Bryant pats the girl on the arm. “I can make those. Don't you worry.”
I intervene again. “No, she won't. Bryant's got a paper due, and she can't make your damn pies.”
“Who are you?” the girl snaps.
“The asshole telling you no.” I physically lift Bryant to the left, grab her hand and muscle my way toward the back of the bar. BoHo has a side patio and that's where I'm headed. I find Julio surrounded by about a half-dozen women and slap a twenty in his hand. “Can you get me a draft—whatever’s on tap and, something fruity. Vodka and strawberries or something like.”
Bryant tugs on my arm. “Ace, are you okay? I thought you were hungry.”
Shit, I forgot she hadn't eaten. I yell Julio's name. One benefit of being tall is being able to see over a crowd. He spins around. “One order of hot wings and fries, too.”
He waves the twenty in the air and disappears toward the bar.
“No, I'm not okay,” I tell her and march up to a table. There's an empty chair. “Mind if I take this?” I don't wait for an answer, but pick it up in one hand. I drag it to the corner, where the bar and the patio meet. There's a small gathering there. I give them all a dark look. “I'm going to put the chair down and sit here because I'm tired from the game, got it?”
The students look at me and then at Bryant. “Don't look at her,” I bark out. “Move.”
They move.
I slam the chair on the ground and drag Bryant onto my lap. Whipping out my phone, I throw it in her hands. “Text Julio and let him know where we are.”
Wide-eyed, she does so. As she's typing in, another asshole appears. Kent, if I remember correctly.
“Bryant, Chryselle said you were here. Do you—”
Bryant's whole body expands and contracts as she sighs. She starts to rise. “Sure thing.”
I get up, drop a surprised Bryant into the chair and then face Kent with my arms crossed.
“I-I'll catch Bryant later,” Kent stammers.
“You do that.”
Another girl turns to watch Kent scurry off before approaching confidently. I glare at her. “Sorry, office is closed. Come back on Monday.”
She narrows her eyes. “I need to speak to Bryant.”
“Negative. In about thirty seconds, Bryant’s tongue is going to be in my mouth.”
“Ace!” Bryant cries.
I ignore her and continue to stare down my nose at the girl.
“Asshole,” she mutters and stomps away.
Bryant's fingernail pokes me in the back. “Ace, you can’t be saying stuff like that, even if you’re joking.”
“Who says I’m joking?”
A few others look in our direction, but the menace in my face keeps them from physically approaching us. Soon, there's a little bubble of space between my body and the rest of the bar.
Julio marches through the crowd with Bryant's food and drink. He stops inside my bubble, takes one look at my frown and backs up a step. “Dude, did you forget that we just won?”
“No.” I reach out for the drink, which I turn and hand to Bryant.
“Is that your favorite word?” she asks bemusedly. “No? That's all you've been saying tonight.”
“Because you seem to have lost track of it in your vocabulary,” I retort.
Julio dumps my beer and the basket of wings into my hands. “I'm going to leave now. I don't do domestic spats.” He winks at Bryant. “Even with beautiful girls like you.”
She gives him a little wave. “Have fun tonight, Julio. Don't forget to wrap it up.” She holds up a finger. “Wait, Ace, give him a condom.”
“Goddammit, Bryant. Julio is nineteen. He knows where to get condoms.”
I swear Julio's dark cheeks color. “Yeah, don't need any help there.”
He ducks back into the crowd, trying to hide as only a six-foot, four-inch wide receiver can.
Chuckling, I lean my ass against the wall of the bar, making sure my legs form a barrier, however small, between Bryant and the rest of the crowd. The basket of wings lays uneaten in her lap, but she chugs down the vodka martini.
“Thanks for this,” she sighs. “I didn't realize how badly I needed a drink.” She passes me the basket. “I actually had food in the hospitality tent.”
