I didn’t plan on kissing her. I was merely going over there to save her from the dude she was clearly trying to escape. But her lips are right there. Pouty and red and so damn tempting I can’t resist.
My mouth brushes over hers in a scant tease of a kiss. I think it teases me more than it teases her, though, and I regret it almost instantly because fuuuuuck, I want more. I want tongue. I want it all.
But I can’t have it. I came to rescue her, not to make out with her.
I’ve gone out with Hazel and seen her get hit on by somebody she’s not feeling, enough times to be able to recognize an SOS in a woman’s eyes. It’s a cross between dear Lord make this stop and someone please get me out of here.
Brenna’s eyes were conveying that telltale panic. I couldn’t believe it when I spotted her across the room. My first thought, however crazy, was that she followed me here, but I quickly dismissed it. That’s not Brenna Jensen’s style. Once I got over the shock of seeing her, I noticed her desperately trying to signal the waiter, and I snapped to action.
As I ease my lips off hers, my entire body rebels. My dick yells at me and my mouth demands another kiss. A real one this time. Instead, I come up behind her and wrap both my arms around her slender frame.
“Hey, Hottie,” I murmur, bending my head so I can nuzzle her neck. Holy hell, she smells good.
She stiffens for a second before relaxing. “Hey. You’re late.” She tips her head to meet my gaze. We share a moment of understanding before she turns to our third wheel. “Ronny, this is my boyfriend, Jake.”
“Oh.” Unmistakable disappointment clouds his face. “I didn’t realize… Uh, I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” she says lightly.
“Yes, there is.” He sends a remorseful look in my direction. “I was chatting up your girl. Sorry, bro.”
“All good.” I run a hand down her bare arm. It’s a playful gesture, but also a possessive one. Translation: she’s mine.
His expression takes on a hint of envy. “How long’ve you been together?”
“About a year,” I lie.
“One year too many,” she grumbles.
Ronny frowns.
“Ignore her.” I trail my fingers up Brenna’s arm, and her breath hitches. Hmmm. She likes it when I touch her. I tuck that nugget of wisdom away for future use. “Trust me, she’s obsessed with me. Blows up my phone every day telling me how much she loves me. I think psychologists call that love-bombing.”
“Oh, don’t get me started on love-bombing,” Brenna says sweetly. “He writes me a beautiful haiku every night before bed. Usually about my eyes. And my lips.”
“And her ass,” I say with a wink. My hand slides down her delectable body to squeeze the aforementioned ass. Which is a terrible idea, because it’s firm and juicy and feels like heaven in my palm. Almost instantly I’m rocking a semi.
“Wow. You two are…so in love, huh? It’s nice to see. This goddamned hookup culture is killing love. Everyone is disposable, you know?” He smiles at us, and it’s so sincere I feel bad for lying to him. “You make a cute couple.”
I plant a kiss on Brenna’s shoulder. Another bad idea. Her skin is hot beneath my lips, and smells so good. “Yeah. We’re in it for the long haul.”
“Forever and ever,” she chirps, beaming up at me.
Ronny polishes off his Corona and sets it on the table. “Well, I won’t bother you anymore. But thanks for the chat. Have a good night, you guys.”
Once he’s gone, Brenna disentangles herself from my arms and puts about two feet of distance between us. A deep scowl twists her crimson lips. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I asked first.”
I shrug. “I’m with the band.”
“Right. I’m sure you are. Why aren’t you out celebrating your big win with the rest of your Harvard cronies?” Her dark expression tells me precisely how she feels about our win.
“I told you, I’m friends with the band. I went to high school with the lead guitarist.”
Speaking of Danny, I turn to make sure he’s not glaring at me for abandoning him, but he’s involved in an animated discussion with a dude in a Metallica hoodie. When I catch his eye and signal I’ll be a few minutes, Danny nods and continues talking.
“Well, you should tell your friend that his set needs to be longer than fourteen minutes,” Brenna says. “I blinked, and it was over.”
I chuckle. “I know. But this was their first gig, so you can’t fault ’em.” I signal the passing waiter, who stops at our table. “Could I get a Sam Adams, please? And another of these for my girl.” I gesture to her empty glass.
“I don’t—” Her protest dies, because the man is already bounding off. “I didn’t want another one, Connelly,” she mutters.
“It’s on me. The least you could do is have a drink with me. I just saved your ass, after all.”
She gives me a dry grin. “Is that what you think happened?”
“It is what happened. Your expression was broadcasting ‘Get me the hell outta here.’”
Brenna gives a throaty laugh before running a hand through her thick, glossy hair. “I did want to get out of here,” she confirms. “Because I saw you.”
I narrow my eyes.
“It’s true. I mean, come on, do I look like the damsel in distress type? You really believe I couldn’t have gotten away from that guy all by my lonesome?”
She has a point. A helpless damsel she is not. My stomach twists at the notion that she was trying to escape me and not Ronny. The hit to my ego is unwelcome. “So, what, I don’t get a thank you for trying to be nice?”
“Is that how you view yourself? As nice?” Brenna winks. “Haven’t you heard? Nice guys finish last.”
