by Susan Ward
I can’t help but feel like breaking something. They make it sound like neither of them has ever hooked up fast with a guy before. But they have, and I haven’t. Not with Eric or any guy.
Gee, they have nothing to disapprove of. Why am I feeling shamefaced? Thinking of hooking up with a guy isn’t the same thing as doing it. And how Eric looks has nothing to do with why I’m being so kind to him. I’d do it for any guy stuck in such a tough situation.
“Willow, we had an agreement. You were supposed to tell him to leave this morning.”
That causes me to swivel around to face Jade. “He hasn’t called his mom yet.”
“Then give him your phone and get him out of here,” she says firmly.
I cross my arms. “I will.”
“See that you do. The sooner the better.”
Sooner the better. For who?
The disappointment intensifies on both their faces.
Fuck, like rushing to judgment much? I’ve already been tried and convicted of the deed by them. And all kinds of foolish things I haven’t even done yet.
Gee, can they let me make a mistake before they accuse me of making one?
Mistakes—my inner me groans again.
Damn it, why did I run out of the bedroom? I could have been having hot morning sex with Mr. Perfect Cock instead of being girl bashed by them.
God, he has such an incredible body.
My blood sears in my veins.
It was scrumptious even lying in a heap on the floor. I bet he knows how to use it. No guy who looks like that could ever be a bad fuck. It wouldn’t be fair to girls.
Jade growlingly clears her throat and I realize my cheeks are hot. It’s awful when your sister can read the thoughts in your head like a book.
“It’s like you’re suffering from Stockholm syndrome or something, Willow,” she jeers, testy. “Jesus Christ, you’ve only known him one day and he’s already got you wrapped around his finger.”
I hurry to the coffee maker, grab a cup, and take an absurd amount of time filling it so my face isn’t toward her.
“This ends now.” Ivy’s tone makes my face snap toward her, and she throws down her napkin. “If we don’t do something right away we’ll never get him out. He’ll be like Cole. Living on the couch and mooching up as much as he can. Or that flea-bitten cat she rescued. Once she gets in save-them mode she doesn’t have an off switch. It’s like it’s broken or something.”
“It is not,” I counter hotly, not liking their assessment and how they’re ganging up on me.
“It is if we leave it to you, Willow. You helping out a guy always ends the same way,” Ivy grumbles. “Bad for you. Bad for everyone. It’s like you’re a use-me magnet for unemployed, broke jerks. Cole on the couch six months. I can’t even count the number of guys who owe you money that haven’t paid you back. I’m fixing this before that asshole walks away with half your college fund. Not happening. Not this time. I’ll go deal with him.”
I’m about to say no when instead I hear, “Deal with me about what, love?”
“You getting…” Ivy’s blustering voice trails off and the room suspends in silence that’s like a zap.
I’m momentarily stunned. She never shuts up, not when she’s on roll on her soapbox.
And look at her.
Gaping and eyes wide.
What’d Eric do to create that miracle?
I turn my head and nearly drop my coffee cup.
Dang it.
I’ve already seen this—actually more of him than this—and it shouldn’t still knock me off my feet. But what my eyes are savoring not only makes me wobble, it turns my heart into a conga drum blasting heat through my body.
There.
Leaning against the doorway.
Tan skin caressed by the orangey rays of morning light filling the apartment.
Wearing only his jeans.
No guy should look this good shirtless and with his pants low on his hips.
Adorably bed mussed, like we just had sex.
Only we didn’t.
Eric.
And oh God, maybe they’re right.
Maybe he is one of those guys.
The visual orgasm on two legs who knows exactly how to get what he wants from girls. He’s certainly gotten Ivy to shut up fast. All he’s doing is standing there adorably confused.
“What, Ivy?” Eric repeats, his smile spreading wide.
“Nothing,” I announce, shutting down Ivy before she can get revved up again. “My sister wanted to know what you wanted for breakfast.”
