Hosed

by Pippa Grant

  Maybe I am sensually repulsive. Maybe that’s why I’m the oldest virgin in California, the country, and possibly the world.

  Maybe I should have taken his words into my head all those years ago, instead of letting them break my heart, and worked hard to suck less at making out.

  Though I can’t imagine what those steps might have been…

  It’s not like they offer Foreplay 101 in college and Kissing Classes aren’t something you can pick up two-for-one on Groupon. Aside from a steamy practice session with my pillow, I’m not sure I have many options for improving my game.

  Unless…

  An idea blooms in my head, surging from seed to shade tree in seconds.

  I’m so distracted by the mental foliage I don’t realize Ryan is slowing down until I’m nearly on top of him. When I do, I shove my heels backward, skidding to an unsteady stop on the leaves in the clearing with a high-pitched yip.

  “You okay?” Ryan swings off his bike with the same easy sensuality with which he does all things, this man who has clearly never had to worry about whether he gives good lip lock.

  I nod, heart pounding fast, and only partially from the exercise. Can I really do this? Can I open my mouth and make the crazy come out? Can I ask Ryan to be my Tonsil Hockey Tutor?

  Um…yes. I think I can.

  “No, I’m not okay.” I chew my bottom lip for a moment before pulling in a breath and confessing in a rush, “I heard you. What you said. The night we performed our scenes for our parents.”

  Ryan’s brows furrow. “In high school?”

  I nod. “Yes. In high school. After we went offstage. When you were behind the curtains?”

  “The curtains…” he echoes, looking so confused my cheeks catch fire all over again.

  “You know, behind the curtains,” I repeat, pulse racing faster as I wonder what the heck I’m going to do if he doesn’t remember this almost ten-year-old conversation as well as I do. Probably run off to hide in the forest and perish of starvation and embarrassment. “Before the final bow. When you were chatting with Ben,” I add, shoulders relaxing away from my ears as his eyes widen and comprehension apparently dawns.

  “Oh…with Ben.” Ryan nods slowly.

  “Yes, with Ben,” I say, nodding along with him.

  He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in an adorable mess on top of his head because everything about this man is adorable. There is literally charisma oozing out of his pores, even when he’s uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. I had no idea you were—”

  “It’s fine, all fine,” I hurry to assure him, waving a breezy hand through the air. I don’t want to admit to him how badly it hurt. “I mean, it wounded my pride a little as a kid, but that was a long—”

  “No, Cassie,” he says, shaking his head. “You don’t understand. I—”

  “Seriously.” I force a laugh. “It’s no big deal. I wouldn’t have brought it up, but there’s something I want to ask you, and that conversation is relevant to—”

  “No. Listen to me.” He leans down, capturing my hands in his as he pins me with a look so intense it steals the rest of my sentence away. Soon, I forget every word I know in English, French, and a smattering of Spanish picked up on a trip to Costa Rica as he adds, “That conversation wasn’t about you.”

  “I’m pretty sure it was,” I whisper, pulse disco-dancing in my throat as his fingers curl tighter around mine.

  “Okay, yes, it was about you, but not in the way you think. Ben came up to me after our scene to ask me if it was cool to ask you out.” Ryan rolls his eyes. “He thought you were ‘hot’ as Juliet and wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything going on between us before he made his move.”

  My brows lift. “What? But Ben Rathbone hated me.”

  “He didn’t hate you, he was just an asshole who treated girls like shit.” Ryan’s expression darkens as he adds, “He’s still an asshole, by the way. Been divorced three times, and his latest ex had to file a restraining order last week to keep him from setting up his tennis ball launcher in front of her front door and giving her Chihuahua a nervous breakdown with all the pounding.”

  I huff. “What a jerk.”

  Ryan nods, lips curving lightly at the edges. “Yeah. He’s a bottom feeder. I knew that, even back then, and I couldn’t let him get his creepy hands on a sweet kid like you.” He shrugs. “So I told him you were a bad kisser.”

