Behind the Count: Cessna U Wildcats Book Two

by Readnour, Kimberly

  “You shouldn’t have walked over in the rain.” I push the door back farther to let him inside.

  “’Tis ’kay. I had to check on you.”

  “I appreciate that, but you’re soaking wet.” I place my arms around his waist and shiver from his wetness pressed against me. Or maybe, it’s from being tucked against his hard frame. It’s difficult to tell. “Take your shoes off. Mom will kill me if you track water on the floor.”

  Once he complies, I lead him toward the living room, but we stop at the edge of the room. My gaze lands on the white cloth-covered furniture. Yeah, that’s not going to work. I need to get him changed into some dry clothes. Otherwise, there won’t be anywhere for him to sit.

  “Let’s go upstairs.”

  He whips his head toward me. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “What? Why?” I guide his body toward the stairs.

  “You don’t know.”

  “Know what?” Truthfully, I want to laugh because I’ve never seen Noah drunk. He’s the designated driver. He’s meticulous about what he puts in his body. Food being fuel and having to put the correct fuel in or whatever reasoning he uses.

  “What?” I prompt again.

  “That I like you.”

  My heart stutters as my mind tries to put more meaning behind his words. I know he likes me, but what I want is so much more than being Braxton’s kid sister.

  “Yeah, I like you too.” Just more than you’ll ever know.

  He stops walking and turns to face me. His mouth opens, and for a hopeful moment, I think he’s about to confess some suppressed undying love, but nothing comes out. My body deflates. Even in his drunken state, he can’t admit he likes me as more than just a friend, which serves to reconfirm the fact friendship is all that will ever be between us.

  “Come on, we need to get you some dry clothes.”

  I lead him to the bathroom that joins Braxton’s bedroom and mine. The problem being we have to endure the staircase. Noah’s body engulfs mine, and I swear all one hundred eighty-five pounds of him lean on me as we maneuver each step.

  I’ve never seen him drink, let alone be this wasted. I knew the anniversary of his dad’s death strikes him hard, but I was clueless as to how much. We were so little when he died.

  “A little bit more to go,” I tell him.

  “I’m supposed to be protecting you. Not the other way around.” He leans closer, which causes me to lose my footing. I grab on to the railing and push him back upright with my hip.

  “We can protect each other.”

  “Hmm, I like that. A lot.”

  By some act of God, we make it to the bathroom. I prop him against the vanity where his long, lean body seems to stay. His ass rests against the marble countertop, and his feet are crossed at the ankles. I stand mere inches away. His gaze locks on mine, our breaths the only sound filling the confined space. There’s something different about the way he eyes me—an intensity never before present. My nipples harden as years of attraction to this man surface. I want to curse at how easily my traitorous body responds, but what good will that do? There’s no hiding my arousal—especially in my now wet T-shirt.

  And he notices.

  I watch as his jaw slackens and his gaze dips lower. The word fuck falls from his lips right as another thunderclap booms overhead, shaking the entire house, including my heart. I spring forward as I let out a yelp. But this only serves to erase the gap between us. Strong arms wrap around me as I press into his firm body.

  “I’ve got you.” The timbre of his voice sliding its way along my skin, the protective way he holds me, and the intimate way he places a soft kiss, on the top of my head, make what I’m feeling more real.

  But this is Noah.

  And he’s drunk.

  No matter how badly I want his gestures to mean more, they don’t.

  But before the thought has time to fully register, I choose not to believe it. I lean my head back and study him. His breaths match mine—short and fast—but it’s the heat blazing in those hazel-green eyes that makes me think I’m wrong. That there could be more behind his look. It’s confusing. Fire races through my veins and clouds my judgment. I blame this confusion for my next moves when I push on to my toes and place my lips upon his.

  The connection between us is instant and feels as wonderful as I imagined until I realize he isn’t reciprocating. His body stiffens under my touch, and the arms that felt warm wrapped around me are now heavy and distant. Even more so after he breaks the kiss.

