Brenna is a terrible bowler, but she’s damn fun to watch. She saunters up to the foul line in those abysmal shoes, her hips swaying and her ass looking phenomenal in those tight, black jeans. I’m an ass man, and I can’t take my gaze off her backside.
Despite the fact that she sucks at bowling, she gives every frame one hundred and ten percent. Concentration creases her features as she swings her arm back, rotates her wrist, and releases the bright pink ball. Her timing is off and her follow-through is nonexistent, but for the first time in six frames, the ball moves in a straight line.
Brenna cheers happily as her ball careens toward the jackpot. At the last second it veers, knocking over four pins instead of giving her the strike.
“So close!” she wails.
Then she turns around and she’s never looked more beautiful to me. Her cheeks are like two red apples, her eyes are sparkling, and she performs a cute little dance as she shimmies off the shiny floor.
“I’m getting better!” she exclaims.
“Nowhere to go but up,” I agree, and then I get up and bowl a strike.
“I hate you,” she announces when my score appears on the screen.
I’m beating her in the ass-kicking of the century, but I don’t think she truly cares. To be honest, I’m not paying much attention to the score. Usually I’m competitive as fuck, but tonight I’m just happy to hang out with Brenna. It’s been ages since I’ve been on a real date. Last night’s dinner party doesn’t count, because neither of us had much fun. And the cognac at the bar afterward doesn’t count either, because we did more kissing than talking.
Tonight allows me to see Brenna in a way I haven’t seen before. Bowling isn’t the most romantic of activities, but it can give you insight into a person’s nature. Are they competitive? Petty? Are they a sore loser, or, worse, a sore winner? And with girls specifically, a bowling date can reveal whether a chick is high-maintenance. I know women who would turn their noses up at the alley’s sticky floors or crappy beer. But not Brenna.
After I win the first game, it’s Brenna who suggests another one. “Ha!” I gloat. “You like bowling.”
“I do.” She heaves an overdramatic sigh. “I’m really into this.”
I study her to see if she’s fucking with me. But there isn’t an ounce of fuckery on her face.
“I’m serious. This is awesome.” She shakes her head in amazement. “I think I actually like bowling.”
Her visible shock makes me double over in laughter. Once I’ve recovered, I move closer, my tone going serious. “I guess we’ll have to do this again sometime…” And then I wait.
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she approaches the touchscreen and says, “All right, I’ll let Little Jakey go first this time.”
But when my name flashes on the screen, it simply reads: Jake.
I swallow my satisfaction. I think I’m growing on her.
She’s definitely growing on me.
“So are we allowed to talk hockey?” I ask as I walk over to the ball return. I’ve fallen in love with a neon-green ball I’ve been calling the Strikemaker.
“What about it?” she asks suspiciously.
“Well, we’re playing each other soon. It’s a big game.”
“It’s a big game,” she agrees.
“Which raises the question—who will you be rooting for when you’re sitting in those stands? Your school or your new boyfriend?” I flash a cheeky smile over my shoulder.
It’s her turn to double over in laughter. “You’re not my boyfriend.”
“That’s not what you told Mulder…”
“Mulder is a prick, and I don’t feel bad lying to him. Now turn around and bowl, Jakey. I want to check out your ass.”
My grin nearly breaks my face in half, and I’m grateful she can’t see it. For her benefit, I make a big production out of my turn, flexing my arms, stretching forward in a way that makes my ass stick out. I hear a choked noise from behind me. When I turn my head, there’s heat sizzling in Brenna’s dark eyes.
“You’re such a tease,” she accuses.
“I’m just bowling,” I say innocently.
“Uh-huh, sure you are.” She slides off the chair. “Man, is it hot in here?”
The next thing I know, she’s pulling her black long-sleeve shirt over her head, leaving her in a thin black camisole that clings to her perfect tits. I glimpse the lacy cups of her bra peeking out from the neckline, and my mouth goes completely dry. I return to the seating area and grab my beer. We’re both on our second beer, but there won’t be a third. I told the concessions kid to cut us off after two.
I gulp down the cold liquid as Brenna saunters to get a ball, her gait more seductive than ever. She tosses her long, glossy hair over one shoulder, spins around, and actually licks her lips.
Lord help me.
Her first throw knocks over seven pins.
“That’s your best yet!” Standing at the edge of the lane, I offer words of encouragement. “Go for the spare, Hottie. You’ve got this.”
“Really?” she says dubiously. “I haven’t bowled a single spare yet.”
