“I had such a crush on you in Unfinished Business,” he says. “Never missed an episode. Any chance you’d want to go out with—”
“Not a chance in hell. She’s with me.”
Like a superhero appearing out of nowhere, Gabe’s laying down the law as he stalks down the corridor, prowling toward the man.
My heart beats in my throat. But whether it’s from the thought of what the guy might do or Gabe might do, I don’t even know.
The redhead holds up his hand. “Chill, man. I didn’t know you were with her.”
“The fuck you didn’t,” Gabe growls. “You saw her with me at the bar.”
“Dude. Back off,” the guy says defensively. “She smiled at me. I figured she wanted to meet me too.”
Seriously? “I was being polite,” I say, incredulous.
“She’s polite. You’re not.” Gabe gets up in the guy’s face now.
“You could let her make her own decisions,” the man says to Gabe.
Another growl. “It’s not an advanced concept, man. Just basic decency. Don’t hit on a woman in the dark back hallway of a bar, especially when she’s on a date with another man.” Then he turns to me, asking, “Or, gee, sweetheart. Am I wrong? Did you want his number?”
I shake my head, reining in a grin because he’s not joking. The grin is because he looks deadly serious about enforcing my decision, whatever it might be.
Gabe turns back to the man. “There. You heard it from her. Leave. And stay the fuck away from another man’s date. She is mine.”
I’m not grinning now. I’ve been heating up since he appeared in the corridor. The quickened heartbeat from earlier? Now I feel a rapid ache. And I am soaked.
The man deflates and mumbles, “Sorry,” to Gabe, who points to me.
“You were rude to her. Tell her you’re sorry.”
“Sorry,” the guy says to me, dipping his face.
“Thanks,” I say, then he rushes past Gabe with his tail between his legs.
Gabe watches till he’s gone then turns to me, jaw ticking, dark eyes flaring with heat and residual anger.
“You shouldn’t have to deal with that shit,” he says, his voice tight, “whether you’re with me or alone.”
I lick my lips. “But I’m with you tonight,” I whisper.
“Damn right you are,” he says.
My skin sizzles. My pulse surges. “So I’m yours?”
His eyes glimmer with desire. All his annoyance seems to have vanished. He closes the distance, grabs my wrists, then pins them behind my back. He presses his strong, big frame against mine, his hard-on grinding against my hip.
Dear god.
“Yes, you are,” he growls.
I wait for him to come for my lips.
But instead, he lays a hot, hungry kiss on the hollow of my throat.
I moan.
When he pulls back, he says, “Want to know why I looked you up?”
“I do,” I say, breathless.
“Because you’re finally old enough that I can ask the next question.”
I tug on his shirt, gripping the fabric in my fist. “What is it?”
His eyes roam up and down my face, my tits, my legs. I’m pretty sure he’s already undressed me mentally. Pretty sure, in his mind, his face is between my thighs right now.
He stares hotly at me, then asks, “Can I take you home and fuck you?”
So I was wrong. It’s not his face between my legs. And I’m more than okay with that.
I gasp out a throaty “yes.”
9
HANDY LESSONS
Gabe
I got carried away back at the bar. Came on too strong and demanded too much. Now I’m walking Ellie home, with her slowly riding her scooter beside me, and my brain’s taken over the thinking from my dick once more.
I have a whole mile to contemplate all the ways that sleeping with the too-sweet Ellie Snow is a terrible idea. It’d be a mistake at a basic level, screwing a family friend, someone I’ll see at Christmas parties, at picnics, at Thanksgivings. I just ended a long-term relationship where my ex and I were woefully incompatible in the bedroom. I knew she wasn’t into the same things, yet I stayed longer than I should have, trying to make it work, hoping it would help her trust issues.
Look where that got me.
Jumping into bed with another good girl would be repeating the same mistake.
With my luck, I’ll probably run into Ellie at my aunt’s next eggnog-tasting party, and she’ll call me a pervert under the mistletoe.
That settles it. I’m going to walk her home, shake her hand at the door, then catch a Lyft back to my place.
Now that I’m not envisioning worst-case scenarios, I have the brain space to make small talk. As we cross the next street, I nod to her helmet. “Cute helmet.”
There.
She tosses me a flirty look. “You have a thing for pink,” she says.
My gaze travels down to her pink cropped top, and I’m busted. This is what happens when I try to behave. She keys in on my preference for pink.
“Pink is pretty on you,” I say evenly, keeping my compliment girl-next-door appropriate and not letting on that I want to rip her clothes off. “Suits you. Nice and sweet.” I don’t add that the innocence of pink fries my brain and heats my skin. I have to remember she’s a family friend who I’ll probably see again soon.
Like at this weekend’s birthday party for Ellie’s aunt—my mom’s bestie.
No way can I fuck Ellie tonight, then face her at a lawn party.
Playing croquet.
No thanks.
Ellie turns her gaze to me. “So, I’m nice and sweet?” It’s a clear question, but maybe there’s an eye roll happening too. I’m not sure in the dark. “Are you saying I’m like candy, Gabe?”
“Everyone likes candy,” I say evasively, so I don’t linger too long on how much like candy she is, mainly in that I want to lick her every-fucking-where.
Great. Now I’m walking with a hard-on.
New topic—stat. “The scooter lifestyle has become a thing here in the beach towns.” I nod to her ride as we turn onto the next block, passing under a streetlamp. “You’ve taken to it quickly. Did you ride one in New York?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. I walked everywhere in New York. Or took the subway. I’m a scooter virgin. But my friend Maddox lives here in LA, and he gave it to me as a gift,” she says.
I know a Maddox. Could it be the same guy? “Don’t tell me your bud is Maddox LeGrande,” I say. This is a big city, but I’m desperate for a topic with no pitfalls.
Her eyes widen. “That’s him. How—? Oh…” She smiles brightly. “He’s a sports agent. Wait—does he rep you?”
“Nope. But he takes care of my quarterback, Drew Adams, and my buddy Carter Hendrix on the Renegades. He’s sharp. One of the best in the biz.”
Talking shop is keeping the tent in my pants down. I’m brilliant. I only need to steer the convo to where I can apologize for my too-forward suggestion, then somehow walk away once we reach her house.
Before I figure out how to start, though, we turn into a driveway, where Ellie opens the garage from her phone. “I need to let Gigi out real quick. Want to meet her?” She sounds so hopeful.