Rhett
The sound of tires gradually moving over solid ground fills the air, my roommate’s black car slowly creeping up the wide, rocky driveway in the woods.
We’re gathered on the deck of Coach’s lake house, a huge log cabin with tons of windows and a wraparound porch, isolated in the middle of nowhere. Fire pit. Two piers. Jet skis, speedboat, and pontoon. It’s more than enough to keep us occupied while we’re stuck here for twenty-four hours.
No one has dared touch anything in the house for fear of breaking something or messing shit up.
Coach would kill us.
The place is meticulously maintained and obviously worth a shit ton of money.
Beer cans popped, we’re gathered on the wooden deck, taking up every chair we could find in the storage shed, waiting for a few stragglers. Gunderson, Pitwell, and three others haven’t arrived yet.
“The look on your face when you walked into the practice gym the next day after those dicks stiffed you with that bill.” Oz Osborne laughs in my direction. “Priceless.”
Zeke Daniels—notoriously quiet—chuckles into his beer can, lips twisted into a smirk. “I wish I would have seen your expression when you saw your Jeep.”
“Fuck you, assholes.” I laugh. “I’m lucky I wasn’t alone—those fuckers just left me there.”
“Yeah they did.” Oz laughs, high-fiving Tennyson. “Do you know how long it took to find some girls to wrap your Jeep like that? Like an entire five minutes.”
They laugh again, the noise echoing in the woods. It’s taken a full three hours with these guys to finally laugh everything off; their good-humored ribbing feels like an opening for a place in their tight inner circle.
“I have to ask, why did y’all keep doing that shit to me?”
“Because you say things like y’all.” Daniels snorts and rolls his eyes. “We’ve never had a new guy join the team so late, seemed reasonable to make you earn our respect.”
“By wiping my Jeep down with Vaseline?”
Oz takes a drink of beer. “Huh, is that what they used? I thought they’d use cooking grease or some shit like that.” He’s impressed. “Vaseline is way better.”
“Haha fuckers.”
“What the hell is taking every else so long to get here?” Brandon asks, craning his neck toward the driveway, trying to conjure up the stragglers. He’s seated next to Ryker, the asshole who gave me a ride to the Pancake House but left me stranded there.
“Don’t know.” Osborne checks his cell phone, casting a glance around the group, making eye contact with several of the guys. They glance at each other, Oz’s brows rising when Johnson’s eyes flick to the cell phone in Oz’s palm.
His brows rise, too.
Weird.
If I hadn’t been staring straight at him, I would have missed it. A queasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. They’re planning something; I would bet money on it.
There are three of us on the deck now, the rest methodically disappearing one by one as cell phones start pinging with notifications.
“Where the hell is everyone going?” I wonder out loud, wanting to keep track now that my radar has gone up. “Are we doing a bonfire or what?”
“Um.” Oz doesn’t meet my eyes. “Changing into swimsuits.”
“Y’all brought suits?” My eyes narrow. “It’s not even sixty degrees.”
The shore down by the water is lined with three kayaks, two canoes, and a rowboat; Coach’s kids must use that shit when they’re here. If the weather would cooperate, thirteen athletes stranded in bumblefuck with no gym for miles would be having a field day with those water toys.
But, it’s fifty-four fucking degrees and windy with a storm approaching from the west. No one is getting in the water, not without freezing their balls off.
“You afraid of a little shrinkage, New Guy?” Ryker jokes.
Hardly.
I’ve seen these douches naked in the shower and have nothing to be ashamed of.
In the driveway, Gunderson’s car door opens. Slams.
Then another slam echoes, causing everyone to turn.
My throat drops to the pit of my stomach when that bright familiar hair is tossed, the russet waves popping against the green leaves of the trees. She bends, ass in the air, to retrieve something from the front seat, and I stare, dumbstruck.
What the hell is Laurel doing here.
“Well looky who it is, New Guy, your two favorite people: Gunderson and Fire Crotch,” Johnson says as he ogles her.
I take a shot, rising out of my seat and landing a fist in his ribcage. “Don’t call her that, dickhead.”
“Sorry, but her hair is red.” The idiot says it like I’m the asshole here. “That makes her a fire crotch.”
Ryker sniffs. “Do her curtains match the drapes?”
Johnson laughs, rolling his dull brown irises. “Like he would know.”
What the hell is she doing here?
Laurel is gorgeous, a delicate juxtaposition against the rustic landscape. Fiery red hair in a high, flirty ponytail, her tight white tee is smoothed over her set of fantastic breasts, black leggings showing off her sexy, incredible figure. White Converse crunch the loose gravel beneath her feet as she takes a few tentative steps toward me.
Wiggles her fingers in greeting. “Surprise?”
That is a fucking understatement.
“Was it a mistake coming here?” She raises a hand to her hair, fingering her ponytail. “You don’t look as excited as I thought you’d be.”
“I…”
Her blue eyes scan the shore down by the lake. The deck. Peer into the house through the panoramic windows.
“Um, where are all the girls?”
“Girls?”
“Yeah, the girls. Rex said there would be a bunch of girls here? He said…” Her voice trails off. “Well shit.”
I stuff my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’ll just say it: this is a mandatory team buildin’ weekend. There are no girls here.”
“Oh my God.” Laurel’s skin burns as bright as her flaming hair, fists clenched into balls at her hips. “Gunderson, that jerk! Now I’m stuck here with a bunch of guys?”
“It’s fine, we’ll manage. Let’s grab your stuff and stash it in my room until we figure this shit out.”
“I’m going to kill that roommate of yours. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him. God, I feel like such an ass.”
“Don’t worry about it.” My hand goes to the indent of her waist as we make our way to Gunderson’s car to grab her stuff. “To be honest, you’re a sight for sore eyes. It’s nice having a friendly face show up.”
A beautiful, sexy, smiling face.
Her scowl is adorable. “I’m still going to kill Gunderson.”
Yeah. I am too—the whole lot of those dickheads.
I grab her bag out of the trunk—a large, quilted, floral duffle bag with a cross-body strap—hike it over my shoulder, and lead her back toward the house.
