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Holy hell, I’m insanely turned on. So is he—I feel the proof of it when he grips my ass and yanks me against him, grinding our lower bodies together.
He surprises me by backing me up against the door. He sinks to his knees and wrenches my legs apart, and I shiver when I see him peering up at me, lust darkening his gaze.
I love a man on his knees
When his tongue finds my clit, someone else makes a sound. It’s not me, and it’s not Dean, and as Hannah’s cheerful voice echoes in the hallway, the two of us freeze in place. Me on my feet, Dean on his knees, as if we’re performing a perverted tableau for a live audience.
“I’m trying to decide what I want more—those pretty lips wrapped around my cock, or your tight pussy squeezing the hell out of it.” I slowly pump my erection as I consider the two equally tempting options. “Give me your mouth.”
“I’ve been—” I kiss her jaw “such—” I kiss my way up to her mouth “—a good boy.”
“Oh my God. I hate you. Touch me,” she orders. “Touch me and fuck me and make me come again.” I narrow my eyes. “You weren’t this bossy last time. Or was I too drunk to remember it?”
I register a coppery flavor in my mouth. I touch my lip. My fingertips come back stained with blood. Jesus. Allie had bitten me hard enough to draw blood. I choke out a laugh.
Oh, and the winning goal was a wrist shot courtesy of Robbie Olsen. Damned if my chest didn’t overflow with pride.
“Ever spend any time on the Upper East Side?” “Sure. I had a friend who lived—” Her eyes widen. “Holy shit. Heyward Plaza. I just put that together.” The awe on her face makes me grin. “You own the Heyward Plaza Hotel?” Allie exclaims.
My hand emerges with a seven-inch silicone vibrator in a comical shade of pink. “Aw, who’s this little fella?” I wave the dildo up and down, and it’s flexible enough that it flops around like a real dick. Allie snatches it from my hand. “Little? You better take that back or else you’ll give Winston a complex.” “Winston? Are you kidding me?”
“Um.” His gaze bounces around the bathroom like a rubber ball. He looks at the towel rack, where his cargo pants are hanging. He looks at the bathtub, where I’m lounging like Cleo-fucking-patra. He looks at the bubbles surrounding my body like a fluffy white cloud. And then he looks at Winston. “Dude,” I blurt out. “It’s not what it looks like.” “Nope, nope, nope, I don’t want to know!” Logan throws his hands in the air and starts backing toward the door as if he accidentally walked into a lion’s den. He halts. Snatches his pants off the rack. Continues backing away. His eyes once again focus
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I reach down and trace my finger along the perfect O formed by her lips as they stretch tight around me. “You have no idea how gorgeous you look right now.”
He’s momentarily startled. Then he starts to laugh. “You’re jealous of Penelope?” “I’m not jealous,” I answer coolly. “I just don’t appreciate being lied to.”
“It’s me. You want me.” He pushes one finger inside and my inner muscles betray me by tightening around it. “And as long as this pussy keeps dripping for me, we’re not fucking done.”
I swear to God, if Allie got back together with that undeserving ass, I’m going to…what? Lose it again? “Break up” with her?
Well, hopefully my boys manage to turn the tie into a lead, because I’m sick to death of losing. And I’m sick of sneaking around, if I’m being honest.
“Uh-oh. You dated your coach’s daughter?” Allie takes on a chiding tone. “Oh, sweetie, that’s like rule number one in the dating handbook—never date the kid of your authority figure.”
Either the family purchased the apartment before the Brooklyn Heights neighborhood became super exclusive, or pro-hockey scouts make way more money than I thought.
Allie is back with my beer, and I reach for it as if it’s a life preserver. “Thanks, babe.” We both freeze the moment the endearment leaves my mouth. Shit. I hope Mr. Hayes didn’t hear that. He’s sitting right here. Of course he heard.
“But I think we made the right call sneaking out of there. For such a tiny little thing, your daughter sure is terrifying when she’s trying to get her way.” His lips curve ever so slightly. Holy shit, did I almost make him smile?
“Just tell the concierge who you are and someone will bring you up. The elevator requires a key to get to the penthouse.” She sighs. “You live in the penthouse of the Heyward Plaza Hotel?”
At one point he even brushes his lips over my cheek, which summons a loud hoot from Beau. “Jesus, Bella,” he marvels. He’s highly amused as he meets my eyes. “What kind of spell did you cast on my man Dean? I’ve never seen him like this with a chick before.” “My name’s Allie,” I correct.
“The only one of Logan’s crazy acronyms I live my life by—STAG.” His mouth stretches in a broad smile. “Stand there and grind.”
“You guys know I’m awake, right?” Beau’s wry voice triggers a rush of horror mingled with the burn of embarrassment. I bury my face against Dean’s chest, too mortified to look over at the armchair.
I sigh and turn to Dean, who’s clearly trying not to laugh. “And now it’s time for bed. Say good night to your friend Beau, sweetie.” “Good night, Beau,” Dean says obediently.
