incredibly short dress.
Brenna doesn’t break eye contact. “You’d find me dry as a desert.”
“Mmmm. Doubt it. I think I’d find you ready for me.” I tug on the stretchy material, finding the spot where it meets her flesh. I rub my thumb over her thigh and enjoy the way her lips part. “What do you say? Should we test my hypothesis?”
Our gazes lock. I brush my knuckles over her skin again. It’s impossibly soft, and I’m painfully hard. My cock is a hot spike in my jeans. And then it starts to vibrate.
Rather, my phone does. But it’s lodged in my pocket and in such close proximity to my aching dick that the vibrations actually make me shudder with pleasure.
“You gonna get that?” Brenna asks knowingly. Her body is still flush to mine, palms flat on my chest, and I’m sure she feels the erection pressing against her belly.
“No. I’m busy.” My hand is still under her dress, inches from paradise.
She jerks suddenly, before reaching into the small purse hanging off her shoulder. Both our phones going off at once? That could only mean one thing…
I drop my hand from her thigh. I have my phone out first, scanning the array of messages that were responsible for all the vibrating. Brenna checks her notifications and releases a victorious squeal that bounces off the black walls in the cramped stairwell.
“Yes,” she exclaims. “Fucking yes!”
I grudgingly meet her gaze. “Congratulations.” Briar beat Yale in overtime. Winning goal courtesy of Nate Rhodes, the team captain.
Brenna’s smile lights up her entire face. Then it becomes a smug curve, more smirk than smile, before settling into a wicked grin of challenge.
“So. I guess we’ll be seeing you in the finals.”
10
Brenna
Despite Briar’s victory over Yale, I’m still disappointed with how the weekend turned out. I got home around midnight, courtesy of an obscenely expensive Uber ride, and woke up this morning to about ten texts and three voicemails from Tansy apologizing profusely and begging for my forgiveness. I texted back to say I require at least a full month of groveling before I can grant my complete forgiveness, but since it’s hard for me to stay mad at the people I love, I told her we’re good and that she owes me a girls’ weekend.
Now I’m having Sunday brunch with Summer at the diner, where I fill her in on the weekend from hell. Leaving out the parts involving Jake Connelly, obviously. Summer would snatch onto those bits like a dog with a bone. Except unlike the dog, who’d eventually drop the bone or go bury it somewhere, Summer would discuss and dissect every detail of my Connelly encounters until the end of eternity.
“I’m sorry, but your cousin sounds like a total bitch,” Summer says as she munches on a strip of bacon. Her golden hair is arranged in a messy braid, hanging over the shoulder of her white cashmere sweater. She isn’t wearing a stitch of makeup, and doesn’t need it. Summer Heyward-Di Laurentis is disgustingly stunning. Ditto for her older brother, Dean. The two of them resemble Ken and Barbie, although Summer hates being called the latter. So of course, I do it just to piss her off.
“Eh, she’s really not,” I answer, referring to my cousin. “But she sure acted like one this weekend.”
“She ditched you both nights? That’s savage.”
“Well, we were together the first night. Kind of. She and her boyfriend got into an epic fight, so I spent most of the time hanging out with his friends.”
I skip what came before that—my ambush of Connelly and his teammates at the dive bar. And I don’t even dare bring up the concert. I easily could, without mentioning Jake’s role in it, but I’m afraid I might slip and reveal something I shouldn’t.
Like how warm his lips felt when they touched mine.
Or how he slid his hand under my dress and nearly put it between my legs.
Or the sheer relief that crashed over me when he moved that hand, because if he hadn’t, I would’ve been revealed as a liar. I wasn’t dry as a desert, like I’d mocked. I was wetter than I’d ever been. In that moment, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anybody more.
And that is not good. Not good at all. Jake is too unpredictable. I can never figure out what he’s thinking, what he’s going to say or do next, and that’s unacceptable to me. How are you supposed to protect yourself when you don’t fully understand a