Rough Ride

by Breezie Bennett

  I take the glass of champagne she hands me and sip it, tilting my head in question. “I already told you things got hot and heavy in the car. What do you want, a play-by-play?”

  “Perhaps,” she teases as she drinks her sparkling cider and leans back, resting her glass on her baby bump, which makes me very nervous. It’s not a shelf. But I let it go. “Actually, though, I have something even juicier and more fun than your Smokey escapades.”

  “You’ve piqued my interest,” I say slowly, curling my legs under me and taking another bubbly sip.

  “It’s about that night…our very first semester of college, when we were just starting to transition from friendly roommates to lifelong best friends. That special night our friendship really took a leap.”

  “Ah.” I smile at the bittersweet memory. “The night I almost got pushed into sleeping with Frat Douche who shall remain unnamed. I got home, and we stayed up all night together. That’s the night we made our first-time pacts. We had…”

  “A handle of vodka,” she finishes.

  We both laugh.

  “Yeah. I told Andre about that, actually.”

  She draws back in surprise. “All of it? I didn’t think you ever talked about…that.”

  “Yeah.” I lift a shoulder, realizing how right she is. I never tell anyone about my terrible almost-sex experience. “I told him everything.” I wave a hand, trying not to lose myself entirely in the gooey, warm, and way-too-fuzzy thoughts of Andre. “Anyway. That night. What about it?”

  “Okay.” She scoots forward excitedly and sets her drink on the table—thank God. “Obviously, we remember the pact.”

  I laugh softly. “My twenty-five-year-old virgin self maybe took the pact for a perfect first time a tad too serious.”

  “Your standards of perfection are high, yes. But maybe what you don’t remember from that night are the v-cards.” She grins.

  I furrow my brow, wondering what the hell she’s talking about. “The v-cards? Sure, I guess we probably used that particular phrase more often when we were eighteen, but—”

  “No,” she cuts me off and reaches for her purse at her feet. “The literal v-cards. I was cleaning out our guest room to start getting it ready to become an adorable nursery with a monochromatic palette and yellow accents.”

  “As one does.” I smile and sip.

  “And in doing so, I found an old box from that very first dorm room. Which contained…” She digs to the bottom of her bag and pulls out a yellowed index card with faded colored writing on it. “This. Well, this.”

  “What is that?”

  “Your v-card.”

  “My…” I reach out to take it and squint at the little notecard. The edges are curled up, and the cardstock is softened. Suddenly, my eyes fall on the pink ink at the top that reads Kendall’s v-card—can only be swiped by someone who:

  “Oh my God,” I whisper, the memory of that night flooding over me so vividly it’s practically tangible. “I totally forgot we did this. We made v-cards with an actual list of requirements for the first guy we sleep with.” I drop my hand to my lap. “We were ridiculous.”

  I let out a laugh of shock and amusement, looking at Desta.

  Her gaze is steady and burning with certainty. She levels her eyes at me and takes my hand, which is still holding the notecard, and moves it up slowly to my face. “Ken. Read it.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “Oh God. I’m already cringing.”

  “Read your list. Out loud.”

  I chew on my lip, not sure I even want to be reminded of the undoubtedly shallow and bizarre things my eighteen-year-old self cared about in a man. Then again, these things must at least subconsciously still matter to me, considering no one’s punched this card yet.

  Smiling at Desta and laughing at the entire situation, I take a deep breath and hold the card up. “‘This card is only to be swiped by someone who: one, wouldn’t change anything about me.’” I relax a little.

  “See? Not cringy.”

  “No,” I say quietly, taking another sip of champagne. “I actually like that a lot.”

  Des leans forward and shakes my knee. “Keep going!”

  “Okay, okay.” I set my glass down and look back at the notecard. “‘Two, is super strong, but gentle with me.’ That’s nice.”

  “Read!” she squeals.

  “‘Three, my entire family would, or already does, love and approve of.’” I swallow hard and keep my eyes fixed on the faded ink.

