“So, you live here… alone?”
I snagged a blue-striped towel from a drawer in the kitchen and headed back her way. “Just me and my giant wiener.” Oscar was a standard-sized dachshund, not a mini. But the other interpretation was accurate too.
“Right…” Reese rolled her eyes.
“C’mon. It’s time to play doctor.” I held up the peas. “And you’re gonna tell me what the fuck happened.”
“This really isn’t necessary, I can —”
“— sit your sweet ass on the bench so I can check you out better? That’d be perfect.”
She glared at me, but carried the bags containing our subs to the table and sat down. Ignoring me altogether, she pulled out the sandwiches and placed the one I assumed was mine on the opposite side of the table. I picked it up and dropped down on the bench right next to her instead, close enough my thigh brushed hers. Oscar situated himself at her feet, panting with excitement. I didn’t blame him. He had the best view in the house.
I covered the peas in the towel, then tucked the veggies in the waistband of her shorts, pulling her fitted shirt over the top to hold it in place. She hissed in a breath, but refused to look at me, her focus completely on unwrapping her dinner and taking a giant bite.
“First, we eat. And then, we’re going to talk.”
I tore the paper off my sandwich with a lot less finesse than her and chowed down. “What is this?” I asked, taking a second to study the food after I’d swallowed my first mouthful.
“Turkey and cranberry.”
“Damn. It’s really good.” I took another bite. It was like fucking Thanksgiving dinner in sandwich form.
She paused to suck down some soda and the way her lips looked wrapped around the black straw had me holding back a groan. “Yeah, it’s my favorite. I didn’t expect to find it down here in Alabama.” She licked her lips, her pink tongue slipping out to catch a smear of cranberry on the corner of her mouth.
My cock jumped and I hunched over the table a little more to hide it. Gym shorts weren’t exactly discreet.
Oscar whined beneath us, and I automatically ripped him off a piece of bread and tossed it to him under the table.
“That dog has you whipped,” she teased.
I shrugged. “It’s important to take good care of your wiener. Keep it happy.”
She struggled to keep a straight face. I saw her grin fighting to break through but it never quite appeared, denying me a glimpse of her dimple. “Is there a story there? How the drumline captain ended up with a dachshund of all breeds?”
“There’s always a story. This one’s pretty tame as far as stories go, but I really shouldn’t be telling it to you. Not yet anyway.”
“Why’s that?”
“The competition. It hasn’t happened yet this year.”
She looked intrigued, her sandwich forgotten as she turned her whole upper body toward me. “Tell me anyway.”
I pretended to contemplate whether or not I should, and was rewarded for my ploy when her smile grew wide, that dimple on full display.
“There’s always a contest at one of the parties, and my vet had given me the heads up about it my freshman year—kinda like I’m telling you now, even though he wasn’t supposed to.”
“What contest?”
“The dick measuring contest.”
She choked on the Coke she had been drinking, her hand going to her mouth. “The what?”
I was enjoying this way too much. “It’s one of the drumline rituals. One of the girls, usually a cymbal player or whoever the captain thinks is the hottest, lines up the snares by dick size. And I wanted to win. I mean,” I shrugged modestly, “I probably would’ve won anyway, but I wasn’t taking any chances. So, I went down to the animal shelter the day before the party and found Oscar. I brought him with me, and no one could deny I had the biggest wiener.”
Her laughter floated between us and I wanted to capture it somehow, record it so I could listen to it again whenever I wanted. “You’re crazy.”
I made a sound of agreement. “It was worth it. And Oscar’s a great dog. He’s my second favorite wiener.”
She nibbled on another bite, and when she glanced down at Oscar again, I saw her head tilt a little and check out my lap too. Yeah, busted.
Her chin snapped up, her brown eyes not quite meeting mine. “Is it… normally this hot in here?”
“I—” Frowning, I noticed for the first time I didn’t hear the normal hum of the air conditioner. I carried my sub with me to the thermostat on the wall, where the digital display read eighty-two degrees. What the fuck?
