I nod to my shirt.
Bash gives me a look. One that clearly says he’s not even entertaining that idea. He holds up the red top. “This wouldn’t even fit one arm.”
I grin, pulling his shirt closer around me. Soft cotton warms my body. Winters down here are other states’ spring. It gets a little chilly sometimes and tonight it’s more cool than warm.
His shirt smells intoxicating, like laundry detergent and body wash mixed with something else. Something that is only describable as man. Masculinity. It’s a distracting scent that invades my senses. I try to ignore it. “Now you’re only stroking your ego. You’d be able to get it up to your shoulder. Easy.”
He raises a brow, challenging me. I watch as he slips a hand up the shirt and see the fabric fading from the force. He gets it to his bicep when I hear the material stretch. I jump up from the chair, pulling my shirt back.
With it securely cradled to my chest, I look at him. Giving him my best glare even though the alcohol and the need for sleep make it less intimidating. “You proved your point.”
“I think you proved some as well.” He brings his chair closer. His knees touch mine. The contact of warm skin seeps through my jeans and makes my breath hitch.
It’s a jolt, like the feeling of getting shocked by a shopping cart mixed with the forgotten touch of a man.
I look up at him, but Bash is staring at my lips.
My eyes dip to his, wondering what they would feel like, taste like against mine. Just for a second—or two—before looking at his eyes.
This time his eyes are on me. They’re smiling. Teasing. He totally caught me looking.
He knows where my thoughts strayed and he inches forward, one of his legs slipping between both of mine. His hands slide up my thighs, eliciting a shiver all over my body.
My breathing stops as his head comes closer to me, tilting ever so slightly. I close my eyes, moving my head towards him. Hoping to close the distance.
When his lips finally touch me, my eyes snap open.
What. The fuck. Was that?
Sebastian Cleaton just kissed my forehead.
SHE STARES AT ME WITH a burning fire in those bright green eyes of hers. The glare does nothing to deter me from what I want. She’s beautiful. Gorgeous. Light hair that tumbles down her back in soft waves. A few freckles spread along her face, almost like the sun strategically placed them.
My shirt is like a shapeless sack on her, pooling down her thighs and over her jeans. The neckline shifts to one side, exposing more of her neck and collarbone.
Tan skin with a few more freckles. I wonder how many randomly placed freckles she has, and where they lead.
“Hmm,” she hums in the back of her throat, her gaze darting from my lips to my eyes. Her stare is calculating. Twisting and turning. The more she stares, the more exposed I feel. She already has my shirt so why do I feel like if she looks any longer she’ll strip me bare?
In the back of my mind, a small voice is straining to shout, she knows, but I ignore it.
“What?” Caution clouds my tone and I sit up straighter.
“Nothing.” She shrugs. “Just a noise.”
“A noise that means something.”
“It could or it couldn’t. Oh the endless possibilities of a noise.”
There’s one noise I want to hear from her and it’s not hmm.
It’s been a while since I’ve had a hook up; it’s been a while since I’ve done anything for me. The last girl I dated was for a publicity stunt set up by her PR team and that was over a year ago. And the only affections she and I showed each other were in front of the cameras.
It’s been a while and I’m wondering if Firecracker is down for more when she surprises me and straddles my lap. I huff out a breath at the sudden impact of her body on top of mine.
She looks at me, like she’s expecting some protest. Some time-out. Something to put a stop to this.
She won’t be hearing a no from me.
I’m about to move back in, but she surprises me again by grabbing the back of my neck, pulling me toward her.
The long strands of her hair brush against my chest as her lips touch mine. Brushing them once, twice in a soft, sweet caress before the kiss builds, like there’s a clock she’s racing against.
She pulls at my bottom lip with her teeth. The biting pressure causes a groan to slip out of me.
Holy fuck.
She might have initiated the kiss, but I’m taking it over. I’ve wanted to do this since she called me a pug.
