Always been You

by Mia Scott

  He barked out a dry laugh and shook his head. He wasn't too sure he was going to like this. "Okay. Do you want to take your coat off first?"

  "No, I'd rather just get this cleared up and maybe I'll stay."

  Big frowned; he really fucking didn't like where this was going. "Well, go on then," he bit out gruffly, pounding the rest of his beer.

  "We're friends, right?" she asked, tilting her head and looking up at him, her eyelashes fluttering slightly.

  His lips twitched over the top of his bottle. "Yeah, I'd say we're pretty good friends at this point, Larrington," he drawled.

  "And we're both consenting adults who happen to be amazing in bed together." It was more of a statement rather than a question.

  He arched a brow and quirked one side of his mouth up into a lopsided leer. "Oh, I definitely agree," he said darkly.

  "I want you to know that I'm not looking for anything more than that. I don't want anything more than that."

  "Go on," he prompted, thinking that Alisha Larrington could quite possibly be the coolest chick in existence.

  "Look, I don't see this sexual chemistry between us fading anytime soon, so I think we should continue this until we stop having fun. When one of us stops having fun, we walk away, no harm, no foul."

  "Just like that?" he asked.

  "Just like that," she nodded.

  No longer possibly the coolest chick in existence, he decided. She was the coolest. "I like it, Alisha. You gonna stay now?"

  She grinned. "One more thing." His response was another quirked brow. "I want to keep this just between us and I especially don't want Maggie, James or Russell to find out. Their interference would take some of the fun away and I don't want that."

  He stepped towards her, slowly bridging the gap. "Your dirty little secret, huh, Larrington?" he whispered hoarsely, twirling a lock of dark hair around his finger, looking down into mischievous brown eyes. She nodded again. "That's fucking hot. I'm game." Her answering smile was slow and sexy and made his blood swim south. "Are we agreed now so I can get your clothes off?"

  Alisha gave a throaty little laugh as she took a step back and undid the buttons on her coat. "I think we are." She slowly peeled back her coat, letting it slip to the floor as his eyes went wide and his jaw fell open.

  Big's heart thundered loudly in his ears as his eyes took in the matching black lace bra and garter, complete with black thigh highs and stilettos he hadn't bothered to notice until now. Her golden skin glowed in the low lighting of his apartment and he was pretty sure his tongue was hanging out of his mouth from how utterly delectable she looked. He was absolutely sure, however, that his dick was already rock hard and straining uncomfortably against his zipper. She arched a questioning brow, a come-hither smile on her lips. He set the bottle down on little table by the door and stalked towards her. "Fuck, Alisha—I called you smart earlier, but I think you just might be an evil genius," he told her, running broad hands over lace covered hips and pulling her intimately against his arousal.

  Her arms looped around his shoulders and she nipped along his jaw while his hands continued roaming over her ass. "Thank you, Big," she murmured against his mouth. "I think we've talked enough for a while—don't you?" She looked up under lowered lashes.

  "Fuck yes," he muttered and crushed his lips to hers.

  Chapter 13

  Dick Clark once said, "Music is the soundtrack of your life." And for Alisha Larrington, there weren't any words truer than those.

  Ever since she was a little girl, she loved how there was a song or piece of music perfectly suited for every situation or mood, almost as if the lyrics had been penned and the music composed right on the spot specifically for her. Playlists were her forte and from a very early age she'd mastered the art of creating mixed tapes (Yeah, remember those things?) and burning CDs, selecting the songs, choosing the absolute perfect order in which those songs would play. And now, thanks to the invention of the iPod, her playlist making skills had been sharpened and honed even further. (Thank you, Steve Jobs.)

  Over the years she'd created mixes and playlists for nearly every occasion imaginable—happy moods, sad moods, first love, lost love, vacations, road trips, summertime, snow time, rainy days, days that end in Y, pool parties, workouts, study sessions, graduations—you name it, and chances are she'd made a play list (or five) for it.

