I don’t know who I was trying to fool with my sad attempt to stay away from McKenna, but the second she called me last night, I couldn’t help the way my body warmed at the sound of her voice. Some guy was calling her name from her side of the line, and all I kept thinking was that some kid who didn’t know what was in front of him was going to get to have her. To be with her, coaxing a smile from her that should have been mine.
I shouldn’t have gone out last night with all those kids, but I’m past the point of being able to control this thing that’s happening that I can’t name. This thing that’s been happening ever since McKenna looked me in the eye and said, I’m not being weird. This is just a stupid infatuation, and maybe I’m just a game to her. But it didn’t stop me from winning her that damn stuffed monkey. I keep doing things for her, but it feels like she’s giving me just as much in return.
“How’d you sleep with your toy last night?” I ask. It would have been cheaper to buy McKenna ten monkeys than to win one at the arcade, but that wasn’t the point, now was it?
She pours herself a cup of coffee so big it’s practically a bowl and smiles at me. “He kept me warm, but he wasn’t nearly as big as I needed.” She bites her lower lip and looks up at me through her lashes, her voice a smooth tease. “I’d rather be the inside spoon.”
Is she thinking about the Fourth? My hands flex as if remembering the feel of her body. I’d rather she be the inside spoon, too.
McKenna dumps a spoonful of sugar and some milk in her coffee and stirs it while looking out the window with a frown on her lips. “Rain, huh?”
“Rain,” I confirm. I swallow the dregs of my coffee and bring my mug to the sink just to have an excuse to be near her. It’s just us right now, and I’m realizing how precious every minute alone with her is. My shoulder brushes hers as I set the mug on top of a dirty plate. “What’s good to do around here when it’s wet?”
“You don’t want to go to the gym?”
I smirk at her. “It’s eleven o’clock, princess. The gym has come and gone.”
McKenna pauses her stirring and turns around so the counter’s at her back. She props one foot on the cabinet under the sink, and her shorts slide higher up her thigh.
My breath goes shallow, and I force myself not to look down at her legs. But her breasts, rising under her shirt? Those I notice.
“Hmm,” she drawls out. “There are a lot of things you can do when it’s wet. I have some favorites.”
I suck in a breath. She’s definitely flirting with me. She doesn’t seem like the type to give herself to just anyone, and I wonder how much of this is real or just a show.
Before I can challenge her back, McKenna lifts her mug and walks into the living room. With her free hand, she gestures at the TV, which must be fifteen years old. “We have a fine selection of VHS tapes.” She waves at a box of playing cards. “Could play a good round of Spit or War.”
I groan and shake my head. “Isn’t there a pool table somewhere around here?”
Her eyes flash with excitement. “You want to play pool?”
I nod.
“You’re on.”
McKenna leads me downstairs, not even bothering to change into real clothes, and god, this is a bad idea.
Technically the game room is on the first floor of the beach house, but with its cool, tile floor and windowless walls, it feels more like a basement. A green-felted pool table stretches in the middle of the room, wood sides polished and gleaming. At the far end of the room, a handful of darts sink their pointy noses into a red and black dartboard.
“How did your grandparents end up picking a pool table for the house?” I ask McKenna.
She smiles. “It’s a family house, so they were swayed by popular opinion. I might have had a say in things.”
“I’m not complaining.” I lift an eyebrow at her. “So, are you any good?”
“Terrible.” Her cheerful admission makes me smile back.
“The only way to get better is to practice.”
She rolls her eyes. “Says the natural athlete.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I walk across the room and grab a pool cue from the rack on the wall, feeling out the weight of it.
I rest it against the table while I gather the pool balls and place them in the triangle rack on the felt. I press my thumbs inside the rack to push the balls together nice and tight. Then I roll them into place and remove the rack.
I catch McKenna’s eye over the table. “Loser makes dinner.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t think that’s entirely fair.” She pulls a pool cue from the rack, then twists a block of chalk on the tip. She smirks at me. “Do you ever think the reason we get along so well is because you’re super immature?” she teases.
I shake my head. “Young at heart,” I toss back. “Or maybe you’re just an old soul.”
She looks at me like that’s the best possible compliment I can give her. “Who’s to say?” she breathes. Her smile is wide and inviting before she shakes her hair over her shoulder and asks, “Going to break the balls? Or should I?”
I wave my hand at the table. “You, actually.” I want to see what she can do.
“Goody.” She twirls the bottom of her pool cue in a circle on the floor. “I love to break balls.”
I school my face into a neutral expression and pointedly ignore her pun. “Are they actually going to go anywhere?”
“Oh, you of little faith,” she says, but when she leans over to knock the white ball into the rest of the group, the formation barely breaks apart.
Her cheeks go pink. “Um, your turn?”
I grin at her. “You just need to apply some force.”
“You would think that with all the mini golf practice, I’d be better at sinking balls into holes. But what can I say?”
“I’m thinking burgers for dinner,” I tease, and she takes it for the challenge it is.
