3:AM Kisses

by Addison Moore

  “This is really nice.” She looks around taking it all in, the mountain-themed tapestry lining the booths, the barstools carved out of gnarl wood. “So what do I do?”

  “Start here.” I pluck a small white apron from behind the counter and hand it to her. It’s frilly and looks more like lingerie, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Baya ties it low on her waist and with her micro-shorts it looks like that’s all she’s wearing.

  Hot damn. I ride my gaze up her body, nice and slow, and my dick perks to attention.

  “Who’s this?” A woman’s voice grumps from behind, and for a second I think I might find Aubree with her disgruntled lady boner, but it’s not. It’s Laney, one of the girls from school who works part time as a waitress. Her dark hair is pulled tight in a bun, and she’s sporting her signature ultra-tight Black Bear T-shirt. Laney is hot in her own right, but she’s not for me. Besides, she dated one of my good friends for a while last year. That sort of took her permanently off the roster.

  “Laney.” I pull her in. “This is Baya—Cole Brighton’s little sister.” Maybe if I keep reminding myself, out loud, many fucking times, that she’s Cole’s little sister my dick will back off.

  Baya gives a disapproving smile in my direction before moving her glowing eyes to Laney.

  “Cool name.” She shakes her hand “And for the record”—she drags her eyes over to me again and shoots venom—“I don’t care to be addressed as anybody’s little sister. I’m just Baya.” Her brows peak. For a moment she looks like she’s about to invert my balls, but then she takes a breath and shows off every one of her perfect teeth with that killer smile. “Now teach me how to make some money.”

  “Food and soda only.” I nod into Laney. The last thing I need is having our liquor license revoked within the hour.

  Laney shuttles her off to the main floor as I make my way behind the counter.

  “Well, look who decided to show?” Holt glances up from his martini shaker, and the gleam of stainless steel catches the light.

  “Of course, I showed.” I slap him on the back as I snap up a towel and wipe down the bar. “I wasn’t about to let my big brother have all the f-u-n.”

  “Who’s the hot chick? And why do I smell jail bait?”

  “Relax, she’s nineteen. And, yes, I told Laney she’s only allowed to serve food and sodas. We’re covered.”

  “Sweet.” He frowns into her as she heads in our direction.

  “This is great!” She beams, flaunting a bill in her hand before burying it in her pocket. “Some guy just gave me a twenty for wiggling my hips at him.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “No private dancing.” Shit. Forget Cole, I’ll have my own balls on a spit by the end of the night if she accidentally turns this into some kind of a stripping gig. The only one she’s allowed to strip for is me. I give a dull smile because I know the only way I’ll let that happen is in my fantasies, and I happen to have a couple lining up in the queue.

  She wrinkles her nose and looks cute as hell in the process. “Okay, but the tips would be outrageous if I did.”

  “You know what else would be outrageous? Your brother’s temper. Speaking of brothers—Baya, this is my big bro Holt—Holt, Baya.”

  “Nice to meet you.” She gives an impish grin, and my dick whimpers like a sad puppy to come out and play.

  “Baya,” Holt eases her name out like a song. “You should see me mix a dirty martini.” He leans in like he’s diving for a kiss, and I slice my hand through the narrow gap between them.

  “And, much like your big brother, mine is mostly full of himself.”

  She gives a quiet laugh. Her eyes sparkle like cut emeralds, and my heart races like it expects something from the exchange.

  “On second thought”—I revert my attention back to Holt before I lose it looking at her—“he’s more like an annoying little brother.”

  “Hey.” Holt taps his chest. “I’m older by fifteen minutes, and, much like tonight, your boyfriend here was late on arrival.”

  Her cheeks darken a shade at the thought of being called my anything. She probably considers it an insult, and who could blame her? It would be.

  “So you’re twins?” She tilts into me, and the tiny dimple in her cheek inverts.

  “Fraternal,” I say. “Or as I like to refer to him, the ultimate tagalong.”

  “Technically”—Holt wags a finger—“I came first, so you would be the tagalong.”

  “I existed first, instinctually I know this.” I toss the dishtowel over my shoulder. “I’m also the smarter one, so don’t believe half the bull he slings your way.”

