Page 47

She’s clueless about where my mind is, head tipped back and mouth open, catching raindrops on her tongue as throaty giggles bubble their way out of her.

My fingers tighten against her, my feet shuffling forward, and her chin lowers, the smile on her face sending a literal thump through my chest.

I can’t take it anymore.

Don’t fucking want to.

“Brady? ”

I let out a long breath, my eyes on hers.

I let her go, taking a step back, gaze traveling over her, dripping wet and drowning in my hoodie.

I clench my eyes closed, and I sense her coming closer. A soft hand finds mine, and my eyes snap open, connecting with hers.

“Fuck it.”

I take her face in my palms and crush my mouth to hers.

And my fucking god, does she respond.

Her mouth opens for me instantly, and my tongue eagerly accepts the offer, sweeping over her silkiness and demanding more. I force my fingers into her hair, driving her back until I’m crushing her against the truck.

She melts, hiking one leg up, and I grab hold, pressing into her as I take her mouth like I’m fucking starved.

Her kiss is fierce. Messy. Sinfully sweet.

She starts to shake under my touch, and a deep, throaty groan escapes me. I tear free, nibbling at her lips the way I’ve wanted to do for so fucking long, biting and sucking and licking. She grips my wrists, my palms still holding her head how I want her.

I dip into her neck, and she moans before I ever touch her skin there, sending a bolt of lightning straight to my dick.

A loud honk has her jumping and tugging back.

I tense, dread weighing down my veins.

What will I see when I look into her eyes right now?

Regret might just about kill me.

Jaw clenched, I prepare for the worst, but before my eyes can even meet hers, her forehead falls to my chest and she laughs, quickly shifting and grabbing my hand as she drags us back to the driver’s side. “Come on, before they run us over!”

She yanks the door open and climbs in, flashing me a quick shot of creamy ass cheeks as she hops over the center console, and I swear to god, my dick is an iron rod in my jeans.

I climb in, and Cameron’s laughter doubles until she’s got tears in her eyes, her hand holding her side, and I finally relax, my own humor mirroring hers.

Ten seconds later, we’re parked in my driveway. Cameron is out, dashing for the front door in seconds, laughing as she gets pelted with rain all over again.

I pause for a moment, unsure of what to do.

My pulse is jumping wildly, my mind running a million miles a minute, but the thought that’s screaming the loudest has my eyes clamping shut.

I am so fucked.

“Brady!” she yells, and my eyes fly open. “The door is locked.” She smiles, shivering.

“Oh shit.” I jump out, only now noting my mom’s car isn’t in the driveway.

“Whose bright idea was it to dance in the rain again?” she jokes, bending to pull her shoes off and tossing them to the side.

“Definitely mine,” I play along.

She rewards me with a laugh, and my god, I’ve gone completely soft—I feel it in my chest. Cameron shoves me out of the way as she runs inside and books it up the stairs.

I can’t keep the smile off my face as I lock the door, kicking my shoes off.

I go into the kitchen, pouring us both a double shot of whiskey and adding some hot water to it from the dispenser.

I cut a lemon and squeeze a good amount into our glasses, stirring them with my finger, spotting a note from my mom on top of a few tinfoil-covered dishes.

It’s bingo night tonight. Be home around nine.

I look to the clock, noting it’s a little after seven, and peek in on what Mom made for dinner. I smirk, shaking my head, and pick up our glasses.

I take the steps two at a time. “I got us something that should warm us up quick!”

“In here!”

Her voice leads me into the bathroom, and I’m stepping in just as the curtain to the shower is closing, nothing but her fingers in sight.

“Uh, this is divine!” Her hair tie is thrown over the top, and I watch as it lands by my feet—right next to the hoodie and socks she was wearing. I note there is no other item of clothing there with them. No panties. No bra.

She was full commando today.

My eyes fall to the bulge in my jeans, and I give him a mental apology as my muscles clench. I try to rid myself of the thoughts running through my mind, but then she pulls the curtain back a little, part of her coming into view, hair soaked and hanging over her naked shoulder.

“Oh, what’s that?” She stares at the glasses in my hand.

“Some shit my dad makes me and the guys sometimes. No idea what it’s called, but it’s damn good.”

She tips her head, and my gaze follows the long piece of golden hair that slides against her arm, sticking to her in ways I want to.

I’d like to take her hair and?—

“Bring mine to me?” she asks, but it’s the crack in her tone that has my eyes snapping to hers, my breathing getting a little harder.

Probably because I’m holding my breath.

I shuffle closer, handing hers over, and she holds her hand over mine a moment before pulling it away.