“You still haven’t told me why you’re here. Wearing that.” I direct a pointed nod at her dress—and hope my expression doesn’t reveal my thoughts on it.
Because, fuck, that dress. It’s indecently short, and cut so low my mouth runs dry. Where the hell is that beer? I’m dying here. The shimmery material clings to every tantalizing curve of her body, hugging a pair of high, round breasts that a man would give up his firstborn to get his hands on. And her legs… Jesus. She’s not too tall—I’d put her at average height, maybe five-five—but the length of the dress combined with her high-heeled boots make her legs appear endless.
“I was supposed to go clubbing tonight,” she answers tightly. “But my cousin bailed on me at the last minute.”
“Sucks.”
“Yup.”
Our drinks arrive, and I slug back a huge mouthful to bring much-needed moisture to my throat. Brenna Jensen is way too hot, and I definitely shouldn’t be in her presence tonight. I’m still riding the high from this afternoon’s victory, adrenaline still coursing through my veins. We destroyed Princeton. Crushed them. And now the universe has placed Brenna in my path, and it’s messing with my head, not to mention my intentions.
When I saw her with Ronny, I thought rescuing her from him could be my way of apologizing for the McCarthy thing.
But now that she’s standing in front of me in that dress, I’m not thinking about apologies. I’m thinking about kissing her. And touching her. Squeezing that tight ass again. Nah, more than squeezing it.
A slew of dirty images swamps my mind. I want to bend her over this table and fuck her doggy-style. Run my hands down her smooth ass cheeks. Slide my cock inside in one, slow stroke… I bet her back would arch and she’d moan when I did it.
I have to bite my lip to stop a groan. Thankfully, she doesn’t notice. She’s too busy stirring her drink with a thin plastic straw. She takes a sip, grimaces, and sets the glass down.
“Sorry, Connelly, I can’t drink this. I’ve already had two in less than an hour, and I’m feeling the buzz.”
“Where are you staying?” I ask gruffly. “You’re not driving back to Hastings tonight, are you?”
“No, but I’ll be Uber’ing there.”
“That’s one expensive ride.”
“Eighty bucks,” she says glumly. “But it’s better than going back to my cousin’s dorm.”
I whistle. The invitation to crash with me and Brooks tickles the tip of my tongue, but I manage to refrain. That’s one of the most boneheaded ideas I’ve ever had. Besides, she’d never say yes.
I curl my fingers around the bottle and force myself to accept the truth: I’m horny.
I’m still pumped up from the game. My blood’s hot and my dick’s hard and Brenna is sex on heels. Her presence is shorting out my common sense like a tripped circuit.
When warm fingertips suddenly touch my wrist, I jolt as if I’ve been electrocuted. I glance down to find Brenna toying with the beaded bracelet I’m wearing. She fingers one of the pink beads, her lips twitching as if she’s trying not to laugh.
“Nice bling,” she remarks. “Did you ransack an eight-year-old girl’s bedroom?”
“Funny.” I roll my eyes. “It’s my good luck charm. I always wear it on game day.”
“Athletes and their superstitions.” She purses her lips. “Guess number two: you held up a Girl Scout troop and robbed them blind.”
“Wrong again.”
“Guess number three: you’re a time traveler from the 1960s and—”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I interrupt with a grin, “but this bracelet doesn’t have an exciting origin story. I lost a bet to a teammate freshman year of high school, and my punishment was to wear this for a month straight.”
Her tone is dry. “Was it was supposed to be a threat to your masculinity?”
“I know, right?” I wink. “Clearly he didn’t know me at all. My masculinity is rock solid.” And so is my erection, but I’m trying not to focus on it in hopes it’ll go away. I twist the pink-and-purple bracelet around my wrist. “I think he did steal this from his little sister, though. I hope she wasn’t attached to it, because she sure as shit ain’t getting it back.”
“Does it have magical powers?”
“Damn right it does. We didn’t lose a single game during the month I wore this thing. We swept every series we played. I’m talking four consecutive weekends. And then, when I took it off…” A cold shiver races up my spine.
Brenna looks fascinated. “When you took it off, what?”
“I can’t even discuss it. It’ll trigger my PTSD.”
Melodic laughter spills out of her throat. I can’t deny I like hearing it. No, I like knowing that I’m the one who made her laugh. This beautiful, bitchy girl with the prickliest attitude I’ve ever encountered, who doesn’t miss an opportunity to neg me.
“The first game we played AB—after bracelet,” I clarify. “That’s how I measure time now.”
Amusement dances on her face. “Of course.”
“Well, we lost. No, we lost hard. It was unfathomable how badly we played.” The memory still brings the heat of humiliation to my cheeks. “We might as well have bent over and let the other team spank us with their sticks. It was the ass-kicking of the century.” I pause for effect. “We got shut out. Eight-nothing.”
Brenna’s mouth falls open. “Eight-nothing? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a hockey game where a team scored eight goals. Wow. Don’t ever take that bracelet off, otherwise you’ll—” She stops. “Actually…” She smiles sweetly. “Can I borrow it?”