  “Got it. Well, you look almost identical.” She offers him a sly smile, and for a second I think she’s flirting with him. “I’d better go.” Her eyes linger over his before making her way back to the floor.

  “Dude.” I smack him in the arm until he comes to. “Don’t even think of laying your paws on her.”

  “Sounds like someone’s desperate to get laid.” He folds his arms across his chest. “Wouldn’t it be funny if this is the one that finally turns you down?”

  I look over at her smiling at the customers, laughing while she takes their order.

  “I don’t have to worry about her turning me down. We won’t be heading on that path.” At least not anytime soon.

  I don’t deserve someone like Baya.

  Steph can attest to that.

  2

  Take my Breath Away

  Baya

  Two weeks crawl by, and I’ve yet to officially “meet” my roommate.

  Jeanie Waters is an enigma, or an enema, take your pick. But, perhaps more to the point, she’s a budding porn star. I’ve seen more female anatomy the last fourteen days than I have in a lifetime of showers and baths. I swear I could work as a police sketch artist, detailing out vulvas and penises in microscopic detail when necessary.

  Silly me. I always thought my first glance at the male anatomy would have some stamp of romance to it, and I guess if you count the fleshy offensive Jeanie partakes in as “romantic” then I would have been right.

  I wake to the sound of grunting and dread to open my eyes. I give a groggy glance over in her direction only to find her overgrown pink nipples bouncing at a dizzying pace. I withhold the urge to wave at Thing One and Thing Two. Sadly, they’re more friendly with me than she is. The polite girl in me wants to say good morning to the twins, but I resist the urge.

  I groan as I swing my legs out of bed.

  “Sheesh. Don’t you ever take a break?” I slip into my flip-flops as some dark-haired boy smiles from behind her. Gah! He’s waving and penetrating, and I’m fifty shades of creeped out. “That’s it,” I hiss, throwing crap into my Whitney Briggs duffle bag at random. My luggage finally managed to arrive, but this time I’m only taking the basics. I doubt Jeanie or her steady line of boy-toys will bother to pilfer through my father’s extensive collection of Hardy Boys novels, so I’ll pick those up later. It’s Friday, and I don’t have any classes, but, unlike the rest of the student population, I won’t be soaking in the Z’s until late afternoon, I’ll be hitting the road, homeless for the rest of the semester. It takes less than five minutes to clear most of my crap and snap up my backpack before hightailing it out of there.

  I don’t bother waiting for the elevator. Instead, I bolt down the stairwell and head straight for the outdoors. The weather has already turned for the worst since the day I arrived. The air is crisp as an apple, and there’s a bite of fall all around us even though technically it’s the tail end of summer. Back in Texas the ground is still baking, sizzling under my mother’s feet, but here it’s cool as an iceberg, and you can take in large lungfuls of air without choking on the desert dust.

  The Briggs Apartment building comes up on me quick, and before I know it I’m riding the elevator up. Bryson let me work alongside him at the Black Bear last weekend, and I’m sort of hoping he’ll rekindle the offer tonight. I’m more interested in Bryson than I am in brushing up
on my waitressing skills, but I made over two hundred bucks last Friday and Saturday combined, so I’m not complaining about the income boost either. Technically it’s not a boost since anything is more than nothing.

  I give a gentle knock over their door and wait a moment. It’s still pretty early, so I doubt either one of them is awake. I turn the knob, and, sure enough, it’s unlocked, so I let myself in and land my stuff behind the couch. Back at my place, the OCD in me makes sure I check that the door is bolted shut at least twelve times before I go to bed, and, here Cole and Bryson all but leave an invitation for the ax murderers in the neighborhood. On second thought, my brother probably has an open door policy with the surrounding sororities. He’s probably blanketed the neighborhood with flyers that read, Need an orgasm to take the edge off that next exam? Head to Cole’s! Bring a friend to double your pleasure. Summa cum loud. Summa cum quiet. Come one, come all! What a moron my brother is turning out to be.

