by Amber Rides
I made my way into the living room where I caught sight of Ian.
His mouth hung open and his hand sat more than comfortably in his sweatpants. A crushed soda can sat in front of him on the coffee table, dripping the sticky liquid onto my floor When he yawned and flipped over on the couch, a porn mag fell to the ground.
What. The Fuck.
My previously self-directed anger found a new place to rest.
“Ian!” I growled.
His eyes opened marginally but he didn’t answer.
“Ian!” I shouted.
His reply was a grunt.
My eyes scanned the room, searching for something to throw at him.
My phone? Too expensive.
The penguin figurine my friend’s kid painted for my birthday? Too sentimental.
The large, heavy bible my aunt had given me when I graduated high school? Too ironic.
My hand finally closed over a half-empty bottle of water. Jackpot.
I tossed it – not lightly – at Ian’s slack jaw.
Bull’s eye.
My cousin jumped to his feet, bloodshot eyes wide, hair dripping, and both fists raised.
“What the fuck, man!” he hollered.
“Exactly.”
“What?”
“What did you do to the girl next door?”
He uncurled his hands and wiped his mouth. “What the hell, man? What girl?”
“Quit fucking around, Ian. I just spent a half hour listening to her talk about how you rocked her world.”
Ian grinned. “You want a lesson, you’re going to need to get in line.”
“I don’t want a lesson. She wants to be your girlfriend.”
A comically horrified expression crossed his face. “Shit. I don’t want a girlfriend.”
“No, you don’t,” I agreed. “That’s why when she calls you, you are going to tell her – nicely – that you do not date.”
Ian grabbed the water bottle and sucked back what little was left in the bottom of it.
“Just so I’m clear…We’re talking about the skinny one?”
“No.”
Ian frowned. “Not the one with the short blonde hair?”
“No.”
“So not the one who’s always dancing around in the short skirts?”
“I said no!”
“The brunette.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes.”
“The one with the tits?”
“Jesus. She has a fucking name, Ian.”
He slumped back down onto the couch and shot me a doubtful look. “I know, man. It’s Brenna.”
I tried not to think about the fact that it irked me as much that he remembered her name as it did when I assumed he didn’t.
“Yes, that’s her,” I said through gritted teeth.
“And she likes me?”
“She’s practically in love with you from the sounds of it.”
“Hmm.”
Ian’s reply was suddenly speculative rather than surprised, and that was about all I could take.
I strode toward my cousin, put my foot on the coffee table, and shoved it against his knees.
“Jesus!” he swore, and tried to push back.
I held my ground. “You are going to tell her no. You are going to make her believe it’s all because of you.”
“She’s not even my type.”
“Fuck you.”
I stomped up the stairs, tore the sheets off my bed and tossed them in the garbage. For good measure, I threw the pillows on top and then kicked the whole damned mess as hard as I could. Finally, I yanked a new blanket from the closet, collapsed onto the bare mattress and willed myself to fall asleep.
Chapter Six
Brenna
I closed the door, slipped off my shoes, and headed straight for my room. I breathed a big sigh of relief when I snuck past Risa’s door and it stayed closed.
It wasn’t until I slipped off my robe that I caught sight of her hunched up under my covers.
I crawled into bed beside her. “What are you doing in here?”
“I was worried.”
“So you’re stealing my bed?”
“I knew you’d try to sneak in without telling me you were home.”
“I’m home,” I replied.
“Not funny,” she told me. “Did you think?”
“I talked,” I admitted.
“To Balls-For-Brains?”
“To Ridley.”
“Bookworm?”
“He’s nice. And funny.”
She rolled over to face me. “Is he?”
“Mm hmm. He gave me Ian’s number.” I showed her the paper, scrawled with Ridley’s handwriting.
“So…Are you going to call him?”
“I think so. Ridley made it sound like Ian might go out with me if I ask.”
Risa made a noise in the back of her throat. “Hmph.”
“Maybe he’ll put in a good word or whatever.”
“And you told him about his friend’s overactive sperm?”
“They’re cousins, not friends,” I corrected. “And no, I didn’t tell him.”
“I think maybe you should.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve got a funny sound in your voice and a funny look in your eye and I don’t think it has anything to do with Ian or his phone number.”
I felt a blush creep up my cheeks. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you? What else did you learn about Bookworm in the two minutes you were ‘talking’?” She lifted her fingers and made the quotation marks for emphasis. “Is he a boxers kinda dude? Or are briefs more his thing?”
“Risa!”
“Don’t scold me. You’re the pregnant one who wants to do her baby-daddy’s roommate.”
“Stop it! I was only talking to him to get to Ian.” I shook off the unnatural, not-quite-being-honest feeling that accompanied the words.
“Prove it.”
I sighed. “How do you want me to prove it? Get his name tattooed on my ass?”
My friend grinned. “That’s not a bad idea. But what I want you to do is call him.”
“I will.”
