“All right, snares, front and center!” Laird set his drink down and rubbed his palms together, like he was looking forward to the contest. He probably thought he had it in the bag. Which, to be fair, he might. Laird by far had the biggest dick I’d seen with my own two eyes.
Smith handed me his cup. “Mind holding that?”
I took his drink as he navigated to the middle of the room, following behind him so I had a good view.
All the snare players were arranged in a haphazard line except for me. No one seemed to notice or care that I wasn’t included in the group, but I let it slide.
Willa, a shit-eating grin stretched across her face, tossed her platinum blond hair over her shoulder and sidled up to Bubba, making a production about feeling his junk. She puckered her face like she was concentrating hard as she ran her hand up and down the zipper of his jeans before moving over to Van and repeating the motion. As she groped each one, she arranged them in order, sometimes pausing to check her placement with a repeat performance.
She was almost done.
Topher, despite being one of the tallest guys on the snare line, apparently had the smallest drumstick in his briefs. Poor guy.
Maybe he’s a grower, not a show-er, because he doesn’t seem all that concerned.
At the other end of the totem pole was Marco.
Laird, who’d been laughing and joking the whole time, was next. As Willa approached, his eyes flew to mine, wide with panic, as if he just now realized I was going to have to watch her stroke him as part of this whole event. As Willa slid into position beside him, he shuffled back half a step, one eyebrow cocked as he kept his gaze on me.
He’s asking permission. It took me a second to interpret his actions, but as soon as I did, I gave him a wink to let him know it was okay.
It wasn’t okay. Not in the least. Jealousy boiled, hot and angry, in my gut as I curled my hands into fists, my nails digging into my palms as I forced myself to hold still, to not launch myself at her like a psycho and rip her arm away from his pants where she was lingering way too fucking long. The only thing keeping me still was the fact that Laird’s focus never wavered from me. He held my gaze the entire time as if trying to reassure me the only way he could that I was the only one he was thinking about in that moment.
But when she shifted her grip lower, to cup his balls, I was a fraction of a second away from detonating.
No, she fucking didn’t…
Laird coughed, taking a step back and twisting away as he covered his mouth.
I stopped breathing, waiting to see she if went for him again.
Go on, bitch, I dare you.
But instead of grabbing his crotch, she caught his elbow and slid him into place—in front of Marco at the head of the line.
I exhaled in a relieved whoosh, forcing my jaw to unclench. Laird’s eyes were soft with apology, and I gave him a wobbly smile to let him know I understood.
The only person left to be measured was Smith.
Willa ran her hand down his groin, pausing as her eyes widened and her mouth dropped partway open, then squeezed again. She glanced from his crotch to the blush high on his caramel cheeks back to his crotch, then she mimed fanning herself before putting him squarely ahead of Laird.
Smith met my surprised gaze with a bashful grin, slouching next to Laird. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to sink into the floor or go for nonchalance.
Willa turned to the rest of us. “And the cockiest snare this year—”
Clearing my throat, I stepped forward, interrupting her little speech.
“I think you forgot about me.”
Willa scrunched her nose. “You?”
“I’m a snare player too, right? No special treatment? Shouldn’t you check the size of my balls? Just to be fair?”
She glanced back at Marco and Laird. Marco was nodding like a rabid bobblehead, leaning closer in his eagerness. Laird had a suspicious gleam in his green eyes when he met my gaze for a quick second before I focused on Willa again.
Practically salivating, Marco stepped out of line to stand next to Willa, clearly not wanting to miss a second of some live girl-on-girl action. “Reese is right for once. You need to rub her down too, Willa. Do it slow.” He licked his lips. “Real slow.”
Spreading my legs slightly, I held my breath as Willa approached me. She reached forward gingerly, almost as if she was worried I had cooties and was contagious.
“For fuck’s sake, Willa, it’s not like you’ve never touched a vag before.” I caught her wrist in my hand, pulling her forward and placing her palm boldly at the apex of my thighs. “You’ve got one of your own, and if you haven’t gone exploring down there by now, let me tell you, you’re seriously missing out.”
Marco groaned and several of the other guys made similar noises.
This was almost too easy.
I rubbed her hand down my inner left thigh, watching her expression closely. There was no way she could miss it.
Her fingers closed around me through the soft jersey of my maxi dress, stroking the length of the gigantic dildo I’d tucked into a pair of Spanx before I left my dorm room.
Willa’s mouth fell open, her eyes first widening in shock, then narrowing in confusion as her fingers retraced their path. “What the…” she whispered.
“How do I compare?” I used my most innocent voice.
She gaped at me, and I dragged her palm along the silicone length one last time, pressing firmly.
“You… you win.” She snatched her hand back as if she’d been burned. “Reese has the biggest dick out of any of you.”
The people closest to me stepped back like I was on fire and they had no intention of helping to put out the flames, confusion twisting their faces.
Marco snarled and half-pushed her out of the way, shoving his hand between my thighs and cupping me crudely.
And then the blood left his face as his fingers met the firm length he didn’t expect to find there.
“What the fuck?” After yanking his arm back, Marco stooped down, caught the hem of my dress, and bunched it in his meaty fist until I was exposed from the waist down.