I’m no stranger to physical attraction.
Hooking up at parties is something I’m also not a stranger to.
But not only do I want to have this girl, I want to hear her keep talking. She’s amusing as hell. I don’t think I’ve smiled as much in the past year as I have tonight, just from interacting with her.
I slide one hand higher up her thigh, squeezing it and getting a moan that I swallow as I dip my other hand behind her neck, tilting her head back, and really having my way with her mouth.
I devour her.
Claiming her mouth for however long this kiss will last.
Firecracker squeezes my neck, pulling me closer. She hikes one of her legs up, aligning our bodies.
I groan, pulling away, trailing kisses down her mouth, to her jaw, to her neck. Nipping and sucking as her body wiggles around in my lap.
Jesus Christ.
She’s grinding on my dick, making him come alive. I suck harder on her neck and she cries out, a noise escaping the back of her throat.
Pulling away, I nip her nose. “Hush now. I’m working my magic.” I peck her lips. Twice. “You’re the one that didn’t want an audience, remember?”
She bites her bottom lip, something I should be doing, and her cheeks flush. “Shut up and kiss me, Sebastian.”
Not a fucking problem. Drawing her bottom lip into my mouth, I suck on it, watching her react.
She tastes like beer and mint. I slide my tongue in, coaxing her to give me more. I need more. I want more.
My hand starts to move up her thigh, getting higher and higher, when she pulls away, panting. Flushed cheeks and swollen lips. I resist the urge to pull her back to me. She holds onto my shoulders, but doesn’t push away. “I have to stop.”
I nod, even though my body is humming, wanting more.
It’s been some time since I’ve had any action, but really? It fucking hasn’t been long enough for my body to resort back into its horny teenage self.
She keeps talking. “If we keep going, I’m going to feel really bad when I fall asleep during it.”
Words every guy likes to hear when he’s with a girl.
“You saying I’m boring?” I cock a brow. I almost call her Firecracker again since I still don’t know her name. Smooth, Cleaton, it really is just like being back in high school.
She’s laughing, the sound soft and lazy. Carefree. “Oh, you’re so boring. So boring that my exhaustion is catching up quicker than I’d like.” She kisses my lips. “I’m Emery, by the way.”
This girl is a mind reader. That’s her superpower. I’m calling it right now.
Or she’s recounted our night and realizes that the guy she just got hot and heavy with didn’t know her name. Something about that makes me feel even worse.
I didn’t pull her out here to make out with her, not that I regret doing it. Hells no.
But she should have gotten more respect before my DNA mixed with hers.
I should have at least asked for her name.
“Bash.” I wink, giving her a smile with all the arrogance I’ve gained from being the best at what I do.
“Way to ruin a fucking nice moment. That smile is awful.” She rolls her eyes. “If you make a comment about how you get girls to do this all the time, I will knee you in the balls. And if you take a look, you’ll see I’m in the perfect position for it.”
She’s still on my lap, with one leg between both of mine.
Message received.<
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“See, there’s that violence again,” I joke. “We’re going to have work on that.”
“Like I’ll ever see you again.” She doesn’t sound sad, she sounds neutral. Like she doesn’t have an opinion either way.
“You know—” My words get cut off by footsteps coming toward us. Emery shifts in my lap, but her grip on my shoulders tightens.
“Em, we gotta go.” The guy who tried to stop our verbal sparring earlier is the intruder.
Emery just stares.
To say it’s awkward that she’s sitting on my lap during this, I’d have to care what the other dude thinks and I don’t. He’s not her boyfriend. If he were, he wouldn’t have let her come out here with me.
Maybe he’s her brother—no, sparing him a look longer than a glance, they don’t look alike. Their features are complete opposites. From their eyes to their hair colors. Maybe cousins twice removed.
He seems kind of protective of Emery, like some type of family relationship.
At least, that’s what I’m hoping. I don’t feel like a fight tonight.
