Her head tilts to the side, like she’s studying me, and she repeats the movement of her hips. I groan and my head falls back against the tree with a hard thump. Not that I feel it. All the nerve endings in my body seem to be concentrated on where she touches me.
This is the opposite of staying focused, but if this is what distraction feels like, she can drive me to it anytime.
She smiles, and I let it wash away my worries about the future. I let the sweet vanilla scent of her hair override the thought of how badly I need to stay focused on football, of how it’s the only chance I stand at a decent future. I bury all that bullshit under the weight of her heated gaze.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel shackled to a plan or a problem.
I only feel free.
And I only feel her.
I slide a hand from her hip to her lower back, slipping my hand beneath her shirt to touch warm skin. Suddenly greedy, I glide that hand up until my entire arm presses against her and my fingers curl over her shoulder, locking her tightly against me.
She gasps, and though her body arches into mine, her eyes are wide and wary. I worry that I’ve gone too far.
“Tell me, Daredevil.”
She licks her lips, and the muscle of her shoulder tightens under my fingers.
“Tell you what?”
“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. But if you don’t tell me what that is, my mind is going to keep thinking of all the things I want to do to you, and the list is already very, very long.”
She licks her lips again, and I jerk her closer, just barely grazing her tongue with my own before it disappears back into her mouth.
She closes her eyes, and her fists pull so hard on the front of my shirt that I know it’s going to be stretched and warped whenever she eventually lets go.
“I want,” she whispers, her eyes scrunched tight.
I can feel my heartbeat at the base of my spine, and one of us is shaking. Whether it’s me or her, I’m too far gone to tell. All I know is that I can feel the heat of her even through my jeans.
“What?” I ask, my voice thick.
“I want,” she repeats, her whisper almost pained. Her eyes are still closed, and though I don’t understand it, don’t understand her, I know I’m pushing her too far.
“Do you want me to keep holding you like this?”
“Yes.” She says the word immediately on a relieved exhale, and then lets her head drop back.
“Do you want me to kiss you?”
Her knees squeeze against my hips as she says, “Yes.”
With her head dropped back, I move my mouth closer to her neck, hovering above the place where I know her pulse is beating wildly.
“Where?” I ask. “Where should I kiss you?”
I’m too impatient to wait for her to answer before I drag my lips over her pulse. Her hips buck into mine unexpectedly, and it’s so good I see f**king stars.
“Oh my God,” she says, and I would agree, if my tongue still knew how to form words.
“Oh my God is effing right.” A voice interrupts from somewhere above us, too far above us, because looking up will mean leaving the sweet skin of her neck, a feat I just don’t think I can handle right now. “Who the hell are you, and what have you done to my best friend?”
I’ve got zero f**ks to give about the girl talking, but Dallas obviously cares, because with my arm against her back, I can feel her spine straighten. My fingers slip off her shoulder, and like I really had been locking her into place, she’s off of me and standing five feet away in seconds.
I stand too, very slowly and with extreme discomfort.
Dallas is gaping at me, like she’s just as shocked by the situation as her friend. I try for an easygoing smile, but I’m sure it looks as pained as I feel. It’s pretty much impossible to feel comfortable while having a hard-on and being the subject of intense study by two pretty girls.
I clear my throat awkwardly, and when Dallas still doesn’t say anything, I look to her friend. She’s the opposite of Dallas—nearly a foot shorter, pixie haircut, olive skin, and completely unreadable. I add, “I’m Carson.”
Dallas’s friend doesn’t smile. Instead, she turns to Dallas and asks, “Are you okay? I saw that hottie you went off with inside, and you weren’t with him. I was worried.”
I think of the guy on the balcony, and the surge of bitterness I feel is so powerful I can taste it on my tongue.
“That hottie,” I begin, “is a tool.” God, I’m even talking like her. “Be glad she wasn’t with that ass**le.” There. That was better.
The girl’s hair is barely longer than mine, but when she tosses her head, she somehow has the same effect as if she were tossing a mane as long as Dallas’s. She fixes her gaze on me and says, “Hey, Romeo, I was talking to Dallas. Not you.”
Emerald eyes meet mine, and we both burst out laughing. Whatever tension had been wracking Dallas disappears with her laugh. I stop before she does, just watching, enjoying the way the Shakespeare mention makes her face light up.
“What? What did I say?” her friend asks.
Dallas takes a step closer, hesitates, and then crosses to stand beside me.
“It’s okay, Stella. I’m fine. Promise.”
Stella’s gaze flicks back and forth between the two of us.
“You sure? How much have you had to drink?”
“None.”
Stella’s eyebrows raise, and some kind of silent conversation passes between the two of them. When Dallas faces me, her expression, like her friend’s, is hard to read. I miss her openness.