Naughty by Nature

by Addison Moore

  He falls next to me in the snow, his arm partially over my body. “That’s because I can’t say no to you. Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine.” And apparently, I like to lie, too. “Hey—how come I can’t wiggle my toes anymore?”

  “Stop.” A slow chuckle comes from him. “I think I’ll take over all driving duties from here on out. I guess there aren’t too many places to keep up your snowmobile game in L.A.”

  “Not that I’m aware of. I haven’t been keeping too many of my games up.” I settle back into the snow. Not sure why I’m confessing this to Jaxson of all people. The truth is, I’m still in a funk after that conversation I had yesterday with Sadie and Mack.

  “But I bet you’re hitting it big with the boys, right?”

  “Nope. I’m not really. But no worries. Sadie says she’s getting me a battery-operated boyfriend to take back home with me.”

  “What?” He looks simultaneously turned on and disgusted by the idea.

  I swat him over the arm. “Don’t judge me. A girl can’t get away with having carnal fever like you and Conner. And would you slow down already? Your future wife is going to be really bummed when your penis falls off one day.”

  He makes a face. “It’s not going to fall off. I’m slowing my roll.”

  “So I see. I’ve totally put a damper on your girl game, but, like all things in life, this too shall pass. I bet you’ll celebrate after the big reveal and plunge your joystick into every socket you find.”

  He winces. “Sounds deadly. I think I’ll pass.” Jax exhales, and his minty fresh breath warms me. He cups my cheek in his palm a moment before rubbing his thumb over my lips soft as a snowflake.

  “What is this, a dress rehearsal?” My cheeks burst into flames as they rival the sun. My heart starts panic-kicking its way out of my chest as if something very bad were about to ensue. My heart has never been a good barometer of things to come. It’s untrustworthy and fickle, and most of all, fragile as hell.

  “How did you enjoy that kiss the other night?” he says it soft. His eyes latch onto mine like life rafts, and I can’t seem to let go. His dark hair contrasts the crisp white background, demanding that I pay it attention, those eyes, those deep red lips, every last part of Jax demands that I focus in on him.

  “I enjoyed the hell out of it.” There’s the understatement of the century.

  “Good”—he whispers—“because I’m going to do it again.” Jax leans in ever so close, waiting until the very last second to close his eyes, that sexy grin building on his face. He grazes his lips over mine and pulls back gauging my reaction, his lids still low and heavy. But I’ve seen that twitching grin on his face before. Jax is not waiting for permission to enter. He knows he already has that. It’s the same twitchy smile he used to give when we were kids and I’d want him to get on with whatever he was doing. Once, we were trekking down a snow-covered hill, much like the suicide slope we just endured, and I begged him to push my sled. Of course, he rocket-launched me in an attempt to perfect the first lunar landing, but that’s beside the point. Those lips are coming at me again—and oh my God, here they come!

  Jax presses his lips over mine and lingers in a slow circular fashion before pulling away once more.

  “How’s that feel, Eight Ball?” he whispers through his unsteady panting.

  I swallow hard, looking up at eyes that rival the sky for that precious hue. “It feels like you forgot how to slip one in the pocket.”

  “What?” He inches back a notch, and just like that, I’ve broken the dreamy spell that had him pecking at my lips.

  “Um”—a weird choking sound emits from me—“never mind. I was just.”

  “You were just hoping I’d do this.” He pumps out a dry laugh, no smile as he comes in for the kill once again. Jax lands his mouth over mine and pries my lips open with the flick of his tongue. He swims in and meets me there, soft and slow, so achingly deliberate, it’s as if he’s taking the time to introduce himself. The real him. Today, there is no Jax and Pop’s Show. It’s just the two of us in the snow—kissing.

  He pulls back, and that smirk he wore a moment ago has completely dissolved to nothing.

  “How was that?”

  I can’t help but shed a crooked grin. “Are you using me to sharpen your skills? Because I’m a mean as hell instructor. And I don’t grade on a curve.” God, I’m such an idiot! Why does my jaw keep flapping? Any other girl would have shut the eff up and let him have his way with her—but no, I have to beat down every situation with the baseball bat of sarcasm.