I flicked the switch to off, waited a few seconds, and flipped it back to cool again. Silence.
“I don’t think the AC is working.”
“You’re a smart one, Sherlock. What did you say your major was again?”
“Computer science,” I answered, distracted. I punched some of the other buttons, lowering the temperature and turning the fan from auto to on. Still nothing.
Damn it.
As I finished off my sandwich, I texted the building superintendent to see when someone could come out to check on my unit. First thing tomorrow was the response I got. I swore under my breath.
Great. Just fucking great. Sweat beaded on my forehead and gathered along the top of my back.
“It’s still broken?” She fed a piece of turkey to Oscar, who licked her calf in appreciation.
“Yeah, they can’t come out and check on it until tomorrow.” I moved around the room, closing the blinds to try to minimize the heat. The space was dim now, but still muggy.
I slipped my shirt off to combat the humidity, and double checked that Oscar had plenty of water in his dish before adding a scoop of kibble to his empty bowl. “Here, buddy, dinner time for you too.” While I was in the kitchen, I grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen from the cupboard.
When I reclaimed my spot on the bench next to Reese, she was finishing the last bite of her sandwich. She brushed the crumbs from her hands onto the wrapper, but a smudge of cranberry sauce was still smeared just below her mouth. “Hang on,” I said, giving into the impulse. I rubbed my thumb along her bottom lip, and a surge of lust shot through me when her mouth parted at my touch. Her pupils dilated as I brushed that full lower curve again, slower this time.
Her exhale was shaky, and she curled her hand around my wrist as if to hold me there longer. Fuck, this girl. The tip of her tongue met my skin, and the heat from the small point of contact made the room seem like an igloo in comparison. Those perfect lips closed around my thumb for a second, and all I could think about was what my cock would look like circled by that pink mouth, her hair wrapped in my fist. I groaned.
She turned her head, breaking the contact, but her fingers still held my arm while I brought my hand to my own mouth and licked the remaining cranberry sauce off my thumb. I murmured her name, and waited until my eyes captured hers. “I bet you taste better.” Her gaze darted to my mouth, and I swelled in response. “Less tart, more sweet.”
She sucked in a breath, and I leaned forward, ready to find out right then. But when I got close, when her exhale became my inhale, she turned away, my lips feathering over hers to land near her ear instead. I changed directions, sampling the spot just beneath her lobe, unable to stop my shit-eating grin when she shivered.
My lips followed the line of her neck when she spoke. “I fell.”
I stopped, felt her body tense beside me where a second ago she’d been soft and pliable, and knew she was lying.
Reluctantly, I pulled back. “How did you fall?” I’d play along with her story for now.
“When we headed out to the field for choreography. I was a few minutes behind y’all, so I was running to catch up, and I… tripped.” She touched the ice pack on her side, releasing my arm in the process. “My hip landed on the edge of the curb because I twisted to save the snare.”
“Fuck the snare,” I bit out, reaching between us to pull her shirt up. She tried to
push it back down, but let go of the fabric when she looked at my face. Like hell she was going to stop me from checking out her injury. Unsatisfied with what I could see with her shirt bunched along her ribs, I pulled the whole damn thing over her head, ignoring her gasp of surprise. She was wearing a sports bra, and considering she’d paraded herself around without a shirt half a dozen times since auditions started, I wasn’t worried about her modesty.
“Jesus, Reese.” The peas had fallen to the floor along with her tank, and the purple outline of the bruise was stark against her tan skin, even in the shadows of the room. I traced the edges, wishing like hell I could absorb her pain, transfer the injury to my own flank. I popped open the Motrin and shook two pills into her palm. “Take these.”
She obeyed me without an argument for once. My fingers slid to the waistband of her shorts again, because I needed to see for myself the full extent of the bruise. I lowered it past her hip, and the scrap of black lace I found had me cursing for a whole different reason.
“You should’ve fucking told me.” My glare would’ve wilted most men.
“And then what?” Her eyes burned bright. “You would’ve taken it easier on me? Told me to march without the drum? Sent me home? Cut me on the spot?”