“Nope,” she says. “You can make me those shrimp popper things you cook so well.”
Unfortunately for her, McKenna’s all talk.
I sink three balls in a row before it’s her turn, and then she completely whiffs the next hit, which I didn’t even think was possible.
“Do over?” She grins at me.
I shake my head but let her try again.
Pool is an inherently sexy game—bodies bent over the wide expanse of felt, the thrusting of a stick, every maneuver and inch so well-calculated that it’s almost a dance. McKenna’s hands, flexing on the shaft of her cue, make my brain spin. What would her hands feel like wrapped around my cock? What about her mouth?
My pulse rushes in my ears, and my heart thumps a warning.
Her blond hair falls over her shoulders as she leans forward to line up the shot. This time, her angle is totally off, and she sinks one of my balls instead of hers.
It’s enough to snap the spell, and I walk around the table to her with a smirk. “If you’re so terrible at pool, why the hell did you ask for a pool table?”
Her eyes sparkle. “Maybe I like the challenge. Anyway, you don’t have to be good at something to love it.”
“Fair enough.” I bend down and sink two balls before it’s her turn again.
This time, she whacks the eight ball into the side pocket.
I draw it out, its cool ivory weight solid in my hands. “God,” I laugh. “I’m trying to let you win, and you’re making it pretty damn hard.”
“I’m not that bad,” she huffs.
“You are.”
She bends low to the table, leaning over it with one foot kicked up and her ass in the air like an invitation. The smooth curve of it begs for my hand.
McKenna looks up at me like a dare, holding her breath. “Then why don’t you show me how to do it right?”
I look back at her and forget that I’m older, that I should know better. I swallow hard before I stalk across the room to her.
I place my pool cue on the rack before leaning over her on the table. Then I pry the cue fro
m her grip and line my hand over hers. Her hands feel hot and soft under mine, and every nerve in my body zings with electricity. I’m so very aware that all that separates us is an insignificant layer of clothing, and I can barely concentrate on what I’m trying to say. “See how I use my free hand as a guide? You need to make one smooth movement with the cue hand.”
I practice the motion, her hands and mine moving together, the weight of everything in the world between us.
“How do I get the right angle for lining up shots?”
“Let’s start with the basics. Just practice hitting one ball in a straight line, okay?”
“Yes, teacher,” she sings like a naughty schoolgirl.
I step back to let her take a practice shot on her own, but she hits the balls askew, and I lean back over her. Closer this time.
I can feel her heart pounding through my chest, her body under mine, and she’s a thousand fantasies that I can’t let myself imagine. But I want to more than anything, and piece by piece, day by day, I’m caving to her.
McKenna knows my demons and looks past them into the heart of me, and it’s kind of a miracle because I stopped seeing that good part of myself a long time ago. With her, I feel like I’m getting back there. Like I can be the kind of guy I want. It’s a goddamn gift. But to give in to this desire could destroy the family that’s supported me at my worst.
“How am I doing so far?” she asks, her voice soft and breathy. She smells like shampoo and promise, and when she nudges her butt into my lap, those flimsy sleep shorts brush against me and only arouse me further. My body responds, and my cock grows hard for her without my permission.
Oh, god.
I’m sure she can feel me, and while I want her to know just how much I want her, I also don’t. Putting my desire out there’s only going to make it that much harder to deny, and denying it’s our only choice.
“I can’t,” I bite out, my voice so low in my ears it sounds like anguish. I drop my hands from her skin and back away. “Game over, Kenn. You win.”
17
McKenna
July
“Hey, you over there. You still on planet Earth?” Brooke swings a mini golf club in the air, and I duck as a reflex, even though she’s ten feet away.
I step back behind the safety of the Putt-Putt Hut’s cashier counter, my heart racing at the sudden adrenaline rush. “Easy with the flying golf clubs, okay?”
Brooke frowns at me and returns the club to its rack. “You’ve been staring into space all day.”
I run my hands over the counter and sweep off invisible dust. “I’ve been talking to customers.” I arrange the scorecards into neat little stacks, then flip all the golf pencils in the same direction just to avoid her eyes.
“Sure. And in between, you’ve been staring into space.”
“I’m fine,” I tell her, but I’m not. Last night with Blake, I very nearly crossed a line that we’ve both been edging up against. Whatever’s happening between me and him, it’s mutual. I saw it in his eyes, felt how much he wanted me, his cock hard against my ass. He’s holding back and I’m holding back, but I don’t want to anymore. It feels like any second now someone’s going to snap, and the promise of that fall is terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
Brooke plunks another club into place. “You know what you need tonight?”
“What’s that?”
“To get laid.”
“Brooke!” I yelp, darting my eyes around the building to see who might have heard, but we’re in a late-afternoon lull and the last guests to pay for a game have already completed the walk-the-plank hole outside. “Seriously?”
She shrugs. “You’re like, radiating tension over there. You and the guys at the arcade?” She fans her face. “Hot.”
“How could you tell?” I shoot back. “You had your lips locked on Sam’s too long to pay attention to anything else.”