“I mean now.”
“I’m reasonably sure he won’t appreciate a middle-of-the-night wake-up call.”
“Every guy appreciates a sexy surprise.”
Then, faster than I could stop her, she jumped from the bed, grabbed my cell phone from its charger and the scrap paper with Ian’s number on it from my hand.
“Stop!” I commanded.
But it was too late. She’d punch in the digits and the phone was already ringing on the other end.
With a frustrated groan, I shoved Risa from the room and closed the door behind her.
***
Don’t be nervous. Be sexy. Don’t be nervous. Be sexy.
“Shit!”
The expletive – which was spat out in a tired-sounding masculine voice – startled me and cut off my internal chant.
“Um, hello?” I said it in a tone that was definitely all nerves and no sexy whatsoever.
“Shit!” he growled again.
A crash and a thump that sounded distinctly like a person hitting the floor carried through the phone.
I very nearly clicked the phone off, but an emphatic, three-word sentence stopped me.
“Don’t hang up!”
“Okay.”
I waited for something more. All I heard was a lot of shuffling and muffled cursing.
“Hold on!” he called out. “You’re near my closet!”
“What?”
“I can’t find the damned phone. I’ve got you on speaker. Accidentally.”
“Oh.”
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Well. This wasn’t exactly the reception I was hoping for, but nothing’s wrong. Do I sound like something’s wrong?”
“No. It’s just really late.”<
br />
Shit, I thought. I’m not being sexy at all.
“Ask me again,” I suggested.
“Ask you what?”
“Ask me if everything’s okay.”
“What?”
“Just ask,” I begged.
“All right. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. Except…” I dropped my voice. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“You can’t?”
“No. That’s why I called. Because I can’t…” I trailed off, cleared my throat and asked, “Do you think you could find the phone? It feels funny doing this on speaker. Not intimate enough.”
“Not intimate enough for what?” he wondered out loud.
“Never mind,” I muttered.
“Are you really sure you’re okay?”
“Maybe now’s a bad time,” I said.
“Could you just keep talking?” he asked. “The phone went flying through my room and landed somewhere mysterious. But if I can hear you, I can find you.”
“Um. Okay. What should I say?”
“Anything.”
I went silent for a minute, thinking. For some reason, Ridley came to mind immediately.
“Polo,” I called softly.
He paused. “What?”
“You know. You say Marco, I say Polo.”
“Marco!”
“Polo!”
There was a bit more shuffling – this time it sounded like papers, and then his reply came, sounding a bit clearer. “Marco!”
“Polo!” I said back. “How messy is your room?”
“Marco! I didn’t think it was that bad, but I guess I was wrong.”
“Polo!
“Marco?”
“If you can’t find a phone, it’s gotta be bad.”
“Actually, I’m a bit of a neat freak,” he admitted.
“Really?”
“Try not to sound so surprised. Dudes can be clean.”
I seized the opportunity. “Unless chicks want them to be dirty.”
I followed the statement with an unnaturally high giggle that didn’t stand a chance of passing for flirtatious.
I groaned and smacked myself in the forehead. “I’m sorry. That was supposed to come out sexy, but it just didn’t. Can we do that one again too?”
He covered a chuckle with a cough. “Sure.”
“Okay. Go.”
“Dudes can be clean.”
I laughed again, but this time it didn’t sound forced at all. “I suck at being sexy.”
“I think you could manage sexy just fine,” he told me.
“Really?”
“Totally.”
“You know, this really isn’t how I pictured this conversation going,” I replied.
“What were you picturing?”
I took a breath and said the first thing that popped into my head. The thing that would direct the conversation in a direction that would make Risa proud.
“Find the phone and I’ll show you.”
“Brenna?”
“Yes?”
“That was pretty damned sexy.”
“Does that mean you’re still looking for the phone?” I wanted to know. “Because it got very quiet all of a sudden.”
“Trust me. I’m trying my hardest.”
“You at your hardest. Now I’m picturing something else entirely,” I teased, pleased with myself, and then added, “Hey. That wasn’t too bad, was it?”
“Getting sexier by the second,” he agreed.
“You know, I’m actually impressed.”
“With my hardness?” he joked.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s impressive, you big perv. But I meant that you recognized my voice. I didn’t think it was so memorable.”
He cleared his throat. “Um.”
“What?”
“Did you just call me a pervert?”
“Crap. I did, didn’t I?”
“Yep. Do you want another do-over?”
“Yes, please,” I said.
“Go ahead.”
“I can even remember what I said,” I admitted, but this time I was smiling at my fumble.
“That your voice wasn’t very memorable,” he reminded me. “And I was going to say…There’s a lot about you that’s memorable, actually.”
“Now who’s sexy?” I countered.
“Oh, you find my remarkable memory sexy?”
“There’s a lot about you that’s sexy. Actually.” I paused, surprised at how much easier it was getting for me to flirt.
“Oh, really?” His voice was low. “Care to elaborate on that?”