  “Sprinkles.” My nickname comes out as a half plea-slash-half warning, and a part of me dies.

  Heat flames my cheeks as I back away. I drop my gaze to the floor. There’s no way I want to see if his expression matches that pained voice. It would kill me. “Wait here while I go get you some dry clothes.”

  His arm reaches for me but falls to his side when I pivot and rush through the door. What was I thinking letting my imagination get the best of me? He wouldn’t want anything to do with me. He’ll never see me as more than Braxton’s little sister and will never break that trust between them. He and Gee-Gee have been best friends since they were little. But friendship aside, Noah isn’t known for being picky. If he doesn’t kiss me when he’s inebriated, that can only mean one thing—he’s not attracted to me. But that look. How did I misinterpret the meaning that badly?

  I hope he’s too drunk to remember. Otherwise, I don’t think I can look at him in the face ever again. I snatch the well-worn Cessna U Wildcats T-shirt and sweatpants out of Braxton’s dresser. The last thing I want to do is walk back in there and face him. He’s going to think I’m a stupid little girl. But what choice do I have?

  When I return, my feet stammer. Oh, holy hotness. He leans against the vanity, stripped down to his boxers. I can’t stop myself from raking my gaze over his chest and along the cut ridges of his abdomen. Oh, those abs. His body is pure perfection, which comes with being an athlete and spending countless hours in the gym. Not every baseball player stays as fit, but Noah has always been health conscious, and his efforts have paid off.

  I’m still staring when he pushes from the counter and steps closer.

  “Here.” I shove the stack of clothes toward his bare chest and force myself to look at his face. I immediately regret my decision. The golden flecks in his green eyes flicker and dance like flames. A hidden warning that if I get too close, I’ll get scorched. My heart rate spikes. That look is pure want—not my imagination. I can’t take it. A half-naked and wet Noah looking at me like he wants to devour me is too much visual overload. I turn to leave, but his hands clamp around my upper arms with just enough force to stop me. The spare clothes fall to the ground.

  “Shannon.”

  I bite my bottom lip and slowly turn to meet his gaze.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t be… I shouldn’t…” There’s a sadness to his voice, a mixture of pain and confusion that mirrors his expression as he tries to formulate his sentence. My breath escapes me. He looks lost as if he’s contemplating his next move and coming up empty.

  “Noah.” I wince at how his name comes out as an unspoken demand, pleading him to see me for who I am. I’ve longed for this moment forever. I’m not sure if it’s the desperation in my voice that breaks him, but he caves to whatever was holding him back, and his lips are back on mine. Unlike his earlier resistance, I gladly open my mouth and welcome his intrusion. The taste of vodka coats his tongue and lights my body on fire. I greedily take what he offers. His hands slide up my arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. When those deft fingers embrace my jaw, he angles his head and deepens the kiss.

  And, oh my God, I lose the sense of everything. A groan escapes as he devours my mouth. Each nip, each lick an indication of the heat that’s been building between us for years.

  My hands wander along each defined muscle until they loop around to his back. I never felt so protected, so right, as I do in his arms. One of his hands skims across my shoulder and down along
my shirt’s cotton material until making its way to the front and fully cupping my breast. I try not to stiffen under his touch, try not to let my fear overcome me, but my brain won’t shut off. If he removes my shirt in this florescent lighting, he’ll be like my ex-boyfriend, and—

  I lose all train of thought as he tweaks my nipple. Despite the barrier my shirt provides, tingles shoot straight to my core. I let out a moan that is filled with years’ worth of longing for this man.

  And then I feel it.

  The exact moment reality bubbles to the surface and ruins what could be between us.

  “Damn it, Shannon.” He places his head on my forehead, panting heavily. “I’m so sorry. I should have never…” His face contorts, and my heart breaks because I know what’s coming next. “I have to go.”

  He snatches his clothes from the ground and leaves me standing on the wet tiled floor, dazed and confused.

  Rejected and denied.

  Again.

