair clung to his forehead.

He swam closer, settling in right between my legs, water lapping gently around his chest. His hands gripped the edge behind me, caging me in.

I didn’t move.

“Let’s give the others something to wonder about,” he murmured, dipping his head low.

I gasped when I felt it—his lips brushing the inside of my thigh. Soft. Warm. Deliberate. He placed another kiss higher, then another.

“Roman,” I warned, breath catching. “If you're trying to seduce me in front of my family, it's working.”

“We’re just playing the part,” he whispered with a smirk, but his eyes were anything but playful. They were hungry. Possessive.

But then—

“Sav!” a voice chirped like saccharine poison.

Chloe. Of course.

She approached with a margarita in hand and a smug smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her blonde-curls-bun bounced with each step, her tan glowed, and her bikini which was designer, bright, and two seconds from being indecent, was wet and definitely needed a sarong now.

“Well, this is cute,” Chloe said, glancing at Roman suspiciously close to my thighs. “You dipping your feet in but not getting wet, Savvy?”

I kept my expression blank. “Didn’t pack a bikini.”

Chloe’s smile widened, just a shade too bright. “How tragic.” She turned to the rest lounging nearby, throwing a fake-pity face. “She didn’t bring a swimsuit. Poor thing.”

I felt the sting. That was intentional.

Chloe sipped her drink. “Well, I suppose I can lend you one of mine. You’re not shy, are you?”

Roman glanced up at me with interest now. So did everyone else.

I smiled slowly. “Not at all.”

Chloe blinked once—just once—but it was enough.

“Perfect. Come with me, sis. I got you.”

The walk was silent. Tension dressed up as politeness.

Chloe pushed open the bedroom door like she was unveiling a stage. I stepped in, and stopped.

It was different.

It didn't look like my bedroom anymore. A giant photograph of their pre-wedding photo was hanging on the wall. Chloe hugging Dean from behind and smiling at each other like the perfect couple.

The rest of the room? Madness. There was ‘Bridal Luxe’ Magazines scattered everywhere.

Seems she has an obsession with the blog.

My bedroom was nothing like the put-together sanctuary it used to be.

A red satin bra was draped over the armchair. A tube of lipstick lay uncapped on the dresser. The bed was unmade, sheets rumpled and kissed with the smell of sex and expensive perfume. And on the nightstand, clear as day, was a half-open box of condoms.

I arched a brow. “You always leave your birth control on display?”

Chloe didn’t miss a beat. “Dean’s virile. Can’t risk it.”

"Oh, he’s virile now? Cute." My tone was featherlight, almost amused. "Back then he needed a pep talk and a prayer.”

Chloe glared at me.

I raised my hands in defence, “But hey, practice makes perfect. Glad I could be his warm-up act."

“Still bitter, Sav?” Chloe hissed.

"Trust me, I’ve had Dean. The hype’s better than the ride. Anyways, enjoy!”

Chloe’s eye twitched.

"Roman, on the other hand? Feels like I just upgraded from a toy car to a Ferrari.”

To my surprise, she laughed. “Silly, unsteady Sav. Ignorance is truly bliss.”

“You got something to say, Chlo?”

“We'll find out.”

She opened her walk-in closet and began rummaging as if nothing happened.

I wandered closer to the nightstand, “You know they expire, right? Or maybe you just… don’t use them long enough.” My tone was honeyed, the smile sweet. “That explains a lot.”

Chloe pulled out a bikini and turned. “Here. Hope you’re comfortable with minimal coverage.” Her tone suggested she wasn’t.

From her oversized Dior tote, she pulled out something so tiny it could have been mistaken for a brightly colored ribbon. I took one look and arched an unimpressed brow.

“That’s a bikini?” I asked.

I took the bikini. Red, strappy, cut so wicked it was practically lingerie.

“You're scared you can't pull it off?” She poked fun at me. “Scared of a little skin fold?”

I didn’t flinch. “No. This’ll do. Just what I needed.”

I changed in the en-suite bathroom. When I stepped out, Chloe was scrolling through her phone until her gaze lifted.

And she turned to ice.

I stood in the doorway, and struck a pose for Chloe.

The bikini fit like a scandalous second skin and held nothing back. The top barely covered anything. The bottoms? A whisper of fabric. But I wore it like I was born in it—chin high, curves on display, hair piled in a messy knot.

My bare hips curved, my breasts barely contained by the mini triangles but my confidence shimmered like my sunscreen.

Chloe’s jaw visibly clenched.

I tilted my head. “Thanks, Chloe,” she said sweetly. “You’re such a generous hostess.”

Then I turned and strutted down the hallway like I owned it before she could say anything else.

Time to give them a show.