“So? Doesn’t mean it won’t happen.”
It doesn’t happen. Her second ball rolls into the gutter.
“You jinxed me,” she complains, trying to brush past me.
I hook an arm around her slender waist before she can escape. I want to tug her body against mine and kiss the hell out of her, but I settle for a chaste peck on the cheek.
“Did you just kiss my cheek?” she asks in amusement.
“Yeah. Got a problem with that?” I rest my hands above her ass, fighting the urge to move them lower. “Your ass looks amazing in these jeans, by the way.”
“I know. That’s why I wore them.”
I chuckle. My palms dip half an inch lower, but then I think, screw it. My back is to the other patrons, and nobody can see what my hands are doing, anyway. So I give her a nice, firm squeeze.
She makes a husky sound. “Dammit, Connelly, we’re in public.”
“So?”
“So you can’t go around squeezing my butt.”
“Why not?”
Brenna pauses. Several seconds tick by before she shrugs. “You know, I can’t think of a good enough reason.”
“Exactly.” Grinning, I squeeze those juicy ass cheeks again, then give them a light smack before going to take my next turn.
I don’t throw a strike this time. One stubborn pin insists on staying upright, but I knock it over on the second throw. Once again I’m crushing Brenna, and once again she doesn’t care. She makes definite progress, though, her second score nearly doubling her score from the first game. After the final numbers flicker on the screen, we sit on the bench and unwind for a bit.
I rest my hand on her thigh, absently stroking. She doesn’t push me away, but she does give me a contemplative look. “You’re a very handsy guy.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, it’s just unexpected. I didn’t think you’d be this affectionate.”
“Well, I am.” I shrug. “With chicks I like.”
“And how often do those come along? I thought we established you don’t do girlfriends, only hookups.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t like the girls I hook up with.” I trace teasing circles on her knee. “Seems to me you don’t do boyfriends, either. Or if you do, it’s not public knowledge.”
“You been asking around about me, Jakey?”
“Yes,” I say bluntly. “And from what I hear, you haven’t dated anyone since you transferred to Briar.”
“I haven’t,” she confirms.
“Where did you go before Briar?”
“Community college in New Hampshire.”
“Did you date anyone there?”
“Not really. My college track record is mostly a string of meaningless hookups, at least until McCarthy.”
Jealousy pricks my chest. I don’t like that she doesn’t view McCarthy as meaningless. “So McCarthy wasn’t a hookup?” I ask carefully.
“A hookup is usually a one-time deal. Josh was more of a…” She mulls it over.
“Fuck buddy?” I fill in.
“Minus the fucking.”
Wait, what?
I set my beer on the table. Brenna officially has my undivided attention. “You didn’t have sex?” Surprise wrinkles my forehead. I just assumed they’d slept together.
“Nope.”
“But you fooled around.”
“Yup.”
“But no sex.”
She looks amused. “What part of this don’t you understand?”
“I don’t know…I guess it’s kind of weird to me.” I pause. “No, not kind of. It’s very weird to me.”
“Why is that weird?” She sounds a tad defensive.
I gesture toward her. “I mean, look at you. You’re smoking hot. Are you saying he didn’t try to…?”
“I never said he didn’t try. But…” She trails off again.
“But what? Are you a virgin?”
“No. I’m just picky about who I let inside me.”
Damned if that doesn’t make my dick hard. She’s not allowed to say things like “inside me,” because now I’m picturing being inside her, and I’m horny as hell.
“We did other stuff,” she says. “There’s always other stuff.”
“Is there?” My throat is full of gravel.
“What, no one’s ever told you that you can come without having sex?”
“Nah. I didn’t know that.” I blink with the utmost innocence. “Can you show me?”
Brenna punches my shoulder. Light and teasing. “You wish.”
“I do wish. I don’t want to alarm you, but please direct your attention to my crotch.”
Despite her amusement, she does what I ask. Instantly, her gaze sizzles. “Oh my. Thinking about McCarthy gets you hard?”
“Like stone.” I pull her onto my lap, eliciting a squeak of surprise.
But she recovers quickly, and soon she’s rubbing that sweet ass all over me as she tries to get comfortable. “Tell your boner to stop stabbing my butt,” she grumbles.
“Hey, you’re the reason I even have a boner.” I tug her head down so I can whisper in her ear. “You’re evil, talking about all the ways you can make a guy come without putting him inside you.”