She trails along behind me, small hand slipping into mine.
I stare down at our clasped hands as we step up onto the cedar deck, smile down at her, helping her up onto the raised porch.
In the short time I was at the car gathering Laurel’s things, the guys were evidently busying themselves picking up the beer bottles and cans from the patio. Daniels holds a black trash bag open while everyone tosses the garbage inside.
He gives Laurel a nod, his weird, piercing gray eyes checking her out skeptically. “What’s up?”
She blushes under his scrutiny. “Hi.”
“Laurel, you remember Zeke Daniels? Don’t mind his pissed-off expression, he has resting dick face.”
“Okay.” She laughs as we pass him, allowing me to lead her into the house. Inside the log cabin is more wood, split logs from floor to ceiling, a massive fieldstone fireplace standing eighteen feet tall.
With the impending cold weather, someone had the foresight to light a fire.
Facing it, a leather sectional and an ottoman covered in cow print fabric. Plaid pillows and fuzzy throw blankets.
“Wow. This is incredible.” Her mouth tips down at the corners. “It’s a shame I won’t be staying.”
There’s a bunkroom above the garage, but we drew straws and I ended up in one of the guest rooms overlooking the lake, so that’s where we head.
I lead her to the stairs, lugging her heavy bag.
“What the heck is in here?” I grunt, readjusting the strap digging its way into the muscle of my right tricep.
“I didn’t know what the weather was going to be like, and I wanted to have options…sorry.”
“I’m just teasin’.”
Her arm reaches around, turns the handle, and gives it a shove so I can walk through and dump her duffle on the king-sized bed.
“Do you have a bathroom in here?”
“Yeah, through that door.”
“Okay. Give me a second?”
“Take all the time you need.”
Laurel is halfway through the bathroom door when she turns, resting her hand on the doorjamb, biting her bottom lip and studying me where I stand in the center of the room. “I’m so sorry I just showed up like this. I really did think there would be other women here.”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
“I know, it’s just…I don’t want to make this any harder for you than it’s been with your team.” She palms the doorknob. “The look on your face…you looked shocked.”
“I was, but that’s just because I…” Was happy to see her. Relieved, even. Fuck yes I was glad to see her when she stepped out of that car. “Anyway, take your time. Then we’ll go see if any of the guys want to start the grill; I’m starving.”
“Perfect.” She gives me a warm smile. “I’ll be right out.”
“I’ll wait.”
Laurel
My hand lifts to the ponytail in my hair and I ease the rubber band out. Slide it over my red locks, dragging it until it’s all the way out. Give my head a shake, letting the whole mess cascade around my face.
Fluff it.
Run a hand down the front of my shirt, smoothing the hem over the top of my black cotton leggings. Turn this way and that to check out my profile in the mirror.
Stomach is flat. No underwear lines.
Boobs look great.
Bending, I untie both my shoes, kicking them off. Pull off my socks, ball them up, shove them inside my Chucks. Grab a washcloth, dampen it under the faucet, and wipe my stinky sneaker feet with a little soap and water.
Blow out a breath before pulling the door to the bedroom open.
Rhett is seated at the foot of the big bed, legs spread, arms braced on the mattress behind him, backward baseball cap making him look young and carefree with his ears sticking out under the edge.
His crooked smile gives me pause, and before he can rise, I step into his open legs. Lean in, hands sliding to his shoulders, lips pressing against his.
If he’s surprised by my physical attention, he recovers quickly, mouth widening, meeting my kiss with a solid peck of his own. Arms go around me, hands firmly cupping my ass cheeks and squeezing, tongue exploring my mouth.
“Mmm.” I press in closer, bending to press a kiss to his temple. “We can’t get carried away or they’re going to think we’re fooling around in here.”
“Trust me, they don’t have that much faith in me.”
“Then they’re idiots,” I whisper. Rhett’s giant hands span my waist, fingers fanned out, thumbs nearly touching. “Because I…because…”
I like you.
Think you’re wonderful.
Want to be more than friends.
Only I can’t get the words out; they’re lodged in my throat.
“You can’t stay.” His head hits my belly and I take the opportunity to run my fingers along the column of his strong neck.
“I know.” But I’m here now.
He lifts his head. Tips his chin so he can look me in the eye. “During dinner we’ll figure out how to get you home. Maybe Gunderson will let you take his car, and he can ride home with someone else—it’s his fault he put you in this position.”
Us, I silently correct him. Gunderson put us in this position.
“That works.”
“All right. Let’s go find something to eat.”
Rhett stands before I can back away, our bodies smashed together, the rigid length of him distinctly noticeable against my thigh. He lifts an arm, hand sliding to the back of my neck. I rise to my tiptoes, meeting his lips for another kiss.
Sigh.
The house is eerily quiet when we finally crack the bedroom door, emerging into the lofted overlook above the cavernous living room.
The empty living room.
The empty living room with the perfect view of an empty deck and an empty beach.
“Where the hell is everyone?”
“Maybe they went out on the boat?”
I lag behind him, peer over the guardrail of the loft. Stare down into the empty, silent kitchen. No way are twelve wrestlers this quiet.
“Do you suppose…” I can’t even finish the sentence, certain I know the answer. “They left us here?”
“Let’s check their rooms for luggage.”
We find nothing as we hit room after room, not a trace of anyone except us.
“I should have fucking known they were going to pull something like this.” He gets out his phone. Pounds out a message.
His cell dings within seconds and he proceeds to go angrily back and forth several times before I can’t stand it any longer and ask, “What did he say?”
Rhett slaps his phone in my open palm and my eyes scan the messages in the group chat.
Rhett: Where the hell are you assholes? Did you run to town or something?
Gunderson: Gone like a freight train, gone like yesterday.
Rhett: What the hell are you on about? Are you here or not?
Gunderson: No dipshit.
Rhett: So y’all didn’t run out to pick up dinner or what?
Johnson: No dumbass. Like, gone. For the night.
Gunderson: We went home.
Rhett: ALL of you?