  “I believe the exact words were ‘the worst ever’ and something about a ‘gag-worthy’ experience,” I say, even as my ribs relax and a light, breezy feeling drifts through my chest.

  Could it really be as simple as that?

  Just a silly misunderstanding?

  All those years of heartache because he was trying to protect me—even if his methods left a lot to be desired.

  He winces, his blue eyes wrinkling lightly at the edges. “Yeah, something like that. I’m sorry. You were never supposed to hear any of it. I just couldn’t stomach the thought of it—him with you. You looked like you were twelve years old and he was this giant dickhead wrestler.”

  I cock my head, torn between being touched and troubled. I want to believe him, but I still remember how badly it hurt. And I don’t ever want to feel that way again. “But I wasn’t twelve years old, Ryan. I was sixteen, and as capable of telling Ben to get lost as you were. It wasn’t your place to make decisions for me like that. Especially not by spreading a story that I kissed like the creature from the black lagoon.”

  “You’re right. And I’m sorry. I guess…” He trails off with an uncomfortable shrug. “I couldn’t help myself, I guess. I was so used to getting between my brothers and trouble, my gut instinct was to do whatever it took to make sure the people I cared about stayed out of trouble.”

  The lightness in my chest transforms into a warm, pleasantly fierce ache. “So you…cared about me?”

  Ryan nods, his fingers threading through mine, making me keenly aware of the fact that we’re still touching and that he’s making no move to let me go. “I did. You were so smart and funny. You made me laugh more than anyone I’d ever met, and…I liked you. Probably liked you too much considering how much older I was.”

  I laugh, soft and breathy. “You were only two years older.”

  “I had over a foot on you, Sunderwell. You were even more of a wee thing back then.”

  “A wee thing?” I tilt my head back, lips buzzing as he shifts closer. “You really should know better than to insult a person’s size. We short people are notoriously crazy when we’re angry. Just look at Napoleon. Genghis Khan. Tom Cruise.”

  He grins, a big, beautiful O’Dell-special that zings straight from my heart to my panties and back again, making me feel like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. “Genghis Khan, huh? Sounds like I should be scared.”

  “Terrified,” I murmur as his head dips closer to my upturned face.

  It’s the perfect word. I am terrified.

  But I’m also filled with a million fizzy bubbles of anticipation. And then Ryan’s lips cover mine and the bubbles dump into my bloodstream, hitting faster than a shot of tequila on an empty stomach. His tongue traces the seam of my mouth as his arms go around my waist and then my hands are tangled in his hair and he’s dragging me close and we’re kissing in a way I’ve never kissed anyone in my life—hard, deep, and oh-so-breathless.

  My nipples pull tight in my sports bra and visions of baseball diamonds dance behind my closed eyes.

  Suddenly, I can imagine running all four of those bases with this man. With Ryan, Patron Saint of Kissing and Captain of my Panties.

  “Oh captain, my captain,” I whisper when we finally come up for air.

  “Dead Poets Society?” Ryan murmurs, sounding as breathless as I feel.

  “Walt Whitman,” I say. “I’ve never seen Dead Poets Society.”

  Ryan’s eyes narrow as he clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “Never? It’s a modern classic.”

  I shake my head. “Never.”

&nb
sp; “Then we’ll have to fix that tonight. My place. Popcorn and a movie at seven sharp.”

  I grin, both because he’s not running for cover after this kiss, and because my heart’s leaping all over the place. He wants to extend our date! The heart discoing might actually be mutual. “Okay. I think I can fit you into my busy schedule.”

  He arches a brow, his fingertips digging into my hips as he says, “That’s nice of you.”

  “I’m a nice person,” I say, tingling all over again as his mouth moves back within devouring distance.

  “You are. So nice.” His lips move against mine as he speaks the last two words, making me pretty sure he isn’t talking about my high moral fiber.

  He’s talking about this kiss, my kiss.

  Looks like I might not need make-out lessons after all.