  My heart starts to flip a little as the image of one man burns clear as day in my mind, a perfect match for this list.

  I clear my throat and fix my hair. “‘Four, is tall, dark, handsome, and…’” I practically choke on a laugh as I finish this sentence. “‘Well endowed.’”

  “That’s my favorite part.” Desta giggles. “Look, you even drew a little winky face next to it.”

  I hold my hand to my forehead. “Good Lord.”

  “One more,” she sings, pushing the card into my face.

  “‘Five, could qualify for People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive.’” I drop the card into my lap and laugh heartily. “Oh my God, we used to care so much about that.”

  “Oh, it was like a religion.”

  I shake my head and finish my champagne, letting my eyes skim the five bullet points over and over.

  “This wasn’t just for a fun memory-lane trip,” Desta says, leaning back into the sofa. “I brought you this because, well…read them. You can’t honestly look me in the eye and say there isn’t one man in your life who flawlessly checks all of these boxes. And probably a thousand more mental boxes you’ve come up with since we made those cards.”

  “Doesn’t want to change me,” I whisper, running my finger along the frayed edge of the index card. “Strong but gentle. Loved by my family.” I draw out each word, remembering the way my mom always joked with Mrs. Smoke about how she’d gladly adopt Andre and put him through college herself.

  “That one kills me,” Desta interjects. “Your family. It’s like you wrote these—”

  “About him,” I finish. I shake my head in disbelief, letting my brain take a minute to process this. “Des, you know he qualified for Sexiest Man Alive, right? Like, he was literally on the short list two years ago.”

  “No freaking way.” She gasps, holding her hand to her mouth. “I mean, everything. Strong but gentle? He’s, like, the epitome of that. It’s spelled out right there in black and white.”

  “Well, blue and pink,” I say on a laugh. “Do you really think this…matters? I mean, I was a teenager when I wrote these down. They can’t actually mean—”

  “What are you talking about?” She jabs my leg. “Kendall Elise Collins. This is what you want in the first man you sleep with. This is what you care about. Sure, since you wrote these, you’ve grown and changed and kicked ass in life, but you’re still that adorable little perfectionist who just wants the right man for her first time.”

  Emotion swells in my throat, and I know how right she is. She’s always freaking right.

  I take a slow, deep breath and look down at the colorful list. “I feel like I had Andre in the back of my mind when I wrote these things anyway. I never stopped crushing on him so, so hard.”

  “Then doesn’t that make it even more…destined?” Desta asks bluntly, twirling my Waterford glass between her fingers. I’m too caught up in this v-card thing to even care.

  “I don’t know if I believe in destiny. But I do believe in perfection.” I tap the notecard against my thumb, and a swirl of butterflies rises as I say these next words. “And this, in some ridiculous way, is proof that he’s…perfect.”

  “One important question.” She holds up a finger.

  “Yeah?”

  “Is he…” She lowers her voice and raises her brows dramatically. “Well endowed?”

  I snort and smack the notecard lightly against her cheek. “Take a guess.”

  We both laugh, and Desta smiles and leans close to me, wrappi
ng her arm around my shoulders and giving me a tight squeeze. “You’re gonna do it? Tell him you’re ready?”

  I rest my head on her shoulder. “I don’t know. We said we’d wait until after the Vikings game, but…that was before I saw this.” A surge of wild confidence and excitement ripples through me, and I scoot to the edge of the sofa. “Andre’s in Boston until late tomorrow night for an away game. He’ll get home around midnight. I think…” I look at Desta. “I think I’ve waited long enough.”

  Seventeen

  Andre

  It’s pitch-black outside by the time I get home, and my body is totally exhausted from our absolute battle against the Patriots. It was a heavily defensive game, and I gave a hundred and ten percent, as usual.

  I park my car in front of the house and take a second to look at it. The old wooden front doors are gone, replaced by sleek glass that you can’t actually see through for some reason. Everything’s cleaner and nicer and fresh, and it looks like it’s really on its way to being finished. I have a weirdly calm and happy feeling looking at this house right now. Something twists in my chest as I find myself thinking…

  It’s good to be home.

