A Kiss Like This (Kiss and Make Up #3)(39)

I might be anti-social, but as a young guy clearly in his prime, raging hormones have unquestionably lorded over my dick. I’ve callously used girls in the past to get myself off. Granted, I could count on two hands how many times it’s happened, but when it did, it was all take and little give.

Contrary to popular opinion, I am no virgin.

That doesn’t make this moment with Abby any less nerve-wracking. Probably because she’s not a slut with an agenda.

I hesitate when she enters the room, pausing to watch as she marches briskly to the far side of the bed, staring down at it, reluctance written across her creased brow. She falters for a few moments before pulling the forest-green sheet back and slipping in quickly, probably because she knows I can see her tits through her top and wants to hide them under the blankets.

I slide the door shut behind us and automatically slide the deadbolt through the lock.

“Thanks again for letting me crash here,” Abby says, and I turn to face her, drinking in the sight of her. Propped up on the mountain of elk-printed pillow cases, her crisp white tank and innocent girl-next-door vibe are as exhilarating as every opposing goal I’ve ever blocked on the ice. Probably more so.

Abby’s silky hair falls in a loose cascade over her shoulders, her posture in bed causing the neckline of her shirt to dip low—really, really low—exposing the swell of her breasts.

She doesn’t notice, but I sure as shit do.

I feel like such a creep for staring, but honestly, seeing her in that big bed is seriously f*cking with my head. How the hell am I supposed to casually climb in beside her and act like this is no big deal when my dick is getting hard from just watching her climb in?

Timidly, she plays with the corner of the comforter and avoids my gaping stare. “You were right. I didn’t really want to wake up with guys gawking at me in the living room. It was weird enough this morning.”

Noted: gawking is disturbing.

I avert my eyes.

“Yeah, sorry about that. That was kind of my fault. But trust me, this—” I gesture around the room “—this isn’t a hardship.” I blurt it out before my brain can stop my mouth, and bite down on my lower lip. “I mean. No one will disturb you in here.”

Abby chokes out an embarrassed cough and white-knuckles the blanket. “So, what’s it like living with Cubby?” she asks, twisting the forest-green sheet in her hands.

“It’s a nightmare,” I respond wryly, and reach down to pull the blue cotton tee shirt over my head. I hesitate, pausing with the shirt clenched in my fists and wonder if she minds—or would be uncomfortable—with me removing it.

Aww, f*ck it.

The shirt comes off, and I toss it haphazardly into the corner of the room with my other strewn clothes, noting that Abby’s eyes go wide and she sinks deeper into the pillows, staring at the ceiling intently.

God, we’re awkward.

“That kid is a pain in the ass,” I continue, sitting on the edge of the bed and removing my athletic socks. I flex the cords in my back, stretching as I lean over and flick my socks off. Straightening, I twist my torso to face her. “As you can see, he’s a slob.”

I motion with my arms toward the many jeans, boxer shorts, socks, and shirts strewn about the room, and not even in neat piles. There are enough clothes to last an entire week, let alone a thirty-six hour getaway.

In short: his shit is everywhere.

“At least you didn’t have to sleep with him.”

“That’s true. Can you imagine? He’d probably try to spoon me, and the last thing I’d want is his coc—uh… him pressed into my back. Too bad he leaves his shit everywhere. Does it at home, too.”

Abby giggles softly, her eyes sparkling in the dim lamplight. “You know, I’ve been wondering something. Why do you guys call him Cubby?”

I shrug. “It’s short for Chester. Chester Billing the fourth. He’s a blueblood from Massachusetts. Been Cubby forever, I think.”

She chokes back a laugh. Literally chokes. “Yikes. They’re both horrible, but I guess one beats the other…” Her voice trails off, and she swallows whatever she’s about to say. I stand, readjust myself in my mesh gym shorts and trudge—bare-chested—to the opposite side of the bed.

With a little too much force, I yank back the bed covers too far, exposing Abby’s smooth legs to the cold room and causing her to gasp. “Shit, sorry.”

I yank the sheets up again toward the headboard. So far I just remade the bed. I sigh in frustration before giving it another shot.

“All that flapping around is making me cold,” Abby teases with a laugh and rolls her eyes. “Just get in already.”

I relax and let out an embarrassed chuckle. “I’m an idiot.”





Abby

I watch as Caleb slides his big solid body in bed next to mine, and marvel at the size of him. He’s impressive with clothes on—without them, words can’t describe how beautiful his athlete’s body is.

The mattress dips when he settles in, arms going behind his head to busy himself by fluffing the pillows to the shape of his head. With his arms raised, my enthusiastic eyes have a chance to drink in the length of his naked upper body uninterrupted: the biceps, the ribcage, the perfectly sculpted… pec muscles. Dear Lord, even his armpit hair is kind of turning me on right now.