  But unlike my ex-boyfriend, Noah kissed me like he wanted me. Like I was his next breath. I may not have much experience with guys, but I didn’t imagine those feelings. I couldn’t have. When the front door slams shut, signaling I’m all alone, I close my eyes to fend off the tears.

  Perhaps, I did.

  Chapter Two

  Noah

  Stifling a groan as Marla’s text flashes across my screen, I slam my bedroom door. My ex-fuck buddy is the last person I want to see tonight. And I stress the word ex since we aren’t hooking up anymore. A fact I made clear at the beginning of last semester. But here lies the problem—she refuses to let go.

  I haven’t exactly been a one-and-done type of guy. Okay, that’s a lie. They’ve all been one-nighters, but with Marla, we’ve hooked up sporadically since freshmen year. She knows I’m not the settling type. I made my intentions clear from the start and thought we were on the same page. I even reminded her, but she somehow finagled her way back into my bed. Finally, I broke off our arrangement for good last fall. I can’t quite put my finger as to why, but ever since last school year began, being with Marla never felt right and I didn’t want to use her.

  Me: I’m good. I don’t need company.

  More specifically, I don’t need her company, but damn, I hate to be that blunt. Being this short with her in the text is rude enough, but I don’t know what else to say or do. I’ve already told her I don’t have feelings for her. She refuses to listen and tells me I don’t know what I want.

  Garlic and onions assault my senses when I reach the stairs, and I’m instantly intrigued. Smells like these are a rarity in jock housing. I look past the living room and into the kitchen and about stumble down the remaining steps. A wannabe chef stands by the stove, looking an awful lot like my best friend. But this body double must be an imposter. Or an alien body snatcher because Braxton doesn’t cook. Like ever.

  The upside to living in jock housing is the convenience of staying on campus with apartment-style homes. The downside is having to feed ourselves. Out of the four guys living here, Braxton cooks the least.

  Half-afraid of what I might find, I pad across the hardwood floor and into the open kitchen. Braxton coats the pan with more olive oil and adds fresh spinach to the sautéed onions and garlic. I’m in awe.

  “Any reason behind why you’re suddenly Mr. Domesticated?” I ask.

  “Because I’m fucking awesome.” He works the spinach with a wooden spatula I didn’t know we owned.

  “Okay, dickhead. I want the real reason. You’ve never cooked anything more than macaroni and cheese.” I swipe my hand over the raw ground beef and uncooked manicotti shells. “This is like some Gordon Ramsey shit.”

  “Ha, ha. I’m making Cara a celebratory meal for getting the internship at the animal clinic.”

  “But you don’t cook.” My phone buzzes in my pocket.

  “Which makes it special.” The look he tosses me can only be construed one way—I’m an idiot. “Besides, how hard can cooking be? It’s Simple Simon, really.”

  “Glad you have it handled there, Gordy.” I laugh when he shoots me the middle finger. I glance down at the phone and try not to frown at Marla’s text. “Speaking of animals, Garret’s bringing Miller with him today.”

  I’ll be glad to have our pet back even if it is temporary. I’ve missed the little guy. We intentionally waited until the second week of school before sneaking Miller back on campus. Garret, our shortstop and third roommate, wanted to get a feel for the freshmen teammates before introducing the unofficial mascot. We can’t risk any newbies ratting us out and ending up with another fiasco like last year. After the school learned we had a stray, they had animal services haul Miller away. With Cara’s help, Garret managed to adopt him, and Miller lives with his parents since they are local. Braxton’s girlfriend talked with Coach and the dean to make arrangements. We now have specialized visits. Miller isn’t supposed to stay longer than a day or two, but technically, he’s not living here, so…

  “Good. Cara and Shannon will be happy.”

  My stomach tightens at the mention of his sister. “Shannon’s coming too?”

  “Of course. You’d kick my ass if I didn’t invite our sister.” He flashes me a grin but moves to stir the spinach.