“Sure you did. Eat one.” I hold up a wing to her lips, and because she doesn't know how to say no, she takes a bite. And then another. And soon, she's gobbled down about half of the basket. Her hunger is sated, but all that damn nibbling and licking around my fingers has my dick raring to go.
The tight state of my jeans doesn't go unnoticed by Bryant. I hand her my beer, which she takes a small sip of while staring at my crotch.
“You looking at my cock isn't going to make it get any smaller.”
She flushes and looks down at the food. “I'm full now, really.”
“Good. Because I'm starved.” I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and tug her face forward toward me. “My turn to eat.”
I kiss her hard, driving my tongue into her mouth, tasting the tang of the barbecue sauce, the sweetness of her spirit. She resists at first, her innate sense of good breeding objecting to this very public display of affection. A mauling really, but I don't give a fuck. If Bryant's one skill is people, my skill is not giving many fucks at all.
Except about her.
Her resistance fades under my persistent attack—persistence being one of my positive traits. I don't ever give up. She softens, opening her mouth wider, and I take advantage of that.
I slide my hand from her neck, down the column of her spine, to tuck under her plush ass. One small hoist and she's up in my arms, pressed tight against me. Her fingers dig into the base of my skull, wanting more of me.
With one hand on either side of her hips, I rub her body up and down mine, wishing I could just flip her skirt up and take her right now. Unfortunately, there are a shit ton of people here and that behavior would mortify Bryant.
I set her down regretfully. Her eyelids are heavy with lust, and her lips are puffy, red, and wet. I groan and take a seat, pulling her ass down to cover my enormous hard-on.
She wiggles her butt, trying to get comfortable. “Ace, we're in public.”
I tip my head back against the tall wrought-iron fence. “I know.”
“You need to relax,” she scolds.
“I can't. All the blood in my body is currently under your ass at this point. It's a fucking miracle I can even form a sentence.”
“Then I'll get up.”
I clamp my hands around her waist. “The hell you will.”
“You’re supposed to be getting over your asshole ways.”
“Sometimes being an asshole comes in handy.” I try taking deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth, and order my dick to stand down. It doesn't listen well. New tactic. Distraction. “Tomorrow you go to church and then what? Bake a bazillion pies?” I'm not going to kid myself that I've done anything but buy a little time for Bryant. The minute I let her out of my sight, someone's going to take advantage of her.
She groans, and not in the sexy way. “Yeah, I suppose. I don't want to.”
“Why do you agree to do it?”
“I have a hard time saying no.”
“I’ve noticed.” I open my eyes and take in the crowd. For the most part, everyone's leaving us alone. It's getting late, and everyone's got their own nighttime interests to pursue. I stroke a hand from her knee up under the edge of her skirt. “So after you make pies, then what?”
“Ace.” She pushes at my hand. “We’re in public.”
I pause in my upward quest, my fingers long enough that they rest only a few inches from my favorite bits. “How many guys have you been with?”
“What kind of question is that?” she exclaims.
“How many?” Keeping an eye out for anyone watching, I glide up farther until my fingers are pressed against the damp cotton of her panties. I grin wickedly at her.
“Two. Okay, two!”
“I dated them.” She looks put out.
“And no sex?” What, were these guys eunuchs? They dated Bryant and non of them wanted to get into her panties? “Are you sure you didn't date a bunch of gay dudes?”
“No, I was not dating a bunch of gay dudes. Not everyone has a”—she searches for the right word—“libido like yours.”
“Libido?” Smirking, I drag her panties aside and run the pads of my fingers over the tender, hidden flesh.
“Sex drive, then.” Her arms drop, trying to disguise exactly where my hand is. “Stop. People are looking at us.”
I do a sweep of the patio. “No one is looking at us. Besides, it's dark back here. No one can see a damn thing.”
“Ace,” she begins, but her words are cut off when I push my middle finger inside of her.
“Yes, baby.” I lick her neck.
“D-don’t call me baby,” she stammers.
“All right.” I slip another finger inside of her and thumb her clit. Her breath catches. “No one can see,” I say again. “No one can see a thing.”
