“Yeah, I didn’t. But I did.” His forehead creases, his eyes suddenly darkening. “I have a question.”
As he takes a step towards me, his palm gently caresses my cheek, and I hiccup a breath. My chest feels like I’ve already run a marathon. I can’t breathe, only watch his lips descend towards mine. “Yeah?”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he gets closer, the scent of his cologne suddenly stronger. Muskier. Sexier.
My thighs clench together; my panties become pointless. As hot as every fantasy I’ve ever had about Lance Gibson was, it is nothing compared to this. Having him in front of me, looking at me like I’m it … I whimper.
“Can you change your type?” he asks, the gravel of his tone setting me on fire.
My brain screams at me to stop but my lips press together. Just as his mouth hovers over mine, the door behind us swings open.
“Oops,” Whitney winces, squeezing her eyes shut. “I didn’t see a thing. I’ll just, um, go back inside now.”
I’m going to kill her.
Lance’s forehead rests on mine as he chuckles. “Probably for the best, huh?”
“Definitely,” I say, breathlessly. If he can’t hear my heart, he must be deaf, because it’s pounding so loud it’s almost all I can hear.
Whitney is a cold bucket of water but not quite cold enough to put out the flames. If he tried to kiss me again with her watching, I’d let him. I have half a notion to raise up and do it myself, but it is really probably for the best.
“I just can’t believe you were going to let me,” he grins.
“Um, I can,” Whitney chimes in. “Damn, Mariah. I let you leave here with Jonah and you come back with that? Teach me your tricks, oh wise one.”
Lance’s chuckle turns into a full-bellied laugh. “I’m Lance. It’s nice to meet you.”
Whitney leans against the door, outright ignoring me. “It’s nicer on my end, I assure you. Should I shut the door and let you kiss her?” She looks at me and then right back to Lance. “I should. I really should. A friend would. But damn it if I don’t want to just look at you.”
“I’m gonna go,” Lance laughs. “See ya on Monday, Mariah.”
“Bye.”
My feet don’t move until he’s in the car. Then I kind of stumble in the house. Or maybe Whitney drags me. I’m not sure.
“You’re meeting him on Monday?” she gushes. “Where’s Jonah? What happened? Tell me everything.”
“No, I’m not meeting him on Monday. I …”
There are so many questions. The answers, though, aren’t as easy to find.
“Did you not look out the window?” I ask, throwing my hands up in the air. “Isn’t there some girl code that says you look out the window?”
“No,” she balks. “I mean, maybe. If I thought you were actually going to be kissing a guy, I would’ve been a little more careful. But it’s you. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t boring little Jonah to death.”
“Seriously? Have you ever talked to Jonah?”
She shrugs. “No. But he’s cute.”
“I almost unfriended you over him alone. And now you’ve ruined my kiss, I think we’re done. It’s a condition,” I snort and head down the hallway.
“I said I’m sorry.”
“I’m going to take a bath,” I tell her.
“Then I’ll sit on the floor by the tub because you are answering my questions!”
Ten
Mariah
Sixteen. I feel like a freaking sixteen-year-old girl. Specifically, like the day when I was sixteen and the captain of the basketball team told me I was beautiful. Of course, he never said it again and continued on with his girlfriend who just happened to be Chrissy’s best friend. Still, I relived that moment for years.
Lying in bed with my hair still in a weird bun from the bath, I can’t wipe the goofy grin on my face. My forehead still sings with the feeling of his against mine. My cheek feels warm from the remembered heat of his palm. My heart is so full from the memories of Grandma Betsy brought out by Lance’s Nana. What a wonderful and weird evening.
Lance is a lot of things. Some of them I didn’t realize until tonight. It never occurred to me that he could be sweet or that he would go out of his way for … me. My head scrambles, trying to process too much information too quickly. I close my eyes, but just see his face.
Just like the sixteen-year-old version of myself, I’m on the precipice of falling. Whether in love or in lust or in a slight obsession, I’m not sure. I just know with absolute certainty I can’t do this again with Lance Gibson.
He’s a dead-end street. A good girl’s worst nightmare.
An unnecessary problem.