  She wasn't a music snob by any means (she was an enthusiast), even though people often assumed she must be with her chosen career and extensive background. But it was quite the contrary. In her mind, Jay Z's Big Pimpin' fit a certain mood just as well as Mozart fit another. If she were to make a playlist right now to span the last couple of weeks in her life, there wouldn't be anything classical (or even classy) on it whatsoever. She was pretty sure it would sound an awful lot like the set list at a strip club. At the very least it would be Marvin Gaye's Let's Get it On and Nine Inch Nails' Closer repeated over and over and over again with maybe a sprinkling of George Michael's I Want Your Sex thrown in for good measure.

  These were the thoughts that flitted through her mind one afternoon as he laid her back against the cushions of her couch, his lips teasing her neck and his hand inching under the hem of her cashmere sweater to stroke calloused fingers along her ribcage. A delicious shiver coursed through her, making her hum softly in the back of her throat. She skimmed fingertips over broad shoulders and muscled biceps, the softness of his Henley shirt beneath her touch a stark disparity to the strength of his body. He nipped and licked at the sensitive spot just below her ear, making her arch and press her body closer to his, her denim clad legs slinking effortlessly around his hips.

  She rather felt like a horny teenager. Though she'd certainly never had anyone this hot or this skilled kissing her when she'd actually been a teenager. Nor had she done even a fifth of what she and Big had managed to in a couple of weeks. Still, horny was totally applicable, and the newly crafted playlist sounded in her head again and she felt her lips twitch involuntarily.

  "What's that look for?" Big murmured deeply, staring down at the playful smirk on her lips. His hand crept higher and cupped her lace-covered breast, his own smirk spreading on his face when he rolled her nipple between his thumb and finger and she moaned. Her big brown eyes fluttered open, dancing with a mixture of amusement and arousal as she looked back at him. He raised one eyebrow in question.

  "Nothing," she said quietly, her lips twitching again. "Just got a song stuck in my head."

  Big rolled his eyes. "Larrington, if you tell me that you're hearing fucking Babs while your tit's in my hand, my junk is gonna fall off," he bit out gruffly.

  A loud giggle tore from her lips and she shook her head, stroking a hand down the back of his neck. "It's not Beyoncé." She pulled his head down and caught his bottom lip between hers, nibbling on it gently. "Definitely more risqué than Beyoncé," she murmured between kisses.

  "Easy E's Gimme That Nut?" he teased, shoving the soft sweater up to expose her boobs. (Royal blue lace today. Hot.)

  "Closer," she laughed, pressing her lips against his stubbly cheek.

  "Snoop Dogg?" he asked before mouthing a lacy peak.

  "No, Closer…by Nine Inch Nails," Alisha said breathlessly, dipping her fingers into the waistband of his jeans.

  Big lifted his head and grinned impishly, the lyrics now looping through his mind. "Damn, that's hot, Larrington. You're hot." He sat up, pulling her with him and smoothed her sweater up and off her body.

  Grinning, she reached for the hem of his shirt and tossed it to the floor with hers. "So are you going to?" she asked, peering up mischievously at him, fingers brushing lightly over the downy hair on his chest.

  "Fuck you like an animal? Hell yes," he nearly growled, pushing her back against the cushions and reaching for the button of her jeans, making her laugh.

  "Good," she grinned again, her hands on his belt. There were just so many wonderful benefits to their friends with benefits situation, she decided.

  A l
oud, distinctive knock sounded on the door and they both froze, Alisha's eyes going wide as saucers.

  "Ignore it," was his whispered groan, dropping his head to kiss her.

  The knock sounded again, this time more insistent. "Delicious, open up. I swear. Don't make me search for my key," Russell called testily.

  "Shit," she whispered heatedly, scrambling to zip up her jeans and pull her sweater back on. "It's Russell." Plans for him to come over today had vacated her brain the second Big's lewd text message arrived. "Hide!" she told Big, tossing his shirt at his head. He held up his hands questioningly and she pointed to her room.

  He walked as fast as his raging boner would allow, scowling and cursing at her friend's unknowing, yet utterly successful, cockblock. Alisha tossed his shoes and his coat past him into her room. "Sorry," she whispered, shoving him along. "Please be quiet. I'll get rid of him as soon as I can." With an apologetic smile, she closed her bedroom door and hurried towards the front door, doing a quick scan to make sure there weren't any signs of Big in the living room. After a check in the mirror of her own appearance, she opened the door to see her best friend loaded down with garment bags and a less than amused pout on his face. "Hi," Alisha said groggily.

