“What?” His eyes get wild and squirrely as if he’s truly baffled, assuring me that if anything is going on between the two of them, it’s all in Becca’s empty head. “Absolutely nothing.” He runs his fingers through his hair quickly while glaring at the wall, and I’m right back to wondering. “How’s your brother?”
“Okay, I guess—something seems to be bothering him, but he won’t fess up. He used to be your brother, too.” My fingers sink into his abs, and the cool fabric of his dress shirt feels slippery under my fingers. “You used to be able to say his name.”
He sighs over me and warms me with his minty breath. “I know. And you’re right. We were like brothers.” There’s a fierceness in his eyes, something just this side of angry.
“You miss him?”
“Not really.” His expression sours. “Okay, I miss him.” He shakes my arm as if teasing me. “But you can’t tell him I said so. It’ll make me sound like a pussy.”
“I miss those days.” I land my cheek over his heated rock-hard chest before popping back up and glancing to his beautiful face. “Not when you were a pussy. When we were—whole.”
“Whole is a good way to put it. I miss seeing you at the house. I secretly loved it when you spent the night.”
“That’s because you’re a pervert.” I snuggle into his chest as if it were common knowledge, and at this point it sort of is. “Mindy and I would beg you to play the guitar so we could harmonize together. We sounded really good together. You were good, too.”
“I wasn’t very good, but I practiced all the time just so you’d ask me to play. Confession”—he breathes hot as an iron over the top of my head—“I just did that so I could hear you sing. You have an amazing voice, Sugar Puss.”
“Oh my God!” I bolt up, and just as I’m about to eject myself from this carnival ride, Rowen pulls me back, laughing his head off. “Don’t you even think of whispering that demonic incantation again! I hate—no, hate is too weak a word—I abhor that freaking nickname!” It’s true. My childhood nickname for years was the so not adorable, completely inappropriate—Sugar Puss. And get this? It was my father who gifted it to me. Yes. My clueless, sweet, dear old dad decided that he would turn my frown upside down by calling me something so quasi-affronting before God and my peers—for years. Why, you ask, did I not slap that nickname down before it ever got the chance to blossom? Because my fourth grade self thought it was cute. That is, until my eighth grade self was teased mercilessly, and by then it was already deeply embedded in my father’s quickly aging gray matter and had cemented itself as my chosen moniker. Braden and Rowen would mock me ruthlessly right along with those nasty boys from school. I hated it. I loathed it. I still abhor it full strength right to this day.
“Sug”— he starts in on it again, and I pick up a throw pillow and do my best to smother him. “Okay!” He laughs so hard he can hardly breathe as he holds his arms up in surrender.
“They’re going to hear!” I hiss, holding my finger to his lips.
“Who? The clowns running this circus?” He gives the middle finger to the periphery of the room, much like I did when he first walked in.
“Yes, the clowns.” I fall down next to him, and the flying carpet we’ve landed on rocks up a storm. “You may never say that horrible nickname out loud again.”
Rowen looks over at me, his head relaxed over a pillow, one hand on his stomach. But those sleepy eyes, they could just as easily be heavy with lust, and every last part of me wishes they were.
“Come here.” Rowen pulls me over, and I land next to him, our chests touching, his breath licking over the side of my face. He leans in, and I’m hoping he’s going for the kill. God, I want to kiss Rowen. What I wouldn’t do to steal one more delicious kiss. But in truth, I want far more than just one heated kiss. He tucks his mouth tight next to my ear and whispers, hot and heated, “Sugar Puss.”
“AARRGH!” I swat him over the arm a dozen times quick. I’m far too lazy to try to bolt this time. Every single action on this seemingly lazy contraption takes far too much gravity to pull off.
“Okay, okay.” He holds up a hand and winces. Dear God, who knew wincing could make Rowen ten times hotter than he already is? I’m in love with those little crinkly lines around his eyes that knife in when he laughs or squints. And I’ve practically lost my mind over his dimples. If I don’t take a bite out of one soon, I might actually go insane before midnight. “I won’t say it again—out loud.”