“Oh.” His potent blue gaze lands on my sister then shifts back to me. “That’s sweet of you, Jade. But you don’t have to make a fuss over me. It’s not like I’m a guest or anything.” He says that in a self-deprecating way and it makes him charming as shit. All that sexy confidence, even when it’s obvious he knows exactly what Ivy was marching out of the room to do.
As he moves past me, he tucks a stray hair behind my ear and stares down at me for a moment while he brushes my cheek with a thumb. His expression is unreadable, but my breath hitches at the contact of his fingers.
“Are we eating, love?” I know this is for the benefit of watching Ivy, but his husky voice and the endearment turn my insides to mush.
“I thought we would. Unless—” I manage to stop myself before saying you want to do something else.
His eyes soften, and he leans in to put a light peck on my cheek. Damn, my knees go weaker. “Breakfast works for me. I’m starving. I’ll just have whatever everyone else is having.”
Eric crosses the room and sits at the table. He picks up boxes from the center and studies them, and I know I’m not the only one in the room that hasn’t dragged their eyes from him.
And why’s there that sweet little pucker in his brow as he studies the nutrition label? Who reads the labels on Cocoa Puffs? The name pretty much gives away it doesn’t fit into a healthy diet. It’s like he’s never seen cold cereal before.
“Get him a bowl,” Jade says, annoyed.
Grabbing one from the cabinet, I lean around Ivy to set it in front of Eric. “Keep staring at him that way and you’ll turn to salt, Ivy,” I hiss in her ear.
Ivy’s gaze shoots in my direction.
I smile and, holy cow, did Ivy blush?
My gloating smirk enlarges, and she crinkles her nose at me. Her expression—one of my faves—is the he doesn’t do anything for me one, but this girl is calling bullshit on that. She was gawking and molesting his bod with her eyes for nearly two minutes until I stopped her.
OK. That’s an exaggeration. But Ivy did drool over Eric. And even though it killed her tirade, I don’t like it.
Eric looks up at me as he fills his bowl. “You going to eat, Willow?”
I glance at him. His expression is polite, but I can feel we’re all amusing him. It is kind of silly how we’ve all stopped doing what we were doing. And definitely embarrassing that we’re staring at him.
Pulling back the chair beside him, I drop down on it and reach for a box.
“So what’s the plan today?” he asks, encompassing all three of us with his gaze.
Jade raises her brows. The way he said that did make it sound like he’s planning to stay here for a while. Ignoring my sister, I pour milk onto my cereal and suggest, “You could come help me in the bar.”
“You work today?” He turns his head and stares at me briefly in surprise before his eyes are back on his food.
I nod. “Jade put me on the schedule first shift. Which isn’t nice since I worked closing last night. I’ve gotta start in about a half hour. But it’s only a short shift this morning. Four hours. The setup prep before we open.” Tossing him a flirty look. “I could get it done in two hours if you did some of my work while I set up the bar. That would leave most of the rest of the day free for us to do something until you get money from your mom, so you can book a way home.”
Eric
grins at me. “I like that plan. No guy would pass on the opportunity to be with you as much as he could, love. Count me in.”
Ivy leaps up from her chair and drops her bowl in the sink. “I bet you’ve never cleaned anything in your life.”
Eric’s face snaps up from his Cocoa Puffs. “Cleaned?” He says that word like he doesn’t know the definition.
“You’ve never had a job before, have you, slick?” Jade asks, shaking her head at him.
His mouth puckers as if considering how to answer. “No. I haven’t, but I’m starting one when I hit LA. Got it in the bag.”
Ivy rolls her eyes. Her severely disgusted eyes drill into me. “Can I read them or can I read them? What’d I tell you?”
My subconscious glares at me, wagging her finger the way she does when I should listen to Ivy, then I look at him and I drop-kick sensible Willow out of my head as my thoughts morph into more pleasant things.
Like having him downstairs in the bar while I work.