“Cheers.” She holds it up; we clink glasses and, at the same time, tip our glasses back.

I finish mine in one go, and she only takes a second swallow, blowing out a long breath as she chuckles. She passes it back and then the curtain is hiding her from me again. “That is good.”

“Guess what my mom made for dinner.”

The curtain yanks back again, this time soapy bubbles clinging to her, and I have to swallow my groan.

She’s killing me and she has no fucking idea .

“Don’t play with me, Lancaster.”

I tug my hoodie over my head, my shirt next, and the rest follows, leaving me in my briefs. Her eyes burn a path down my chest, but before they can travel any lower, I spin on my feet. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Cox.”

Lie.

I would very much like to play with her. Naked.

But that’s a whole other issue in itself, isn’t it, you big fucking fake?

Cameron

I call on my best spying skills and focus on the sound of his footsteps. Only when I can’t hear the slightest trace of him do I finally feel I can breathe, my shoulders falling against the tile walls.

Holy shit, he kissed me when no one was watching.

When no one was there to see.

When it wasn’t for the benefit of someone else.

Does that mean he feels this new pull between us?

I thought I was imagining it, that our versions of Mr. Hyde—the flirty, sexual seeker version—were just becoming better acquainted with each other while the sane, more conscious parts of our selves knew the score.

I’m starting to think my scoreboard is glitching and I’ve missed a touchdown or two because the numbers aren’t matching up.

Does this mean more than I realize or less than I want it to?

What the actual hell do I want it to?

I know what’s going on, and it’s somehow equally as intriguing as it is terrifying. It’s like the musical cue in a major motion picture has started playing, and all you have to do is keep your eyes glued to the screen to see what big moment happens next.

Do we keep driving down the field or spike the ball and end the play ?

I don’t know the answer, but what I do know is this is Brady we’re talking about.

If there’s anyone I can trust blindly, it’s him.

That thought washes the unease down the drain with what’s left of the suds, and I climb out, smiling when I find a fresh T-shirt and pair of fluffy, green Hulk socks. I tug them on and towel-dry my hair as best I can, comb it out, and head down the stairs.

Brady’s just getting the fire lit, two plates on the coffee table that he scooted closer to the fireplace.

He looks up, his mouth open as if he was about to say something but he seems to forget what it was, and then the front door is opening.

“Oh, hello, my sweet babies!” Tisha coos, her hands coming together in front of her like a prayer.

Brady chuckles, raising a brow at his dad, who winks in return.

“Cameron, honey, did you see I made your favorite?” She grips her husband, stumbling as she kicks off her flats. “And Brady’s too. I made Brady’s favorite. Well, his favorite dinner anyway. I love you two so much, and I’m just so happy you’re here.”

I fight a smile, glancing at Brady, who wipes his mouth to cover his laugh. “I can’t wait to dig in. Thank you.”

She walks over, soft hands cupping and patting my cheeks as she smiles at me, her eyes growing misty. “Oh, I can’t wait to have a daughter,” she sighs happily.

I tense, and Ben starts laughing, walking over to collect his wife.

“Okay,” Ben chuckles, wrapping his arm around her middle and turning her toward the stairs. “Let’s go on up to bed, shall we?”

“We shall, Mr. Lancaster,” she all but purrs, and Brady makes a gagging sound.

His dad just smiles. “Good night, you two.”

They start up the stairs, but Tisha stops about halfway up.

“Oh, Cameron, honey. Sorry but we had to put some logs on your bed, so you won’t be able to sleep in there tonight.”

My brows jump. “Logs? On the bed? ”

“Mom, what the hell?” Brady chuckles.

Tisha grins and keeps going, but Ben pauses, lifting a hand into the air with a shrug. “She figured the only thing Cam wouldn’t move would be logs.”

A laugh sputters from me. “And why exactly did she not want me to sleep in the bed?”

Rather than answering, Ben lifts a brow and looks toward his son. “Good night, you two.”

Oh. Ohhh.

My cheeks grow red, but I pretend they don’t and move to sit on one of the pillows Brady set in front of the coffee table.

Melted, gooey goodness stares back at me in the form of a massive serving of baked mac and cheese, a perfect layer of Tapatio having been sprinkled over the top, just the way I like it.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d want any fried pork chop or not. We can have seconds if you do.” Brady sits beside me, his plate of mashed potatoes, fried pork chops, and white country gravy poured on top.

I lean in to get a better whiff.

He laughs, and my eyes snap up to his. “I’ll take that as a yes, you want some.”

“Maybe just a couple bites of yours.”

“I’ll share if you share.”

“Bet.”