Damn, she smells so good. I breathe in the scent of her shampoo, sweet with a mere trace of spice. Which is funny, because Brenna is the exact opposite—spicy, with a hint of sweetness. I like the spice, though. I like it a lot.
“What about you?” I ask her.
“What did you get out of the McCarthy arrangement?”
She arches a brow. “You really want to know what your teammate did to me?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. Maybe in the broad sense,” I finally decide.
“Nah. I’ll leave it up to your imagination.”
And my imagination is running wild, except I’m not picturing Josh McCarthy in bed with her. I’m picturing myself.
“That thing is going to poke right through your pants,” she teases, and I feel a distinct sense of loss when she slides off my lap. “Anyway, what now? Want to play one more game before we take off?” She checks her phone “It’s ten. How long is this place open until?”
“I think eleven.”
“Should we close it down?”
“Might as well.”
Bowling with a stiffy isn’t the easiest task, but I manage. I beat her for a third time, and we return our shoes and pay for our lane.
Outside, Brenna bypasses her Jeep and walks to the Mercedes instead. “Unlock it,” she orders.
My pulse quickens. I unlock the car.
Rather than open either of the front doors, she settles in the backseat. “Get in here,” she says impishly.
I’m not one to keep a lady waiting. I dive into the car, and my mouth is on hers before she can say another word. She tastes like beer and mint, and her body is soft and warm against mine. She crawls into my lap, her tongue hungrily exploring my mouth. I run my hands down the bumps of her spine before digging my fingers into her waist. I want to be in her. Desperately. But apparently that isn’t something she allows so readily.
“You’re not gonna let me fuck you tonight, are you?”
“No.” It’s a playful whisper. “You have to earn that.”
I groan against her lips. “How do I earn it?”
She merely smiles and kisses me again, sliding her hands underneath my shirt to stroke my bare chest. Christ, I love having her hands on me. And I need my hands on her. I pull her long-sleeve shirt off and tug her camisole up to her collarbone. The bra beneath it is paper-thin. She doesn’t need the padding, though. Her breasts are full, perky, fucking perfect. I tweak her nipples through the lacy material and enjoy the sweet moan I’m rewarded with.
“I’ve been dying to do this,” I growl, yanking the bra down to expose her tits. Goddamn gorgeous. I pull one beaded nipple into my mouth, suck hard, and almost get a contact high. Her skin tastes so good, and her nipple feels like heaven beneath my tongue. I’m painfully aroused as I lick the distended bud.
She moans again. At first I think it’s from pleasure, until I register the note of misery.
“What’s wrong?” I say immediately.
“I can’t believe I’m letting a Harvard player touch my boobs.”
I relax. Laughing softly, I flick my tongue against her other nipple. “Hey, it’s not like this is your first time with a Harvard player.”
“You’re the captain of the team,” she says gloomily. “This is such a bad idea. We’re playing you next week, dammit. My friends would be furious if they saw me right now.”
“Let’s not talk about hockey. And who gives a shit what your friends think.” I suck her nipple between my lips.
“I do. I care what my friends think.”
“Then you should stop.”
My mouth conquers hers in a blistering kiss that robs me of sanity. I flip her over, and now I’m on top of her, grinding my lower body against her. The backseat doesn’t offer room to maneuver, but I don’t need much. With my lips pressed tight to hers, I undo the button of her jeans and pull them down along with her panties, low enough that I can access the warm paradise between her legs.
She whimpers when I drag the pad of my thumb over her swollen clit. “That feels good.”
“Yeah?” I say thickly.
“Oh yeah.”
I keep rubbing, teasing, exploring. I skim my fingertips down to her opening and find her impossibly wet. Jesus. I want to be inside her more than I want my next breath. I practically weep at the knowledge that I can’t be in there tonight. I dip my fingers in all that sweet moisture and then use it to rub slow circles over her clit.
Her hips start rocking. I prop up on one elbow, watching her expression go hazier and hazier as I play with her pussy. “I like having you like this,” I whisper. “On your back. Legs spread.” I kiss her again, and she sucks hard on my tongue, summoning a low groan from me.
“This is such a bad idea,” she whispers back.
“Then tell me to stop.”
“No.”
“No what?”
Brenna pushes her pussy into my hand. “Don’t stop.”
I chuckle against her shoulder before dipping my head so I can suck and lick her nipples again.
She lets out a breathy moan. “Don’t ever stop.”