Emery doesn’t make a move to leave as her eyes begin to droop. Fuck, she really wasn’t lying about being tired. To prove the point further, she yawns in my face. My lips twitch at the small smile she gives afterward.
She doesn’t apologize and I really like that.
No one should apologize for things they can’t help.
And apologizing for yawning is pointless. Everyone does it. It’s contagious.
My jaw stretches wide and I’m yawning back.
See.
“Yeah, okay.” Her voice is small, her words slow. She tries to push off me but her body sways. Without thinking, I jump up too. My hands go to her hips, steadying her. The guy behind us watches. Doesn’t comment.
His silence is probably more aggravating than if he talked. At least see if she’s okay, fucker.
“I’m so tired.” She yawns again, her forehead hitting my chest.
“Jesus, Emery, how much did you drink?” His voice is hard, like tires on gravel.
I’m wrong. I prefer him silent. I prefer him gone, but that doesn’t seem to be happening. He seems to be her ride.
“Three beers,” she says into my bare chest. Her voice is soft, brushing over my skin. She pushes away to glare at her friend. “I’m not fucking drunk, Geer, so you can stop with that fucking judgment. I got tipsy. I’m not about to blackout. I’m tired because my body needs sleep. Sue me for staying out later than I wanted to.”
“Sure looks like you don’t regret it,” he says, folding his arms over his chest. His eyes dart to me. I give him a smug look.
Come at me, bro.
“I don’t,” she tells him. “Last I checked I’m a grown consenting adult who can make her own decisions. I had fun tonight. So stop being a judgmental ass and let’s go find your sister, my best friend.” She looks at me for the last part, like she added it for my benefit.
Ah, so that’s their connection. Makes sense.
I have an older sister, but I’m still protective of her and her best friend.
Emery pulls away from me, but then stops. “Want to help us look?”
I want to say yes. I do. But I made a promise to myself yesterday that I broke today and told myself I wasn’t having a repeat.
I’d get back into my routine tomorrow and that requires me getting up early. I didn’t get drunk tonight for that reason. So, like Emery I should be heading home. I shake my head, but end up saying, “Sure.”
Well, then. Guess that decides that. Waking up is going to be a bitch, but more people looking for a person saves time, right? Dividing and conquering and all that shit.
Plus, I’d feel worse about not helping.
Emery grabs my hand, shooting him a look. “If I see Dez’s naked ass tonight, I will literally throw up.”
I laugh, hoping the night doesn’t end like that. I don’t need to see his fucking ass, either.
Geer, unlike me, does not find it funny. As we walk by, he mumbles something about the two girls giving him gray hairs.
Yeah, being a brother is a fucking stressful job.
Emery shows me a picture on her phone of what Brit looks like. It’s them outside a bar, dressed up in all green, their cheeks have shamrocks painted on them. It had to have been taken during St. Patrick’s Day. There’s even green beer in their hands. Emery looks fucking cute. And her friend isn’t bad looking either. “Got any more recent pictures?”
I see what she looks like fine, but I want to look at more of them, more of her. Emery radiates happiness in person and in pictures.
She knows my game. She looks up at me, trying to pull off a serious expression, but failing. The corners of her mouth twitch. “You’re trying to be cute.”
“You already think I’m cute,” I remind her.
She rolls her eyes, waving my words away with a flick of her wrist. “One day you’ll forget I said that, but right now, let’s go find Brit.”
As we walk through the house with no sign of her friend, I ask, “Have you tried calling or texting her?”
“Yeah, that would be easy.” She laugh-snorts. “But Brit never keeps her phone charged. I told her to charge it before we left, but did she listen to me? Noooo, she didn’t, and it died on the way over here.”
If I could get away with my phone not being charged, it’d be less stressful for me. As it is, my phone has been vibrating in my pocket with voicemails, missed calls, and unanswered texts since I left.