  Ten

  Ryan

  * * *

  We stay out for the rest of the day—biking secret trails through the forest, picnicking in an abandoned tree house my brothers and I fixed up last summer, zip-lining at Canopy Tours over by the lake, and getting a second cup of coffee and a cinnamon bun to share at the Kennedy school before heading for home.

  And even though I know I’m probably coming on too strong, I can’t resist parking my bike in the drive next to hers and taking her hand before she can say goodbye. “Want to come over now? I can whip up some dinner before we do movie and popcorn.”

  “Or we could just have popcorn for dinner,” Cassie says, making my heart do that fist pump thing it does when she looks at me in that new, unguarded way that makes it clear things are good between us.

  Hell, things are great between us. I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun and that kiss….

  Fuck, that kiss…

  She is so delicious, so sexy I could have spent the entire day making out with her in the middle of nowhere. As long as I had Cassie, soft and curvy in my arms, I wouldn’t have felt like I was missing out on a damned thing.

  And now she’s coming over to my place, letting me hold her hand as I lead her inside and shut the door. Now, I have an entire evening with her, too. It might be silly, but I feel like I’ve won the lottery. As I get out the popcorn pan and kernels, I’m flying so high I don’t notice that George hasn’t toddled in to welcome me home until Cassie asks where he is.

  “I don’t know.” I glance into the living room from my place by the stove only to find George’s usual napping spot in the corner of the couch empty. “He might have let himself out through the cat door to use the facilities. He’ll be back once he hears the popcorn popping. He’s addicted to the stuff.”

  Cassie laughs. “Really? Can he eat that? Is that okay?”

  “Totally fine. I asked the vet. As long as it doesn’t have any butter or salt on it.”

  “But we’re going to have butter and salt on ours, right?” she asks hopefully.

  “Hell, yes, we are,” I say, laughing as she claps her hands happily.

  “Excellent. But don’t worry, I won’t tell George.”

  “That’s good of you. Don’t want him to know you’re getting special treatment.” I wink at her, loving the way she flushes in response.

  But it turns out we don’t have to worry about George’s butter-induced jealousy. He doesn’t show up for movie time and Cassie and I have the entire couch to ourselves. We snuggle close, her tucked under my arm with no cuddle bandit wedged in between us with popcorn strewn across his furry belly. It’s nice, more than nice, and by the time the credits roll, Cassie is practically in my lap, our empty popcorn bowls discarded on the floor by the couch so we could get as close as two people can get while upright and fully clothed.

  “That was sad.” Cassie sniffs as she lifts her shimmering eyes to mine. “But lovely.”

  “You’re lovely,” I say, tucking a lock of silky soft hair behind her ear.

  Her eyes tighten around the edges. “No, I’m not. I’m cute. On a good day.”

  “No, you’re beautiful. Every day.” I kiss her again, proving the fireworks earlier today weren’t a freak occurrence. They’re just what happen when our lips meet, when she sighs into my mouth and her tongue dances with mine and her breasts flatten against my chest, threatening to give me a heart attack.

  I can’t remember the last time I wanted a woman this much, if I’ve ever wanted a woman this much.

  “Ryan, I need to tell you something,” Cassie says as I urge her thighs to either side of my hips.

  “Yeah?”

  She straddles me, the seam of her shorts pressing against where I’m already hard, and I fight a groan. Her breath hitches as I slip my hand beneath the hem of her shirt.

  “Um…nothing. It’s nothing,” she says.

  “Are you sure?” I cup her breast through her spandex bra, head spinning as she arches into my touch, silently giving me permission to keep doing what I’m doing.

  “Yes,” she whispers, then, “Oh, yes,” shivering as I brush my thumb over the tight peak straining the thin fabric.

  “I want to see you, Cassie.” I capture her nipple between my finger and thumb, rolling gently. “I want to kiss you everywhere.”

  She nods and reaches for the bottom of her shirt in response. I help her whip her clothes over her head—first her tee shirt, then her bra—and in mere moments I’m cupping her breasts reverently in both hands. She’s stunning, so breathtaking it takes a beat for my tongue to remember how to make words and then a beat longer to decide words are a waste at a time like this.