Like spending the day with him.
Like getting every drop of wonderful I can before Eric leaves Seattle.
I flush, remembering how he kissed me awake. The feel of his lips and the taste of his mouth. He’s such an amazing guy. No girl would pass on a chance with him.
“You better finish eating and get downstairs, Willow.” Jade’s voice jolts me from my reverie. “There’s a lot of work that needs to get done before the bar opens. You’re not taking off before it’s finished even if you’re done with your shift.”
I grab my spoon and attack my bowl.
Chapter Twelve
Eric
THE MORNING DRAGS ALONG in the apartment even though Willow left me her laptop and password. All in all, not a bad start to the day. I’ve still got a place to crash, thanks to my charm and fast thinking. I managed to dodge a bullet with the helping her work thing, thanks to…oh, whatever.
If only everything in my life was this easy to fix. Raking back my hair, I scroll through my Messenger sidebar opened on my FB page.
What the fuck? Still no one’s texted me back. I sent out a what’s up note to everyone on my contact list, the usual kind of shit I do when I’m bored that never fails to achieve rapid and numerous responses. Thought maybe the soft approach would work to get an opening to ask for money.
Shit, none of my peeps are even responding to that.
Well, fuck ’em.
I slap shut Willow’s computer.
They can’t ignore me forever.
Too many people love me.
Too many of my friends want the money and life I have to stay permanently absent from my world. I’ve got a record contract, a famous family, and I am me.
They’ll be back after whatever this is blows over. I’m pretty sure I can credit the momentary blackout to Tara spewing in everyone’s ears the way my dad did with my family. Though, for the life of me, I can’t figure out what nasty info that bitch could have spread to accomplish this.
Total Messenger silence.
Someone will hit me up soon. They won’t be able to stop themselves. And then everything will be right again.
Now what?
If I had running gear, I’d go for a run to work off the tension—sexual tension. Waking up beside a warm, luscious body and not getting any is something I don’t want to do again. Ever.
I’ve been blue-balled since she left me in the bedroom. And, fuck, that was after she gave me a body slam like we were in a mosh pit, and the weird way she stared at me during her I need to think moment.
That was something else. Closing my eyes, I feel her mouth against mine, then imagine it roving down my body to where I wish it’d been.
My cock seconds my fantasy.
Fuck.
I laugh out loud. Even frustrated, that girl makes me hot and…happy? Fuck yeah. Being near Willow is like downing a dose of happy pills.
No matter what Willow does, I feel a smile inside me.
It also gives me a boner.
I bring my body to heel since it wouldn’t be wise to get too far down the hard cock lane, seeing as how Willow’s working, and check the clock.
Almost four hours have passed since she left the apartment. Is it safe to go downstairs and be with her while she’s finishing her shift? When she left, she was wearing a tight tank top and temptingly short cutoff jeans. I’d love to watch her bend and work in those. That girl’s got great legs, ass, and tits.
I contemplate going into the shower to rub one off. I’m that keyed up just thinking about her. But that probably wouldn’t be polite, shooting my streams in a stranger’s shower. I shouldn’t do it, even if the water will wash it away, and I’m fucking like granite again.
Shit, I need to think of something else until I can get my hands on the real thing: Willow. Me and her. Alone today somewhere. The second she’s done with work, right back to this bedroom is where I’d go with her if I had my way.
Nah, I don’t think that’s going to be how it goes down. Staring at all the pink and cutesy crap tucked into her things, it’s probably not the right move to pick her up from downstairs and go straight to getting busy in bed.
It’s a crazy thought, but maybe she’s a virgin and that’s why seeing me hard and ready to fuck startled her this morning. That could be the reason why kissing her awake didn’t work out as well as it started.
The blood quickens in my veins.
Shit, I’ve never been anyone’s first before. Just the thought of that—sinking my cock in where no guy has gone before—makes me ache.
