She moaned softly into his mouth, her tongue timidly following his in a sensual dance that gave his stomach the same peculiar weightless feeling as the parachute ride at Six Flags. The difference being, at the amusement park, his gut inevitably hit bottom, whereas Maggie’s tentative kiss made him feel as if he’d drunk liquid helium instead of beer.
When he reluctantly drew back from sampling her sweetness, her eyes glistened like cut glass. “Ohhh, Jake,” she breathed out his name like a prayer. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.” He smiled, amused by her reverent gratitude. He should be thanking her for showing him how much was missing in his relationship with Roxanne. A man should feel this kind of out-of-control passion for the woman he planned to marry, shouldn’t he?
Suddenly, making a first down with Maggie wasn’t enough. He wanted a touchdown with her or, at the very least, a field goal. He glanced back at the locked door and listened to the racket on the other side of it. It was like trying to make out in the middle of the Rose Bowl.
She wriggled next to him, rotating her hips.
“What’s the matter? Are you uncomfortable?”
“No. I just feel kind of squishy inside. Did that awful punch do this to me?”
“It depends on what you’re feeling.” He cupped her face and gently brushed his lips over hers again. She speared her fingers into his hair and ground her mouth against his in a hungry kiss while he slipped his hand under her dress and into her damp underpants.
As he stroked the slick bud between her legs, she yanked her mouth away. “Don’t. I’m, uh, kind of wet down there.”
“I know.” He’d barely touched her and she was already drenched. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“No. You’re just making it worsh,” she slurred.
Smiling, he drew his eyebrows together and removed his hand. “Making what worse?”
“You know.” Color flooded her cheeks. “That squirmy feeling.”
If Gherkin and the guys had known the kind of talent Barbara had found for him, they would’ve kept Maggie for themselves. His chest constricted at the thought of any of those clowns putting their hands on her.
He squeezed his eyes shut. What the hell was wrong with him? This girl had woven such an enchanting spell on him he was beginning to believe this virgin performance of hers. No girl as beautiful as Maggie could be totally lacking in experience with the opposite sex. But what the hell. If she got off on this innocence game, why not play along? He couldn’t wait to see what she would come up with next.
“Would it be so bad if that squirmy feeling got worse?”
“Yes.” Her hips continued to gyrate.
He traced the shell of her ear with his tongue and murmured, “If you let me touch you. I can make you feel really good, Rosebud.”
Her breaths came in short little gasps as her eyes drifted closed. “It would serve my mother right if I let you.”
Her mother? He trailed his fingers down her throat to the top button of her dress. “What’s your mom got to do with this?”
“She only let me visit Barb this weekend so I’d know what to expect when I come—” Maggie gasped. Her eyes popped open as he slipped his hand into the top of her dress and teased the tip of her breast. “Oh-my-goodness.” Her breathing became erratic as her hips undulated in a grinding rhythm that set a seductive beat for his hard-on like some metronome keeping time for a musician.
Bless her dear mother. It didn’t get better than this. Fascinated, he watched while Maggie writhed on the bed, an alcohol-induced glaze in her eyes.
“How much of that punch did you drink?”
“Not that mush,” she slurred. “Just a little more than two glasses.” She took his hand and slid it between her legs again. “Go ahead. Please. I want you to touch me some more, if you don’t mind.”
What the hell had those guys put into their brew that got her this smashed?
Regardless of whether Maggie was a pro or not, he refused to make it with a woman who’d had too much to drink, no matter how turned on she might be.
Or how badly his fly strangled his dick.
Her head lolled back, and her eyes closed as her tongue played erotically between the seam of her lips, planting images in his head of her luscious mouth wrapped around—
Oh, no. He yanked his hand away from her. The rest of him stiffened to match his erection as he recalled the way some of his teammates had looked at Maggie—as if she were an ice-cold bottle of Gatorade to be passed around after a scrimmage. In her state, those wasted louts would probably end up gang-banging her. Even if she sold her favors for a living, no woman deserved to be used by a dozen men while too drunk to object. He had to get her the hell out of there.