  I step out of the Audi and lock it, swinging my duffel bag over my shoulder and heading up the newly paved driveway.

  Wait a second…

  Something catches my eye as I pull my keys out of my pocket. Is that…Kendall’s car? Holy shit. It is. It’s parked around the side of the house, the red bumper just barely poking out.

  Unless she got a ride home with Jackson and Desta or something, that means…she’s here.

  Exhaustion quickly turns to a hot chill of excitement, and my whole body instantly wakes the fuck up.

  A smile tugs at my cheeks as I unlock the cool glass doors and walk inside.

  “Kendall?” I call out hesitantly, not knowing what to expect. I mean, she easily could have gotten a ride home with someone else from her team. They’ve certainly left trucks and vehicles here overnight before in the past few weeks.

  I don’t hear anything in response, and the house seems as empty and silent as ever. Disappointment settles in my gut as I realize she’s probably not actually here. And shit, I didn’t know how much I wanted her to be.

  I shake my head and walk toward the kitchen, which looks like it’s almost done except for the plastic on the floors and hanging all around it. It looks so sick, definitely feels like a kitchen I belong in, if I actually cooked. I wish she was here so I could tell her how much I like it.

  I walk over to the fridge to grab a Gatorade and see a little blue sticky note on the front of the door. Just like the one I gave her with the Riders tickets.

  My heart rate spikes as I pluck it off the stainless steel, knowing that only one person would leave me a handwritten note so neat it literally looks like it was typed and printed out.

  Welcome home! I’m working late tonight. Secret room. XO

  Is that an invitation? I contemplate this for about half a second before setting the note on the counter and practically speed-walking down the hallway to that back room with the crazy bookshelves.

  If there’s anything waiting for me in there like what happened in my car the other night, it’ll be well worth the lack of sleep.

  I pull on the latch and slide the bookcase out of the way, a jolt of intrigue and excitement zipping over me.

  You’re fucking kidding me.

  There she is. Sexy, natural, gorgeous…perfect. She’s sitting on a blanket on the newly carpeted floor, wearing my jersey, and—it looks like—nothing else.

  My junk wakes up at the sight of her tanned, bare legs and the thought of everything waiting for me under that jersey.

  “Hey, you,” I manage, drawing in a breath and looking around the secret room. Candles flicker in the darkness, casting a warm glow on the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.

  “Hi.” Kendall stands up, pulling the jersey down around her slender hips, smiling and laughing softly. “I know you’re probably not a candle type of guy, but…” She lifts a shoulder and looks around, biting her lip. “I just wanted to do something fun.”

  “Kendall…” I step forward and slide my hands onto her delicious curves, gathering the jersey in my hands and pulling her into me, drinking in the sweet citrusy smell of her hair. “I don’t even know what all this is for, but trust me, I’m already having a blast.”

  Her chest shakes against me with a soft laugh, and I coast my hands down her body, cupping her incredibly toned ass and giving it a squeeze.

  She gasps and kisses me, wrapping her arms around my neck and clinging to me. “Well,” she whispers, her sweet lips tickling my ear. “I’ve been doing some thinking.”

  I draw back and give a look of mock concern, holding her hips against me. “Oh no. That can’t be good.”

  She narrows her blue eyes, and they glint in the flickering candlelight, her expression even more fiery than usual. “Andre…I know we said we’d wait until after the Vikings game.” She swallows, and heat rushes to my dick as the idea of banging her tonight becomes very real.

  “We did say that, didn’t we?” I run my hand through her silky hair, touching her cheek with my thumb and admiring her flawless beauty.

  “But I just…” She takes a deep breath, biting her lip and glancing at the ground.

  “You just what, baby?” I kiss her forehead.

  She looks back up at me, her lips parted and her gaze sparking with lust. “I don’t want to wait. I realized that…”

  Everything in me wants to rip off the jersey and get down to business this fucking second, but I let her finish her thoughts.