  "Sweet Mariah Carey—finally," he clipped, shoving one of the bags at her as he flounced into the apartment. "What took you so long?"

  "Sorry, K, I was in my room taking a nap and I didn't hear you knocking," she smoothly lied, rubbing her eyes for added effect.

  Russell turned and regarded her. "Hmm," he sniffed. "And here I was hoping your rumpled appearance was from something fun—like you taking my advice about Big," he said dryly.

  Russell's sneer was unnerving, and a little tingle shot up her spine and made the hair on the back of her neck stand at attention. But he couldn't possibly know. Could he? No, there was no way. She and Big hadn't interacted with anyone from the group together since that morning at the bakery and she hadn't breathed a word about anything remotely related to their activities. "Well, my friend, I hate to disappoint you, but I haven't taken, nor will I be taking, your advice in regards the fireman." She held her gaze level with his, determined not to give herself away. If Russell saw a flicker of, well, anything, he would doggedly pursue that until he knew absolutely everything, and she couldn't let that happen. His eyes narrowed and for a moment she was afraid.

  "Great," he rolled his eyes. "We'll have to find someone else to clean the bats out of your belfry soon because damn, girlfriend…it's been way too long. And you're way too bitchy lately."

  Alisha's jaw dropped, mildly offended. "Says the man whose picture is listed Beneath the word in the dictionary. If you've come over only to insult me, you can go and I'll get back to my nap." She folded her arms over her chest in a huff.

  "Not until we pick out the coat for the parade. It's next week. And I've brought some utterly fantabulous choices with me that are to die for, Delicious. Shall we hang these up in your room and get started?"

  "No," she said a little too quickly. Fucking smooth, Alisha. "My room's a disaster," she added. "I know how you hate my messes. Let's just look out here."

  "Very well," he sighed, unzipping one of the garment bags. "Feast your eyes on these little beauties."

  Big stood listening at the door, catching every word of their conversation and he made a mental note to ask her about a few things once they were alone—and after they'd fucked of course, because goddamn—he was particularly curious about Russell's advice to her about him. He heard them yapping away about goddamn coats to wear when they went to the fucking Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade next week. Seriously? He wasn't getting his dick wet right now because of fucking coats? Fucking Russell and his fucking fashion.

  Taking advantage of time alone in her room, he looked around and picked things up at random for closer inspection. There was a framed picture of Alisha, Maggie and Russell lounging in beach chairs sipping umbrella drinks. Russell had on the biggest hat he'd ever fucking seen (on anyone…ever) and Alisha was super tan (hot) and wearing a tiny yellow bikini (even hotter). Next, he picked up one of the many perfume bottles on the dresser and smelled it. It was the same scent she'd worn the night she'd gotten drunk and kissed him for the first time—clean and citrusy. Smirking, he set it back down and spotted another framed picture of Alisha with her arms wrapped around two older men, beaming brightly at the camera. He studied that one for a curious moment before moving on to other items in her room. Perusing the items on a bookshelf, he saw yearbooks and photo albums. Oh yeah. Definitely. Grinning, he helped himself to a few and plopped down carelessly on her bed and flipped one open. "Let's see what you were like in high school, Larrington," he mused.

  Alisha dutifully tried on all of the coats, which really were beautiful. Most of them were Queen K designs and Maggie and Russell had outdone themselves. "I can't decide," she admitted truthfully. "They're all gorgeous, Russell. Pick your favorite two."

  Russell tilted his head to the side, and motioned for her to turn. "No," he shook his head, dismissing the camel colored coat. "Try the houndstooth again," he told her. "I say that one or the cream trapeze coat with the black buttons."

  "Those are my favorites, too," she said, shooting him a friendly smile.

  "You'll look fabulous," he told her, packing up the rejected coats. "Okay, darling, I must be off. You can get back to whatever you were doing. Kiss, kiss," he trilled, fluttering his fingers at her while heading for the door.

  "Bye, honey," Alisha waved. "Thanks again for the coats."

  "Oh, sweetie, my pleasure. Drinks soon," he ordered over his shoulder and breezed out of sight.