Johnson: Yeah. All of us.
Rhett: You fucking left us here? Stranded?
Johnson: Yah, calm down—it’s only an hour away. Thought you’d want to be alone with Fire Crotch.
Gunderson: We like to think we’re doing you a favor.
Rhett: HOW is stranding us an hour from home doing us a favor?
Gunderson: Tonight when you’re banging the ginger, you’re going to be THANKING us. I accept cash and gift cards in any denomination.
Ryker: Don’t worry your pretty little heads—we’ll be back in the morning to fetch you.
Gunderson: And dude, lighten up. Have fun before she wises up and figures out how boring you are.
“They left us here?”
Not going to lie, I’m not broken up about it—not even a little. In fact, quite the opposite.
Instead of anger, a bubble of excitement wells up inside me and I tamp down the happy dance my feet want to do across the hardwood floors.
“So we’re here…alone?”
“Looks like it.”
“For the entire night?”
“Yeah. Jesus Laurel, I am so sorry.” Rhett blows out a puff of frustrated air, hand gripping the back of his neck. “It’s one thing for them to fuck with me, but another for them to involve you.”
I can’t very well say, I’m glad the idiots are gone, let’s cuddle, can I? Not when he feels so guilty that I’m stuck here.
So I go with, “Let’s make the best of the situation. What do we have for food? I really am starving.”
Together we head to the large kitchen, noting a heavily stocked fridge with relief. Water bottles, juice boxes, chocolate milk. Eggs. Vegetables and fruit. Hot dogs and chicken breasts. It looks like someone went to a deli and bought pasta salads.
In the freezer, several frozen pizzas. Popsicles. A container of vanilla bean ice cream. Frozen broccoli and scallops.
“It’s not the burgers I thought we were going to have, but want to toss in a pizza?”
“Or two?”
“Or two.” Rhett smiles, grabbing the pies. “Supreme and a cheese?”
“Works for me. I’ll preheat the oven.”
We set to work in the kitchen together, doing a little dance at the stove, skirting around each other—the one couples do, accidentally-on-purpose brushing against each other when reaching for something, when opening a drawer or cabinet. When we brush hips as I stand lining a cookie sheet with aluminum foil, my whole body heats from the contact.
Outside, the sun is setting against the horizon, the silhouette of several boats on the water lending a picturesque backdrop to the already scenic view. An orange, lavender, and blue horizon touches the tree line above. It’s beautiful.
Tranquil. Peaceful.
Just the thing Rhett needed.
I pluck two cups from the cupboard. “So when the guys come back tomorrow, do you think you’ll actually get any team bonding in?”
He opens a few drawers before locating a pizza cutter. Shrugs. “I don’t know. I thought we already had.”
I lean my hip against the cabinet behind me, hands braced on the granite countertop. “Are you really that bent out of shape at the thought of shacking up with me for the next sixteen hours? Or are you just mad they won’t grow up and act like adults?”
“I’m pissed that they’re morons.”
My brow goes up. I want him to admit he wants to be stuck here with me. “So you’re not mad you’re here with me?”
“No, I’m not mad about that.”
“Good. Because I’m not exactly hating it.”
Rhett looks down at the floor, a crimson blush creeping above the collar of his plaid button-down, coloring his cheeks. His shaggy hair is wavy today, and I catch whiffs of fresh air when he moves past me to grab a hot pad.
Lays everything by the stove so it’s ready when we need it.
We load the pizzas into the oven one at a time, closing the door. Set a timer for twenty minutes.
“So what should we do while they’re cooking?” He can’t meet my eye.
What should we do? Boy do I have a few ideas…
“I’ll fill these glasses with water, then you wanna sit on the deck while we wait?”
“Sounds good.”
Outside, I shift a few chairs around, dragging two so they’re side by side, facing the water. Facing the sunset. The glowing horizon, sun fading into night, a few stars peeking through the dusk.
The sliding door opens and closes. “I’ll keep the lights off so we don’t attract the bugs.”
He joins me in the green Adirondack chairs, hands me my glass, spreads his legs, and stares into the distance. We’re quiet a few blissful moments. “This is nice.”
My head falls back against the wooden chair. “I could definitely get used to this.” The lake water hitting the break wall along the shore. The fresh, pine-filled air. The rustling of the trees. The crackling remains from embers of the abandoned stone fire pit.
Sitting out here, next to Rhett.
A deep sigh escapes my lungs. Eyes close, lashes rest on my cheekbones.
“Do you suppose they’re jealous of you?” The question—which hadn’t occurred to me until this second—leaves my lips before I can give it a second thought.
“Who?”
I peel my eyes open, turning my head to meet his brown gaze. “Your teammates.”
“Jealous? Of me?”
I laugh quietly. “Why is that such a foreign concept?”
“What do they have to be jealous of?”
I sit up, twisting to face him in the chair. “Because you’re the best wrestler on the team. You came from out of nowhere as a transfer and you’re putting their personal stats to shame—or am I wrong about that?”
Rhett’s shaggy hair lobs back and forth when he shakes his head.
“You’re a nice guy—that probably drives them nuts, too. Plus, you’re dating me.”
He snorts. “Out of all the people you could be dating, you expect people to believe you choose me?”
“I mean, don’t you want to? To try?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
“You want to date me?” His left brow is lifted. “I have no experience with…”
Is he trying to tell me he’s a virgin? I school my expression so my eyes don’t bug out of my skull. “You mean you’ve never…”
I make a motion near my crotch with my hand, hoping he understands I mean sex.
“Shit, no. I’m not a virgin. I meant I’m not boning a new chick every weekend like some people.” Rhett’s face turns red. “I meant I have no experience with someone like you.”
My heart falls into the hollow in my stomach. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not…”
Like one of his hot teammates. Like Thad, who has more in the looks department than actual God-given talent. Like the overconfident fraternity boys always hitting on me. Like every stereotypical athlete you read about, creating unrealistic expectations for women—and, apparently, men.
We get quiet again, the sound of a motorboat in the background, zooming across the water, reverberating in the dark.
