Unless…
What if she’s too busy with the others when I get back? It’s easy to hang out, to make me feel like a priority when I’m the only option around.
I know, I know—Quinn is my friend, and her friends are my friends. But friendship only extends so far. Plus…I’m pretty sure the main reason she even agreed to our arrangement is that Emma and Kay asked her.
After months spent listening to them harp about how much Quinn liked me, I should be relieved they enlisted her help in my dating endeavors instead.
They’re finally moving on. And not a moment too soon.
I’ll never tell them how close I came to believing them, how their words of encouragement bolstered me enough to…maybe…potentially, put aside my fears and take a chance with Quinn. Then I went home for winter break and was slapped back to reality.
Inside our town’s coffee shop, I was cornered by my high school’s old quarterback and his running back. They took great pleasure in scrolling through the UofJ411’s Instagram in front of me, the football team’s berth to the national championship game making Mason and the guys national news.
“Aww, if it isn’t our valedictorian. Who knew nerding it up could get a person a social scholarship to go with an academic one.”
“Wow. How do you apply for that, Chrissy?”
“Tell us, Chrissy…is nerd outreach one of the philanthropies for your school’s Greek system?”
“Oh yeah, that has to be it, right? There’s no way any of these people would willingly spend time with your loser ass.”
I could hate my bullies, but I know this isn’t like the movies. The nerd doesn’t end up with the popular cheerleader. This is real life.
A hand touches my stomach, and I jump about four feet in the air.
Julia’s watching me with a sheepish expression on her pretty face as I get my high-strung self to settle down.
“Sorry.” She’s still twisting her key ring around her fingers. “I wasn’t sure if you were trying to work up the nerve to kiss me good night or not, but you haven’t said anything for like three minutes.” She shrugs, enough color creeping into her cheeks for me to make it out in the muted lighting of the parking lot. “So I figured, what the hell, I might as well initiate it.”
Guess that answers my earlier question.
A good-night kiss is a go.
“No, I’m the one who should be apologizing.” I work to clear my throat. “Give me a chance to…uhh…” I glance back at the bowling alley, the oversized illuminated sign of Victory Lanes giving me an idea. “Pick up a spare?”
Is that corny? Yes.
Is it awkward? As all damn hell.
Does it work? There’s the tiniest tilt to Julia’s lips, so unless she’s having a mouth spasm all of a sudden, I’m going to say…maybe?
“You’ve been doing it all night. Why stop now?”
Oh my god.
She said yes.
You heard that too, right?
I used a punny bowling reference to ask if I could kiss this woman, and she said yes.
Oh-kay then.
I guess we’re doing this.
Here goes nothing.
#CHAPTER15
* * *
“Ohmigah.” I wave an arm around, my other banded around my middle. “Stop—no more—mercy—” I choke out, my laughter stealing both my breath and my words.
Trav continues to arm pump and hip thrust undeterred. “Am I turning you on, mami?” He moves across the deck until he’s standing in front of me, the ends of his makeshift “grass” skirt hitting me with each forward pump of his lower body.
Just as Kev and Alex predicted, the others arrived shortly after CK left for his date—an unexpected distraction I’m now supremely grateful for.
Unable to breathe, I shake my head and clutch at my stomach, the muscles sore and screaming for a break. Conditioning workouts have nothing on hours of continuous laughter when it comes to working out the core.
“I should have drowned your ass in the Pacific when I had the chance,” Mason complains as Trav continues to dance around the balcony.
“Puh-lease.” Trav shuffles over until he’s giving Mason—and unfortunately for her, Kay as well, since she’s snuggled in his lap—a lap dance. “Your life would be incomplete without me, bruh.”
“Keep telling yourself that, bro.”
Livi giggles, contorting her body around to see her brother. “You do realize you were the one who picked him as your best friend, right?” She hooks a thumb at a now twerking Trav, another wave of giggles breaking the Why you trying to act tough? eyebrow arch she had going on.
And that’s how my night has been. It started with a bro-hugging arrival, followed by macho man loving and trash-talking antics since.
The cheesesteaks didn’t last very long. They were devoured like the guys were a swarm of piranhas and not the captains of the football team. Then Trav disappeared back inside the apartment, and that’s when things really took a turn for the ridiculous.
It’s a damn good thing I have no shame, otherwise QB1’s QB2—aka his dick, and yes, that’s what he calls it—would be broken for pilfering clothes from my laundry.
Why?
Because when Mr. Quarterback reemerged to show off the hula dancing skills he learned in Hawaii, he used my underwear to make the “grass” skirt to help him get into character.
I hung them in the laundry room for CK to see, hoping the sight of my underthings would make him think of me in them.
Instead, now bright lace, satin, and spandex flutter with every swish of Trav’s hips. I have to give him credit for his ingenuity, though. The way he threaded his T-shirt through the straps of my bras and panties to create the “belt” of his skirt was brilliant.
Plus, seeing a shirtless six-foot-plus man gesticulating like a drunk giraffe makes the annoyance of having to rewash everything totally worth it, not to mention the TikTok and Instagram gold I’m capturing on video for him to use as content later.
“I can’t take it anymore.” I push up, struggling to get up from my spot on the lounger. “I have to pee.”
I step inside the apartment, the raucous sounds from outside instantly muted. Willing myself not to check the time, I make a beeline for the bathroom I share with Emma and take care of business. CK will get home when he gets home. No need to borrow trouble.
The elevator dings as I exit the bathroom. CK’s home. I lean against the back of the couch to wait. For once, it seems like the universe is on my side with its timing, gifting me with the opportunity to put an end to my incessant wondering.
Except…
When CK makes his appearance, the front of his lightweight turquoise polo is stained with blood.
What the hell happened to him?
I gasp, rushing forward. “Superman, are you okay?”
Instantly I reach for his face, only for him to jerk away.
I’m not having it.
Protectiveness surges through me, and I grab him, cupping his face and holding him still. I need to see where he’s hurt, how bad it is, and then figure out who I must kill.
“I’m fine,” he says and tries to move out of my hold, but I don’t relent.