The head of my newly acquired gigantic black cock stuck out beneath the bottom hem of my mid-thigh shapewear.
In the back of my mind, I registered that a crowd had pushed close to us when he’d raised my dress, everyone eager for a free show. Hoots of laughter filled the room, some of them pointing. Their expressions ran the gamut from mirth, awe, and respect from the guys to disgust and confusion from the girls.
Except for Willa, who just looked relieved that it was a sex toy and not a real dick.
“Still want to give me that private lesson, Marco?” I blinked at him.
And then he was stumbling backward, bulldozed out of the way by Laird as he tore the dress from Marco’s hand, covering me up, then tucking me behind him and shielding me from Marco’s view with his broad back.
“You don’t touch her. Ever.” Laird seethed as he barked out each word, the fierceness of his glower enough to melt the polar ice caps. “You don’t touch any woman like that.” He turned to extend the warning to the rest of the snare line, glaring at each in turn. “Like you have the right to just reach between her legs without permission. I don’t care if she has the sweetest pussy known to man or the biggest, blackest dick to grace this planet—you ask. You get consent. Always.”
If my dick were real, I’d have just gotten the most epic erection of my life. Raised a fucking obelisk. Laird Bronson had never been sexier than in this moment, a gladiator among mere mortals, laying down the law.
Laird turned a full circle, staring down every male in the room. “Do I make myself crystal fucking clear about how this drumline works?” He didn’t raise his voice as he said it.
He whispered.
And his warning was all the more chilling because of it.
But afterward, when Marco caught my eye and I saw the rigidness of his stance and the dark hatred pinching his mouth, I regre
tted my decision. Despite my momentary victory, I had a feeling I’d be paying for this little prank of mine tenfold. A shiver of foreboding skated down my spine.
I found Smith in the crowd—Amber damn near accosting him after discovering the size of his dick—looked him in the eye, and said the two words I’d been hoping would be unnecessary tonight. “Scrotum Breath.”
Laird
Where is she?
A minute ago, she’d been right behind me, so close I could feel her ragged breathing against my back. But by the time I finished staring down Marco and two other assholes—damn bass drum players—who seemed to think my outburst was just for show and I wasn’t one hundred percent dead fucking serious, she was gone.
I pushed through the crowd that was still amped up from Reese’s outrageous stunt. Not in the kitchen, not on the tiny balcony, and not in the bedroom or the connected bathroom.
I ran my hands through my hair before gripping the back of my neck in frustration.
Where the fuck did she go?
I made one more pass, double-checking where Marco was—shoving his tongue down some girl’s throat—and confirmed that Reese was nowhere near him.
My blood ran hot, then cold.
The image of Marco’s fingers curled around Reese’s waist as he held her dress up, baring her whole bottom half to the entire drumline played in technicolor inside my skull.
On repeat.
I wanted to roar, to wrap my fingers around his skinny neck and squeeze until he turned purple, to punch my fist right through the flimsy drywall of this shithole apartment.
But mostly, I wanted to make sure Reese was okay and I couldn’t do that if I couldn’t fucking find her.
My phone buzzed in the back pocket of my jeans. The plastic case was in serious danger of cracking as I crushed it in my hand, punching the passcode in viciously.
Reese: I left. I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye, but I couldn’t stay any longer.
She’s safe. Thank fuck, she’s safe.
But my relief was short lived as the messages continued to arrive in quick succession.
Reese: I shouldn’t have done that.
Reese: Maybe tomorrow night is a bad idea.
I stilled, a thousand denials wanting to rip from my throat.
My fingers shook as I typed a reply.
Me: Because of me? Or because of some asswipes on drumline?
There was a long pause and my heart faltered, beating in triplets instead of quarter notes.
Those three gray dots appeared, telling me she was replying. Then they stopped.
I walked out of the apartment, not speaking to a soul, uncaring as I shouldered past a cluster of guys near the front door.
My lungs breathed easier just getting out of that room, but my legs failed me, and I sunk onto the steps, laser focused on those gray dots that were blinking again.
Reese: You’re the captain. I’m the girl trying to fit in where I’m not wanted.
Reese: How can you not see how bad of an idea this is?
Not me. It isn’t because of me.
The tightness around my chest loosened. This was a fumble, an interception. But I wasn’t out of the game yet.
Me: You’re the best damn idea I’ve had all year. And if you show up tomorrow, I’ll prove it.
I hesitated. I couldn’t force her to come—I didn’t want to force her to do anything. I wanted her of her own volition, this whirlwind of a woman who’d been driving me crazy from the moment I laid eyes on her.
My fingers twitched on the phone, a melody unfurling in my marrow. The song I only heard when I thought of Reese.
Me: Are you really going to let Marco and some shitheads you don’t even care about stop you? Are you going to let them win?
I sat there for another hour, until my ass went numb from the edge of the step and the first drunk guests started to stumble home, tripping past me as they left.
And the longer I sat there, my phone quiet in my hand, the calmer I became.
She hadn’t answered with another excuse. Hadn’t listed a litany of flimsy reasons to beg off. Hadn’t invented a friend with a family emergency she had to rescue at the last minute.
