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“Ain’t no way I’m sleeping on that piece of shit futon.” She huffs, and I smile big and wide. “Now, move over and share like the nice girl I know you are deep,deepdown.”

Abby Jane angrily shifts over, farther away from me, and her bare leg brushes mine. “I swear to God, you’re a menace.”

“That may be true, but I’m gonna be a well-rested menace. Go to sleep.”

We fall silent, me lying on my back and Abby Jane with her back to me. It’s not long before her soft snores fill the room, lulling me to sleep as well.

I wake before the sun,and sweet merciful baby Jesus, my rock-hard dick is cradled between Abby Jane’s ass cheeks like it’s begging for entrance. Legit, the only thing keeping me out—you know, other than her lack of consent—is the two thin layers of our underwear.

Yeah, that’s right. Abby Jane sleeps in her panties. I know this because my hand seems to have found its way to her thigh in our sleep, with my thumb almost brushing against the promised land, and judging by all the smooth skin under my touch, sleep shorts aren’t an option. Unless they’re the size of a fucking postage stamp.

Still sleeping, she pushes her ass back farther, eliciting a deep groan from me. “Abs, you gotta stop.”

She lets out a soft moan followed by a mumbled, “Don’t wanna.” And as much as I want her to mean that, I know it’s the sleep talking.

“Abby Jane.” Her name comes out sounding more like a prayer, but my plea falls on deaf ears as she rolls her hips, causing a throb in my groin.

She rolls to face me, and I brace myself, prepared for her to light into me. Instead, she shocks the shit out of me and presses an open-mouthed kiss to my clavicle, her teeth grazing it lightly as she moves toward my neck.

Panting like a fucking fifteen-year-old getting his first bit of action, I ask, “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Shh,” she hisses against my skin. “Don’t ruin this with your big mouth.”

Her words spur me into action, and I haul her up from my side so that she’s straddling me, claiming her mouth as soon as her thighs clamp around mine. Our kiss is like Paul Walker inThe Fast and the Furious—zero to one hundred in less than sixty seconds.

Abby rocks against me, and we both moan. I don’t know what alternate reality I woke up into this morning, but Jesus, I really, really like it.

Just like I love the way her weight feels on top of me…the heat of her lithe body pressing down on mine. I love her taste and the softness of her lips and skin.

Desperate to see all of her, I pull her shirt over her head and toss it to the floor, baring her beautiful, perky,piercedbreasts to me. Holy hell. Never in a million years would I have ever thought barbells through a chick’s nipples were hot but on Abby Jane? It’s downright sexy, and I can’t wait one more second to have them in my mouth.

Unfortunately for me, that’s when she comes to her senses and pushes me away before flying off of me in search of her shirt. She pulls it back over her head, muttering and mumbling up a storm as she stalks into her closet, only to return fully covered, in a pair of sweat pants.

Quizzically, I lift a brow at her, but she pays me no mind, stomping out of her room and down the hall. Jesus Christ—thatfine line between love and hate? Yeah…we just obliterated it—only, I’m pretty sure she still hates me.

Trepidatiously, I follow behind her, making a pitstop in the spare bedroom to grab my shirt and bag. From behind me, Abby calls out, “Here.” She tosses my jeans at my feet and rushes back out of the room.

I shimmy into my jeans and make my way out to the living room, but she’s nowhere in sight. A quick glance down the hall shows her bedroom door is now shut. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s hiding out in there—hiding from me and what we just did.

And while I’d love nothing more than to finish what we started, my pride won’t let me stay where I’m not wanted, so without a word, I slip my shoes on and let myself out.

CHAPTER 10

AJ

Oh,Jesus, what have I done? What the fuck was I thinking?I pace back and forth in front of my bed—the same bed where I almost let Brock into my panties. Brock…the same boy who went from being my best friend to ignoring my existence altogether in middle school. Like a scratched CD, the same thoughts loop through my mind. I agonize over how we went from playmates to the best of friends to nothing. Hell, our mothers talked about our pre-destined marriage so often, by about ten I started fantasizing about it too. And then…in the blink of an eye…I wasn’t good enough for Brock anymore; as his friend or his future.

fling myself down onto the mattress, and instantly, I’m assaulted with the memory of his five o’clock shadow brushing against my cheek, reminding me that he’s no longer that boy, but a man. “Seriously, what the fuck?”

How could something so wrong feel so right? How could Brock Larson, of all people, make me feel like that? Like I was weightless and heavy all at once. In his arms, I felt desired and sexy and coveted.How is it possible forhimof all people to make me feel so damn goodwhen he contradicts almost everything I stand for?

I shun my silver-spoon upbringing, while he wears his like a badge. I refuse to comply with my parents’ expectations, whereas he falls in line like a good little soldier. I yearn for a passionate, crazy, uncontrollable love that burns like a wildfire, whereas—if the example his parents’ set means anything—he probably wants a society wife, with her pearls in place and hair perfectly coifed, to meet him at the door every night, scotch in hand and dinner on the table.

No matter how much he turns me on, we’d never work. And while I’m no prude, I know better than to shit where I eat, so to speak. Hooking up with Brock wouldn’t lead to anything good. No way, no how. Especially if word ever got around to our parents. His dad would probably forbid it, in fear of my sullying the Larson family name with my wild hair and tattoos—as if.

And my parents, considering that I haven’t spoken to them since high school…they would probably be giddy at the mere thought of bringing me back into the fold and forcing me to heel…molding me into the good little doormat they always wanted me to be.

Slowly, I move from mild irritation to outright anger. Seriously, fuck him for starting something with me after the way he walked out of my life all those years ago. Fuck him for crawling into my bed, damn near naked, like the biggest temptation I’ve ever seen. Fuck him for making me feel wanted and worthy, all with his lips pressed to mine.