Hired Hottie - Kelsie Rae Page 0,1

ribcage like a damn jackhammer.

Just like when we were little, Levi slaps the brim of my baseball hat down a few inches. “Hey, Charlie. You ready?”

“Yup.” I skip down the stairs toward his beat-up silver Camry and ask, “So how’s college going?”

With a shrug, he opens the passenger door. After I slide inside, he slams it closed before rounding the front and getting behind the steering wheel. “It’s good,” he answers. “I have a pretty cool roommate, so that helps. How’s your last year of high school?”

I groan. “Don’t remind me. I am so done with school.”

“Have you applied to any colleges yet?”

Scrunching up my face, I reach for the radio, but he slaps my hand away.

“Nice try. Answer the question,” he pushes.

“I’m not going to college.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Anything else. Like literally.”

“Even pole dancing?”

Snorting, I shove his shoulder. “I think we both know that would be a terrible profession for me.”

“What? Because you’d have to wear a thong on stage?”

“Nooo…,” I drag out the word. “Because I’d…. Actually, yeah. There’s no way those things can be comfortable.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” He winks.

“Oh, so you’ve tried on a man thong?”

“Hell, no! But the girls I date haven’t complained about a little floss up the ass.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I’m gonna have to pass. I’ll keep my boy shorts thank you very much.”

“Meh. Boyshorts can be hot too. I bet the spectators at the local gentleman’s club wouldn’t mind seeing them.”

“You forget they’re on me, remember?”

My entire body pricks with awareness as his gaze lazily scans me up and down before he turns his attention back to the road. “My point stands. So…I was wondering….”

The rest of his comment is blocked by a loud buzzing in my ears, my brain practically short-circuiting.

Did he just sorta, maybe, kinda admit I’d look good in my underwear? I mean, I didn’t imagine that, right? He did say—

“Charlie.” Levi snaps his fingers an inch from my face before returning his hand to the steering wheel.

Shaking my head, I ask, “Sorry…what were you saying?”

“I was asking if you’d be okay with me picking up a girl I met. She’s in one of my classes and is down here to visit family for the school break too. She texted when I was on my way to pick you up. I didn’t want to be rude or anything but….”

“But you want to hook up with her and figured tonight is as good of a time as any?”

The little fantasy I’d created in my head in the span of five seconds pops like a balloon with a pin.

An extra-pointy pin named reality.

Dammit.

The bastard has the sense to look sheepish. “I mean…if you’re not cool with it—”

“It’s fine,” I concede, though I don’t bother to hide my annoyance.

It’s not like we haven’t seen each other in almost a year or anything, and that I’ve missed hanging out with you more than anything on this planet. But sure, bring an easy lay along. Sounds juuust peachy.

I cross my arms and fume out the window.

“You sure you’re okay with it?” he prods.

Do I look okay with it? I want to shout. But I don’t. Because then he’d wonder why I wasn’t cool with having a front-row seat to his sexual escapades. Then that question would lead down an endless rabbit hole until he’d finally figure out his tomboy best friend––who he looks at like a little sister––wants to be his sexual escapades instead of some random girl in his college class. Which is ironic because I’ve never even been kissed. I’ve never wanted to be kissed. Unless Levi was the one to do the honors. But he’s too busy sticking his tongue down every other girl’s throat to ever finally notice me.

Damn, I’m pathetic.

“Charlie?”

“Yup. But you’re buying the popcorn. And I expect one large bowl to share instead of your usual anti-sharing technique. Oh! And I demand an extra squirt of butter.”

Nose wrinkling in disgust, he argues, “Come on, Charlie. You know how much I hate to share. And don’t even get me started on the fake butter they spray on there. You know that shit’s not good for you.”

“It is if you’re running six miles a day. And sharing is good for you. You should try it sometime.”

“Speaking of running,” he remarks, completely ignoring the sharing jab. “Your dad told my mom that you’ve gotten a couple of scholarship offers for softball.”

I groan. “Sometimes I hate how much our