Getting Played - Emma Chase Page 0,54

back, and lift up on my toes—and press my mouth against his. And god, the feel of his mouth—of him—it’s electric and wondrous, every bit as amazing as I remember. My breasts grow heavy and aching for the touch of his hands, and the muscles low in my stomach pull and tighten.

For a moment, Dean doesn’t react, like I’ve surprised him by making the first move. But then he recovers—and I’m treated to the head-spinning sensation of his wet tongue tracing my lips, before plunging inside my mouth, stroking hungrily. He tugs my hat off, cradling my head, fingers tightening, pulling me closer, and a deep groan passes from his throat to mine. Dean spins us around and presses me into the wall, opening his mouth wider to suck at my lips and scrape them with his teeth. And I feel lightheaded and languid and desperate for more.

Dean’s voice pants against my ear.

“Christ, you’re making me crazy. The things I want to do to you . . . you have no idea.”

I meet his eyes, and touch his jaw—my palm tingling with the feel of that sexy, scraping stubble. “I don’t know about that. I have some pretty interesting ideas of my own.”

Hello, sending signals . . . meet mixed.

But I want him. Good or bad, smart or stupid—it just is. I’ve wanted him against me, inside me, over me and all around me since the second I laid my eyes on him, and nothing has changed that. I’m starting to suspect nothing ever will.

“Hey now—this is a family event—keep your tongues to yourselves,” a deep, joking voice says from behind Dean’s back.

He turns, revealing a tall, handsome, dark-haired man in a police uniform with a petite, smiling woman beside him with black curly hair and the most beautiful skin I’ve ever seen. At her side is a wide-eyed girl, about nine years old with braces, who’s the spitting image of her mother.

Dean holds out his hand begrudgingly. “Ryan. Good to see you.”

Ryan shakes Dean’s hand warmly. “Dean making out with a girl in the corner—this feels familiar.”

The curly haired woman smacks him on the chest and speaks in a thick, Brooklyn accent. “Stop it, Ry, don’t embarrass her—they’re together now.” Then she waves at me. “Hi.”

“Lainey, this is Ryan Daniels, Garrett’s brother,” Dean introduces us, “and his wife, Angela—we all grew up together.” Dean winks at the little girl. “And that’s their daughter, Frankie.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Lainey,” Angela says excitedly. “My gawd, you’re so cute! It sure took you long enough to pick one, Dean, but when you did, you got a good one. I’m Italian, I can tell.”

“It’s like they were eating each other’s faces!” Frankie exclaims, and heat rushes to my cheeks. Maybe the basement of a church during a holiday festival wasn’t the best place to jump Dean’s bones . . . and yet I have no regrets. It was a great kiss.

“I’m never gonna let a boy chew on my face like that.”

Ryan fist-bumps his daughter.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

~ ~ ~

A while later, Callie is in the ladies’ room, and Dean lets Will drag him up onto the empty stage to the drum set that sits, unused, in the corner.

“You’re good for him, you know.”

I turn my head at the sound of Garrett’s voice, looking up at him as he watches his little boy sit on his best friend’s lap as he puts the sticks in his hands and shows him how to play the drums.

“You think so?”

Garrett nods. “Dean’s the kind of guy who was always on the move. He could never sit still, couldn’t just . . . be. Even when we were kids, especially when we were kids, he was always the one pushing for more—a bigger party, a bigger play, louder music, girls, drinking—like he was rushing around trying to find something. Trying to fill a void. I don’t think he even knew he was doing it. But since he’s met you, found out about the baby, these last few weeks, he’s been settled. Content. Happy. As his friend, it’s really good to see him like that.”

I think about the last few weeks—about Dean throwing the football around with Jason out beside the lake. It’s not my son’s forte, but he had fun. And I think about how nice it’s been to have someone to talk to and laugh with, and how I look forward to dusk now, because that’s when Dean comes to the house every