So much for his touchdown. At least for the next few hours.
Leaning over, he kissed her deeply and murmured into her lips, “Sweetheart, let me take you somewhere else to sleep off the booze.”
“I think I should just go back to Barbara’s room. I shouldn’t have let her talk me into comin’ to this party.” She sat up and swayed a little before she fell on the bed again. “Whoops.”
What the guys had done to her was unforgivable. “Just stay there.” He brushed her forehead with his lips. “I’ll be back for you in a minute.”
When he stepped from the bedroom, the room outside became as quiet as a confessional booth while a sea of expectant faces turned toward him. Chris arched his eyebrows and raised his arms straight up in the signal for a touchdown while a low rumble of speculative murmurs rippled throughout the crowd.
Clenching his jaw, Jake stomped over to his roommate. Chris peered at Jake, crinkling his brow. “What’s wrong? She’s not in trouble, is she?”
Jake grabbed Chris by the shirt. “No, but you’re gonna be when I get done with you. What the fuck did those animals put in that punch?”
“Just a lot of booze.”
Opie laughed and chimed in, “One glass makes the ladies very receptive. If you’re finished with her, I call dibs on—”
“I don’t need that kind of help. And none of you apes are going near her. Where’s Barbara? I want her key so I can take Maggie back to her dorm.”
Chris waved toward the door. “Someone told me she left with one of the guys right before we got here. I don’t know who she took off with.”
“Then I have no choice but to put Maggie in your bed for the night.” Jake poked his roommate’s chest. “If you show your face around that apartment before noon tomorrow, you’ll be eating your teeth for breakfast.”
He stomped back toward the bedroom where half a dozen eager gorillas blocked the door—no doubt waiting for their turn to share in his gift. The crowd parted as if Jake’s glare plowed them out of his way.
Slipping his arms under Maggie’s shoulders and knees, he scooped her up and swayed on his feet. After the three beers and the half a glass of punch he’d chugged, he’d be lucky if he didn’t fall over. Fortunately, she weighed practically nothing.
As he carried her through the party, a hush fell over the room. He scowled at the crowd of drunken Goliaths, daring them to try and stop him from taking their evening’s entertainment.
Profuse apologies followed Jake out the door as he stumbled down the hall. In the elevator, he gazed down at his so-called date. Thank God he’d left with her. She was really out of it.
Her lashes fluttered, and she smiled. “Where we goin’?”
“To my apartment.” He gently pressed his lips to her forehead. “Trust me, Rosebud, I’ll take good care of you.”
At his door, he set her on her feet and supported her body against his so he could dig his keys out of his jeans. After unlocking the apartment, he hauled her over his shoulder into the bedroom and plopped her onto Chris’s bed.
Once he took her sandals off and covered her, he sank onto the mattress and stroked her flawless complexion. Even though the virgin game had just been a pretense for his pleasure, for some reason, it touched something at the core of him
. He wanted Maggie to really be that sweet and innocent.
“Thank you,” she whispered as her eyes drifted shut.
The casual act of removing her glasses seemed more intimate than if he’d stripped off her dress. He gazed down at long thick lashes spread over pink cheeks and experienced the same reverence as an artist unveiling a masterpiece. Maggie wasn’t simply pretty. Venus or Aphrodite would’ve been lucky to get first runner up in a beauty pageant against her.
He rubbed a silky strand of her long hair between his fingers and glanced at his watch. Only a little after nine. It was probably for the best she’d conked out, since he hadn’t had much sleep in the last week. He extinguished the light and stripped down to his shorts. Flipping back the covers on his bed, he flopped onto the mattress and gasped as he slid on its cold, slimy surface.
“Sonovabitch.” He switched on the bedside lamp and groaned. Jell-O?
When the hell were those jackasses going to grow up? Muttering every expletive he could think of, he staggered into the bathroom to rinse the sticky sugar off his body. By the time he finished showering and stumbled back into the bedroom, the clock read nearly nine-thirty.