She melts against me. I shift her slightly so that her back is to the crowd. Maybe someone can tell I’m finger-fucking her, but not most. It’s crowded. This part of the patio is really dark. I'm not jacking my arm around. I'm merely working my fingers in and out of her slick pussy, feeling for that small patch of flesh inside of her that will set her off. My thumb rubs circles around her clit.
“You feel slick and hot,” I murmur against her throat.
She moans. “This...we shouldn't be doing this.”
“I’m so fucking hard right now. Can you feel me?” I push lightly against her ass.
“Mmhmm.”
“I wish we were alone right now. I’d swing those legs around and have you ride me. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I can feel you tightening around my fingers. Is this the naughtiest thing you’ve ever done, sweetheart?”
She buries her face in my shoulder. My fingers drag along her channel until I feel her teeth bite into my neck. Triumphant, I stroke her steadily. “You should slide your fingers right next to mine. You could feel how hot and tight you are. How goddamned fine you are.”
Bryant makes some garbled sound as her sex clamps down in response to my words.
“Come on my hand, B. Come all over my hand.” Her body tenses and then shudders as she starts to come. If anyone were to look at us in that moment, they'd only see the curve of her back supported by one broad palm and a fierce glow of satisfaction on my face as I pull an orgasm out of Bryant.
Trembling, she curls up into my lap. I withdraw from her hot, tight core with great reluctance. I swipe a napkin off the floor and, as discreetly as possible, wipe my fingers off. She shudders, and I draw her closer to my chest. I feel like I’m getting the hang of this girlfriend shit and it’s not half bad.
Not half bad at all.
22
Bryant
In all my years, I’ve never had anyone take care of me like Ace did the other night. He spent a lot of the time scowling at other people, and while I thought it was rude, his protectiveness was heartwarming.
And then there was the actual touching. My cheeks heat up remembering the outrageous way I allowed Ace to feel me up in the back corner of the patio. That was completely out of character for me. When I’m with Ace, I always feel slightly off-kilter.
“Bryant. Bryant!” I jerk around to see Dawn standing at the bottom of the steps, waving a hand in front of my face. “Sheesh, girl, where did you go?”
I grimace. See, completely unmoored. “Sorry, was just running over a mental checklist of all the things we need for the charity event.”
“I’m sure you have it all,” she says impatiently. “Let’s skedaddle, though, because if we’re any later all the good parking spaces will be taken, and we'll have to hoof it like five miles. You remember what happened the last time I wore these wedges.” She tilts her foot to the side, showing a mile-long length of leg.
Self-consciously, I wiggle my toes in my white tennies. I have short legs and thick ankles, which means I look the best in flats and strappy sandals and heels, but I planned to play in the charity game, so tennies it is. My stubby leg genetics aren’t my sorority sister's fault, though, so I give her the compliment she needs. “But it’s worth it. Your legs go on forever.”
“I wasn’t going to wear them, but I figured since I’m handling the merch table, there wasn’t any sense in my wearing flats or sneakers. So who all is coming from the football team?”
The team has a bye this weekend, which means no game. During this off week, the players participate in a charity football game put on by the Greek houses in conjunction with the athletics department. It’s a mixed gender flag football game that gets real competitive. The football team sends a few of its ringers over and we split them up, stacking the teams with guys and girls from the other sports like volleyball (those girls can jump) and basketball (height really makes a difference) and baseball (those boys can throw).
“Ty Masters, Carter Kittredge, Zane Bettman, Travarius Daly,” I recite as I grab the two bags of cupcake boxes.
“Ace?” she asks.
Dawn has shown a lot of interest in Ace from the beginning, and ordinarily that shouldn’t bother me, but it does. It’s like a burr in my behind every time she says his name.
“Yes, ma’am,” I tell her and walk hurriedly ahead.