“I —” Yeah. Probably. Not cut her, but one of those other options she mentioned.
“No special treatment, Laird.” Fuck, her voice saying my name. My fingers still gripped her shorts, the heat of her upper thigh warming my skin, and I itched to tug them the rest of the way off, to explore what those panties looked like beneath the nylon. To taste her through the lace.
I wrenched my hand away, wincing when she flinched from the snap of the elastic. Her words echoed in my head. It was one thing on the field, but off…
Beads of sweat gathered along her cleavage where her chest heaved in agitation. Her nipples pressed against the tight spandex, little points begging for my attention.
“You feel this.” I pointed between us. “It’s basic. Call it hormones, call it chemistry, whatever. There’s something there when I look at you. When I touch you. Your body reacts, just like mine does.” I didn’t even try to hide my erection at that point.
“It’s just because I’m the only girl you’re around during the day. It’s natural that —”
I laughed harshly, cutting her off. “You think this is some proximity thing? Reese, I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, but getting laid is not a problem for me.”
She flushed, the telltale redness spreading from her chest upwards. “I can’t do this with you, Laird.” My name again. I wanted to hear her yell it, scream it over and over as she came from my fingers, my tongue, my cock. “I can’t have the rest of the guys thinking I earned my spot on the field by spreading my legs for the captain.” She looked up at me from beneath those long, sexy lashes of hers. “I deserve better than that. I am better than that.”
I didn’t have an immediate answer to her challenge. She was right. Everything she said was true. But that didn’t negate my desire for her, my all-consuming need to claim her for myself.
“We can’t do this.”
Fuck that. I carved my hand through my hair and gripped the back of my neck. “We’ll be careful,” I countered.
“What we?” she cried. “There is no we. You barely know me.”
She was wrong. I didn’t know her details. Her specifics. But she’d already shown me the broad outline of who she was. Strong. Tough. Stubborn. Funny. Sarcastic. Quick. Smart. A flash of her with Eli popped into my head, that single interaction with him telling me so much about her, and I added more words to the list. Compassionate. Giving. A fighter. A survivor.
I rubbed my chest, the spot where the small Gaelic G was inked on my right pec. I knew enough to know I wanted to know more.
I wanted to know her everything.
I wanted to fucking be her everything.
“Try me.” I tipped my chin at her in challenge. “You’re right. I don’t know the little stuff. But the big stuff? I think you’ve shown your hand more than you realize.”
Reese
“Are you serious right now?” I stared at him in utter disbelief, my eyebrows practically touching they were pinched so hard together. I picked up the bag of peas again and pressed it back against my side. They were starting to thaw, the bag slippery with condensation, and tiny rivulets of water ran down my hip before falling on the floor, where Oscar happily licked up the small puddles. “How do you think this works? You pass some test on What Makes Reese Holland Tick and we’re suddenly a thing on the down low?”
His jaw worked side to side, and he stared at me mutinously. Okaaay, maybe he did think that’s exactly how this was going to happen. I huffed out a laugh. This was crazy talk. His eyes shone at me like gemstones, his fingers clenching and unclenching by his muscular thighs. Like I was some weird fucking prize he’d set his eye on, and now I was denying him.
“Laird,” I started, but his eyes closed and his whole body relaxed. “I—”
“Say it again,” he interrupted.
“Say what again?”
“My name,” he growled. “Say my fucking name.”
I licked my lips. They were somehow dry despite the pervasive Alabama humidity that had followed us inside and the heat emanating between us.
Us.
I swallowed hard and took advantage of his closed eyes to appreciate all the masculine beauty in front of me. The tattoos on his pecs begged to be traced by my fingers, my tongue, and his abs would’ve made any Hollywood heartthrob jealous. I followed the narrowing of his hips, the thin line of hair at his navel that led beneath his shorts, where a substantial bulge tented the black fabric.
He was gorgeous. And he wanted me to say his fucking name.
“Laird,” I repeated, my voice huskier this time.