He pulled on a clean pair of boxers and yawned as he removed the bottom sheet. Damn it. The red slime had soaked right through to the mattress. It would have to be shampooed.
No way was he sleeping on that fucking couch again.
Staring down at Maggie, he sighed as he fell into bed with her. Even as tiny as she was, the twin-sized mattress didn’t allow for a millimeter of space between them. He rubbed his face in her sweet-scented hair and pulled her slender body closer.
With his chest pressed to her back and her fanny nestled against his aching groin, he mentally rehearsed how to tell Roxanne he couldn’t marry her.
The idea of hurting the girl he’d known for six years twisted his gut into a knot. He loved Roxy, but their relationship had become more of a deep friendship than one between lovers. He just didn’t feel the kind of passion a guy should have for the woman he married.
If she had stayed at school with him this year while he worked on his master’s, things might have been different. She’d graduated the term before at the same time he’d gotten his bachelor’s in psych and a minor in education.
Telling Roxanne he’d changed his mind about marrying her wasn’t something he could do in a letter or over the phone. It would have to wait the five weeks until she got home. But in the meantime, he was getting on with his life. He wasn’t about to live in limbo while she finished flitting around the world.
He gritted his teeth while Maggie shifted in the bed, her behind wiggling against his erection. With every agonizing moment that passed, the hard lumpy sofa seemed more and more attractive.
Groaning softly, he whispered in her ear, “Rosebud, if you don’t want me to strip that dress off and take you right now, I suggest you lay very still.”
His words must have penetrated her subconscious because she went completely motionless. Even though she’d stopped rubbing her bottom against him, the heat from her soft body and her flowery scent kept him too charged up to fall asleep despite the tranquilizing effect of the booze.
So the thousand dollar question was should he stay in bed with her and suffer the incessant ache in his dick, or get up and toss and turn on the torturous couch?
As she wiggled again, he gritted his teeth at the incredible pressure in his lower half. There was absolutely no question about it. Spending the night pressed against Maggie’s sweet-smelling softness won hands down—even if he did explode.
Chapter 6
“Someone answer the damn phone!” Howard Carmichael hoisted himself off the toilet and dragged his pants up as he waddled out of the bathroom. “Debbie! Kevin! Where the hell are you two?” He snatched the receiver off the kitchen wall and then wandered through the house, searching for his wife as he barked into the cordless phone, “Hullo.”
“Dad!” Phil blurted in his ear. “You’re not gonna believe what I just heard from Brandy.”
“Yeah, what?” It had better be good, seeing as his son had just interrupted Howard’s first healthy dump in a week.
“Asshole Manion knocked up a girl in my Marriage and Family class.”
“The coach screwed a student?” This was good. He rubbed his grinding gut. Really good.
“Not the coach,” Phil corrected, “asshole Alex. He’s been doin’ Emma Bradford.”
“Oh.” Howard sighed his disappointment and kicked one of his daughter Catie’s dolls out of his way. He’d heard Jake’s son was dating that Bradford bitch’s daughter. The news wasn’t quite as juicy as Hotshot Manion diddling some teenybopper. Nonetheless, hearing his son had gotten a classmate in trouble was nearly as good—especially seeing who the girl’s mother was.
It would be sweet justice to watch both her and that jerk-off get knocked on their asses. Margie Bradford would think twice before she publicly humiliated a successful chiropractor like Howard again.
Maybe there was a way he could use this information to get rid of Manion. If he was given the chance to coach Kevin next year, the son of a bitch would undoubtedly shortchange Howard’s younger son the same way he had Phil.
“Why do you always do that, Dad?” Phil asked in a wounded tone. “Every time I tell you something I think will make your day, you—”
“Sorry, Pal. I didn’t mean to burst your bubble. This is great news. If all goes well, I’ll finally be able to nail that bastard to the wall. That is....if you’ll do me a favor on Monday.”