  I lean in, kissing first one dusky pink tip and then the other, circling the taut flesh with my tongue before sucking her gently into my mouth.

  “Oh my God, Ryan.” Cassie’s fingers thread into my hair, pulling me close as her head falls back. “Oh my God.”

  I groan against her softness and suckle her deeper as she grinds against me, every roll of her hips making me hotter, harder, until I can barely breathe, barely think. There is nothing in my head but Cassie—her salt and flower scent, the sexy sounds she makes as I transfer my attention to her other perfect breast, the way her arms tremble on either side of my face as she digs her fingernails into the skin at the back of my neck and her breath comes faster.

  I’m about to ask if I can carry her down the hall—to my bedroom, to my bed, where I intend to show her just how good my tongue can make other parts of her feel—when it happens.

  One second I’m kissing Cassie’s incomparable breasts while she rides me through our clothes, and the next a large, heavy, Unidentified Falling Object plops down between us with a high-pitched squeal.

  Suddenly, my mouth is full of fur and chaos is breaking out on the couch.

  Cassie screams, I grunt, and the psychotic fur ball wedged between us chitters in panic, raking his claws down my throat and trying to get off my lap by going through my face. Cassie cries out again and scrambles off my lap and I’m left with a fat-ass, mood-killing raccoon curled around my shoulders like a mink stole.

  George’s tail is in my mouth, and both of his clawed hands cover my eyes, obstructing the view of Cassie grabbing her clothes from the floor.

  By the time I coax the furry beast off my head and off the couch, Cassie’s shirt is back on and she’s dashing across the living room.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, standing up fast. “I don’t know what got into him. He must have fallen asleep up there and then decided he was ready to get down the fast way.”

  “On the fan?” Cassie says with a tight laugh.

  “He did it once before. No idea how he gets up there.” I shoot George a hard look as he winds around my leg and sits down on my foot, impeding my progress toward Cassie with his stubborn bulk. “But I’ll figure it out. Please, don’t go.”

  “I have to,” she says, motioning toward the front door as she continues to back away. “I have a thing. Work thing. In the morning. I should go and get some sleep. But thank you. For today. It was wonderful.”

  “It was. But are you sure you have to go? It’s not even ei
ght o’clock.”

  “Yeah. Busy day tomorrow,” she says, grabbing her keys off the entry table. “Lots of things to lube.” She winces. “I mean to do. Sorry, I have to go. Now.” With a frantic wave and a promise to “call soon” tossed over her shoulder, she slams out my front door into the night, leaving me with a hard-on for her that won’t quit and a cock-blocking raccoon grinning up at me in a way that makes it obvious he has no shame.

  None. At all.

  Eleven

  From the texts of Cassie Sunderwell and

  Savannah Sunderwell

  * * *

  Cassie: I have a problem.

  * * *

  Savannah: Crap, I totally forgot to mention that the coffeemaker has its own water supply. So sorry! I thought you knew. Don’t worry about the mess. Text Tina and tell her to charge the cleanup to my account. She should be there sometime next week for the normal monthly cleaning too.

  * * *

  Cassie: No, not with the coffeemaker. I’m proficient in coffeemaker. ALL coffeemakers.

  * * *

  Savannah: Phew. Good. I know how much you love your coffee. Oh, no, I mentioned the rocks, but I think I forgot to mention George Cooney too. Did he sneak in the window and steal your pajamas? That little cutie is a sucker for silk, which is only awkward when he tries to wear it. Not that he shouldn’t be free to explore his own fashion sense and sexuality, but we’re nowhere near the same size.

  * * *

  Cassie: Um, not George. Exactly. I mean, George is fine. In an annoying kind of way, but he’s…yeah.

  * * *

  Savannah: Please don’t tell me it’s Olivia. Her chart readings always get dark around the new moon phase. Whatever she said, I promise it’s not that bad.