“Maybe that’s what I like about you.” I take a long sip of water, jiggling the ice. “I find it very hard to believe no woman has ever wanted to be your girlfriend. Maybe you just haven’t given anyone the chance.”
My mind strays to Monica and I scowl.
He laughs, the sound echoing in the woods. “Trust me, it’s not like I haven’t wanted to, especially those years when my hormones were raging.”
I lean forward, interested. “Are they raging now?”
“Oh yeah.” He laughs again, relaxed. “So hard.”
Man, he’s cute when he smiles.
Sexy.
The timer on his phone goes off, the notification annoying, coupled with a vibrating tone. We stand. Head into the house, the smell of pizza greeting us.
My stomach growls.
“Want to watch a movie while we eat?”
“Sure.”
“You set up while I do the pizza?”
He nods. “Yeah, I think I can figure that shit out. What are you in the mood for?”
Something that requires us to turn off the lights and sit close. “Um, whatever. You pick.”
I putz around in the kitchen, removing both pizzas from the oven, laying them on the granite to cool. Cut them both, loading two plates with slices of both, surreptitiously watching him fuss with the remote control in the living room.
Turns the TV on. Turns it off.
Bends over to fiddle with the cable box.
I stifle a smile, waiting until he locates the movies on demand and begins scrolling through our options, pausing on a few to read their descriptions and ratings. Stops on a chick flick I’ve seen no less than twenty times, but would watch again. A French docu-series about the king.
He looks at me over his shoulder, pausing on an old comedy. “How about this one?”
“You want to watch Superbad?”
“Only if you want to watch Superbad.”
I know my grin is huge, teeth flashing. “I love that stupid movie.”
“Cool. So do I.”
It’s so freaking dumb and hilarious. I haven’t seen it in years.
I bring the pizza into the living room with a few napkins, eyeballing the couch, strategically trying to locate the best spot. I set the two plates on the coffee table. Pull it a little closer so we can put our feet on it, too.
“I feel guilty eating in someone else’s living room—my mother would kill me.” I laugh. “I’m going to hope and pray I don’t get sauce on any of these pillows.”
Rhett commiserates. “We weren’t allowed to eat anywhere but the table, unless we had friends over—but then again, I have two brothers, so.”
I plop down on the couch, cross-legged. “Your poor mom.”
“My mom is fucking awesome.” He laughs, tearing off a hunk of pizza with his teeth. It rips in half, the gooey cheese stringing off of it—and for whatever reason, I find the whole thing crazy erotic. Especially when his tongue darts out to catch an errant blob of sauce. Licks his lip clean.
“I have to stop feeding you this garbage. It’s not good for you.”
He tilts his head in thought. “Why is it you only feed me pizza? Are you trying to make me slow to start during my matches? I have to make weight, you know.”
His chocolate eyes sparkle.
Guh!
My gaze roams his torso; I bet there’s not an ounce of fat on the guy, and I sincerely hope I get to see him without a shirt later. “I doubt you have a problem staying in shape.”
He tears another hunk off his slice. Chews. “Only because I work out constantly.”
“What’s the most commonly asked question when people find out you wrestle?”
“That’s an easy one: if I enjoy rolling around on the floor with other guys.”
Yeah, even I’ve heard that one, and I know almost nothing about wrestling. “What do you say to that?”
His shoulders move up and down indifferently. “It’s not a big fuckin’ deal.”
“I have another question for you: are you going to stand there all night or sit next to me and watch the movie?”
“Shit. Scoot over.”
I move to one end of the couch, leaning against the armrest, facing Rhett, legs sprawled out in front of me, toes wiggling.
He emulates my position.
I bend my knees, match up the pads of our feet, and give a little push. “Now we can play footsies.”
“Is that what that is?” He stares at our joined feet.
“Basically. You don’t have any foot phobias, do you?”
“No.”
“I lived with Alex my freshman year—she has a foot phobia. I’d climb down off our bunk and one morning, I accidentally stepped on her pillow.” I take a bite of pizza. “She freaked.”
“Jesus.”
“It always worked in my favor, because I began to exploit her weakness, right? So if I needed her awake for whatever reason, I would threaten to put my feet on her quilt and she’d bolt out of bed.”
“That sounds…ruthless.”
“So ruthless. I fight dirty.”
“I’ll remember that.”
The movie we started half an hour ago plays in the background, long forgotten. Dim lights, warm quilts, and nothing but quiet for company, we hunker down on the couch.
I pull back my right leg, hook the bottom of his pants, open the leg hole with my big toe. Wedge it inside, rub back and forth along his calf, grateful I thought to freshen up my nail polish with a bright melon color aptly named Lazy Dayz.
Because that’s what this has been: a lazy day. Driving up with Rex, who chattered non-stop the entire way. Spending the rest of the time here doing nothing, really—nothing but adding to the list of reasons Rhett Rabideaux is slowly becoming the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Being here with him is right where I want to be.
No pressure.
Mutual respect.
All the delicious sexual tension…
My brain undresses him from my spot across the couch, wanting to peel back his soft flannel to see what’s hidden beneath. Run my hands under his tee. Down his jeans. Over his erect—
“Laurel?”
“Huh?”
“You wanna keep watchin’ the movie, or…” He clears his throat. “Go to, uh, bed?”
Bed, bed, bed. “Your choice. I could go either way.”
Say you want to go to bed.
The napkin in his lap gets folded in half. “I mean, we’re not really watching it, so…”
There’s nothing casual about the way I shrug. My fake yawn. “I’m tired.”
My feet hit the floor at the same time his do. I rise to stand. Rhett reaches for my plate and napkin. I take the water glasses.
“I’ll put our plates in the garbage. You want to take a shower before bed, or…”
“I took one this morning, so I’m good.” My long hair is shiny and still smells like honey and almonds. “What about you?”
“I didn’t.” Rhett lifts his pit, sniffing. “I’ll jump in real quick if you want to get into, uh…get in your, uh, pajamas or whatever.”
That or whatever holds, lingering in the air.
