Smug Bastard - Stacey Marie Brown Page 0,39

move into. It was heaven compared to my house.

“Yeah.” I folded my arms, awed in watching her move. Her confidence had my full attention again. Especially my lower half. “We played all the time. And if I remember you acted like you hated the game. Rolled your eyes every time you came down, irritated you couldn’t watch one of your movies.”

“I was irritated, especially when you were there interrupting my movie time. Doesn’t mean I didn’t know how to play. Kyle taught me since no one else in the house would play with him.” She went in for her last shot, the 8-ball in a difficult position. With an ease that popped my eyes, the last ball went in. She stood, tipping up her eyebrow. “Taught me everything I know. Especially how to con easy prey. Now…” She went to the four double shots of tequila, gesturing to them like a game show. “You ready for this?” she mocked.

Another gruff laugh came from me; rubbing my scruff, my eyes latched on to her. Little Kinsley Maxwell totally played me… and it completely turned me on.

I looked at the liquor then back at her, my inhibitions already crumbling around me. All the logic and reason why I couldn’t touch her slipping from my head.

I should have said no. That she won and that would be the end.

Instead, I stepped up, my fingers wrapping around the tall shot glass. Fuck it.

I took them one right after another, knowing perfectly well I would have no fight in me left. And yet, I didn’t seem to care.

I was so fucked.

And for the first time ever, I hoped it wasn’t in the good way.

Chapter 13

Kinsley

Oh. God.

I inhaled sharply as I watched his head tip back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank down the shots, the muscles cutting down his neck over his shoulders and arms, flexing. Perspiration dampened his skin, making it glow in the dim bar light.

Everything in my head was telling me to back away, but my body, warm and relaxed with alcohol, wanted to inch forward, my hands aching to discover his body.

No. Kins. You hate him… right? Right???

But I knew I didn’t. Far from it. The ’tween girl who thought he was annoying was no longer me, and right now I was the stupidest one in the Smug Bastard’s fan club. Because I knew better. But I couldn’t ignore the tightness of my nipples, my thighs pulsing with need, my head spinning with desire.

When I decided to play him, I thought the joke was on him. I was wrong.

The feel of him pressed into the back of me still tingled my skin like a ghost, his voice brushing my ear, husky and deep. He noticed the shivers that ran down my limbs, the way my back automatically arched. I could feel him respond, almost making me moan out loud. The dry desert heat circled me like a muggy cloud, clinging to my skin, dripping a trail of sweat down my back.

You can’t touch him. He’s off limits.

From the moment we walked in, I noticed almost every female and a few men stared at him with profound hunger. He was someone who entered a room and commanded all the attention without even knowing it. Groups of girls steadily inched over, staring boldly and lustfully, whispering, trying to get his attention and not caring if I was there. They were hoping he would find one of them more intriguing than me.

I shouldn’t have cared, but when the woman bartender, with her huge tits, leaned on the bar, her interest clear, I acted without thought, shoving myself between them. The jealousy and possessiveness flamed off my shoulders like spikes. I couldn’t seem to stop it.

Pulling out my cell, I blurrily looked down at the text still waiting for me to open. Enough of Kasey’s message showed to know what it was about.

Smith.

Open it. Remind yourself, besides him being in a “complicated” relationship, he had dated your sister. Kasey was still yearning for him. Did he ever sleep with her? I had caught them making out a few times; one time they didn’t even know I was there. Kasey’s whispered pleas to go to her bedroom, her body rubbing up against him like our cat, desperate and needy.

I hadn’t understood it then. Now?

I could feel the same neediness curving down my figure, the desire to press myself into him. It was mortifying how badly I wanted to rub against him.

Embarrassment and anger burned my