by Linda Kage
Dude, what was wrong with me tonight?
Mentally slapping myself away from lusty thoughts, I blinked my expression into a scowl. “If you knew I’d called the wrong person all along, then why the hell did you come over?”
He shrugged again. “Don’t know. Bored, I guess. And antsy. Anyway…” His brown eyes probed mine. “Why can’t I help you just as well as anyone else? We’re family; that’s what we do.”
I snorted. “Buddy, you and I are in no way related.”
“You know what I mean.” His voice was dry and unimpressed. “We’re part of the group. The inner circle. Our parents are closer than blood. Face it. We’s family, baby.”
He was right, so I just rolled my eyes and remained stubbornly mute.
Finishing the push pop with a satisfied sigh, he chucked the empty container remains across the room toward my open trash can. When he made the shot perfectly, he turned back to me, grinning proudly.
Until my glare caused him to falter.
“Come on, Bells,” he encouraged. “You can talk to me. I’m a professional, remember? It’s my job to help people.”
I snorted over his stretch of the term professional. But when he just kept gazing at me with that steady, unrelenting stare, I squirmed in my seat.
“I’m bloating and have horrible cramps,” I muttered, hoping that would scare him off-topic. “In fact, I might just be experiencing the worst period in the history of all periods. And stop calling me Bells. That’s a—it’s a stupid nickname.”
Except I kind of liked it.
Almost as much as I liked the way he said it.
It brought out the butterflies in my belly.
What was worse, the bastard only winked at my whiny demand. He just had to look super-hot when winking, too.
“Nice try,” he said, his voice all husky and deep and male. “But I have a sister. Lady problems don’t rattle me. And anyway, you have to admit; Bells is a hell of a lot better than what I used to call you.”
I furrowed my eyebrows, unable to remember what he used to call me, so he rolled his hand. “Isabella,” he sang softly. “Has a bad smell-a. Got diarrhea and pooped Nutella.”
“Seriously!” I gasped. “You’re the evil cretin who came up with that awful chant?”
When I grabbed an orange that was sitting in a basket on the table between us and chucked it at him, he laughed and dodged, deflecting the fruit off his muscled forearm.
“What?” he asked with fake innocence. “You were a mature twelve to my ten. I had to level the playing field between us somehow.”
“I was thirteen when you were ten,” I argued because I needed something to argue.
“Twelve and a half,” he allowed.
I shook my head. “You were such a little shit.”
He nodded in satisfaction as if proud of the label. “Yeah, I totally was. Good times.”
“And you haven’t improved all that much, either,” I goaded, “hiding my damn push pops from me. That’s unacceptable, you know.”
“Then, how about this?” He batted his lashes playfully. “I’ll buy you a whole new box of push pops if you tell me what’s wrong.”
I pulled back in surprise, realizing he honestly wanted to know what was bothering me. Gracen wouldn’t have pried like this. He’d either already know, or he’d be patient and chill and wait for me to tell him when I was ready.
I wasn’t sure how to handle being pressed to open up. It made my chest feel hot and achy. Swallowing hard, I grew tempted but also extremely unsure.
“Well, that’s the problem,” I finally admitted as I picked up another orange so I could toss it between my hands and combat the sudden anxiety rumbling through my stomach. “Nothing’s actually wrong. I’m not even on my period. I was just feeling—I don’t know—grumpy and lonely and depressed, I guess, and reliving bad decisions.” In men. I glanced across the table at him. “Gracen would’ve understood.”
“Okay,” he said, slapping his hands together and rubbing them in preparation. “I can work with this. What would Gracen be doing for you right now? We’ll see how I compare.”
I wrinkled my brow. “You really want to help me? Like he would?”
Lifting one shoulder, he said, “Sure. Why not? Like I said, I was bored and antsy myself. I need something to distract me.”
Noticing that he did indeed seem a bit off, I sat up straighter. He was always scruffy, but his clothes seemed more wrinkled, facial hair thicker, and the lines under his eyes were deeper than I’d ever noticed them being before. Had he not been sleeping well?