Rhett clears his throat. “I know you were probably expectin’ to room with one of the girls tonight, so I can sleep in a different room.”
Over my dead body.
“So I’ll just go jump in the shower and then we can figure it out…”
The only thing we have to figure out is which side of the bed I’m sleeping on.
My mind almost immediately goes to that place—you know the one, the space in my brain where I envision him naked in the bathroom, dripping under the warm spray of the shower. Lathering himself with woodsy body wash in all those sweaty, delectable places.
“I’ll be up in a second to change into PJs.” I let my eyes linger on the front of his button-down shirt. Flannel. Comfortable, like a hug.
“Give me ten.”
“Take your time.” Another fake smile.
Ugh. He has the best ass.
Rhett ambles out of the room with a backward glance while I get busy tidying the living room, tossing the pizza crusts he didn’t eat into the garbage can and wiping off the counters. Rinse our glasses and refresh the water with more ice.
Flip the lights off in the living room and turn one on above the window over the sink. It’s pitch black outside—if it weren’t for the bright light of the moon, there would be zero visibility. A small green light shines in the middle of the lake, slowly gliding along in the dark, surely a fisherman making his way home.
From upstairs, I hear the shower running, head in its direction, determined to ignore the longing in my heart. What is my problem? Why am I so desperate for Rhett’s attention? I’ve never been this aggressive with a guy before—never!
What is it about him that has me starting now?
Why do I find him so damn irresistible?
I push through the bedroom door, listen to the water hitting the tile as it sluices off his slick, damp body.
Note his jeans and shirt thrown at the foot of the large bed. The white gym socks on the floor. His baseball cap.
I pick it up from the quilt, walking to the mirror. Smooth down my hair and fit the hat to my head. Bend the bill, gazing at myself in the glass.
My hair is a solid sheet falling over my shoulders; the dark purple, tired cap is tearing in several places, Louisiana patch faded.
It’s too big for my head, but I look cute, and I secretly conspire to steal it from him every now and again. Maybe if I’m wearing it when he comes out of the bathroom, lying in the center of the bed, sprawled out naked…
Oh, who am I trying to kid? That would probably scare the shit out of him.
I sigh, remove it. Set it on the dresser.
My overnight bag sits in the corner, so I retrieve it and plop it on the bed. Unzip. Spread it open, peering inside at the cute clothes I packed when I thought there were going to be other girls here.
The pink plaid pajama set? Flannel. Baggy.
Modest.
I hadn’t wanted to prance around in a room full of people I barely knew with my boobs hanging out, so into the overnight bag they went.
I sift through the contents for a tank top. Snatch out the clean pair of underwear I tossed in. Stand in the center of the room, debating my choices: flannel pajamas, sexy tank top and underwear.
Flannel pajamas, sexy tank top and underwear…
I bite my lip, apprehensive.
On one hand, I don’t want to give him the wrong idea about me. On the other, I want him to make a damn move, touch me in all the wrong places.
I want him to touch me so bad—touch me without asking for permission, not hesitantly, like he’s afraid this is another cruel joke being played on him.
At this point, he knows I like him. I’ve literally come out and said the words; it’s no secret, so what is he always waiting for?
Screw it.
I’m going for it.
I’m going to make him so hard he’ll be cross-eyed.
Shoving the plaid pajamas down into the depths of my bag, I pull out the tank top. It’s white and threadbare. The panties? Sheer and practically see-through.
Score.
I smile at my evil feminine wiles, goose bumps covering my flesh when the water shuts off, at the sound of the shower curtain rings being slid aside.
Slip the black leggings down my legs. Step out of my navy cotton underwear and into the nude ones. Remove the white long-sleeved shirt and my bra. Glance at my bare breasts in the mirror above the dresser, arching my back long enough to admire their lift and fullness.
Run my hands over my nipples so they stiffen.
I affix my gaze on the door to the bathroom, my imagination projecting the image of Rhett dressing in conservative layers: boxers, sleep pants, sweatshirt.
So lost in thought, it barely registers when the door flies open, catching me off guard, steam rising out from behind him. Rhett’s large physique is framed in the door, sinewy upper torso still damp. Smooth chest, broad shoulders.
Sleep pants. No shirt.
His eyes widen at my semi-nudity, attach to my boobs. “Shit.”
I’m not wearing a shirt. My palms fly to cover my bare chest.
“Jesus Laurel, I’m so sorry.”
My heart thumps at a thousand beats per minute. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, remember?” I ask, gently reminding him about the dry humping we did in my car.
I cover myself with one arm while I pluck the tank top up off the bed, turn my back on him, and yank it on over my head.
I’m tall, but not nearly as tall as Rhett, and feel slightly vulnerable standing before him in just a tank and panties, the half-dressed state a reminder of the precarious status of our relationship.
He crosses his toned arms, eyes falling on the front of my thin shirt. I know he can see my nipples through the fabric.
I run a hand through my hair, letting his gaze run the length of my body.
“Mind if I brush my teeth?”
“Oh shit, yeah. I have to do that, too.”
We stand, side by side at the sink, sharing toothpaste and real estate in the bathroom. Every cell in my nervous system aware of the heat he’s throwing off. Eyes focused on every one of the flexed muscles in his reflection in the mirror as he works the toothbrush around his mouth.
Brush. Spit. Brush.
I run the water, rinsing. Brush. Spit.
It’s weird doing this with him, intimate somehow.
Plus, I’m in my underwear, trying to drive him wild with lust, furtively watching him brush his teeth—his white, straight, beautiful teeth that I want nipping my bare skin.
God, listen to me.
I stroke my purple toothbrush a few more times, liberally swiping my tongue and gums. Spit. Wash my brush off, setting it on the porcelain sink. Run a hand behind my neck, sweeping my bright red hair over one shoulder.
Meet his brown eyes in the mirror.
He stands, toothbrush suspended in his clenched hand, staring at my reflection, eyes scanning my face, softening at the corners.
“You know, when I first saw you with…you know, no clothes on, I thought you’d be covered in freckles.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. I thought all redheads had freckles.”