  A dull laugh huffs through his chest. “Nope. I just wondered if you wanted more from the other night—like I did.”

  Like he did?

  “Here, let me help you up.” He offers me a hand, but I pull him down to me by the back of his neck.

  “Not so fast.” My chest pumps violently. My panting grows wild. I’m more than afraid I might pass out. “I didn’t get my fill.” I pull his mouth down over mine, and it’s a clash of dull laughter, of teeth, of untamable frenzied kisses. It’s quite possibly the sloppiest, most delicious, sweetest, most heavenly kiss of my entire life.

  I pull his body over mine, welcoming him onboard with a squeeze. Jaxson moans as his tongue-lashing intensifies. His mouth slips down as he gently takes a bite of my lower lip, and I die the death of a thousand mini orgasms. Bliss. Lying in the frozen tundra in the backwoods of Oak Grove with the prince of the county himself lying on top of me is heaven personified.

  His hands move down my jacket as he tries to gain entry to any living part of me, but I couldn’t be more hermetically sealed if I tried. A tank top, a turtleneck, a thermal, a sweater, and a down jacket that may as well come with a barbed wire fence. This boy isn’t getting anywhere near my lady goods. And don’t get me started on the double yoga pant debacle going on underneath my snow pants. I’m already resigned to the fact I’ll be losing fingernails when it’s time to peel all of these formidable layers off. Leave it to me to don an outfit that requires security clearance and a panty access code that neither of us can conquer.

  Jaxson pulls up on his elbow, panting a warm storm over me. “Did your father dress you?”

  “No. Conner did.”

  We share a small laugh at my brother’s expense. Honest to God, if given half the chance, Conner would have dressed me exactly this way. Okay—so he might have included a combination lock, but it so would not have been needed. The elastic, latex, spandex, Lycra nightmare combo is enough.

  “All right.” He winces. “Maybe we should get back before I get in a really hard situation there’s no getting out of.”

  I glance down to his jeans and spot a cucumber-like growth already presenting a problem.

  “We can have a snowball fight.” I bite down over my bottom lip to keep from laughing. “I can throw snow at your crotch in an effort to scare it away.”

  “Poppy.” His dimples dig in, but you can see the pain in his eyes at the thought.

  “Come here.” I pull him in close and laugh right over his mouth as I work his jeans open.

  “What are you doing?” Those dark brows twitch, and something in me loosens. For so long Jaxson has owned me, and for just one moment I’d love to own him.

  “I’m an expert at getting boys out of hard situations.”

  “Are you trying to make me vomit?”

  “Okay, so that was a lie.” My hands hit flesh, and I dive-bomb into his boxers and pay dirt. Holy cow, Jaxson Stade really does have a cucumber in his pants. “Wow, this is a really, really big problem.” My panting hits its zenith as I carefully wrap my hands around his rather impressive girth. Then it hits me. I’m touching Jaxson Stade’s penis. His willy, wiener, wanker, love wand—is presently throbbing in a granite-like fashion, safe in my palms. And just like that, the sarcastic bitch in me douses her flame, and the moment grows serious, beautiful in the strangest sense.

  “Shit,” he hisses. Jax closes his eyes as his mouth falls over mine, bouncing over my ch
eek with unsteady kisses. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Once I commit to something, you can’t stop me.”

  A dry laugh pushes from him. He leans up to get a good look at me. “What are we doing?”

  “I’m helping a friend out of a hard situation.” My eyes lock with his, and there’s sadness mirrored between us.

  “Helping a friend,” he whispers as his mouth falls over mine in a fury.

  My hands ride up over the length of him, taking in his ridges, the tender tip.

  Jaxson unleashes a frenzy of fevered kisses, and I meet him right there. Here we are, just the two of us. No voyeurs, no pretenses.

  Just—friends.

  Jaxson

  There have been times in my life that I have not been proud of my actions. There have been times in my life that I have questioned what in the hell I was thinking. But that moment in the snow with Poppy wasn’t one of them.

  The rational part of me suggested it should be. The irrational part of me suggested it was perfect and right—and that if I were at all honest, I would own up to the fact that it was a moment we had been barreling toward for a very long time.