I smirk. “You wish. It’s gonna be on my wrist when we’re winning the finals. Speaking of which…” I pull out my phone. I’ve been monitoring the Briar-Yale game all night, but I haven’t checked the score in nearly thirty minutes. “Well, look at that, Hottie. Guess who’s in overtime.”
Her good humor fades. “What’s the score?” she demands.
“Two all.” I blink innocently. “If I recall correctly, Briar was up a goal until the last two minutes in the third. Looks like your boys choked under pressure and let Yale tie it up.”
“I’m not worried. Briar’s got this.” She shrugs carelessly. “With that said, I’m heading home now. Have a good night, Connelly.”
A peculiar pang of disappointment tugs at my gut. I want her to stay. That’s so fucked up.
I shift my gaze to the stage, where Danny’s still engaged in conversation. “I’ll walk you out,” I offer.
“Completely unnecessary. I don’t need an escort.” She pats my arm. “Good night, Jakey.”
Despite her dismissal, I follow her.
“I told you, I don’t need an escort.”
“Yeah, you did tell me that.”
She stops at the bar and hands the waiter a twenty-dollar bill. “That should cover his beer, too.” She glances over her shoulder. “Say thank you to your sugar mama, Jakey.”
“Thank you.” I flash an overly lascivious grin. “Daddy loves it when you take care of him.”
Brenna sighs. “I hate you.”
I trail after her toward the narrow stairwell. “Nah, you don’t hate me,” I argue.
The club is on the lower level of the building, so we have to climb one flight to get upstairs. Brenna goes ahead of me, which places her ass about two inches from my face. I nearly choke on my own tongue. Christ. I can practically see up her dress.
When we reach the landing, I stop her by resting my hand on her shoulder. “You like me,” I inform her.
She slowly appraises me. “On the contrary. I think you like me.”
I shrug. “You’re all right.”
A smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “Nuh-uh, you think I’m more than all right. You’ve got a case of the Jensens.”
“Come on now. That’s just crazy talk.”
“So you’re saying if I asked you to go home with me right now, you’d say no?” She licks her lips, those sexy red lips, and moves closer.
I lick my lips, too. “I’d say no.”
Still smiling, she comes even closer. Backing me to the wall, inch by inch, until her warm, slender body is pressed up against mine and the top of her head is tickling my chin.
“I think you’d say yes,” she whispers. She glides her hands up my chest and plants them over my collarbone.
I quirk an eyebrow. “Do you really believe I’m going to fall for this trick? I saw you pull this on Chilton last night, remember? And I’m not as dumb as he is.”
“You’re a man. All men are dumb.” Brenna peers up at me, and damned if she isn’t the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s bold and fierce, and those qualities combined with her beauty make her a force to be reckoned with.
And yet…I don’t miss the way her pulse throbs in the center of her throat. Or how she’s breathing a bit faster. She’s not unshakeable, this girl. I have the power to shake her up.
“You talk a big game, babe. But if I called your bluff, I think you’d be running out the door.”
“Who’s bluffing?”
“You are. I think all you do is bluff.” I rest my hand on her hip. My grip is loose, careless almost, but it’s a very deliberate touch and it gets the desired response.
Heat flares in her eyes.
“If I take my hand and slide it under your dress, what would I find?” I rasp.
The question is meant to shake her, but it fucks me right up, too. I’m rock-hard now. I love games like this, the dirty ones where you tease and toy and dare each other until something gives. Until someone breaks.
“What would I find?” I repeat. Ever so slightly, my fingers shift downward to play with the hem of her incredibly short dress.
Brenna doesn’t break eye contact. “You’d find me dry as a desert.”
“Mmmm. Doubt it. I think I’d find you ready for me.” I tug on the stretchy material, finding the spot where it meets her flesh. I rub my thumb over her thigh and enjoy the way her lips part. “What do you say? Should we test my hypothesis?”
Our gazes lock. I brush my knuckles over her skin again. It’s impossibly soft, and I’m painfully hard. My cock is a hot spike in my jeans. And then it starts to vibrate.
Rather, my phone does. But it’s lodged in my pocket and in such close proximity to my aching dick that the vibrations actually make me shudder with pleasure.
“You gonna get that?” Brenna asks knowingly. Her body is still flush to mine, palms flat on my chest, and I’m sure she feels the erection pressing against her belly.
“No. I’m busy.” My hand is still under her dress, inches from paradise.
She jerks suddenly, before reaching into the small purse hanging off her shoulder. Both our phones going off at once? That could only mean one thing…
I drop my hand from her thigh. I have my phone out first, scanning the array of messages that were responsible for all the vibrating. Brenna checks her notifications and releases a victorious squeal that bounces off the black walls in the cramped stairwell.
“Yes,” she exclaims. “Fucking yes!”
I grudgingly meet her gaze. “Congratulations.” Briar beat Yale in overtime. Winning goal courtesy of Nate Rhodes, the team captain.
Brenna’s smile lights up her entire face. Then it becomes a smug curve, more smirk than smile, before settling into a wicked grin of challenge.
“So. I guess we’ll be seeing you in the finals.”