“Nope.” I eyeball myself in the glass, raising an arm for inspection. “Probably the only ginger I know without them.”
“Where do you get it from?”
“My mom has red hair.”
“Sister?”
“Oh, totally.”
“Huh.” He sets his toothbrush on the edge of the sink.
His hair is already beginning to dry, curling up at the ends. It’s so gosh darn cute brushed off to the side, unlike its usual scruffy mop.
Sigh.
Rhett
I can barely take my eyes off Laurel, though I’m doing my fucking best not to ogle her. In that see-through tank top and those panties? It’s damn near impossible.
She might as well be naked.
I hit the light when we’re done in the bathroom, padding across the hardwood floor on bare feet, conscious she’s watching my every move. Take my dirty clothes from the foot of the bed, stash them on a chair in the corner so they’re out of the way.
“I put your hat on the dresser for you,” she softly supplies. “I tried it on.”
My face flushes. “You did, huh?”
“Yeah. I looked cute.”
I bet she did.
I bet if I kissed her, she’d kiss me back.
Eyes on her face, not on her boobs, eyes on her face, not on her boobs.
I feel the waistband of my pants for pockets, desperate to occupy my hands. I’ve turned into a ball of nervous fucking energy. “So, obviously this bed is free—and the one next door. Where do you want to sleep?”
“Honestly? I want to sleep wherever you sleep.”
“You want to sleep in the same bed?” Shut the fuck up, idiot! I sound like I’m arguing with her—what fucking moron argues about sharing a bed with a pretty girl? Me.
“I mean, won’t you be lonely in here all by yourself?”
“I’ll probably pass out as soon as my head hits the pillow.”
Why am I still talking?
Her face falls, and Jesus, why did I say that? I’ve turned into my damn roommate, who never says the right fucking things.
“Okay, well…I guess I’ll take the room next door.” When she turns for the door, slowly, like she’s walking to her untimely death, I let my gaze wander to her slim back. Let it travel down the curve of her spine. The curve of her tight ass, round globes of pale skin playing peekaboo with the delicate panties up her ass crack.
She pauses at the threshold, hand resting on the wood. “Good night.”
I swallow. “Good night.”
“Tonight was…”
“Nice?”
“Yeah.”
Fuck, why can’t I ask her to stay? Climb into the bed and wrap us both up in the blankets, pull her on top of me and kiss her senseless?
Because I have no game.
I am not my friends.
“Bonne nuit, Laurel,” I murmur.
Her breath hitches and she narrows her blue eyes in my direction. “I said don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Speak to me in French.”
“You don’t like it?”
“You know I do.” She nods. “I do like it.”
“Je ne comprends pas…” I don’t understand. I don’t understand anything about girls, or relationships, or what I’m supposed to be doing right fucking now.
I’m floundering.
She turns to face me, making her way across the room. Stands in front of me.
“Say, I think it sounds beautiful.” She’s whispering, our bodies inches apart.
“Je pense que tu es belle,” I whisper back. I think you’re beautiful.
“Now say, I don’t want you in the next room.”
“Je ne te veux pas dans l’ autre chambre,” I repeat. “Restez avec moi.” Stay with me.
Her breasts brush my chest, the pad of her index finger tracing the contour of my upper lip.
“You have a beautiful mouth.”
“Toi aussi.” So do you.
I feel my neck bow. Head bent down. Shoulders sag, body relaxed.
“Je te veux plus que n’importe quoi que j’avais voulu dans ma vie.” I want you more than anything I’ve wanted in my entire fucking life.
“Yes.” Laurel’s whisper hits me in the groin at the same time my mouth lowers, lips parting breathlessly. I’m already panting. Anxious. Excited.
Aroused.
Our foreheads touch.
Fingers entwine.
With my head bowed, I have a clear shot down her shirt, straight into her cleavage. The tips of her nipples, hard, rubbing against her white tank.
I blow out a breath, squeeze her hands.
Controlled.
When she moves closer into my space, breasts brushing my hard pecs, I can barely stand it. Lose all brain function when she rubs those gorgeous tits against me, lifting her chin.
Nudges me with her nose until we’re eye to eye.
“Rhett.” She speaks breathlessly. “Kiss me good night.”
We’re both shaking, my entire body invested in this moment. I know hers is too by the way her shoulders give a tiny quake when I rest my lips on hers.
Press them there, undemanding.
Her mouth is pliant, lips full and pouty.
Tongue softly touching mine.
I release her hands and raise mine to her face. Cup that beautiful jawline of hers in my huge hands, planting a kiss on her so fully I feel it all the way to my fucking toes. Pull back so I can study her face.
Her blue eyes blaze back at me, bright as her hair.
“Stay with me.” Restez avec moi.
Please.
Laurel nods once, decisive.
When I take my hands off her body, she drags me to the left side of the bed. Peels back the covers and slides in, hair fanned out across the forest green sheets, practically glowing.
I stare down at her. “I have no idea what I’m fucking doing.”
“It’s okay, neither do I.”
Her eyes get wide when I climb under the covers, sliding in as casually as I possibly can, heart beating wildly out of control. She closes the gap, scooting closer, legs and hips and thighs pressed to mine.
“You’re so huge.” Her arm reaches out, palm pressing against my chest, hand roaming down my sternum. My shoulders quake from the feather-light touch, all the blood in my body flowing to the nether region. “You’re so warm.”
My body is a hotbox, a burning, raging inferno of sexual repression. I imagine that soon I’ll have sweat dripping down my forehead from the tension.
God, I’m so hard. So fucking hard. If she gets near my dick—touches it—I swear I will come right off this fucking bed.
With an unsteady hand, I skim her hip. Thigh. Marvel at the silky expanse of pale flesh against the rough skin of my callused palm. Bury my fingers in the hem of her white tank top, skimming up her torso.
I’m dying to see her naked breasts again.
Count to three, building courage.
I go for it.
With my other hand, I pull back the fabric of her thin shirt, tugging it down, exposing the pink flesh of her nipples. They’re damn near perfect considering they’re the only ones I’ve ever seen nude. The only ones I’ve touched.