No, if I knew my girl, she was fuming on the other end, because nobody held her back from doing what she wanted. Not cancer. Not a hundred and eighteen years of drumline tradition. Definitely not some insecure motherfucker who couldn’t stand not being the center of attention.
And—if I was right—Reese Holland wanted me almost as badly as I wanted her.
She’ll be here.
I returned the vacuum to its home in the corner of the front closet, having done one last pass in the never-ending battle against Oscar’s shedding.
She’ll be here.
The salad was prepped and in the fridge, classic Caesar with fucking homemade croutons that I’d made following the instructions on a YouTube video, because she was worth the extra effort.
She’ll be here.
Steaks from a local butcher shop, not just the refrigerated section of the Publix around the corner, were marinating, ready to be thrown on the grill.
She’ll be here.
The asparagus, bundled with thick slices of peppery bacon, was ready to go, wrapped in heavy duty foil that could withstand the flames.
She’ll be here.
The whole apartment smelled like the sweet potatoes that had been baking in the oven for the last hour.
She’ll be here.
I took the fastest shower known to man, making sure my pits and prick were clean and rushing through the rest. I didn’t shave. She liked the stubble.
She’ll be here.
I opened a beer, needing to do something with my hands, needing to do anything to distract myself from the fact that she was fifteen minutes late.
She’ll be here.
Maybe I should change? I glanced down at my shirt, a soft gray tee that had an outline of Alabama on the chest and said Homegrown in thick, blocky letters below it. It wasn’t fancy, but if she showed up tonight, it wasn’t because of what I would or wouldn’t be wearing.
It would be because she couldn’t deny the chemistry between us any longer.
She’ll be here.
Oscar brought me his favorite tennis ball, raising his eyebrows expectantly. I threw it twenty-seven times before the doorbell rang.
She was here.
Reese
The door opened. Laird’s scent reached me first, soap and bad ideas and fairy tales all mixed up in a pheromone cloud I was powerless to resist.
“I shouldn’t be here.” My voice sounded weak and a bit defensive as I looked at his neck, his chin, his nose—anywhere but his kryptonite green eyes.
“Wrong. This is exactly where you should be.”
His hand closed around my wrist and he pulled me out of the endless Alabama heat into the coolness of his townhouse, then crowded me against the wall. Before I could protest, before I could even take a breath, his mouth was on mine, desperate, hungry, and so damn hot. Rational thought fled my mind. My knees buckled and I clutched his shirt, letting his arm around my back support my weight.
“Right here. With me. In my arms.” The husky words hit me like bullets.
His tongue licked the seam of my lips, then plunged inside. A greedy noise spilled from my throat. I’d never get enough of the way he tasted, of the way my skin seemed to hum whenever he touched me. His other arm fell to my thigh, tugging my leg up to wrap around his waist as he arched my back. That dirty mouth of his wasn’t the only thing pressing against me.
I raised my arms to his wide shoulders, feeling his muscles bunch under my palms. My nails scratched along his scalp, and his answering groan had me shivering in wanton desire.
There was no spark, no slow build-up. This was an instant inferno of need.
“Laird.” I rubbed my cheek against his stubble, then tipped my head to the side as he trailed kisses down my neck. “We shouldn’t.”
It was my last attempt at logi
c, at sane reasoning, although it was half-assed at best considering my words came out more as a moan.
“Says who?” His eyes bored into mine, snaring me in their frustrated heat. “You? You want this. I can feel how much you want it. Your nipples are already hard and begging, your mouth is swollen and pouting, and there’s no doubt in my mind, if I reached between those sweet thighs of yours right now, that you’d be wet and ready.”
He rocked his hips, his hard length obvious behind his zipper. “That’s just the start of what you do to me, Reese.”
Laird traced his fingers along my face, rubbing at the crease between my eyebrows with his thumb. “Tell me you don’t want to be here.”
Before I could open my mouth, he stopped me with a grunt and a sharp shake of his head. “No. Not whether you think you should be here, tell me you don’t want to be here. That you don’t want me to cook you dinner, and tell you how damn beautiful you look, and kiss you until you’ve been kissed every single way there is to kiss.”
I bit my lip, unable to lie to him when he held my gaze like this, wringing the truth from me whether I wanted to give it to him or not.
“You didn’t even take the time to see what I was wearing,” I pointed out with a soft laugh.
“Doesn’t matter.” His eyes never wavered from mine. “You’re gorgeous in everything.”
He released my thigh, letting it drop until I was standing on my own two feet again, albeit a bit wobbly.
“Besides,” he pressed his forehead to mine, “Oscar’s missed you. And there’s nothing worse than a sad wiener.”
I finally registered the ecstatic dachshund weaving around our feet and head-butting our calves, a well-loved tennis ball wedged in his mouth. I crouched to rub his soft ears, and he flopped on his side in blatant surrender.
“Fuck, Oscar. You don’t have to be that whipped. You could make her work for it a little.” Laird watched his dog snuffle in happiness, tail thumping out a blur of eighth notes. “I’m gonna leave you two to your little reunion while I throw the steaks on the grill. How do you like yours cooked, Reese?”
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