A Kiss Like This (Kiss and Make Up #3)(33)

“Don’t move. Please,” Caleb grunts. “You’re making it worse.”

Right.

The overlooked erection is now pressed into the juncture of my thighs rather than my butt crack.

“If you don’t finish him off, Abby, you’re going to give him blue balls,” Cubby says matter-of-factly, and I can hear him slurping obnoxiously from his coffee mug.

“Shut the f*ck up, Cubby. Can you give us some privacy?” Caleb talks over my shoulder, his muscular arms wrapping protectively around me—and because I can’t resist the temptation, I snuggle in deeper, giving his shirt a good whiff.

Mmmm, so, so good.

His hand timidly caresses my back.

“All I’m saying is, we weren’t hating watching you dry hump,” Cubby says, just as Stephan adds, “It gave me a giant boner just seeing you two.” I hear the shuffling of clothes as he stands. “In fact, I think I’ll go stick it inside Chelsea.”

“Jesus Christ. Unbelievable,” Caleb whispers. “Cubby, why are you still sitting there? Get the f*ck out of here.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave—but remember kids, abstinence makes the heart grow fondler.”

“What a douchebag,” Caleb mutters, aggravated. When Cubby clears the room, he gives my back a few more strokes. “Hey. Are you okay down there?”

I pull back, tipping my chin to look at him.

I’m mortified, but I nod.

“Yes, I’m okay.” I wonder just where the heck my courage is coming from to even respond. My underpants, probably, because the sight before me is like a wet dream. Caleb’s often serious face is covered with the sexiest five o’clock shadow I’ve ever seen, and he’s gazing down at me with his aroused, storm-colored eyes.

A deep gash that I’ve never noticed before mars the corner of his eyebrow, and a new, healing scar runs down the length of his rigid jawline.

And his hair. Oh, his shaggy, beautiful black hair. It’s truly a crime against nature for this surly boy to have such thick, silky hair, and for him to hide it under a vast collection of baseball caps.

His full lips are pulled down over his teeth, and the outline of dark stubble surrounding that sexy mouth is a crazy, maddening, ovary-clenching turn-on—especially after all the rubbing, petting, and grinding we just sleepwalked through.

Our lips are but a whisper away, and morning breath be damned, I arch my back, stretching my lips toward his beautifully imperfect face, and lay a single, soft kiss on his surprised mouth. He produces a low growl as a loud, annoyed shout rings out from the kitchen. “Get a room!”





CHAPTER 15

Caleb

I’m in Hell.

Struggling through a crowd of loud, obnoxious, unsupervised kids and teenagers, I barely manage to climb in line behind our friends for the water ride we all just stood in line to buy wrist bands for.

Two little punks in front of me start a game of Tag-You’re-It, and I seriously want to punch myself. Fuck, this is aggravating.

Whose goddamn idea was this?

I catch site of Abby at the top of the platform for a ride called “Tornado Waters,” one arm wrapped around a big yellow inner tube. She’s laughing unabashedly at something the purple-haired chick, Jenna, is saying, the action making her boobs jiggle in the simple navy-blue bikini top she’s got on.

Boobs that I had a handful of this morning.

I run a hand down my face at the memory, and when I look up at her, she’s watching me from her spot in line and listening intently to whatever Jenna is saying in her ear, eyes wide. They exchange glances, Jenna throwing an irritated elbow to Abby’s ribs. I snarl and take a step forward protectively—because, Hey, get your damn hands off her, and before I realize what’s happening, Abby is curling her hand in a shy come hither wave.

I stare.

I blink.

I’m shoved from behind by a big yellow inner tube.

“Get your big dopey ass up there,” Weston says, rolling his eyes. “Does she need to send you an engraved invitation?”

“Oh,” I reply.

He bumps me once more with the tube. “Yeah, oh,” he mimics, rolling his eyes again. “Don’t be such an embarrassment to the team.”

The tube thumps me a third time in the back of the head, and it’s enough momentum that I stumble on the steps.

I swat him away, scowling. “Enough already. Knock that shit off, alright? I’m going.”

I don’t mean to sound so begrudged, because I do want to get to Abby, but Jesus, man, enough badgering me about it. When did my friends get to be such pains in my ass?

Weaving my way up the stairs doesn’t take me long—Abby is only about ten steps up—but navigating through the tubes was a pain in the ass, especially because my friends take douchebaggery to an epic level. Only a kid would find it f*cking hilarious to pull someone’s swim trunks down in a crowded indoor waterpark full of little kids.

I shoulder past Miles and Stephan, who are keeled over laughing at the sight of Cubby struggling to pull his board shorts back up over his narrow hips.

“I thought maybe you’d want to share?” Abby says when I reach her, Jenna looking on with a satisfied glint in her eye. Even at a waterpark, the chick is dressed outlandishly in a bright Aztec-print bikini, large gold hoop earrings, and matching gold chain around her stomach—like she’s not afraid that shit’s going to get ripped off her body on one of the water rides.