Page 39

“Shut the fuck up,” Cason groans, breathing heavily. With his stare intent on Ez, he lifts his face, his eyes penetrating mine in the shadows. He looks… nervous. Unsure. His eyes drop to the ball, and in that second, when our stare breaks and finds the white ball with red seams, I want inside his head. I want to dig deep and find the connection he has with baseball. Like I’ve said, I’ve known a lot of baseball players over the years, and they all pick up a ball or a bat for the first time for a reason. And this guy, he has a damn good reason.
He stands sideways. Headlights light up his lower half, and he looks almost legendary standing there with clouds of exhaust hovering near the pavement and the shine of the cars against the streetlights.
It’s then, during the windup, that I realize what a horrible idea this is. Or, Nahla reminds me. “Don’t let him throw that ball. If he hits someone’s car, he could get in trouble and lose his scholarship.”
“Well, shit.” I straighten my posture and stare at her. “Why’d you let me convince him to try it?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I came out here because I thought we were leaving, not potentially committing vandalism.”
Just as I turn my head to tell Cason not to throw the ball, he winds up and throws the ball at the same time someone’s car alarm goes off. The ball hisses through the air with wicked speed and right into the back window of a Tesla.
“Shit.” Ez jumps up and rushes toward Cason. “We should go.”
“Ya think?” he growls at Ez, shaking his head with disappointment, and then smiles at me. “How fast does that minivan go?”
I snort, eyes wide. “Not a hundred and five.”
“Cute.” He smacks me on the ass. Laughter dances in his expression, the corners of his lips lifting. “Let’s drink. I need redemption.”
You know what I love the most about what just occurred? Other than the fact that there’s one less Tesla looking sleek and perfect? The fact that Cason didn’t blame me. If Collin had done that, you better believe it would have been my fault for convincing him to do it.
Nahla blows out a nervous breath. “What is my life becoming these last couple hours?”
“You know—” Forest begins, only to have Nahla slap his shoulder.
“Stop it. Go find someone else to bother.”
Inside the pub, we move through the building to the back-patio seating. I’m at a table with Cason again, trying to ignore the fact that Ez and Remi are making out. Yep. She’s still here but thankfully hasn’t bothered me much.
“You have a Cheerio in your hair,” Cason tells me when I sit on his lap. He holds me closer, invading my personal space, and sadly, my heart. I freaking like this guy, and I’ve only spent a few hours around him. I could see myself spending every day with him, and though that terrifies the fuck out of me, I can’t make myself walk away from him or get off his lap.
The spring night air hits my cheeks, a welcome coolness from the heat of being drunk. I don’t know about you, but once alcohol hits me, and I’ve had a lot tonight, my face feels like fire. Which is also why we’re outside.
Pulling my hair over my shoulder, I gather it in my hands to see that I do, in fact, have a cheerio in my hair. “Oh, that’s a teet.” And then, like the awkward fucking weirdo I am, I eat it.
Laughter shakes through Cason and, in turn, jiggles my boobs. His hand, that’s wrapped around me, sneaks under my shirt against the tiniest sliver of skin he finds. “Say what?”
“A teet.” I swallow and jump at the feeling of his hands on my bare skin. It was one thing when I held his hand, but another completely when he’s close to naughty parts and the small of my back. “It’s a Cheerio with cinnamon and sugar on it.”
His face scrunches and he lifts his chin so we’re eye level. “I hate cinnamon. And Cheerios.”
I balk at him, mouth open wide. “What kind of monster are you?”
His eyes focus on my lips. “I prefer jelly beans.” He draws in a quick breath and trails his fingers higher. A fiery whimper dances on my lips, my knees threatening to buckle. It’s a damn good thing I’m seated or I’d need to sit down. You see, this, between us, our words, it’s a playful conversation to anyone watching, but if you look closely at the lust-drunk eyes and the touches, this is anything but light and flirty. I want to fuck him, and I know he’s getting desperate. Two minutes ago, he asked if he could fuck me in the bathroom. I know exactly where this is heading now, and I have no intention of stopping it.
“Okay, I can get down with that,” I tell him. “As long as they’re Jelly Belly.”
He winks, his breath hitting my face. “Only the best.”
My voice shakes when his hand moves even higher, his lips closer to the curve between my collarbone and neck that he’s been eyeing for the last hour. A nervous tremble works through my body. “What’s your favorite flavor?”
His tone is husky, a new distinct gravel present as he shifts me closer to his chest. “Buttered popcorn.”
His touch, voice, breathing, it sends a thrill through me, and I fight the urge to twist on his lap and straddle him. With my hand draped over his shoulder, I bunch the fabric of his dark T-shirt in my hand. “We can’t be friends.”
“We don’t have to be friends.” A gasp leaves my throat at his words, body arching into him. “I just want to fuck you.”
“You’re getting ahead of the count there,The Show.”