Instacrush (A Rookie Rebels Novel)

by Kate Meader

  “Yeah, I know I should have worn a beard, but that itches. This is just for you, the best fans in the whole world.”

  He put Hunt’s spare key in the door while still holding the camera up. “Sorry if it gets a little bumpy. Now you guys know that Levi Hunt, superhero, former Green Beret, Rebels center, and totally awesome dude is my neighbor. He’ll be back in town before me and I didn’t give him a gift before I left because if I give one gift, I’ll have to get something for all of them. Basically, Petrov is a nightmare to shop for. But I had this awesome idea for Hunt. You’ll think it’s really boring but I’m always raiding his fridge and eating his food, so my gift to him is to stock his larder. Okay, that came out wrong. The guy is taken, so I’m not looking to stock his larder in that way. If that even is a way.”

  Yesterday, Sergeant—no, Corporal—Cupcake had accused Theo of stealing. The nerve. He’d always thought they had a mi casa es su casa thing going on, but now that he gave it a more weighty consideration, Hunt didn’t step across the hall all that often. Meaning, never. As for Elle, her usually lush mouth got that pinched look yesterday when he’d finished off her precious OJ. Was this really what the world had come to? Claiming ownership of the communal food like they were back in the college dorm?

  Theo was here to show her that he always repaid his debts. Still filming and treading as light as a cat burglar-slash-hot-Father Christmas, he headed into the kitchen with his sack and opened the fridge. For the benefit of the video, he added a cheery “Ho, ho—”

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Shit!” He dropped the sack—on his foot—and turned to find his cranky neighbor at the entrance to the kitchen. Shock soon gave way to hello there because damn, she was wearing lace-trimmed shorts and a sexy black camisole with thin little straps.

  “You’re not supposed to be here,” he muttered to her chest because that was a nice rack right there. He’d guessed as much but to be confronted with the rounded, supple evidence was most assuring.

  “That’s it!” She pointed at him. “I want that key back now.”

  He repositioned the camera. “Okay, kids, I’m going to have to cut this short. Have a—”

  An ear-splitting screech came from Elle’s direction. “Are you filming this breaking and entering?”

  “I’m not breaking and—hold on a second.” Back to the camera, he gave his most winning smile. “Have a great holiday, guys! And comment below with where you’d like me to celebrate New Year’s. Keep it clean!” He ended the recording and picked up his defense.

  “I had no idea you were here. Honestly.”

  “Am I on that?” She swooped in and grabbed the phone from his hand. “You have to delete it!”

  “I put it on my Insta feed but it’s not a big deal. It’s was just your voice. I didn’t even catch you in your …” He waved a hand between them. “Finery.”

  “Delete it. Now.” She handed back the phone.

  “Elle-oh-elle, it’s not—”

  “Now!” Her blue eyes had ignited into flames of fury, which was amazingly pretty on her. He’d never seen her so worked up and hell, it was giving him ideas.

  He supposed he could do without the video. It had been cut short after all, so it wasn’t his best work. A couple of taps later and he turned back to a furious, on-fire, lingerie-clad woman. “You’re supposed to be out of town. I thought you left early this morning.”

  She opened her mouth, closed it again. “My trip fell through.”

  Another lie. She was terrible at it which was a major problem for someone with so many secrets. “What happened?”

  “I just—so I’m on the outs with my family. It’s not a big deal but it’s just better if we’re not in each other’s space right now.”

  At the holidays? He leaned on the kitchen island, ready for a talk-to-your-uncle-Theo chat. “Because you were in the army?”

  “What? No. Sort of. It’s not really what they had in mind. I’m not really what they had in mind.” Her bitterness came through clear.

  “Families are tricky beasts.”

  “Even brownie-baking, art gallery-owning grandmothers?”

  “Especially. She was a total hard ass growing up, but there was no one I’d rather have in my corner when Mr. Hargreaves gave me detention for asking very reasonable questions.”

