And she peeled it off slowly, the damp fabric sticking to her skin, revealing nothing but a thin, white tank top beneath.
I knew without asking for confirmation that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her, not even when I knew I should. And thanks to the two shots in a row the guys made me take as soon as I parked the Jeep down the road, I had the viewing pleasure through buzzed eyes.
I kept my gaze on her, feeling that electric rush after depriving myself of her company for so long.
As if she felt me, too — she snapped her head in my direction.
And then she promptly dropped her drink.
Our eyes met across the room, hers wide and caught off guard, while mine were hooded and shameless. She flushed under the intensity of the gaze, muttering something to Jenna before she tore her eyes away from mine and started stacking cups for a new drinking game.
But no sooner than she’d started fussing with the cups, she dropped them just the same and bolted back toward the hallway that I knew led to her room.
God, I wanted to chase her.
I spent the next five minutes thinking about what would happen if I did. I talked to classmates and took pictures and lined up shots, all the while imagining surprising B in her room, locking the door behind me, and then promptly pinning her against it and kissing her the way she deserved to be kissed.
I somehow managed not to follow the urge, though, deciding to wait until she came back out. When she did, her hair had been wrangled into a bun, and she’d painted her lips a deep crimson.
She ran straight into the kitchen, opening a cabinet and hanging her hands on her hips as she stared up at something on the top shelf.
I muttered an excuse of needing to pee to the guys on the team I was hanging out with, and then made my way across the house to where she was now climbing up on the counter.
My hands were on her hips before I could convince myself it was a bad idea.
“Here,” I said, speaking right into the shell of her ear. “Let me help.”
I held onto her tightly as I lifted her, easily placing her on the counter so she could reach the top of the cabinet. For a moment, she just stayed there, frozen, and I didn’t move my hands where they gripped her slick skin.
Once she had what she was looking for — a blender, it turned out — I helped her down.
Slowly.
And I’d be a lying sonofabitch if I said I didn’t enjoy every inch of her body rubbing against mine on the way down, particularly when her ass rubbed right along the shaft of my cock.
I groaned at the sensation, at the carnal need it evoked in me, and I held onto her even after she was on the ground. It wasn’t until she turned to face me that I forced a breath and told myself to calm the fuck down.
Those sweet, innocent gray eyes lifted to mine.
“Hi, Jamie.”
I smirked. “Hi.”
She flushed, clearing her throat and glancing down at where I still held onto her hips.
I didn’t budge.
Finally, she slipped out of my grasp, plugging the blender in and immediately reaching into the freezer for ice. I watched silently as she gathered the other ingredients to make a frozen margarita, and then I made my way to the counter, leaning up against it and folding my arms.
I studied her as she worked on the cocktail, noting how her tank top stuck to her in wet patches, how her shorts were small enough to show the bottom crease of her ass, how long and lean and toned her legs were. I especially noted how long and dark her lashes were, how those crimson lips were pouty and begging to be tasted.
“You’re wearing makeup,” I mused, watching as B dumped ice cubes into the blender and covered them in tequila.
“And you’re wearing dress shoes.”
I looked down at the brown oxfords on my feet, chuckling before I lifted my gaze back to hers.
And then, I said fuck it.
I couldn’t go another minute without her in my arms.
“We should dance.”
“Wh—”
She couldn’t protest before I grabbed her wrist and twirled her out across the kitchen, tugging her back into me just the same. I held her close then, swaying like there was classical music playing instead of rap.
B just giggled, breaking free after another spin and retreating back to the blender.
“You’re drunk, Jamie Shaw.”
“And are you, B Kennedy?”
She clicked the blend button, speaking a little louder over the noise. “I’m getting there.”
She eyed me then, pinning her bottom lip between her teeth as she assessed me.
“What have you been drinking, anyway?”
“Whiskey,” I answered.
She chuckled. “Of course. I should have guessed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugged, using a spoon to break up a large ice chunk before replacing the top on the blender and turning it on again. “Just makes sense. You’re practically whiskey on legs, anyway. The color of your hair, your eyes, the way you smell — it’s like your spirit drink.”
“I remind you of whiskey?”
I didn’t know why that made me happy, made me smile, made my chest swell a little bit. I liked the thought of being her vice. I liked the thought of her looking at me and thinking of sweet, burning temptation.
“In every sense of the word,” she murmured.
She fell quiet, keeping her eyes off mine.
“We should do a shot.”
I was already grabbing the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and filling two shots before she could protest. I slid the one into her hand and lifted the other.
“I’m making a tequila drink,” she pointed out. “Mixing will probably screw me in the long run.”
“Nah, you’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know, Jamie…”
“Oh, come on,” I challenged, taking a small step toward her. I had to fight not to step all the way into her, to press my chest to hers and take her hips in my hands again. “Don’t you want a little whiskey on your lips?”
Her eyes snapped up to mine, a warning and a curious question all at once.
She knew what I was asking.
She just didn’t dare to answer.
I cocked a brow, waiting, and after a long pause, she lifted her shot glass, too.
“To bad decisions.”
My grin doubled, and I kept my eyes on hers as I shot the whiskey back and watched her do the same.
Our fingers brushed when we sat our glasses on the counter again, and then her tongue jetted out to chase the last bit of golden whiskey clinging to her painted lips.
I imagined that tongue so many other places, imagined those lips wrapped around me and those eyes cast up at me just like they were now.
I met her gaze again, and I knew she knew as much as I did that everything had changed.
But I left her alone.
At least, until the party ended.
• • •
I stuck around well after everyone else that night, helping B clean up the mess our classmates had made the best I could.
Which was to say — not very much.
“I have to call out,” she said, hands on her hips as she surveyed the ruined carpets, the stains on the walls, the beat-down furniture.
I ran a hand through my hair. “When does your mom get home?”
“Late tomorrow night.” She looked at her phone. “Or should I say, late tonight.”