We love a man that does what hes told. What an obedient kimg
We just spent three days together. We fooled around in front of Beau, for crying out loud, and I’m afraid to kiss him in an empty parking lot? I bridge the distance and lean on my tiptoes to brush my lips over his. “Good luck,” I whisper.
“You know what? I’m glad you dumped me. I want nothing to do with you.” His voice rises, and I cringe because I know Hannah and Garrett must hear him even with her door closed. “I was a fucking idiot for trying to win you back! Why the fuck would I want to get back together with a disease-ridden whore—” “That’s enough!” Garrett’s booming proclamation comes too little, too late. Sean’s last remark has already done its intended damage.
I burst into Allie’s bedroom, then skid to a stop when I find her curled up on the bed. She lifts her head at my entrance, and the desolate look in her big blue eyes shreds my heart to pieces. “Baby,” I say softly.
“I’m not sure I can do this anymore.” Fuck. “It’s too confusing. Sleeping with you when we’re not actually together—” “We’re together,” I bite out.
I tighten my hold on her, burying my face in the crook of her neck. “I want to be with you,” I mumble. “So that means we’re fucking together, okay?”
“Hey, I have an idea.” I lean against the counter and stare at them over the rim of my mug. “How ’bout you guys mind your own business?” Wellsy’s jaw drops. Garrett’s eyebrows soar.
When is opening night?” “First week of February.” She pauses. “By then I’ll probably know if I got that Fox pilot too.” There’s no enthusiasm in her voice, and I glance over with a frown.
We’ve got a nice, fair arrangement going, except for the times when Allie plays the vagina card, in which case the arrangement becomes do what your girlfriend wants.
Allie makes a noise. I think it might be a growl. “Did you just call my boyfriend Dicky?” “Yeah, so what?” Summer challenges. I quickly intervene before a catfight breaks out. I mean, catfights in general are hot as fuck, but not when I’m related to one of the pussycats. “Summer, this is Allie. Allie, Summer.” I sigh. “My little sister.”
“Oh. Fitzy. Colin Fitzgerald,” I clarify. “One of your brother’s teammates.” Summer’s green eyes twinkle. She flips her hair again and announces, “I want him.”
I’ll only be gone for sixteen hours, but Summer Heyward-Di Laurentis is capable of doing earthquake-level damage in sixteen minutes.
Before I can react, I’m showered from head to toe with what feels like a tidal wave of lukewarm liquid. Another scream shatters my eardrums, and I’m still struggling to figure out what the fuck is going on when something hard connects with my left temple. Crack. Pain swims in my head, and I hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.
Tucker, who’s leaning against the wall a few feet away, looks like he’s about to pee his pants laughing. His laughter is of the silent variety, vibrating in his broad shoulders and staining his cheeks bright red.
“Sorry, irrelevant. Anyway, I was on my way to the living room. All the lights were off because we were watching a movie. I heard footsteps outside the front door and suddenly someone just walked in like they live here—” “I do live here,” I growl. Allie avoids my furious gaze. “I thought it was an intruder.” “An intruder with a key to the house?” I say sarcastically.
Not only did I attack my boyfriend with a paperweight, I then proceeded to call the police, because for a second there I was genuinely worried I might have killed him.
He groans again. “Jesus. I can’t believe you got the drop on me like that. You’re lucky I love you, babe. If any other girl had done this to me—” “You love me?” I blurt out.
Ommmgggggggg
But he’s wrong. Dean would be there for me if I needed him. He already has, rushing to my dorm the night Sean’s verbal attack ripped me to shreds.
“Little Dean missed you too.” “I can see that.” I rub the growing bulge, and he groans. “Keep doing that and I’ll shoot in my pants,” he warns. My smile widens. “Is that a challenge?”
“I fucking love you, baby.” “Nah, you just love road head.” “You.” He stubbornly shakes his head. “I love you.”
Garrett sees my confusion and keeps talking. “I guess Deluca called him because he knows we’re friends with Beau—” Beau? “This is about Maxwell?” I cut in. “What about him?” Logan averts his gaze. So does Tucker. The only one with the balls to meet my eyes is Garrett, who exhales in a slow, unsteady rush before speaking. “He…ah…died.”
Beau died. As in, he’s dead? Beau is dead? Beau Maxwell? My friend Beau Maxwell?
“Logan just told me what happened. I…” Her hand trembles in my hair. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.” “Broke…his neck.” My voice sounds far away, too. It doesn’t even sound like my voice, actually. Jesus, I’m so drunk. Disgustingly, pathetically, lost-in-oblivion drunk.
The memorial service for Beau is held in the football stadium. The entire team is there, along with the coaching staff, his friends, his family, hundreds of alumni, and thousands of people who probably never even met him. One notable absence? Dean.
don’t know how to handle the way he’s handling it. What am I supposed to do, take him to rehab? He’s not an alcoholic. He’s not a drug addict. And the worst part is, the booze and weed have no effect on his academic or hockey life. He just rolls out of bed in the morning and skates like a champion or aces a test.
I told him I needed to borrow his car so I could buy tampons. Life hack: if you don’t want someone asking you questions, say the word tampon and the conversation ends.