  She crossed her arms under those amazing breasts. “I think I’m going to regret this but what kind of questions?”

  “If he’d gotten Mrs. O’Reilly, the assistant principal, pregnant before or after his divorce from Mrs. Hargreaves. The man did not appreciate my insightful take on the situation.”

  She laughed, genuine and unrestrained, and God she was beautiful when her eyes glowed like lanterns. His body positively sizzled around her.

  She was trying not to, but he’d slipped in under her defenses. Not the only thing he’d like to slip under. One of the straps of her camisole had fallen off her shoulders, where it begged for his fingers to twine while figuring out the sexiest way to remove it altogether.

  “So, I suppose you have a reason for sneaking in here with your Santa hat and your sack of gifts?” She pointed at the floor. “Stick to talking about this sack of gifts, Kershaw.”

  “You sure? Because …” At her sharp look, he sighed. “Hunt comes back the day after Christmas so I thought I’d fill the fridge for both of you and make up for all the food I’ve eaten since the season started. My fans like videos of my adventures but this turned out to be more of an adventure than I expected.”

  Her brow puckered. “Thought you were heading to Michigan.”

  “Later this afternoon.” He should be leaving right after the Santa-bandit escapade but he had plenty of time. Just a three-hour drive belting out his tunes after sneaking a peppermint mocha from Starbucks, which was hell on his regimen. But he’d happily delay as Elle looked like she could do with a friend. “Let me take care of this pantry stocking business like the good little Santa I am and then I’ll make French toast.”

  “Kershaw, you don’t have to—”

  “Yes, I do. I’ve stolen your food and been a nuisance for months now. The least I can do is make you a pre-holiday breakfast. You won’t regret it, I promise.” He smiled, and she smiled back, and something caught in his chest that panged. Smiles shouldn’t hurt, should they?

  While he put away the groceries, she left to cover up, a sad, but necessary-for-his-dick turn of events. When she returned, she wore a baggy hoodie with the Cookie Monster saying “Why You Delete Cookies?” and flannel plaid PJs that he was pretty sure his dick could work with.

  He checked cupboards, looking for the extra nutmeg, cinnamon, and vanilla he would need to whisk up the French toast batter the way his gran had taught him. He’d only ever made this for her, actually. Even when he indulged in some fun Theo time—eons ago, it seemed—he didn’t usually offer his lady friends anything in the morning. Kind of rude, now that he thought of it, but French toast production was exactly that—a production—and implied a certain consideration. Anyone getting a bite of his toast was one lucky lady.

  Elle sat at the kitchen island, checking her phone, then finally looked up. “Anything I can do?”

  “Now she asks!” He beat the batter and shot her his hammiest wink. “Talk to me while I work. Tell me why you joined the army.”

  “Why does anyone do anything?”

  “Not an answer.”

  She sighed. “I wanted to do something useful. Growing up, I didn’t have a lot of opportunities for that. I was looking for some way to be shaped, I suppose.”

  To be shaped. Kind of an odd way to put it, as if her influences up until that point might misshape her. It made him wonder about her family.

  It made him wonder about a lot of things.

  The French toast was amazing. One more check in Kershaw’s perfection column, which was getting longer than a CVS receipt—and just as annoying.

  Elle eyed him over her coffee mug. “So, you’ve had these cooking
skills in your back pocket and you’ve chosen instead to raid Hunt’s fridge for sandwich and salad fixings on a daily basis?”

  He tapped his stomach, covered with a reindeer sweater that unfortunately wasn’t snug enough to be interesting. “Got to watch my girlish figure. I can’t be eating like this during the season.”

  “Isn’t it still during the season?”

  “I can take a break to indulge a little.” His eyelids were hooded over those green beauties and his voice hit a lower register on the word indulge.

  “Lucky I don’t have such considerations.” She forked the last piece of toast, the runt of the bunch, and added it to her syrup-laden plate.

  “Guess I’m not all bad.”

  “Your good looks are kind of irritating,” she said because it seemed to be expected.