  “Damn straight.” I mask the frustration in my voice. The fact my best friend thinks of the three of us as siblings is the main reason for squashing the memory of how incredible our sister felt in my arms. Or the remembrance of how her tits felt pressed against my chest. Tucked beside me, she felt as if she belonged. And I’m not allowed to think that way. Not with her. Not with anyone. Long-term relationships aren’t in my future, and it’s the reason I remain single. I could never use anyone, and that doubles for Shannon.

  She’s been avoiding me since I made such a complete ass of myself at the end of summer. I need to man up and apologize. It’s just…saying sorry for kissing her makes the act seem wrong. And trust me, there isn’t one thing wrong with her. That night, I was too drunk to be around people—especially my one weakness. I let my guard down and took advantage of her vulnerability.

  My mind flits to Marla’s message of “I’m almost there.” Tonight isn’t a good night for Shannon to come over. Marla being here at the same time will make our awkward situation worse. Damn it. I fire another text to Marla.

  Me: I don’t want you to come over.

  Harsh? Maybe, but I don’t know how to make it any clearer.

  “What do you think about the new freshman Harry Boyles?” Braxton brings me back to the present as he pulls the spinach out of the pan and squeezes the green gloppy mess. I have no idea what the hell he’s doing, but I don’t ask. Instead, I watch with disgust as he mixes the goop and raw hamburger together.

  “He’s talented. And his stats look good,” I finally say. I’m not sure this conversation is any better. They’re both making my stomach upset.

  “His stats are killer. With a batting average of .325, he’ll be a good asset. It’s an amazing average especially for a freshman. Coach may move him to the varsity team.”

  “Yeah.” Thanks for pointing it out. “We’ll see how he transitions to college ball.”

  I don’t want to sound like an ass, but the kid is jockeying for my position. The sting from being passed over during last year’s draft hasn’t gone away. I have to keep focused and make this my year. I can’t let things like talented new blood and complications that come with girls get in the way. Too much is riding on this season. It’s my last shot to make it big.

  Reaffirming my single status makes me dread seeing Shannon even more. The girl is too damn tempting, and if circumstances were different, I’d be all over her. But who am I kidding? After making a complete fool of myself that night, she doesn’t want anything to do with me. She may have been the one to initiate the kiss, but the entire situation falls on me. I hit her at a vulnerable time. Something I should have never done. It would be easy to blame the alcohol that night, but I knew what I was doing. I sat in my house alone an
d was a quarter into the bottle of Grey Goose when the storm hit. By the time I was halfway through, I couldn’t resist.

  I knew her family was gone and hated the thought of her being scared and alone. I’ve known Shannon since she was five years old. I know her quirks and fears. The only rational thought going through my mind that night was to protect her. The other mistake, besides going there in the first place, was underestimating my ability to keep my feelings in check while inebriated.

  When I woke the next morning, I wanted to kick my ass for taking advantage of her vulnerability. Instead of apologizing to her like a decent human being, I took the coward’s way out and said nothing. When we saw each other next, I made things worse by playing it off as if nothing happened. As if our incredible kiss was a mere moment lost to the drunken state.

  Shannon Smith is anything but forgettable.

  Not one hot-blooded male could forget an incredible body like hers. Those curves. Her heat. They all play in my mind on repeat. But I can’t act on my feelings. Nothing good can come from it. If Braxton had the slightest clue what transpired that night or… Face it, if he read my current thoughts, he’d definitely kick my ass. I’d take him down in any given match, but Shannon means too much to the both of us.

  But he’s dead wrong labeling her as my sister. My insides cringe at the thought. A person doesn’t have X-rated thoughts about their sister. In my defense, who wouldn’t have those thoughts about her? She’s Goddamn perfect.

  Braxton starts placing the meat inside the uncooked shells, and I can’t help but laugh. “Don’t you have to cook the meat and pasta first?”

  “Leave the dish to the expert. I watched the video.”

  “Uh, okay.” I amble over to the refrigerator with every intent on figuring out a backup plan for supper. I hate to break it to him, but I have a feeling this meal is going to be a bust. I open the refrigerator door and sigh. “I need to get to the store.” The doorbell rings.