Goose bumps rose along his arms, tightened his flat nipples, and a shudder worked its way down his body. Irish green eyes flew open and met my wide chocolate gaze.
“Yes.” Two strides brought him to my side, and from his position above me, he wrapped my ponytail around his fist, tipping my head back and arching my throat. He leaned down and ran his nose along its curve, nuzzled behind my ear, and inhaled deeply.
I forgot how to breathe.
He spoke against my sensitive skin, his lips brushing the shell of my ear with every word. “Ask me your questions. Then I’m going to make you say my name over and over again until I know every version of it coming from your lips by memory.”
If he hadn’t been fisting my hair and holding me captive with his words, I would’ve melted to the floor along with my makeshift ice-pack.
I turned my head instinctively, lips parted, seeking him, but he released my hair suddenly and took a step back. I wobbled and almost fell off the bench, catching myself just in time. Every nerve ending from every hair on my head still tingled from his touch.
“Your questions.” He watched me hungrily, like I was all the desserts he’d ever denied himself to get a body that looked like his.
“I—” Disoriented, I blindly patted the table behind me for my phone, trying to rein in my scattered thoughts. Questions. I needed to ask him questions. “Okay. One second.”
I pulled up my search screen, because I couldn’t think clearly and Google knew everything. HOW WELL DOES HE KNOW YOU, I typed in the box.
The first result was a Cosmo quiz. I clicked on it.
Right. Here goes.
“Question one,” I read aloud. “Her idea of a perfect date is A. Getting dressed up and going to a party. B. An afternoon hike with a picnic. C. Netflix and chill. D. Volunteering at an animal shelter.”
He stared at me intently, as if he was trying to read my mind. “B.”
“Nope.” C, if I was being honest. I didn’t need a guy in my life to do the other items on that list. “Question two. She hates it when her man A. Orders dinner for her. B. Won’t get off his phone. C. Goes out with the guys on Friday instead of her. D. Skips foreplay.”
“D.” His answer was instant, confident.
But still wrong. I couldn’t help but think—with the right guy—there were times when foreplay would be completely unnecessary. Like right now. “Wrong.” Creases formed between his eyes as his brow furrowed. It was B. When I was with a guy, I wanted to know that I was enough to keep his attention, that nothing on social media was more important than me.
“Number three. When it comes to your friends, she prefers A. To always be there when you’re hanging with them. B. You have the exact same circle of friends. C. You each hang out with your respective crowds solo, but still make time for each other. D. Friends, what friends? You can’t stand to spend a minute apart.”
He closed his eyes and looked at the ceiling. “This is ridiculous. B. We’d have the same friends.”
Ugh, that was so smothering, C was a much better choice. I shook my head and dodged his glare. Oscar followed him as he started pacing from the front door to the stairs. “What’s next?”
“Four. You want to go to the big party on Saturday but she isn’t feeling well. You A. Skip the party to take care of her. B. Go. You don’t want to both be sick. C. Make an appearance at the party, but leave early to drop some soup off at her place. D. Facetime with her the whole event, so she can still be there with you.”
“A. Easy decision.” He nodded once sharply and narrowed his eyes at me, like he dared me to disagree.
I smiled. “You got that one right. You’re one for four.”
But his streak ended there and he missed the next trio of questions about my preferences for living together, my ideal anniversary gift, and when to meet the parents.
A string of curse words flew from him and he stopped right in front of me, pointing at my phone. “This doesn’t mean anything. The fact that I’m getting these wrong.”
I lifted my shoulders insouciantly. “Hey, don’t get mad at me. This was your idea.”
“Yeah, I gotta couple of other ideas I’d rather try out on you,” he muttered, picking up all the trash from our meal and stomping to the kitchen.
I hid my smile until he was around the corner, then I let it stretch wide. There was something endearing about seeing him get so worked up over this stupid quiz. I really should cut him a break, but what was the fun in that? “C’mon, big guy. You can handle it. Only three questions left. Eight. What is she most insecure about? A. Her looks. B. Her crazy parents. C. Her childhood photos. D. What insecurities?”
Drumline Page 7