The one girl I ever made out and had sex with was back in high school—when we were both seventeen and hardly developed. Some making out, very little foreplay. We definitely didn’t undress.
Cupping Laurel’s round breast, I gently stroke the underside with my thumb.
“Oh jeezuz!” She gasps, head tipping back. “Finally.”
My lips graze Laurel’s throat, rough whiskers from my stubble marking her porcelain neck. Kiss the exposed white flesh of her cleavage as I gently caress her boob.
“You feel so good,” comes her quiet murmur as she tussles my hair. Gasps when my tongue darts out to dampen the skin under her ear. “Take my shirt off.”
She’s a bossy, assertive little thing, and for that I am grateful. “I want to feel you against me.”
We work her shirt off and my eyes, damn them, are mystified by her boobs. Round. Full, with dark pink areolas, they’re better than any tits I’ve seen in any porn.
“I don’t know why I even put that stupid shirt on in the first place. Who was I kidding,” she grumbles when I toss it to the ground. Laurel arches her back, fans her hair out on the pillow, rests her hands behind her head, watching me watch her, eyes glowing.
Jesus.
A smile tips her lips. “It’s okay to touch me. I want you to.”
When I hesitate, her arm reaches out. Finger traces the flannel covering my dense thigh.
“Your skin is sexy.”
“You think so?”
“Oh yes, so sexy Rhett. I have daydreams about you.”
I pull back, surprised. “You do?”
“All the time. Sometimes I Google you and watch your wrestling meets.” She pauses. “Not in a creepy way, I swear.”
Do girls consider that creepy? I sure as hell don’t.
“Are you a fan of mine?”
“Number one.”
We’re lying here half naked and I remember she wants me to touch her. I start with the flat of her stomach, emboldened when she bites down on her bottom lip. Nostrils flare.
Sliding my hand up, we both watch when it cups her breast. Laurel’s lips part, pupils dilate.
She’s reacting to my touch—and it’s fucking amazing watching her face glow as she gets turned on. Intoxicating.
Her eyes track my hand, watch as my thumb brushes her nipple, head dipping to lick it.
“Out of curiosity,” she gasps. “How’s your stamina?”
Why is she asking me this now? “I don’t know, good? I can run for miles without breaking a sweat.”
She giggles out a groan. “That’s not what I meant.”
When I was younger, I used to imagine that when I finally started fucking someone on the regular, I’d be able to hold out coming for a long time, that I’d fuck for hours. Now that it seems like a definite possibility, I wonder if I’ll be able to last five minutes.
Three.
“I’ve heard wrestlers…that they have great stamina.”
“Oh yeah?” Bold now, I suck her nipple. “Where’d you hear that from?”
Her head tips back. “Wrestlers and hockey players. It’s all in the hips.”
“Are you…” Shit, how do I put this without sounding eager? “Are you saying you want to find out?”
“Yes I want to find out. I wanted it to be now.” Her little moan is breathy as I continue sucking. “But…maybe we should wait—not rush it.”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed; me and my stiff dick shrivel a little.
“Right. Totally.”
Her fingers dig into my scalp. “God that feels good.” One breathier moan then, “Stop. I want you on your back.”
“Yes ma’am,” I croak out because honestly, who am I to argue?
She rolls toward me, propping herself up on her elbow. Hand gliding across the mattress toward me, fingers climbing up my abs, tracing my belly button. Index finger tracing my happy trail, skimming the waistband of my flannel bottoms.
Our eyes are fastened together. My breath hitches when her palm glides down the front of my pants, fingers brushing the pubes above my dick. Eyebrows shoot up into her bright red hairline.
“No underwear?”
“No.”
Smirk. “Good.”
My leg twitches when Laurel unties the string on the waistband. Gives the band a gentle tug, yanking the hem down my hips.
“Help me out?”
I raise my hips, shoving down my pants, the cool air of the cabin hitting my painfully sensitive nuts. Kick them off under the covers. Damn near shout when Laurel pushes back the bedspread, hand breezing over my pelvis, gripping the base of my cock. Slowly pumping up and down.
“God I’ve been wondering what this looked like,” she’s saying. “I can’t wait to feel you inside me, Rhett. I’m wet just thinking about it. It’s going to feel so good.”
Oh my fucking God.
Her free hand floats along my inner thigh muscle, squeezing. “Baby, your thigh muscles are insane.”
She’s talking, but the only word I hear is baby.
My cock jerks involuntarily, head hits the pillow. Fists clench the bedspread. “Oh fuck.”
A soft chuckle. “I’d say you’ve earned this.”
This?
Oh fuck, is she going to suck me off? Is that what this is? Please God, please say yes.
Shifting closer, her hand moves up and down on my shaft. “Do you like that?”
I can’t do anything but part my lips and give a jerky nod.
“I’ve, you know, fooled around before, but haven’t given anyone a blow job. I want to do that with you.”
Do what? She wants to do what with me? What is she saying?
What’s my name?
All I feel is her hand on my cock, the pressure. The pleasure. When she lets go and straddles me, pressing her mouth to mine, our lips and tongues are a tangle, a messy tangle. Hot. Open mouths. Frantic.
Our teeth knock together, hands grappling everywhere. Skin, tits, ass.
“God, you drive me crazy.” Her mouth gives my neck a lick. Collarbone. Nipple. Eases slowly down my torso, kissing and licking her way down my happy trail. Grips my dick with one hand, balls in the other. Index finger pressing on my—
“Oh J-Jesus Ch-Christ!”
Her mouth is slick heat, wet, tongue teasing the head. The sensitive tip. Sucking.
And sucking and sucking until I barely remember to breathe. “Goddammit, oh sh-shit. Shit.”
Please God, I pray, don’t let me come. Make it last.
Suddenly it’s clear to me why the guys on the team are constantly making blow job jokes, the stupid assholes—it feels so motherfucking incredible.
