A Kiss Like This (Kiss and Make Up #3)(32)

She nods slowly with a shy smile. “Water, please?”

“Water? That it?” What I don’t say is, I’ll gladly get you anything you want. “Okay. So, uh, want to find us a movie while I’m grabbing drinks?”

I disappear into the kitchen and take a deep, steadying breath with my hands flat on the counter before going through the motions of filling up two glasses with ice water. It takes me less than ten minutes, but in that time, when I return to the living room, I note that Abby has nervously smoothed out her braid, climbed out of the blanket, pulled the coffee table back to the center of the room, and repositioned herself on the couch.

I stand motionless under the barn beam arch, hesitating at the threshold of the room, and survey Abby lounging dead center on the sectional. Do I walk over and sit down next to her? How far from her do I sit? Or should I sit in the recliner on the other side of the room to give her space?

Shit.

As if she senses my indecision, she takes pity on me and pats the couch.

“Am I hogging all the room on the couch? Sorry, I’ll scooch over.” Abby makes a show of repositioning herself for me on the sofa, but in reality it looks like she’s only moved over a few inches.

Which is just fine by me.





***

Cecelia: So the two of you just watched a movie?

Abby: Yeah. We watched that chick flick, Pitch Perfect. He’d never seen it before.

Cecelia: NEVER SEEN IT?! Was he living under a rock?

Abby: I don’t know, but watching him try not to laugh was better than watching the actual movie.

Cecelia: Did he do anything besides hold your hand during the movie? Like, oh, I don’t know… touch you inappropriately?

Abby: NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! He was a gentleman.

Cecelia: Well THAT’S boring!

Abby: Okay, now you’re starting to sound like Jenna. Stop.

Cecelia: TAKE THAT BACK ^^^

Abby: You’ve been living with a boy too long ;) Cecelia: Ugh. Sorry. Matthew is corrupting me with his hockey locker room talk. Let’s blame that one on him.





CHAPTER 14

Abby

Have you ever had one of those dreams that was so vivid, it felt like reality? Have a dream that felt so good, you were content basking in it, slipping in and out of reality in a drunk-like state, oblivious to your actual circumstances, and just giving in to your senses?

Yeah. I’m having one of those dreams now.

“Mmm, that feels good,” I moan in a low, groggy, sleep-filled voice that hardly sounds like my own, stretching lazily and rotating my hips against the hard erection pressed into my ass crack. I slowly become cognizant of a wide, warm palm resting lazily at my waist—that same, solid palm grazing the flat expanse of my stomach beneath my tank, fingers traveling down to the waistband of my lacy white sleep shorts.

My breathing becomes labored, eyes rolling briefly back as I rotate my hips again, savoring the foreign sensation grinding against my butt crack. My arms come up, stretching to grasp the back of the head nuzzled in the crook of my neck. The lips against my throat emit a low, almost painful groan as the hand roams up my torso, and the large palm runs over my breasts before giving one nipple a gentle squeeze while he grinds into me from behind.

It sets my already buzzing body a-freaking-blaze, the ache in my thighs throbbing unbearably as I gyrate my backside in slow circles, unknowingly looking for some relief.

“Don’t stop…” An agonized curse trails off in a whisper. “Don’t stop. Abby…”

Wait. What?

My eyes pop open, even though in my drowsy stupor I continue pulling the silky hair fisted in my palm, and I suddenly become aware of the following things:

1. The hand and rection belong to Caleb, and we’re both lying horizontally on the couch.

2. Daylight pours through the large living room windows.

3. Caleb and I are not alone.

“Bro, check it out,” a voice declares. “They’re dry humping in the middle of the living room.”

“Shut the f*ck up,” another male voice demands. “You’ll wake them before they get to the good part. Shit, this is better than soft core porn.”

The first voice laughs. “Do you think Showtime will jizz in his boxers?”

“Definitely. I don’t think he’s gotten laid in a while.”

“Wait. Didn’t he get a blow job from that butch lesbian on the lacrosse team?”

“No, dude, that was me.” They both laugh and I hear them high-five.

Oh. My. Freaking. God.

Once again, I force my eyes open, the fuzzy vision clearing after I blink a few times, concentrating my focus on the other side of the room.

Cubby and Stephan Randolph are sitting on the fireplace hearth, watching us, each with a mug of steaming hot coffee in their hands. I bury my face in the couch cushion as Caleb slowly removes his hand from underneath my shirt, pulling the hem down my hips.

“Shit,” he moans. “I’m so sorry.” The low pitch of his voice so close to my ear makes me shutter. “Well, sorry we got caught.”

Unable to face his friends, I struggle with my movements, trying to flip over so my backside is presented to the guys without making eye contact, and bury my flaming-hot face in Caleb’s soft tee shirt. I maneuver this way and that, trying to balance myself and not fall off the edge of the sectional.