  “But the dislike—is that for real?”

  “I don’t dislike you.” As she said it, really to be nice and not hurt his feelings, she realized it was mostly true.

  Theo Kershaw was impossible to dislike. Oh, he was eminently capable of aggravating the hell out of her, but that was more her problem than his.

  The truth was that Theo’s brand of fun inspired, not dislike, but envy and something akin to protectiveness. Because Theo Kershaw, Dick-Man, Superglutes, hockey god, and ruptured aneurysm survivor, was a rather pure soul. Too friendly, too nice, too innocent, a cinnamon roll who could be hurt big time.

  By people like her.

  Her family would take one look at Theo and see right past the jaw, the muscles, the grin to the good guy with a big bank balance who they could tear apart with their talons. That was how they survived.

  To her family of grifters, everyone was predator or prey. Turning her back on that life—on them—by going into the army was a slap in the face of what they had planned for her. In the service, she was a cog in a different machine, contributing to a common good. Not unlike carbon offsets, a rebalancing of the universe. Where her family took, she could give, or try to.

  For a while there, she thought that being sharp with Theo might toughen him up. The Theos of this world needed to be scoured and tempered so they could withstand the inevitable blows.

  Some girl would take advantage of him. Some accountant would skim off the top. Some agent would screw him over on his contract.

  Elle didn’t like these imagined enemies of Theo.

  She shook her head, unsure why her thoughts had blown the gate at Churchill Downs and were hurtling down the track toward the first turn. Abruptly, she stood and gathered the plates to place them in the sink.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She heard the scrape of his chair, the shift of his body, the shuffle toward her, as if she was the one who needed comfort. That’s how nice he was.

  “You look like you want to do serious damage to something or someone. Am I really pissing you off that—”

  She turned and kissed him. Mostly because she didn’t want to defend her scowl, but also because he needed to be kissed and she needed to be the one to do it.

  He made a surprised sound in his throat, a guttural oh yeah, but he caught up quickly. His arms came around, his hands found her ass—of course!—and his lips moved with relish over hers. As the kiss deepened, she realized her mistake. Her mind fogged. Dizziness overtook her. She clutched at his shoulders—pulling? pushing?—desperate to get her bearings. She hadn’t expected it to be so intoxicating.

  Tearing her mouth from his, she said, “Don’t read anything into it, Dick-Man.”

  Ah, but he did. Behind that grin, he was reading a complete fucking novel into it.

  “Knew it.”

  “That was just a Merry Christmas, thanks for breakfast, safe travels kiss.”

  He licked his lips, tasting her and the syrup, and she imagined that tongue tasting other things. It had been far too long.

  His hands still rested on her ass.

  Yes, much too long.

  “I don’t have to leave just yet,” he whispered, though it was only her to hear him. It made the words seem naughtier.

  “I don’t need you to stay.” Except for the good hard body you could provide because it’s been that long since I’ve had a good hard body—beside, over, inside me.

  “But …” He cocked his head, those molten shamrocks eyes assessing. “Would you like me to?”

  He wanted her to beg? She’d already kissed him. Wasn’t that enough?

  Apparently she’d given him cause to doubt, even with the kiss. Even with the fond thoughts she tried to telepathically inject into his brain. Couldn’t he figure it out that yes, she’d like him to stay without actually having to say, yes, she’d like him to stay.

  Men. Hopeless.

  “Tell me your Christmas wish, Ellie.”

  Ellie. Did she like that? She might.

  Her Christmas wish? To forget about her problems. To be unreasonably distracted. Theo could do that for her. Theo could be the perfect gift.

  “To see you in nothing but that hat.”

  His eyes burst into green-gold flames. “Think I can arrange that. But first …”

  Their lips met once more in a haze of wet-mouthed heat and lust, a live current rippling and reforming the space between them. Within seconds, control had slipped—for both of them—as the kiss turned deeper, frenzied, needful. She needed naked Theo now, quickly followed by erect Theo, and inside-her Theo.