“Fine,” I gruff. “Ask another question. Time is ticking away. We only have an hour, and at least twenty minutes have been spent on pure bullshit. Just a typical Saturday night with Rowen Garret. It’s nice to know some things never do change.”
Rowen leans in and touches his nose to mine, and I don’t move, don’t breathe, or back up the way logic would dictate. “I’m not that much more fun these days.” His clear eyes search my features, stagnating on my lips as if fascinated by them.
“That’s not what the masses say. According to them, you’re colossal f-u-n. The fastest, tallest, longest roller coaster ride on campus. That sounds like a pretty good time to me.” It comes out quiet, far more forlorn than I meant it to be.
His face pinches with pain. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“Isn’t it true?” He’s baited me with suspense. “I’m pretty sure you’re not anywhere near virginal status.”
He averts his eyes as if deflecting the obvious. “How about you?” He swallows hard. “Are you anywhere near virginal status?” he says it lower than a whisper as if wishing that the cameras would go away and take those ridiculously hot mics with them.
“Yes,” I practically mouth.
“Good.” Rowen gazes intensely into my eyes in a hypnotic way I have never experienced before. The moment grows far too serious, far too primed for him to gift me a little brotherly advice, so I decide to steal the opportunity from him.
“I won’t be for long, though.” I sit up on my elbows. “Now that I have five prospective boyfriends, I’ll just put their names in a hat and gift my unbroken hymen to the lucky winner.”
“Geez,” Rowen groans as he flops onto his back a moment. “Do you ever stop?”
“Is that something you ask all the girls you fall into bed with?”
Rowen rolls over and pins me in with his arm across my chest, his face dangerously close to mine. “Only the mouthy ones.”
“I’m mouthy.” My throat goes dry. He’s so close my lips ache to have him. “What’s the matter, Rowen? Do you want to beat the other boys to the hymen-tearing punch?”
His brows flex, forming a hard perturbed V. “Soph.” His chest beats up and down as if he can’t take the heat anymore.
“It’s Sugar Puss to you.” I bite down on my lip to keep from grinning like a loon.
“Sugar Puss.” He grunts the idea of a laugh, those lids of his growing heavier by the second. Rowen leans in and brushes his lips over mine. He takes another swipe, and we groan with pleasure at the very same time. “We shouldn’t do this,” he whispers slow and out of obligation because God knows he’s not moving.
“Shut up and kiss me.”
Rowen crashes his mouth over mine, his minty tongue dive-bombing my most prominent orifice, and not so shockingly, my prominent southern orifice is a tad bit jealous. Rowen melts in my mouth like a long sought-after dream—like rain in the desert, a hope and a wish that I never really believed would come true. There’s a softness to this kiss, a holiness that feels far too sacred to express with mere words.
My hands spread over the warmth of this chest, and I fight the urge to rip his shirt right off him. His fingers dig into my back, riding lower still into my bare thighs. It’s heaven like this with Rowen. I always knew it would be. He lets out another hearty groan as he lands square over me, resting on his elbows to keep from crushing me. But I would gladly entertain a collapsed lung or two, a broken rib or seven just to have Rowen closer, over me, against me, in me.
Rowen’s
kisses intensify, blowing doors off all the other kisses we’ve shared. Rowen and I have long since crossed that invisible line in the sand—one I never wanted to exist in the first place.
Love. That’s what I feel pouring from Rowen’s mouth to mine. A resuscitation of who we used to be, only elevated to where I’ve wanted us all along.
Who says dreams don’t come true?
Rowen
It happened again. My mouth went in with a vengeance, and there was no way on Earth I wanted to stop. Why the hell couldn’t it have been anyone else but Sophie? And now that Sophie has taken up residence in my heart, I can’t seem to evict her, don’t want to. Yes, my heart. As soon as she mentioned she loved me, I wanted to say it right back. Maybe not in the romantic oh my God-I’m-so-in-love-with-you way, but I do love Sophie. Hell, maybe it is exactly in that way.