Suddenly worried and ready to kick the ass of anyone who’d distressed him, I demanded, “What the hell? What’s gotten you into a funk?”
“Ah, nothing.” He waved a hand and mumbled out a dismissive sound as he slid his gaze toward the ceiling as if trying to downplay his problems. “Angie just keeps calling, is all, asking me to come over.”
“Angie?” I made a face. “I thought you broke up with her months ago.”
“I did.” He sighed and scrubbed his face. “She’s mean and unstable and, honestly, I can’t stand her. I just want it all to be done. But then she’ll call sometimes, sounding all grumpy and lonely and depressed—” He raised his eyebrows my way as he repeated my own words. “And—I don’t know—I start feeling guilty.”
When his phone began to ring from his pocket, I scowled. “That her?”
He shrugged, looking miserable. “Probably.”
I lifted my hand. “Give it here.”
He sent me an untrusting glance. So I shook my fingers insistently. “Come on. I’m not getting any younger. Give me your phone.”
With a sigh, he handed it over. “Don’t be too mean. She’s hurting.”
“Oh, I’m not talking to her,” I reassured him. I’d never been able to stand Angie, and hearing that she was still messing with his head made me even less of a fan. There was no way I would be able to say anything productive to her right now.
So I turned the phone off completely. There. Now, neither of us had to listen to the ringing.
His shoulders immediately deflated in relief. That made me feel marginally better. I’d helped him. Which filled me with the urge to help him even more.
Setting the phone on the table, I watched him with pity. “You really must’ve been desperate if I was the lesser of two evils.”
“Hey, don’t say that,” he rumbled, picking at a knot of wood on the back of the chair he sat on. “You’re not so bad. I’d partner with you over Gracen at beer pong any day of the week. And trust me, that’s a big deal. I take my beer pong seriously.”
Except there was no drunken game to play tonight, so I shrugged. “I guess.” Then I sent him a forced smile. “At least I can keep you from going to your ex’s and doing something you’ll regret.”
He made a face. “I wasn’t going to go.”
“Mm-hmm.” I lifted my eyebrows. “That why you look so tempted?”
He shot me an indignant frown. “I wasn’t.”
I lifted my hands. “Okay, fine.” Blowing out a breath, I glanced around the kitchen and plopped my palms onto the table as I turned back to my reluctant guest. “What a pair we make, huh?”
He shrugged morosely and picked at the knot with more intensity, as if he were really trying to pry a shard of wood free.
Suddenly deciding he could stay, I said, “Gracen would’ve made me popcorn and hot chocolate.”
“Really?” Immediately popping to his feet, he announced, “I can do that.”
“And then he would’ve cuddled on the couch with me so we could watch Gilmore Girls together for the rest of the night.”
That caused him to pause. “Gilmore Girls?” he asked slowly. When I nodded, he groaned. “You gotta be kidding me. No. There’s no way. I refuse.”
I batted my lashes. “Gracen wouldn’t have refused.”
He snorted. “Gray can’t possibly like Gilmore Girls. All they do is talk. Constantly. Blah, blah, blah, the who
le time. It’s enough to give me a headache.”
“He crushes on Rory,” I argued. “Big-time.”
“Damn. I should’ve known. Your brother’s always been a sucker for the pretty, innocent faces.” Another groan later, he rolled his head on his shoulders as if trying to force himself into Gilmore Girl mode. But it must not have taken because he suddenly asked, “What about Supernatural reruns? Or, hey, I know you like Stranger Things. Huh?” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively to make the alternatives sound more appealing than Gilmore Girls.
Except I was in a solid GG mood.
“Never mind,” I muttered, tossing down my orange and jerking to my feet. “You don’t get it, so I’ll just take care of myself. You probably suck at cuddling, anyway.”
And I left the kitchen.
“Hey now.” Darting after me, he tripped his way into the hall to catch up. Then he nearly tackled me in his haste to grasp my elbow, jerk me around, and heave me into his arms. “I’ve been told I have superb cuddling skills. See.”