  I head over to the wall of shame and start counting tally marks, the one’s on Bryson’s wall first. I’m halfway through the first row when a soft click emits from the hall, and a pretty blonde with a skintight tank top ambles out of the back bedroom. Her rear is hanging out, and I force my eyes to pop back up to hers in the event I’m tempted to see if the carpet matches the drapes.

  “Hi,” I say it stunned, suddenly regretting ever coming because I know for a fact the last time I checked that wasn’t Cole’s bedroom. It’s Bryson’s. Just the thought has my heart turning to stone and crashing to my feet.

  She combs her bangs with her fingers and heads to the bathroom as if I wasn’t even visible. God—she probably thinks I’m standing in line.

  The door opens again, and this time it’s a very disheveled looking Bryson Edwards, and, for sure, now I wish I was invisible.

  Oh God. Take me now.

  His head dips back a notch, and he looks around as if to confirm the fact he’s not hallucinating. “You just hanging out?”

  “Um…yeah.” I bite over my bottom lip because suddenly I feel ridiculous counting tally marks while he’s busy making them. I don’t know why in the hell it would bother me to see a pretty blonde slink out of his bedroom. I don’t know why in the hell I couldn’t stop thinking about him for the last two weeks—except maybe those washboard abs have something to do with it, or those pale eyes, or that blessed-by-God face...

  I run my tongue over my lips while staring down at his chest like I’m about to eat an entire stack of pancakes off it, and a part of me wishes I were. His boxers are pulled so low I can see the perfect V leading to his—

  “My roommate was at it again.” I shake my head, trying to snap out of the trance his boy parts have unwittingly pulled me into. “I can’t shut her off—personally I think she’s some high tech sex toy.” My insides tingle just looking at him, and now I wish I had a high tech sex toy to take the edge off. The Bryson 2000 model to be exact. And if that bulge in his boxers is telling the truth, it’s the extra-large version, for sure.

  The blonde skank saunters back into the hall before I can finish my thought. God. I wish the carpet would open up and swallow me whole. Or maybe they have one of those Venus flytraps lying around, so I can go and curl up between its meat-eating leaves. I’ve never once not wanted to be somewhere this bad, save for my father’s funeral.

  “Look, I can go—I should go.” I turn to grab my things, but his arm lands heavy and full around my waist preventing me from taking a single step. Everything in me sighs at his warm, strong touch. My lids flutter as a strong surge pulsates deep inside me, and I swear I’ve just had one of those G-spot mythological orgasms that half the women on the planet think are fiction spun by men to make women feel sexually inadequate.

  “Stay,” he presses his searing abs against my back, and his voice vibrates down my neck, heated and sultry. “I want you to.” He smells like sex, and his skin is moist with perspiration, and I should be twelve kinds of disgusted right now, but I’m not. A quiver ripples through my stomach, and it takes a moment for me to catch my breath. Bryson Edwards is holding me in a quasi-embrace, and I never want him to let go.

  “I’d better make tracks.” The blonde leans in and kisses him on the cheek, awkwardly sandwiching me between them. God, she’s probably used to sandwiching other girls between them. Maybe that’s how Bryson and my brother have managed to amass so many tally marks in the first place—threesomes. I shudder at the thought. Although, right about now, I wouldn’t take the idea off the table if it entailed Bryson and his strong hands dispelling a thousand myths that surround the female anatomy.

  “I’ve got roll call in ten minutes.” She pulls back and frowns into her phone. Her face is tanned to perfection, she’s got bee-stung lips to die for, and her cleavage miraculously balloons the way God intended. Well, maybe not God—more like Victoria’s Secret, but, nevertheless, the premise is the same. There’s no way in hell I can ever compete with that. “So are you new?” She blinks her dark eyes at me, and honest to God, outside of Laney, this is the only other female that’s acknowledged my presence these past two weeks.

  “Freshman.” I’m not in the mood to have a faux conversation with the girl who just slept with my imaginary boyfriend besides, his strong arm is still wrapped warm around my waist, and now I’ve got multiple orgasms to contend with. Wait. Is that what he is? My imaginary boyfriend? Shit. This is getting serious.