After practice, I shower and head over to the Underground with Boomer, looking for a side of beef I can sink my teeth into because I’m starved. The bar is full, and the music is loud, and now I’m wishing I would have taken a drive into town and gone someplace private and quiet. A drive-through would have worked nicely. I’m exhausted as shit.
We find a table and put our orders in. He winks at the waitress and asks if she can rush the order. Boomer’s been quiet for the entire trek over, and it’s not like him. He’s got his face buried in his phone like a thirteen-year-old girl and has been for the last few days.
“Rush the order? Where you off to?” I tease. Boomer’s room is a revolving door of coeds as of late.
“Off to bed,” he mumbles without looking up from his phone. “That was brutal out there today. You would think we were on a losing streak the way they tormented us in that workout.”
“We will be on a losing streak if they don’t torment us.” We share a quick laugh because we both know that will never happen. “I gotta piss like a racehorse. Be right back.” I jump up and head for the restroom. I drank my weight in water on the field earlier, and as much as my body tried to focus on what it needed to do, I can’t stop thinking about Sophie. That kiss—those heated kisses we shared Saturday night have forced me to pump a little relief for myself in the shower. I’m not sure how much more I can take, but I’m not about to steal anything precious away from her. I want to, though. Out of the blue these last three weeks have changed me, and suddenly I want it all with Sophie Meyer.
The men’s bathroom at the Underground is cushioned from all the melee, the noise that the rest of the establishment affords you. Aside from the fact the urinal is lined with dudes, the silence makes me wish I were face down in the quiet of my bed. But I wouldn’t be alone. I’d be with Sophie because that girl never leaves my mind.
I unzip, whip it out, and casually glance to my left before doing a double take. Braden Meyer looks my way, and we’re stuck staring one another down a moment too long while holding our dicks in our hands.
Shit. I look straight ahead and try like hell to speed up the process. But something Sophie said about him that night rings in my ear. Something about him not being okay, not wanting to share it. I can’t help but wonder if Becca told him about the baby, too.
“What’s up?” I say it loud enough for him to hear.
“Dude.” He closes his eyes a moment. “Don’t talk to me.”
“I’m not talking to you. Just asking what was up.”
“I’ve got my cock in my hand. That’s what’s up.”
“How’s Soph?” I couldn’t help it. That’s my way of digging in a knife he doesn’t even realize I’ve plunged in his back. Not that I’m seeing Sophie to spite him. I miss her. And for whatever reason, the universe thought best we shouldn’t miss one another anymore. But I know the truth would kill Braden, and that alone gives me a glimmer of satisfaction.
He shakes it off before heading to the sink, and I do the same.
We wash our hands, bowing and ducking at the same time, all the while he glares at me. In one swift move, Braden shoves me into the wall with a thunderous crash that has the mirrors rattling. A few dudes walk in, but they leave well enough alone.
“That’s for thinking of my sister with your dick in your hand.” He blows past me, his face red with rage.
A dull chuckle escapes me. I can’t help but think Braden Meyer just got a taste of his own medicine.
I head back out and spot Boomer with some chick bouncing on his lap, laughing it up, and for a second, I think of ditching the two of them. Looks like Boomer’s night is going to be a busy—
“Mindy?” I bolt over, and sure enough, my sister is the one bouncing on top of him, vamped up like some hungry sorority girl, looking like the last thing on her mind is food.
“Rowen!” She bounces right out of his lap and into a seat. “Boomer said you were here.” She clears her throat, that wild smile of hers quickly dissipating. “Just thought I’d have dinner with my favorite brother.”
“Good thing you found me.” I glare over at Boomer. I don’t need a road map to tell me how she got here. At least I’m here to protect her from this horny idiot. “I just had a run-in with a Meyer in the bathroom.”
The waitress drops off our meals, and Mindy places her order. Hell, she’s probably here for a free meal, and I’m reading too much into this. Boomer wouldn’t do that to me.
Mindy lifts her brows, amused as hell at what I just said. “Which Meyer? Rumor has it, the She-Meyer is turning out to be a real skank. Who knew—right?”