It’s not like I have an aversion to being a girl’s first. Quite the opposite. Almost every guy wants to at least once shred some girl’s V-card. I’m no exception. But they’re near impossible to find in the crowd I hang with and trickier to deal with than experienced girls, which is why I’ve never been any girl’s first time before.
Holy fuck, what do you do with a virgin? Duh, Eric, you pop their cherry. A guy who gets to pop Willow’s would be one lucky bastard.
I shake my head. Christ, this is nuts, and I’m heating up and psyching myself out for no reason. It’s not possible Willow’s a virgin. Not with a face and body like that. And Christ, she’s twenty, and during the college years even if you’re not in college you pass them as if you were: fucking, fucking, and more fucking.
Yep, that’s pretty much all anyone does while obtaining their degree. Fucking as much as they can, however and wherever they want to. Knowing that was almost enough to make me want to apply to college like Ethan.
The thought of my brother sours my mood. If Khloe’s to be believed, he’s hurt and angry with me.
I hate that my brother’s hurting and I’m not there to clear things up so he won’t think I’m a complete douche. He’ll get it when I tell him. I did the right thing, he’ll understand it when I explain it, and we’ll be solid again in no time.
Fuck you, Tara. The only one who’s going to lose in this is her. Going nuclear on me isn’t cool. And someone like Tara doesn’t have what it takes to ever come between blood. She’s a short-term toxic presence in my life, nothing more. Once I’ve patched it up with Ethan, I’m showing that bitch the door. Permanently.
I get up from the bed, and to keep my mind occupied on something other than my problems, I finish dressing. Yesterday’s shirt is lying over the chair beside Willow’s desk. When I pull it over my head I get a nice whiff of her. Damn, she smells good, and my balls clench.
My socks and shoes are where I left them. I put them on and head for the door.
I’m out of the apartment. I maneuver down the narrow hallways. They smell dank and musty the way old buildings do. I try to figure out how I should have fun with Willow today.
My pockets are empty. I’ve got no car. It surprises me that I’m thinking in date mode. I don’t date. I never have to do all that dating rigmarole with girls to hook up with them. Since I’m not interested in a steady relationship it’s always seemed insincer
e to behave in a way a girl could mistake as my wanting to be with her for anything other than sex.
I prefer the upfront and honest approach with the girls I hang with. It keeps things simple, everyone on good terms, and somewhat complication free.
But something tells me my standard approach isn’t going to work with Willow. Alone in the stairwell, then alone in bed with her, and I still haven’t fucked her.
Crashed and burned twice. I must be going after her wrong. I’m going to have to adjust things.
I’m only thinking this way because I don’t want to scare her out of bed again. Besides, she’s the kind of girl who deserves a little romancing before the sexing.
If I modify my MO to do a bit of that date-like shit, I’m sure she’s the kind of girl I can trust not to take it the wrong way or build it up in her head as more than it is: two people having fun together—and hot sex.
If I had funds, I’d show her the time of her life and I’d love every second of doing it. That girl needs someone being nice to her. Seeing where she lives and meeting Jade and Ivy is enough to tell me that.
The nice girls always seem to have the hardest lives. It’s like a tell to how lousy their home and guys have been to them in the past. They get nicer the more they’ve been screwed over by the people they love and some jerk they’re just trying to get to know.
Happens every time exactly that way. It’s the un-golden rule. That fucker who invented pay it forward got it all backward. Women oughta shoot that guy.
What would serve them better is knowing they’re hot, knowing the power it gives them over guys, and putting themselves first the way guys do. Apply this rule to their lives and ninety percent of the chicks out there would end up better for it.
But fuck it. Can’t change the world. Don’t want to. Can’t change women. Don’t want to. This guy wants to get laid.
Inside the elevator, I lean back against the wall and listen to the old metal cage groan as it slowly moves me one floor lower. I’d loved to do it here with Willow. All animal-style hot and heavy, standing up with her legs wrapped around me and back against the wall.