  She pulled at the hem of his reindeer sweater. “Could you …?”

  “Oh, yeah, right.” He peeled it off, and hello, pectorals, how ya been? My God, this man had a body that should not be possible without Photoshop.

  He grabbed his hat where it had been tangled in his sweater and put it back on. “Important,” he muttered.

  “Very.”

  Standing back, he unlaced his boots and peeled them off, throwing them casually to the side. Should she help?

  No. Just watch, girl. Savor and enjoy.

  He must have read her mind because he smirked, or maybe that was just his default expression when performing a holiday striptease in a desperate woman’s kitchen.

  Finally, he got to the good stuff: the snap on his jeans, the scrape of the zipper, the unmistakable bulge fighting to escape once given room to work.

  “You sure about this?” he teased.

  “Just do it before I change my mind, Kershaw.”

  He chuckled, a sound that said no one would be changing their mind here. The die had been cast. The dick was on stage.

  The jeans went the way of the sweater, i.e. the floor. Best place for them. Never looked right on the man.

  There he stood in a Santa hat and snug boxer briefs with … were those dinosaurs?

  She blinked, covered her mouth, and giggled. “Nice underwear.”

  “Gift from my gran. Now, you.”

  That wasn’t how this was going to work. She pushed off from the counter, where she’d had to lean to catch her breath and save herself from melted-knee syndrome, and moved in close. Her hand strayed to his chest, brushed across one copper-pennied nipple.

  “I’m not an exhibitionist like you.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not ashamed. You got it, you flaunt it.”

  Easy for him to say. She was no prude, but she wasn’t able to compete with the level she saw before her. Nothing sculpted or honed about her body. She’d kept fit in the military but hadn’t been maintaining her regimen as diligently since leaving. Stripping in the unflattering light of Levi Hunt’s kitchen was not on the menu.

  He seemed to sense her confusion. He placed a hand on her hip, the other at the nape of her neck.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “We don’t have to do this.”

  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. It would be wonderful, she was sure of it. A clearing of the pipes. A beautiful male body used as the gods intended. But that was it: she would be using him—and she’d been making a concerted effort not to do that to people. She came from a long line o
f takers, and while she had no doubt this would be a mutual exchange of pleasure and bodily fluids, she still felt weird about it.

  “You’d be okay with me changing my mind?”

  “This is your show, Ellie.” But even as he said it, his cock twitched. She felt its sad poke against her stomach. Not a happy penis.

  She looked down at it. Covered by the head of a cartoon T-rex, it was still impressive.

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  Theo laughed, the sound slightly pained. “Yeah, you should definitely apologize to my dick. The big guy’s never gonna forgive us for getting him all worked up.” He kissed her softly, which was much more than she deserved for being such a tease. “Not a big deal. You want me out of your hair?” He tangled a finger in one of her errant curls.

  “Don’t you have to head home?”

  “Not for a while yet. But if you want to be alone, I can make that happen.” He waggled both eyebrows. “Or I could make Christmas lunch.”

  “We just had breakfast.”

  He waved it off. “Merely the appetizer.”

  “You mean you’d actually cook for me after I led you to the brink—”

  “Hardly the brink.”

  “And made your dick cranky.”

  With his hands still cradling her hips, he held her back a few inches and peered down at his groin. “You cranky, bud?”

  “Oh, God.” That was Elle, not Theo’s penis, speaking.

  He continued conversing with his chatty dick. “A little? Don’t worry, we’ll have some alone time later. A few happy, holiday tugs and you won’t even remember the mean lady who looked a hung-like-a-gift horse in the mouth.” All smiles, he met her astonished gaze once more. “We’re good.”

  Were they? Was she crazy to turn down an offer like this? Her ovaries certainly thought so.

  She stepped back, struck by the notion that leaving his arms was a mistake. That she might like to stay wrapped in them for a while longer and that she’d missed out on not just great sex, but self-care with a wonderful guy.