  Yes, I should have stopped with the kiss. But damn—Poppy’s kisses are addictive as hell. As soon as I had one hit, I knew there was no going back. And then things got difficult, and she agreed to help out—as a friend. I think we both know that wasn’t a friendly gesture, not on her part, not on mine. Not any of it. What I don’t get is, what’s with the wall? What is this invisible force that’s constantly trying to keep us from happening?

  I get it, though. A long distance deal would be tough. Plus, this is new. We’ve gone from never speaking to one another to picking up right where we left off and then some. I take the blame for that. Once I noticed she was freezing me out after graduation, I should have stepped up and given her a call—encouraged her to come out for the holidays—especially those that my mother hosted. She missed all of those, and, in turn, missed out on her own family because of me. She wasn’t avoiding my mother. She was avoiding seeing my face at the table.

  As far as I can recall, there were three major events that wedged a divide between us. The first and foremost damning would be our mothers. Their constant, incessant, nagging while trying to meld us together since birth had eroded the landscape for anything that could have ever been. They managed to cast a pall on our relationship before it ever had a chance to get started. The second—as ridiculous as it sounds—would be Poppy’s unrequited crush on Miles Frampton. It’s childish in hindsight, but having the hottest girl you know, the one you want to be with more than anyone else, tell you that she has it bad for the center on our mediocre basketball team was a blow that my fifteen-year-old ego couldn’t quite handle. And the third quake that took us down went down right after our senior year culminated. It involved an alcohol-soaked graduation party—one I don’t care to think about.

  The Starry Nights Bar and Grill is locked and loaded with people tonight, elbow to elbow, standing room only—not unusual on a Friday night. Hunter says its runoff business from Denver. Mostly college kids looking for the appeal of a small town that’s miles away from their professors.

  I belly up to the bar and find a free seat on the end. Hunter comes over with that shit-eating grin on his face because he’s raking it in this evening, and he knows it.

  “What’s up, my man?” He slaps me five and pours me a beer without asking. “You do realize you’ve pissed off more than half my clientele.”

  I glance around at the girls congregating in front of the live band as it bleeds out a sappy country song.

  “It looks as if they’ve recovered.”

  “That’s what you think. I’ve had Larissa coming around getting shit-faced, crying in her whiskey over the fact you chose L.A. Barbie over her. Not my words, dude.”

  A dull laugh thumps through me. L.A. Barbie. Poppy certainly fits the bill, but she’s more of an Oak Grove beauty—an original at that. I’ve always appreciated the fact she didn’t try too hard, definitely not too big on the war paint. Poppy is more the girl next door. The girl who stole my heart.

  “So, where are things with the two of you?” Hunter leans in with an earnestness and subtle inquisition that only a bartender can provide. Or in this case, my good friend going as far back as grade school can provide.

  And just like that, he gets every last detail from me. All of it. The practical joke we’re trying to pull over on our mothers, that kiss at the dance, this afternoon in the snow with her hands down my pants.

  “Shit.” Hunter looks horrified for me. “How did you leave off?”

  “I took her back to her car, and I said thank you.”

  “You said thank you?” He laughs as he picks up a beer bottle and knocks it back as if he needed a drink himself after hearing it. “Dude, you should have at least taken her to dinner tonight. That’s pretty cold.”

  Just as I’m about to tell him that I threw out the offer, a familiar face pops up beside me—Conner.

  Hunter and I defuse quickly.

  “Don’t let me ruin your good time.” He points to my beer, and Hunter is quick to oblige. “Unless you’re laughing at my sister. Then I’m pretty damn glad to break up the party.”

  “Nobody is laughing at her.” Hunter holds up his hands, looking guilty as sin.

  “I like Poppy.” I look right at him when I say it, and a boiling rage begs to ignite. “You got a problem with that?”

  Conner bucks with a silent laugh. “I guess I do.” The seat next to me opens up, and Conner takes it. “Dude, what are you doing with my sister? You don’t talk for years—and I know this because I speak to both of you on a regular basis, and suddenly you’re inseparable. I’m shocked she’s not here tonight. I saw her at the house. She said you took her out snowmobiling.”

  That smirk on my face disappears real quick. “She say anything else?” I don’t bother with my next breath. A part of me needs to hear that she’s okay.