She sticks her tongue out at me, and we both laugh.
“Okay, how about a barbecue?” Brooke walks over to my counter and leans her on her elbows to flash prayer hands at me. “Pretty please?”
I sigh and catch her eye. “Fine. Let’s have a barbecue.”
“At your place.”
Something heavy settles on my chest. If I say no, she’ll know it’s because of my stepbrother. But if I say yes and Blake is there, he and Max are going to go right back to trying to out-alpha each other, which isn’t even a contest.
I force a smile. “Sure. Just no booze, okay?”
She raises her eyebrows but seems to think better of commenting. She slips her phone from her back pocket. “I’ll organize the troops.”
I would be just as happy if no one showed up at all.
* * *
I have a ten-minute head start on Brooke, which is barely enough time to walk through the front door of my house, change out of my Putt-Putt Hut shirt, and warn Blake that people are coming over.
I step out onto the deck where he’s reclining on a lounge chair, sunglasses on, shirt off. His body is stupidly distracting, but I make myself walk up to him and sit on the edge of the chair next to him just to tell myself I can.
“Some people are coming over for a barbecue tonight. That okay with you?”
I don’t know why I’m asking for his permission. It’s my family’s damn house.
Blake doesn’t turn away, which is a good sign, and he shrugs with a nonchalance I don’t feel. “Do you know how to turn on the grill?” he teases, and warming relief courses through me at his joke. “Or is that something you’re terrible at, too?”
I draw in a shallow breath and dare myself to say it. “If you’re referring to last night, I’m pretty sure I won.”
Blake swallows hard, and a muscle ticks in his jaw as he looks away, out toward the ocean even though you can’t quite see it from here.
“Yeah, McKenna.” His voice is gravelly. “Guess you did.” He drops his feet to the deck and sits up. “Going inside. Save a burger for me.”
He leaves me then, so when Brooke and Sam and Amber and the rest of them show up, I’m sitting out there alone, my hands feeling emptier than they ever have.
The guys dig through plastic grocery store bags to pull out food, and in the end, Max is the one who turns on the grill.
The scent of hamburgers and hot dogs wafts around the deck, mixing with the humid ocean air that makes my hair feel thick and full. But out in the distance, oceanside, the sky’s darkening a touch too early.
“Looks like a storm coming in,” I say to Brooke, nodding my chin up at the sky.
“Guess we better eat fast.” She slaps a hamburger in my hand and nudges my shoulder. “Cheer up, buttercup. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
But it’s not the party I’m worried about.
I walk over to the deck table to doctor my burger, then take a seat facing the house and wedge my knees against the edge of the table. Max sits next to me and bumps his knees against mine.
I turn at the sound of clanking bottles and freeze. Sam’s pulling a case of beer from a grocery bag I didn’t notice before.
My body tenses and I shoot a look at Brooke. “Hey, guys, no alcohol,” I warn.
Blake chooses that exact moment to reappear, walking through the sliding glass doors with an empty plate in his hand. His eyes land on the bottles and then flick to mine, something dark inside.
“Dude, McKenna, it’s fine,” Sam says.
I whip my head so violently that my hair spills out around my shoulders. “I told you guys at the beginning that there was no drinking.”
“Come on, Kenn.”
“She said no.” Blake bites out the words like bullets, and if anyone didn’t know he was here before, they do now.
Everyone shoots uneasy looks back and forth between the two of us.
Dammit.
I set my plate on the table and lick ketchup from the edge of my thumb. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” I ask Blake.
I lead him around the corner of the deck toward
the unattended grill. “I appreciate you saying something, but I’ve got it from here.”
I need to be able to do these kinds of things on my own and not need him or anyone else to stand up for me. I need to stand up for myself.
He looks toward the source of the laughter on the other side of the house. “You sure?” At that moment he seems almost tender, no longer so angry at me but at the fact that my friends would push their luck.
I blow out a puff of air. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
I set my shoulders and walk back around the edge of the house, where the beer bottles sit in the center of the table like a challenge. I lean a hand on Sam’s shoulder and flash my friends a smile. “These beers will taste just as good on the beach. There’s a no-open-bottle policy, so just don’t get caught.”
Brooke must see something on my face, because she waves her hands at everybody and says, “Come on, get up. Let’s go to the beach before it rains, and when we get back, I have dessert.”
Amber is the only one who doesn’t follow the crowd down the block. She takes a seat next to Blake and rests a hand on his arm. I have to look away or I might murder her with my glare, so I gather dirty plates and storm into the kitchen to set them in the sink. Through the wall of windows and the sliding door, I can still see Amber and Blake outside. All that glass seems like such a good idea until there’s something out there you don’t want to see.
Amber leans into Blake, giggling. She’s a pretty girl—hair a shade darker than mine and boobs bouncing out of her shirt. I know Blake’s allowed to do whatever he wants, but what I want him to do is be with me. The fact that he knows it makes it that much worse.
Step Summer Page 10