“By who?” I asked, my voice muffled against his rock-hard chest as he attempted to suffocate me with the force of his arm muscles alone. “Your crazy, psycho ex? Cut it out.” I shoved at his elbow. “I can’t breathe. This is the worst hug ever.”
The turd didn’t let me go, though. He merely repositioned us until I could turn my face enough to the side to suck in huge gulps of air.
“Just relax, will you? You’re like hugging a cactus.”
I poked him in the ribs with my finger. “Not helping.”
He chuckled, and the sound reverberated through me, causing things to shudder and stir to life inside me. I went completely still, wondering why I kept having this intense reaction.
To him.
The alcohol. Had to be the alcohol. Or the seed Teagan had planted earlier with her sex-praising. Because nothing—and I mean, nothing—had made me crave intimacy lately. At least, not sexual intimacy with a real, live man.
“Just give me a chance here, Bella. I’ll keep you company and help distract you from your bad night if you help distract me and keep me from doing something epically stupid in return. ’Kay?”
I paused.
Huh, you know, he had a point there. We could team up and help each other out.
And maybe, together, we could somehow manage to bounce back from our exes tonight.
Just like Haven was doing with her hot new boy roommate.
My eyes widened. Suddenly, my mind was coming up with all kinds of creative ways we could keep each other company. Oh yeah, this could work.
Relaxing into his arms, I sank my cheek more heavily against his heartbeat, appreciating the steady thump against my jaw.
Breathing in his sturdy presence, I set a hand along his side. He murmured a sound of reassurance, and I closed my eyes, going completely boneless as I let him support my weight.
Maybe he wasn’t such a bad hugger after all. He was really warm. And solid.
And so freaking male.
But the best thing about him: I knew I could trust him to never, ever hurt me.
He was safe. He was solid. He was reliable. He was practically family.
There was a level of familiarity between us I’d never had with anyone I’d dated before. And right now, that felt so very alluring.
It felt dependable. Almost like coming home.
Yes. Home.
My eyelids fluttered open as I peeked up at the strong column of his throat. He did feel like home. Plus, damn, he’d grown up nice.
It’d been too long since I’d felt this feminine and comfortable and safe in the arms of a sexy, capable man. I snuggled even deeper into his intoxicating masculinity and sighed. I bet he could take care of me perfectly, in all kinds of different, delicious ways.
“There you go,” he murmured appreciatively in my ear as he stroked my hair. His low voice caused the muscles deep in my belly to clench. “You’re finally relaxing. See, this isn’t so bad now, is it?”
No. No, it wasn’t.
Would it be too creepy to tell him that it felt like his voice was making love to me? Because, I swear, I legit sensed an echo of him stroking inside me whenever he talked. His exact pitch vibrated against my clit and made my cervix contract.
Yeah, you’re right. Probably best not to mention that super strange detail.
“You smell good,” I did admit, though, as I rubbed my cheek against his shirt like a cat in heat.
With another chuckle, he kissed my temple. “Yeah, I showered today. I do that sometimes.”
Oh, so we were putting our mouths on each other now, were we? Following his lead, I lifted my lips to his throat. “You should shower every day.”
With me.
Humming in delight, I pressed my mouth to the pulse beat on the side of his neck before letting my tongue flick across his flesh.
Mmm. He tasted good, too.
Against me, he went still. His muscles tensed.
I nipped him with my teeth. Not hard, just enough to get his attention.
“Whoa!” Jerking back, he gaped at me a moment, just staring.
Oh yeah. I had his attention now.
“Uh…” he started but nothing else came out until he furrowed his brow and said, “Bella?”
“Yes?” I murmured, biting my lip as I eyed his thick, muscled chest before lifting my hand and running my fingers over his shirt where it molded perfectly to his defined pecs. Damn, but he was built to perfection.
He grasped my wrist as if to stop me, only to halt himself and pull away again. “Um…” he said instead, looking extremely uncertain. “Whatcha doing?” he finally asked.
I lifted my gaze to his. His brown eyes were wide with shock and fear and maybe a little interest.
“What?” I asked playfully, smiling big. “You said we could distract each other.”