She trots behind me in short, mincing steps. “Is he a leg man? That’s why I wanted to wear these heels. I love that he’s so tall. I was watching the game last week, and I swear he was half a head taller than the rest of the boys on the field. Are QBs always tall?”
“These days, yeah. You were watching the game?” I ask. “I thought you hated football.” In fact, the last time there was a game on in the house, Dawn made a big fuss because she was missing figure skating.
“I don’t mind it,” she lies. “Anyway, he played real well, didn’t he? And they were talking about him possibly being drafted into the pros.”
“Mmhmmm.” I open the car door and shove the cupcakes into the backseat.
Dawn doesn’t even notice my non-responsiveness. She just rambles on about how hot Ace is and how he seems real nice when he comes over and how she can’t wait till I’m finished with him.
I grip the steering wheel tighter.
“Do you think he’s good in bed? I know sometimes the good-looking ones suck in bed. Girls just keep faking their orgasms because they like the look of those boys outside the bedroom.”
I slam on the brakes. The cupcakes go flying.
“Oh my God, Bryant! I think you just ruined four dozen cupcakes!”
We look into the backseat—the boxes are askew. I pull over, and sure enough, it’s a disaster. “Sugar, sugar, sugar, sugar,” I curse.
Dawn moans. “Kayla is going to kill us.”
I close my eyes for a second and wish for a small natural disaster to occur, such as a teeny tiny wind funnel. When nothing comes my way, I pop my eyes open and stare at the multi-colored destruction in front of me. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to drop you off and then I’ll run over to the OldeTyme Bakery and buy whatever they have there. I’ll text you, and you can change up the signs and stuff.”
She screws up her face in disgust. “They won’t be homemade. That’s our whole thing. The AO stuff is in demand because we bake everything from scratch.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Fine. Then we go to the charity event without the cupcakes.”
“But then we’ll be short! The other houses will raise more money than us.”
“Then I’ll have my daddy donate to cover the difference.” My voice is perilously shrill.
“It’s not the same!” Dawn stomps her platform-shod foot.
“We were humiliated the last time we showed up without these.”
“I can’t help it!” I yell back.
Dawn’s mouth drops open in shock.
I bite my lip. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” An AO girl does not yell at her sister. “Come on, Dawn, standing here isn’t going to solve anything. Let’s get to the field and we’ll talk it over with the rest of the AOs, okay?” I plead.
She sniffles a bit, but gets in the car.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make a scene,” I apologize as I buckle up.
“It’s okay,” she mutters, but she stares out the window as she says it.
We end up having to park about four blocks away from Parker's Field, where the annual Foamball Classic is held. Thankfully, Dawn doesn't complain even a little about having to walk that far. We carry the ruined bakery goods over to the AO table that’s decorated in crimson, gold and more gold. We don’t do anything by half measures. Glitter dust hangs like a cloud around the table.
Kayla rushes over to us and grabs the bags. “Thank God you’re here. The Deltas are selling kisses from the girls’ and boys’ basketball teams! Look!” She jerks her head angrily down the field. I follow her gaze. Two tables down, there’s a long line of coeds in front of the pink-and-green Delta table.
I look down at the mess of cupcakes that are now in Kayla’s hands and feel ill. “Well, pucker up, Kayla, because our cupcakes are toast.”
“What happened?” she gasps as she opens the bags.
“Bryant braked too hard, and all the cupcakes got ruined,” Dawn informs everyone. “She thinks we should go and buy cupcakes from the OldeTyme Bakery and sell them here.”
Kayla gives me a disapproving look. “We can’t sell someone else’s baked goods as our own.”
“I know. It was just an idea.” By the wounded and accusatory expressions on my sisters’ faces, you'd think I suggested we serve poop-filled bags and not tasty donuts from the best bakery in town.
“I think—” Dawn starts. “Oh, there’s Ace.” She flips her bouncy brown curls over her shoulder and hails down Ace like he’s a taxicab in the city.
Downed (Gridiron #3) Page 19