“Like what?” The trepidation in Phil’s question indicated he hadn’t forgotten the backlash after he’d loosened the screws on Alex’s desk chair to keep his teammate from playing.
A whole lot of good it had done. That bastard, Jake, had only given Phil ten minutes of game time before the scouts got there, and then he’d yanked Howard’s son all because of a couple of incomplete passes.
When Howard’s wife found out he’d encouraged his son to sabotage his rival, it had nearly ended his marriage—especially after Debbie heard the rumors about Howard putting the moves on Kevin’s snooty reading teacher.
But hell, he’d been pissed off at his wife and hadn’t gotten laid in two months. It had taken a diamond tennis bracelet and a boatload of groveling to convince Debbie to patch things up and bring their three-year-old daughter back home.
“Don’t worry, Son. It’s nothing like last fall,” Howard assured his son. “I just need you to plant something in Coach Manion’s classroom.”
“You got some kind of phony evidence to frame him?”
“No, I wouldn’t do that.” Not after Debbie’s reaction last go-round. “Still, don’t say anything to your mother. With your help, I’m hoping to get something legit I can use. I’ll be damned if I’ll let that prick get tenure.”
~~~
“How about a snack before I take you home?” Alex braked to a stop at a traffic light. “You barely ate any of your dinner.”
Emma rubbed her stomach. Somehow he always seemed to know when she was hungry. In the last month, her belly had gotten as hard as a watermelon. Pretty soon it would be as big as one. “That sounds good. Just as long as we go someplace other than the diner.”
She had no desire to watch Brandy jiggle her big boobs at Alex again that night.
“Ice cream at Friendly’s?”
“Mmmm. I’ve had a craving for pistachio all week.”
He smiled and reached for her hand to squeeze it. “Just as long as you don’t order any pickles with it.”
While he drove to the ice cream parlor, she tried to imagine what her dad’s reaction would’ve been to their news. Most likely he would’ve been just as opposed to them getting married as Alex’s father was.
They’d driven around all evening and talked, but they hadn’t really settled anything.
“You know, I don’t blame your dad for being upset. He’s invested a lot into helping you train. He wouldn’t be human if he wasn’t disappoint
ed at the thought of you blowing your shot at the pros.”
“I know. But I could do that just as easily without getting married.”
She studied him in the dim light from the headlights behind them. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” His jaw flexed as he stared ahead at the road.
Obviously nothing was something.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is Penn State’s a lot bigger pond, and I’m gonna be a minnow there. For all we know, I could get cut from the team the first week of training.”
“Yeah, right. Everyone knows the only reason our high school won the state championship for the last three years is ‘cause of you.”
“Tell that to fumbling Phil and his fulminating father.”
Emma smiled. Now she understood why Alex had scored so high on his SATs. She had to go home a look up fulminate. No way would she admit to him she had no idea what it meant. Nothing good she was sure, since he’d been describing Dr. Carmichael.”
The creepy chiropractor’s son, Phil, had been Alex’s rival for the position of quarterback for four years running. The jerk was constantly challenging Alex to stupid contests ranging from how many push-ups they could do to the number of hot dogs they could wolf down without barfing.
“And don’t forget, Em, football is a team sport. My dad’s coaching had a lot more to do with those championships than anything one player ever did, regardless of whether it was me or Carmichael in the huddle.”
She couldn’t stand the guy. From the day she started school back in September, he’d been hitting on her and making lewd remarks. And since she’d started dating Alex, Phil had only gotten cruder.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t complain to Alex or Mr. M. They had enough problems with the pervert and his father, Dr. Carmichael, who had made a scene at practically every game that season, badmouthing Alex’s performance on the field and trying to undermine his dad’s coaching decisions.
“Speak of the devil,” Alex muttered as he opened her car door at Friendly’s.
Phil strutted up to the Aston Martin, accompanied by several of Alex’s football buddies. The jerk wore his red hair spiked and shaved nearly to the scalp on the sides. In his white T-shirt, the big goon reminded her of Foghorn Leghorn.
A Little Bit of Déjà Vu Page 8