  He stares out at the crowd a moment, but I know Conner well enough to realize he’s stalling. “I asked her what this was about, and she said she likes you. That she’s always liked you.”

  She likes me. She also likes ice cream and puppies so that makes things clear as mud. I know that she’s bent on keeping our arrangement from her brother so that answer doesn’t surprise me.

  Hunter pushes a beer toward Conner. “Where is she? She coming down tonight?”

  “I don’t think so.” Conner nods a quick thanks for the drink. “She’s done for the day—PJs on, the whole nine yards. She said she might be catching a cold. She was kind of down. She’s probably missing home or something.”

  Hunter glances my way like I might be responsible for the fact Poppy is feeling down. And I’m pretty sure I am.

  After about ten minutes of switching gears and talking shop, I excuse myself for the night. I glance back just as I’m about to take off and find both Sadie Richards and Larissa double-teaming Conner. That happy-go-lucky look jumps right back on his face where it belongs. I care about Conner. Just like I care about Poppy. That’s why I’m headed off to do what I’m about to.

  But instead of heading out the door, I head for the kitchen.

  Considering it’s almost ten o’clock, I opt for texting Poppy rather than giving her sleeping parents a heart attack in what amounts to the middle of the night to them.

  Downstairs. Let me in? Please. :)

  I thought I’d better tag it with please and a happy face. I’m getting the feeling I’m on her shit list, and if I’m not, I probably should be.

  A minute goes by, then two. A light switches on in the entry, and a face peers out from the blurry glass door before it swings open wide, revealing the most stunning woman on the planet.

  “What are you doing here?” Poppy Montgomery stands there with her hair in a ponytail, pink fuzzy slippers—but those PJs, they’re white and silky, and right about now they’re daring my fingers to pet them. “And what is that in your ha
nds?”

  “Peace offering.” Shit. Could I think before I speak? “I mean, a get well gift, sort of. Chicken soup—fresh from Starry Nights. Hunter sends his love.” Great. Her buddy from the bar sends his love, but the man she helped out this afternoon can’t even get a proper hello in. “Hey, hello.” Crap. “I mean”—I scratch at the back of my head a moment—“would you mind if I come in?”

  “Absolutely! Here, I’ll take this.” And just like that, everything feels normal between us.

  “There’s a spoon in there for you,” I whisper. “I was going to bring it up to your room. Conner mentioned you felt like you were coming down with something.”

  “Oh, right.” Her eyes enlarge for a moment. “Um, I was actually in my room. Lame, I know. But we can go into the kitchen if you want. Or I can take you up for the grand tour. I actually redid it just before I moved. It was my attempt to prove to my mother that I was a true adult.”

  “How does one prove adulthood via rearranging room furniture?”

  “You’re forgetting it’s my specialty,” she teases. “But in the event curiosity is about to bite your balls off, I framed a still shot of the stock market and hung it prominently above my bed.”

  “A shot of Wall Street?” I’m not sure if I should be impressed or perplexed. I’m leaning toward the latter.

  She shrugs a little and looks downright adorable in the process. “Of the stock feed. I took it with my phone and printed it out. It’s blurry, and silly, but in my defense, I had senior-itis that year and wasn’t thinking rationally. Anyway, she must have bought it because she commended me on all the mature changes I made. I kept the stuffies, though. If you say a word, you die.” She leads me upstairs—to the apparent “stuffie” haven—and I’m anxious to soak it all in.

  I’ve been at the Montgomery’s more times than I can count, but the sacred upstairs has been pretty much off limits. After Conner moved out, there was no reason to venture on up. One summer during a barbeque, there was a line at the downstairs bathroom, and I volunteered to head upstairs. At that point, I hadn’t seen Poppy in years, and, of course, she wasn’t there. But I craved her. Instead of heading left to the bathroom, I made a right and bumped into Charlene who gently corrected my error before I could ever hit Poppy’s bedroom. It was a stupid idea to begin with. What was I going to do? Touch her things like a stalker? Hell, I probably was. I wanted to smell her—feel her if only through her pillowcase. I wanted to rub my face in her clothes and let my heart shatter thoroughly at the tragedy that had become of us.