There’s so much potential beneath that sexy exterior. It’s almost possible to be tempted to give in and play his game. But I’m not just a good girl, I’m also a smart one. Smart enough to know it’s a game I’m well-versed in and one that will send me to heartbreak without passing go.
His smirk curls through my mind, like the slow, sly way the corners of his lips upturn. My back arches off the sheets, my toes digging into the mattress as I relive his touch.
My palm drags over my chest, remembering the feel of his hand on the small of my back, pulling at the towel covering my body. The air bites away at my warm skin, beading my nipples as I slip my hand between my legs. Covering the stretch of flesh connecting my thighs, a dampened heat warms my fingers.
I can’t do this every night. I can’t get myself off every twenty-four hours while pretending Lance is licking me. Touching me. Fucking me in positions I didn’t even know I could dream up.
Dipping fingertips into my soaked flesh, I release a shuddered breath. My decision is made.
I’m going to take matters into my own hands. And then I’m going to take other matters in my own hands before I’m really screwed.
Lance
Every light in my house is on. I went room to room and flipped every switch, looking for something to entertain myself. I don’t even care what it is as long as it’s distracting and fully consuming.
And not Mariah.
Falling spectacularly onto the guest room bed makes the springs squeak under my weight. This doesn’t help my current predicament. With every move I make, it sounds like a precursor to a good fuck and that makes my cock hurt worse.
“Damn it,” I growl out loud.
Hands over my face to block out the light I just turned on, my foot bounces on the floor. It’s a habit I’ve had since I was a kid and one I’m constantly on my students about. Sit still. Stop moving.
But I can’t.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I don’t take it out. It’s a reminder that I didn’t check the message on my dating app. The one from Nerdy Nurse.
“You should log in and find someone to fuck, you asshole,” I say to myself. “That would solve this stupid little fascination you have with Mariah.”
Just saying her name makes my balls tighten.
Cringing, I unbutton my pants and try to relieve some pressure. It just gives me more room to grow.
Historically speaking, getting off cures a lot of these type of ailments. Any time I think I might actually like a girl for more than her pussy, I can just come and everything is fixed. It’s almost magic. Like my jizz is some kind of anti-ship medication, proven to wash away any thoughts of words ending with those four letters.
The problem is this: I’ve already jacked off once since I got home. Thinking about Mariah’s round ass and swollen lips only made it worse. It’s like my cock is mad at me. Like it knew it wasn’t the real thing and now feels cheated.
Sighing, I get off the bed and roll my eyes at the squeak. Even the bed is taunting me.
My phone is heavy in my pocket and I take it out. The notification is on the front screen from Nerdy Nurse. I almost open it. Almost.
I stall. I get a drink. I place my phone on the fucking counter and purposefully walk into the other room like it’s a barrel of feelings I’m trying to avoid because God knows I avoid those. But it’s not. It’s a phone. A message from a woman I’ve been happily trading messages with for what feels like a long time.
Peeking around the corner, it sits right where I left it beside the coffee pot. I kind of hoped it would just vanish.
“Get your shit together,” I warn myself. Like a man on a mission, I march into the grey and blue kitchen and pick it up. Then I open it and call the only person I know to call. It rings four times before she picks up.
“Hello?” she asks.
“Hey, Blaire.”
“Preface this conversation by telling me if anyone is in jail.”
“No,” I laugh. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” she sighs. “It’s Saturday night. You’re calling late. The last time I talked to you, you were giving me a dissertation on dating apps. Machlan called a little while ago and he and Peck were going at it before the call was ended.”
“I take it back. I’m not in jail. I don’t know about the rest of them.”
She releases a long, frustrated breath. “Sometimes you guys make me feel like I already have kids.”
“When you’re an excellent mother one day, you can thank us.”
Her laugh, something you don’t hear too much from my sister, rolls through the phone. “Not planning on having kids anytime soon. Maybe ever.” As if she catches herself, her laughter mellows. “That was really inconsiderate of me.”
“It’s fine,” I say, not wanting to go there. Not right now. “Blaire, I have a problem.”
“Well, kudos to you for getting to the point without me dragging it out of you. Tell Walker to take notes.” The silence between us stretches longer than Blaire’s patience. “If you aren’t going to tell me, let me get off of here. I have a brief due in the morning and, while you find yourself fascinating, I really don’t.”