Emery’s friend—Geer—disappears somewhere else, putting to use that divide and conquer method. Emery and I are sticking together. Her idea, one I’m not going to argue with.
I follow her through the house and into the open kitchen. She’s walking with a purpose, her footsteps acting with no hesitation.
She has this confidence about her.
She walks right up to a guy with both sides of his head shaved, barbell in his eyebrow, and beer in hand. He’s scrawny. Clothes hang off his body and his eyes are glassy. “Hey, Eddie. Hi. How’s it going? Have you seen Dez?”
The guy laughs, even though there wasn’t a punch line delivered. “Upstairs. Saw him with your friend.”
“Let’s go.” She turns around, patting me on the chest before pushing me out of the kitchen. As we’re walking away, I hear the guy yell, “Cockblocking, Emery?”
“Always. Gotta make sure my best friend doesn’t get pregnant. Imagine the horror.”
“You’re awful,” I say, smiling.
She looks up at me. “You enjoy it.”
“I just met you,” I remind her.
“And how many times do you need to hang out with a person to know if you like being around them?”
“Uh—” I don’t have an answer. I’ve never thought in those terms before. I hang out with people I like, but when did I know the exact moment I wanted to be around them? Not sure. Don’t really have a long list of people I chill with back home either, sooo. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “What about you?”
“I trust my gut,” she says in way of an answer. I poke her side, making her squeal, wanting her to elaborate. “You know the feeling you get when the decision you’re making is the right one? Or when you know you slayed a test? You’re listening to your gut. It also does the same with people. It’s a natural, instinctual way of feeling out people.”
“That doesn’t sound sketchy at all,” I deadpan. Despite my words, I think I’m going to listen to my gut. And my gut says to have more nights like this.
Have fun more often, Cleaton.
My gut also says to keep this girl around. I need more people like her in my life.
“I didn’t say it was a hundred percent foolproof. It’s like a lie detector. There are ways people can beat it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work—” A body backs into her, pushing her into my chest. My hands go to her waist, steadying her.
She makes a cute noise, like an attempt at a growl, but it sounds more like a cross between
choking and gargling. “If I crash into your chest one more time, I will scream.”
“Oooo, I’m scared.” I mock shudder.
She slaps my stomach. “Asshole.”
I raise a brow.
“You’re not the only person to call me that,” I tell her, pulling her up the stairs. Really just any excuse to touch her before this bizarre night of smiling and touching and kissing runs out.
I’m having fun for the first time in a while. I actually feel like I’m living again and don’t want that feeling to end. I’m a greedy bastard that way.
“You should think about adding that to your business cards, Cleaton.”
Jesus, this chick is funny and lacks a filter. She speaks without a care for what comes out, letting the first words flow. There’s no calculated attack, no double meaning.
Having money changes how people act around you. Everyone wants something. The majority of people in my life back home are fake. They look at me thinking of what I can do for them. What they can take from me. It’s a battle of lies, to see which ones can get me to cave, to give in. I haven’t actually felt welcomed around people for some time. At least not ones that don’t look at me like I am a walking sack of money.
It’s obvious that Emery knows who I am. She calls me by my first and last name.
And while that should have warning signs flashing in my head, it doesn’t.
She’s chill.
Hasn’t mentioned my career or asked what I’m doing here. She’s not asking anything personal. Tonight I don’t feel used. For the first time since God knows when, I don’t feel mentally drained from going to a party. I feel stoked. Buzzed.
Tonight has been fun with her.
And not only because we made out.
On the second floor, Emery walks toward the first door on our left. She bangs her fist hard enough to shake the wood. When we hear no answer, she tries the doorknob. Unlocked. She pushes the door open, but the room is empty.
We try the next two and a bathroom, but all are empty.
There’s only one more room left unchecked. Emery marches down the hallway toward it, not bothering to knock before she pushes the door open and walks in. Except she freezes in the doorway. I see her shoulders lock up. And she screams. Full on horror movie, voice altering screams.
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