I moan, head tipped back, hands clenching the comforter so I’m not tempted to bury them in her hair and tug. Bite down, dragging my teeth across my lower lip. “Uhhh…yeah…”
Laurel’s head bobs up and down on my cock; my vision blurs, trying to focus on her face. It’s impossible.
“Fuck Laurel,” I groan loudly. My eyes give in, rolling to the back of my head, stars flashing behind my eyelids. “Fu…k.”
When she hums from the back of her throat, I lose it. Lose my shit, thrusting into her mouth, once, twice. Balls tighten, cock twitching. Nerves sending spasms throughout my lower body when I come.
Tiny jolts of pleasure.
Nothing has ever felt so good in my entire fucking life.
Laurel
When Rhett comes, he makes the most amazing sounds. Euphoric, sexy, dragged-out moaning, his hands bearing down on the sheets. White-knuckling.
God it’s sexy, this power. This control.
I run my hands along the smooth skin of his thighs, the white flesh sprinkled with dark hair. Masculine and musky, his dick still hard.
It’s an incredible dick, slightly larger than average, blunt and ribbed in all the right spots, I know it’s going to be orgasmic when we finally have sex. I bet he can make me come twice with glute muscles like this, I muse, sliding my palms around to his firm ass, imagining it pumping into me over and over, missionary, the thought getting me hot.
I flop down on the bed next to him, letting my hand land on his stomach. He takes hold, tracing my palm with his index finger, breathing labored.
Rolls to face me, lowering his head to my breast. Flicks my nipple with his tongue. Sucks until it’s good and swollen, pulling back and blowing cool air over the tip.
I love it. I love how Rhett makes me feel.
How the smallest little things he does send waves of longing through me.
Waves of desire.
Joy.
Rises to his haunches, that big body hovering. Studying. Brown eyes learning every one of my soft curves, from the smooth expanse of my clavicle down to my knees. Up and back again until those eyes land on my underwear.
Comes back down on all fours, mouth playing near my ear. Day-old stubble tickling my neck.
“Do you want me to…” He swallows, hesitating.
I wait, wanting to hear him ask before I start begging. Wiggle my hips, wanting him to get me off.
God I’ve been so horny since I met him.
“Say it.” I turn my head a fraction, lips brushing his ear. “Ask me.”
“Veux-tu que je te fasse un cunni?” His husky whisper hits the shell of my ear, vibrating in my core. “Do you want me to go down on you?”
“When you put it like that? God yes.”
“I’ve never, uh, done it before.”
Why does this not surprise me? “Really?”
“No.” He crawls down my body in the same unhurried way I crawled down his, fingers hooking the elastic of my sheer panties but not pulling them down. “These are sexy.”
His voice is sexy. Intoxicating.
His warm breath doesn’t just melt my girl parts; it makes them squirm. Huge hands part my legs, the rough patches on the pads of his fingers a tingling contrast on my skin.
He hasn’t even put his mouth on me yet.
I crane my head to see what he’s doing, why he’s stopped. “Babe, what are you doing?”
Trying to drive me insane?
“Lookin’.”
Lookin’. Oh jeez, that accent.
“You’re so fucking sexy.” Lips kiss my inner thigh. Pelvis. Nose runs up and down my underwear, causing a loud gasp to escape my throat. “You already smell like sex.”
Elbows bumping my knees apart, he slides his face home. Gets comfortable near the foot of the bed. Fingers pull the fabric on my underwear aside, tongue drags up the middle of my slit without preamble.
Instinctively, I grab a fistful of his hair, spread legs already shaking from the ministrations of his tongue. Incapable of speech as he goes to town down under, my mouth falls open.
No sound comes out.
For the next few minutes or seconds or decades, I lay shaking on the bed as Rhett makes me come with his tongue, mouth, and fingers, his palms gripping my ass. Forearms keeping my legs open.
My head thrashes, shoulders coming off the bed.
“Rhett.” I want him to stop—stop and climb up my body and give it to me good with that hard dick of his. “I w-want…”
His reply? Sucking harder on my clit.
I immediately come. “Oh shhh…it…ohhhh…”
Pound the mattress, trying to get a grip on my uncontrolled hormones. My quivering body feels like it’s hooked up to an outlet, hundreds of electrical bolts surging through it. Every nerve ending fires at once, and I lie here, shuddering. Tingling.
When Rhett comes up for air, he wipes his hand across his mouth, creeping up my body. Lies on top, planting a kiss on my lips. Open-mouthed, I grip the back of his neck, pulling him in, tongues fusing.
The weight of his body is like a drug, his dick sliding into the space between my legs but not inside me.
Not yet, anyway.
His lips kiss my temple. “Did I do that right?”
“I think I just died.” My breasts are crushed against his chest and it’s kind of turning me on—again. I writhe beneath him. “This is me talking to you from the afterlife.”
“I thought it would take you longer to come,” he admits.
“Me too, jeez. That was embarrassing.” I sigh. Kiss his chin. “I was hoping it would last longer.” Brush the hair out of his eyes. “How did you learn how to do that if you’ve never done it before?”
“Uh…”
I narrow my eyes. “Do you watch porn?”
His laugh is deep, amused. Guilty. “Sometimes, yeah.”
“Good. So do I.”
Rhett’s grin is so damn cute, my stomach knots. “We should get some sleep, huh?”
“Yeah. I’ll go wash up and then we should hit the sack. The guys will be back in the morning.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me.”
When I roll away, he plants his palm in the center of my ass, smacking it. “Do we, uh, want to put our clothes back on?”
I raise a brow. “Do you?”
“Not really. I’ve always wanted to sleep naked with someone.”
My brows go up. “This is a real night of firsts for you, isn’t it?”
“You makin’ fun of me?”
“No. If you want to be naked with me, then I want to be naked with you.”
“All right. No puttin’ our clothes back on.” He helps me out of bed and I pad behind him into the bathroom, admiring his round ass, the muscles constricting in his hamstrings and quads.
“Clothes would be a travesty at this point.”
We go through the motions of brushing our teeth again. I leave so he can pee in privacy. Return to bed, slide to the far side, drag the covers up past my boobs.
Fall into a blissful sleep.