“But I didn’t mean—that is—” He frowned in confusion. “What did you think I meant?”
Since he seemed to be having problems reading my intentions, I reached down and gripped him between the legs.
“Holy shit!” he shrieked.
“I meant…” Stepping close until my face was inches from his, I began to massage him boldly, learning the feel of him through his jeans. “You’re not leaving here tonight until we each have the orgasms we both obviously need.”
“Fuck, Bells,” he breathed.
His lashes fluttered shut as the bulge under my fingers began to grow and harden. His lips parted and his head fell back slightly, as if all he could do for a moment was simply enjoy my touch and let the sensations draw him under.
“You…” he started, sounding drugged, but then he opened his eyes and focused on my face. “Damn it.” Jerking out of my grip, he lifted his hands to show the world he wasn’t touching me as he accused, “You’ve been drinking.”
I gave him a shrug and glassy smile. “Maybe a little.”
“Or a lot,” he argued, turning to the side away from me and reaching down to readjust himself in his pants. “Christ, I can’t believe I—hey!”
When I reached forward to slip my hand over his taut ass, he leaped farther away, then faced me head-on, legs slightly braced as if encountering a threat.
“No.” Holding up a finger, he shook it in reprimand. “We are not—you’re drunk.”
“Not that drunk,” I argued.
“Bella,” he warned, backing away again when I stepped forward. “Stay back. I’m serious.”
“Ooh,” I murmured with a shiver and grinned broadly as I moved even closer, causing him to back into the wall of the hall, where he had nowhere to escape. “You’re serious? That sounds intense. And so damn hot. Now, why don’t you seriously get inside me?”
His eyes swirled with heat before he gulped, shook his head, and lifted his hands higher, refusing to partake. Sweat misted his brow. “I said no, Bella. You and I are not having sex. Not now. Not ever. You got that?”
Well.
Wow.
Not ever, huh? That w
as pretty damn definite. And rude, if you wanted my drunk opinion.
I slowed to a halt and swallowed, trying to taste something other than acute rejection.
With a scowl, he dropped his hands and eased forward. “Hey, no,” he warned. “Don’t look at me like I’m rejecting you.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Except that’s exactly what you just did.”
“No, no,” he started, coming closer as he shook his head emphatically. “I didn’t. I swear.”
I plopped my hands on my hips and leveled him with a glare. “So this is your way of accepting my invitation, by saying no, we’re not ever having sex together?”
“No. Jesus.” Grinding his teeth, he pulled on his hat, tugging it lower. “I just—you and I—we—Fucking hell, Bells. Don’t do this to me right now. You’re going to make me wish I’d just answered Angie’s call to begin with.”
My mouth dropped open. Lifting my eyebrows, I hissed, “Excuse me?”
“What?” He met my gaze as if confused by my offended tone. But as soon as he saw the hurt in my expression, he rolled his eyes. “Come on. She’s a mistake I could handle making. You are not.”
That really didn’t help.
“Wow.” Tears watered my eyes, and I had to blink rapidly to dry them. Then, I took a step back and glanced up at the ceiling because the blinking wasn’t working so well. “So I’m an even bigger mistake than psycho Angie? Always lovely to hear.”
“What? No. Whoa.” His fingers caught my elbow. “That is not what I meant.”
I sniffed and met his eyes, only to discover he sincerely looked concerned about me. Wiping at my face, I tried to calm myself as I asked, “What did you mean, then? Huh?”
“I mean, you’re a fuck of a lot more important to me than she ever was. And you’re loaded right now. So I know exactly how this would play out if you and I—well—you know. You’d regret it in the morning and start avoiding me until we never talked to each other again. Which would kill me. So, no. This isn’t happening. I’m not losing you like that. Angie, I could lose. Not you.”
“Well, too late,” I announced, giving him a tear-stained smile. “I’ve already messed that up. Because if we don’t do this, I’ll be too embarrassed about the way I shamelessly threw myself at you, and you rejected me, that I’ll never be able to look you in the eye again, anyway.”