  “I have this idea in my head of the perfect guy for the perfect first time and the perfect night and moment and everything just right. And then I started to think maybe that was just my horribly unrealistic perfectionism getting in the way of me ever actually having sex. And then I realized that…no. I want perfection. I want all my…ideal first-time boxes to be checked.”

  “Good. You shouldn’t settle. You deserve perfection.”

  “Thank you. And now…I know that…” She levels her gaze with mine, running a hand through my hair and swallowing hard before saying the next words. “Perfection is right in front of me. And I don’t want to wait another freaking second.”

  Eighteen

  Kendall

  My heart is beating faster than I can ever remember, and the ground seems to shift and tilt underneath my feet. All that’s keeping me steady is Andre’s eyes. I hold my gaze to them and let the rich golden-chocolaty depth of them wrap me up and hold me tight.

  “This is…” He glances around the room and nods approvingly, running his thumb along my lower lip. “Quite the bold move, Collins.”

  I inch closer to him, tilting my head back. “I’ve got moves.” I manage a lift of my shoulder.

  “Oh, do you?” He gathers my hair in his fingers, narrowing his gaze and taunting me with a cocky half smile.

  “Well…” I swallow. “Not really. But I want to…” I run my fingers across his jawline, admiring the sharp edges and chiseled details of his face. “Learn.”

  This makes the fire in his eyes burn even brighter. He picks me up effortlessly, pressing his hungry lips to mine.

  I wrap my legs around him, heat building and burning and coursing through us and between us.

  He bends down, lowering me onto my back on the soft blanket, and I let out something between a shudder and a laugh. The hormones swirling through my head and my body make me tingle.

  He positions his massive body on top of me, rocking against me, his broad chest rising and falling with eager breaths. “Kendall…”

  “Andre.” My hands can’t get enough of him, touching and feeling every carved muscle and hard bulge. I yank at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin on mine and finally satisfy the ache that’s been burning inside me for more than a decade.

  I pull his shirt off, arching my back underneath him as he slides his jersey up my body and ove
r my head.

  Relief and excitement thrill me as his skin sizzles against my chest, spiking my heart rate and making the pool in my panties even wetter.

  Needy and aching and knotted in places I didn’t even know I could feel knotted, I slide my hands down his rigid abs and into his boxers—

  “Hey, hey.” He gently grabs my wrist, stopping me.

  Oh my God. Is Andre Smoke about to reject me…again?

  I feel my face flush, and I pull my hand away. “You changed your mind…”

  “No,” he says quickly, cupping my cheek and giving me a reassuring smile. “Jesus, no. I just…” He braces on his hands, towering over me and somehow getting sexier every second. “I want to make sure we don’t rush anything. It’s your first time and…”

  Emotion rises in my chest and tugs at my heart. I glance around the secret room. The exposed-brick walls, the perfectly symmetrical groupings of candles, the plush blanket underneath us. The room that somehow makes it feel like nothing else in the entire world exists when we’re between these four walls. “Andre.” I draw in a deep breath and meet his gaze.

  His lips touch mine, soft and sweet, making my chest feel like it’s flying and swimming and melting right into the floor.

  “Just promise me you’ll let me know if you’re not okay. Stop me if anything’s too fast or too much. I don’t want to hurt you. I want to make sure you’re—”

  I press my finger to his lips and smile. “Hush. I’m good. I trust you.”

  He holds my gaze for an extra beat, savoring those words and the moment and this night almost as much as I am.

  He dips his head and kisses my neck, sucking gently and making me gasp. Arousal zips down my spine, and I feel my toes curl.

  He lowers his body as he kisses down my chest and stomach, gently spreading my legs with his shoulders.

  My body opens for him naturally, like it’s instinct. Like he belongs on me and with me and…in me.

  His sinful and magical mouth makes its way to my inner thighs, which are already quivering. Sparks fly with every kiss, and the aching need between my legs grows stronger and hotter each second.