  “Cool!” She hops on her toes as if freshman, in and of themselves, were an anomaly. “Meet me in the quad at noon, better yet, what’s your name?”

  “Baya Brighton.” I have a feeling I’ll be regretting this seemingly innocent exchange.

  “Perfect.” She jots it into her phone. “Consider yourself rushing for Alpha Chi. Now Aubree won’t give me shit for being late.” She presses another kiss into Bryson’s cheek and inadvertently crushes me against his rock hard body. “I’ve already met my recruiting quota for the day. See you Monday at four, Alpha Chi—don’t be late!” She waves and bites the air at Bryson before slamming her way out of the apartment.

  Cole’s doorknob rattles, and Bryson lets go of me and takes a full step back. Cole swings his door open, good and pissed.

  “Dude,” he groans into Bryson, looking equally sexually disheveled. “Baya?” His eyes bulge as he takes me in. “What the hell? Did you touch my sister?” He charges at Bryson with his chest pulled back like a gorilla.

  “No!” I’m quick to step between them and avert a physical altercation. “No, he didn’t.” But all of my girl parts wish to God he did.

  I place a hand on either of their chests as if to keep them apart, but really I’m taking a moment to molest the hell out of Bryson’s abs—and, just as I suspected, he’s carved from oven-heated marble. “I was just about to crash on the couch”—I hesitate for a second, dripping my fingers down Bryson’s chest—“like all weekend.” I try to bat my lashes at him in an ill attempt to flirt, but he’s got my stomach knotted up in a bundle of nerves, and I want to cry because it feels like I’m invisible to him as well. “Anyway, I sort of need to catch up on some serious beauty sleep.”

  “No, no, no….” Cole groans into the idea.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” I counter. “He said it was okay.” I smile over at Bryson with the lie still fresh on my lips. At least I’d like to think he’d say it was okay if I had asked—offered up his bedroom maybe…his body to keep me warm.

  “That’s right.” Bryson gives an apprehensive nod. His glacial blue eyes pulsate over mine as if speaking in code. There’s an undeniable pull taking place. Bryson has power over me whether I like it or not. “I’m just going to jump in the shower real quick. Either of you guys want to hit breakfast in a little while?”

  “Cole.” A girl’s voice emanates from deep in my brother’s bedroom. Seriously? Does anybody sleep alone around here?

  “Nah, I’ve got more important things to do.” Cole glances over his shoulder.

  More important things, or people to do? I want to ask but don
’t. Just thinking about what goes on in that love shack of his makes my stomach turn. Come to think of it, this entire place is probably heavily coated with genetic forensics I want no part of, especially the couch.

  Cole socks Bryson in the arm. “Why don’t you guys go ahead.”

  “Will do.” Bryson glances over at me with the ghost of a smile before disappearing down the hall.

  Cole wags his finger at me to come in close.

  “What?” I openly glare into the dark pit behind him. “By the way, Mom is going have an aneurism when I tell her what a testosterone-laden beast you’ve morphed into.”

  “Baya.” He closes his eyes a moment. “Please don’t say a word to Mom.” He digs his fingers into his eyes in an effort to wipe away his sleep. “Anyway, I thought I heard something about rush.” Cole shakes his head without verbalizing his disapproval. “Trust me, Alpha Chi is the last place you want to be.”

  “Sounds like some backward cheer.” I’m only half-teasing because I can feel my blood boiling just beneath the surface. “This isn’t going to turn into another book club lecture is it? Because in case you haven’t noticed—and you probably haven’t because you’re too busy jonesing for condoms—I’m in college now, and I plan on having a life for once.” Life is code for fun which just might be code for penis, but I’m not brave enough to admit it.

  “Hey”—his eyes soften into mine, and for the first time since I’ve arrived it’s like looking in a mirror—“I want you to have a life. I really do. It’s just I don’t want you mixed up with the wrong crowd. I want you to have a good life.”

  “Cole,” the girl’s voice hums from his bedroom.

  “Sounds like you’re living the good life,” I muse. I don’t really care for the double standard he’s imposing. I’d call him out on it, but I’d rather not toss around the word hypocrite before seven in the morning.