My blood boils in an instant. “Says who?” I pluck a fry off my plate, doing my best to pretend not to care.
“Tanner Carmichael.”
“What?” Tanner is turning out to be a real ass, and if I see him again, I might just have to show him what’s up by way of my fist. “Tanner is full of shit.”
Mindy shrugs it off as her nachos arrive in record time. “Tanner has always had a thing for Sophie. And Sophie has always had a thing for”—she scoops a heap of chips dripping with orange ooze into her mouth and makes me wait for it—“him.” She garbles out that last word, and for a second, my mind twists into the word you.
It doesn’t matter. Tanner and Sophie aren’t happening. Sophie and I are happening.
The chaos in the bar, the noise, the music, the world around me stops stone cold.
Sophie and I are happening?
Holy crap. I sink in my seat a notch. In the distance, I spot Braden hanging out with a few of his friends before taking off. The funny thing is, all these years at Leland and I haven’t bumped into him more than a handful of times, but these last few weeks seem to be laden with Meyers. And now here I am, out of my mind for Sophie of all people.
But it would never work between Sophie and me, not with the history I have with Braden—with Becca.
“Yo!” Mindy pegs me in the forehead with a chip, and I wipe nacho sauce off my face. “Anyway, I don’t blame you for zoning out. Who the hell wants to talk about Sophie? So, what did her brother have to say? Anything worthwhile? Or was it the usual flatulence that comes out of both ends?”
“The usual.”
Mindy feeds Boomer a chip piled high with the good stuff, and I growl over at him.
Boomer holds up his hands in surrender and shakes his head as if he’s got nothing to do with it, and knowing my sister, he doesn’t. Mindy has never been denied a single thing in her life, and if she’s got her sights set on Boomer, then we are all in for a shit ride—especially Mindy, because if Boomer wants to live, he’ll shut her down time after time. But I can’t focus on Mindy or Boomer or the fact Braden is taking off while funneling his hatred my way.
Nope. I think I just admitted to myself that I care about Soph a lot more than just as a friend. I don’t want just a friendship with Sophie.
I want it all, and that right there is dangerous, stupid, and improbable.
Isn’t it?
A moment thumps by, and I see Sophie’s beautiful face in my mind’s eye, those amber glowing eyes, that smile that lights up the universe.
Yeah, I w
ant it all with that girl.
I glance back at the door, at the void Braden left in his wake, and let out a quiet breath of defeat.
How in the hell are Sophie and I ever going to rise above that?
The next phase in Dexter’s delirious experiment takes place where it all began, that little dark room with its icy partition.
“What’s the deal?” I had to cut practice short for this. Coach didn’t care for it, but I reminded him that it was his fault I was participating to begin with.
Petra flips through her notebook as if looking for her lines.
“You’ll both go through a questionnaire. Then Saturday it’s a free day.”
“Free day? As in a bye?” Yes, I’ve come to equate the world in football terms.
“No, you big helmet head.” She gives a little wink while shining her glasses back on the notebook in her hand. “It means you’ll get to design the date yourself. It’s still monitored by the TSE. She’ll plan the one after that.” She covers her mouth a moment as if she just spilled classified information.
“Cool.” I warm at the thought of planning something for Soph and vice versa. She’ll probably take me to Laurel Lake and make me skinny-dip in below freezing temps just to watch my balls shrivel up and fall off. A goofy grin comes to me despite the fact bodily harm lies in wait. Yes, Sophie is a pistol, and I love her for it.
I stop short of my next thought. There’s that word again.
Petra leads me into the room, and surprisingly the lights are on, the partition is gone, and a small wooden table sits in its place. Once I’m miked up, Petra takes off, and soon thereafter the most beautiful girl in the world walks through the door. My heart stops cold at the sight of her.
Sophie has her hair in a ponytail, high and perky, her lips painted a mouthwatering pink, and I rise to greet her.
“Looks like they took the bed and the kissing booth away.” She pulls me into a quick embrace, and I can’t help but take in her scent, flowers, something sweet, honey, and cinnamon. The feel of her body pressed against mine starts my heart right back up again.