  With a sigh of relief, she closed the door and locked it behind her, hurrying to pick up where they'd left off. She turned the knob and opened the door to her room, finding Big lying back against the pillows, snickering as he thumbed through her senior yearbook. "By all means, Big, help yourself to my things," Alisha mused, padding over to the bed and crawling up to kneel beside him.

  Big lowered the book in his hands and regarded her over the top of it, a smirk stretching over his full lips. "Larrington—this is fucking gold," he laughed, turning his attention back to the page he was perusing when she walked in. "Nice school girl uniform." He flipped through until he found her senior picture and her list of activities. She was gorgeous even then, he thought, her teenage self smiling out at him. "Oh, here we go. Alisha Larrington—National Honor Society, Glee Club, Spanish Club, Drama Club, Student Council…well, Shorty, at least you were a hot nerd…Cheerleading Team…" he trailed off, lowering the book again. "Whoa, whoa, whoa—cheerleader? Where's that picture?" he asked, wagging his brows.

  Alisha rolled her eyes and watched in amusement as he furiously turned the pages, smirking at his little aha and the wolf whistle he let out when he found what he was looking for.

  "Fucking hell, look at you," he said, staring at the close-up photo of her and Maggie down in the corner, with their matching blue and gold uniforms and twin braids down the backs of their heads. She had blue paw print on her cheek and a million watt smile on her face, her dimples flashing all over the place. "No offense, but you don't strike me as a cheerleader type—you look hot as fuck though."

  "Your vocabulary is overwhelming, Big," she said dryly. "Anyway, I could dance, and Maggie coerced me into joining the team. She needed my skills to help the squad win some competitions. I liked that part of it a lot. The rah-rah-sis-boom-bah wasn't my favorite."

  "We played your school in sports all the time. You probably drooled over my amazing athletic prowess and general sexiness even back then, Larrington. I was a stud."

  "It's a wonder you haven't choked to death on your ego before, Big," she said sarcastically.

  "Whatever," he muttered. "I was, and am still, a badass motherfucker." He slapped the book closed and tossed it aside. "I even had a sweet Mohawk. Tell me that shit wasn't badass."

  "Did you say you had a Mohawk?" she asked, her jaw falling slightly agape.

  Big
grinned. "Sure did."

  "Oh, my God!" she exclaimed, covering her mouth. "I remember you!" She lightly punched his shoulder. "You broke my boyfriend's nose during a basketball game."

  Big puffed up his chest proudly, his lips twitching into a sneer. "See, Larrington? Badass. I think I vaguely remember getting ejected from that game," he laughed.

  "I hated you and your ridiculous haircut at the time, but the next night when I found him seeking comfort in the school slut, I kind of wanted to throw you a party," she smiled.

  He smirked. "You're welcome."

  "Your haircut was still asinine," she informed him.

  "Whatever," he shrugged, completely unoffended. "So, Lisha, what advice did Russell give you about me that you ignored?" he asked, fixing her with a curious look.

  Alisha's lips pursed into a playful smile. "I didn't ignore it, but per our arrangement, he can't know that." Her smile grew as the realization dawned across his face.

  "Russell told you to fuck me?" he asked, shocked. "Guess that makes up for the cockblock this afternoon about coats. Seriously, what the blue dilly fuck is so important about what coat you wear to watch the goddamn Macy's parade?"

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and looked shyly at him. "I'm going to be in the parade actually. Russell was helping me decide what would look best on camera."

  The surprises with her didn't stop. "Holy shit! Really?"

  Alisha nodded lightly. "Yes, Alice, my co-star, and I are singing on the Broadway float."

  "Well, damn, Larrington, that's pretty fucking cool," he grinned. "Biggerone—boning a celebrity. I dig it." Alisha's eyes rolled again, and he chuckled, springing forward and tackling her to the mattress, pinning her arms overhead. He smirked when the heat sparked in her eyes, her lashes lowering marginally. Lowering his head, he planted a kiss to her lips. "You going to Maggie's Thanksgiving thing after the parade?"

  Alisha's lips twisted up. "I believe it's called dinner, Big. But yes, I'll be there. You?" She kissed the underside of his jaw. "Maggie told me she invited you. Color me surprised."