I smile. I distinctly remember her telling me not so long ago that she would never, ever hook up with me. And now here we are, fooling around in the backseat of a car, her pussy mine to discover. My finger slides inside her and—
“Oh my fucking God,” I choke out. My head pops up from her tits. “You’re so tight.” I wonder if it’s because she hardly ever fucks, or maybe I’m making assumptions about that. Just because she didn’t sleep with McCarthy doesn’t mean she hasn’t recently slept with someone else. She said she was picky, not celibate.
I find myself praying to a higher power that I make the cut. Maybe not tonight, but tomorrow, next week, a year from now. I’ll take whatever I can get. That’s how badly I want her.
I add a second finger and she clamps even tighter around me. There’s hardly any room for two fingers. Two, for chrissake. While my thumb tends to her clit, I push my fingers in and out in a lazy rhythm. Brenna’s eyelids go heavy, her breathing labored. I aimlessly rub the rock in my pants against her thigh as I finger her.
“I want you to kiss me.” She yanks my head down, her fingers running through my hair as her tongue finds mine.
The kiss is urgent, sloppy. She’s practically riding my fingers, making the sexiest noises I’ve ever heard. I come up for air. “Are you going to come for me?”
Her mumbled response is unintelligible.
I chuckle. My hand keeps working her. My fingers are soaked. I push them deeper inside her, then withdraw and curl them right near her opening, stroking hard.
“Oh my God,” she squeezes out.
Her orgasm ripples around my fingers, and I feel it travel up her slender body in a wave of shivers. She releases a sigh, from her lips to mine. I swallow the breathy sound with a kiss, and ease the pressure on her clit, slow the thrust of my fingers, letting her come down from the high.
Her eyelids finally flutter open and she smiles at me.
“Good?” I murmur.
“So good,” she murmurs back. She sighs again and curls toward me, burrowing her cheek in my neck.
“Holy shit, you like to snuggle after sex,” I accuse.
“I do not.” The denial is muffled against my chest.
“You totally do.”
She nips at my throat. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“Why? Afraid it’s going to ruin your reputation?”
“Yes. I’m a bad girl, Jakey. I don’t do things like snuggle.”
“Why not? Snuggling is awesome.” I thread my fingers through her silky hair. Downstairs, I’m still throbbing and it’s not something that either of us can really ignore.
Brenna lifts her head, a devilish glint in her eyes. “You and this boner, dude.”
She slips a hand between our bodies and places it directly over my package. I can’t help but thrust into her hand.
“What should we do about this…” She waits expectantly.
“Anything,” I grunt. “You can do anything you want to me.”
“Anything, huh?”
“Anything.” My voice sounds strangled to my ears. “But please, do something.”
One finger teasingly glides up and down my zipper before toying with the little metal tab. I damn near stop breathing. My heartbeat is out of control. I feel like I just played a five-minute shift. In penalty-kill mode.
As my pulse drums in my ears, my body pleads for release. I want Brenna Jensen sucking on my cock, jacking it, kissing it. I don’t care what she does. I just need her hand or her mouth or her tongue on me.
I will up some patience, but my muscles remain rigid, tense with anticipation as I wait for her to make a move.
Right when she’s about to undo my pants, a phone rings.
Brenna swears under her breath. “I should check that.”
“No,” I mumble.
She sits up. “How often do people call instead of text these days?”
I have to relent. “Not very.”
“Exactly. Phone calls usually mean it’s important.” She grabs her purse from the floor mat and rummages through it. The moment she has her phone in hand, her demeanor changes. All traces of desire are gone.
“Everything okay?” I ask gruffly.
She stares at the screen for another second before clicking the phone off. “It’s nothing.” And yet now she’s shimmying into her panties and jeans, and I know without a doubt that Little Jakey won’t be getting any attention tonight.
“It’s later than I thought,” she says awkwardly. “I should head home.”
“Okay.”
She hesitates. “You don’t mind?”
“Of course not.” Did she expect me to admonish her? Accuse her of leaving me with blue balls? Because that implies that she owes me something, which she doesn’t. I’m not entitled to a damn thing from this girl, or any girl. I want Brenna to blow me because she wants to blow me. But clearly she’s no longer in the mood. The mysterious caller ruined that for us.
“I really did have a good time,” she confesses as I walk her to the driver’s side of the Jeep.
“So did I.” I meet her eyes. “Should we do it again?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” I grasp her chin, keeping our gazes locked. I repeat the question. “Should we do it again?”
After a long beat, Brenna nods.