“Are you finding the phone?” I whispered.
“It can wait.”
The air changed somehow, growing electric. My body tingled in anticipation for what was coming, even if I didn’t know exactly what that was.
“I’m not sure I can wait,” I told him.
“Polo,” he replied roughly.
“Marco,” I said softly.
“Are you in bed?”
“I could be.”
“Get there,” he commanded. “I see the phone.”
Slowly, I eased myself onto my bed. As I did, the bottom on my pajama top slipped up and the edges of my blankets grazed my skin. Goose bumps raced up my back, across my stomach, and straight to my breasts.
“Hurry,” I urged in a gasp.
“Aha! Got – Jesus.” His abrupt change in tone caught me off-guard.
“Ian?”
“I have to go,” he said coldly.
My heart squeezed. “But we were just getting started.”
“Sometimes, it’s better to stop things before you get in over your head.”
There was a light click and I was left holding the dead phone in my hand.
Chapter Seven
Ridley
I didn’t know how many hours in a row I spent glaring at Ian’s phone. I wasn’t even convinced that it hadn’t actually been glaring at me.
When the sun had finally snuck its way into my room, I’d given up on the idea of sleep and moved my sorry ass down to the weightlifting equipment in the garage.
I still hadn’t been able to turn off my mind.
Why the hell had Ian chosen last night to lose his phone in my room?
“Fuck,” I muttered.
I turned my eyes to the ceiling, lifted the barbell above my head and wondered the hell was wrong with me.
I should’ve clued in from the start that Brenna thought I was him.
Of course she fucking did.
Why the hell would she think it was me? She’d called him, she’d expected him. It would’ve been a miracle for her to know it was me.
Not only that, but I’d set the whole damned thing up. I’d given her the number. I’d told her to call. I just hadn’t expected her to do it so damned fast. Or to answer his phone myself.
I was just a little too excited to hear her voice. I’d been a little too fucking pleased when she told me that she couldn’t stop thinking about me.
Except it wasn’t me she was thinking about.
My brain had been too clouded with lust to even realize it.
I dove for the phone the second I spotted it. My hand reached for it, grabbed the edge, and then accidentally sent it sliding across the floor once more. It skidded over the hardwood, cracked against the edge of my computer chair, then rebounded back and came to rest about four feet away from my still outstretched arm. Which is when I caught sight of the case and finally realized it wasn’t my phone at all.
Her next word was my cousin’s name and at last it hammered home the fact that she really, truly was after Ian.
A correction formed in my mind but didn’t quite make it out of my mouth because I was afraid if it did…I’d lose my shit.
I hummed with a jealousy I couldn’t shake.
So I hung up.
And now, in spite of my anger, the immediate memory of her voice, right in my ear, still sent a surge of heat straight to my groin. Desire and f
ury. It wasn’t a good mix.
Not just not-good, I corrected. Downright dangerous.
As I brought down the weights, I caught a glimpse of white to my left. My eyes focused on it immediately and my mouth went dry.
Brenna stood in the garage doorway, her thick, waist-length hair tied into a braid. Her hands were full, but I barely noticed what was in them.
She was dressed in a pair of loose-fitting pajama pants, cinched at the waist with a drawstring, and a white tank top that hugged her curves. And when the light hit from behind, her clothes became more than a little see-through. I could easily make out the lace of her bra and curve of her panties just below her belly button.
Holy shit.
My grip on the barbell slipped and it nearly crashed to my chest.
This time my curse was out loud. “Holy shit!”
At the last second, the tape I’d wound around my palms caught the metal bar and I managed to keep it from crushing me. With a grunt, I heaved it up and hung it from the clips on the bench.
I sat up quickly and shot Brenna a glare, careful to keep my eyes on her face.
“You can’t just sneak up on a guy lifting weights! Are you trying to kill me?”
“I didn’t know you’d be lifting weights. And the door was open,” she said defensively.
“So you thought you’d just let yourself in?”
“I made some coffee and I saw your truck and thought you’d like some. I was being nice.” She held out a mug.
“I don’t drink coffee.”
“Who doesn’t drink coffee?”
“I don’t.”
“Oh.”
“I happen to prefer hot chocolate.”
“You said to let you know how my phone call with Ian went,” she reminded me.
“It’s nine in the morning. I dropped you off at what time? Three? What time in between those hours seemed like a normal time to call Ian?”
Even from how far away I sat, I could see the pink in her cheeks.
“Who said I was going for normal?” she asked.
I couldn’t resist a jab. “Is that right? What were you going for? Sexy?”
“Something like that.”
I clenched my teeth. “And?”
“It was bad,” she replied, almost so softly I couldn’t hear her.
I looked down at my hands so she wouldn’t see the guilt in my eyes. “So it’s not going to work out then?”
I was being an ass, using my both my regret and my temper as a buffer between us. I knew it, but I couldn’t seem to stop.
