Consolation Prize (Forbidden Men #9)(7)

Thinking of him that way had always made me feel like a guilty piece of slime, though, as if I was cheating on my old feelings for his brother when I’d had those thoughts, which had to be really f*cking messed up.

But in all seriousness, if a person were to put Colton’s sex appeal into Brandt’s personality, my ovaries probably would’ve exploded months ago.

When I noticed Colton was watching me as if waiting for a response, I realized, shit, my mind had just wandered to places it should never go.

I cleared my throat. “Uh…no. Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m not like that. And honestly, if anything, you’re probably five times more forbidden than your brother, anyway.”

“Really?” Eyes sparking with interest, he leaned closer. “That sounds exciting. Why am I forbidden?”

Damn, why had I told him that? And why did I feel the urge to explain it? I knew I was going to regret getting into this discussion, but I just couldn’t help myself. The boy dragged out the arguer in me. It was as if he knew I loved a good debate.

“Well, first of all, you’re underage.”

“Wrong.” He made a game-show buzzer sound before grinning. “But you already know I’m legal now.”

“The hell if you are. You can’t drink alcohol until you’re twenty-one, buddy.”

“But I’m adult enough to vote, go to war, and have all the consensual sex I want, which is what really counts.”

Yes, I definitely knew he was eighteen. He’d given me a countdown every time he’d visited the bar where I worked. And then, on the very day he turned, he’d invited me to his big birthday bash, assuring me he’d make it “worth my while” if I showed up, which I didn’t do.

“You’re still four years younger than me, honey.” Or nearly four years, which was just too young for me. He was just beginning the crazy, drunken college era; I was ready to be over it and settle down. Our maturity levels had to be polar opposites.

“Damn.” He shivered and set his hand over his heart. “I like it when you call me honey. Makes all the short hairs in my undies tingle.”

See, right there. Point taken. That was exactly the kind of sophomoric comment to turn me off. Usually. Except, dammit, when he said it, it roused an internal shiver through me.

To his face, however, I frowned. “If you really think such disgusting comments impress me, you’re wrong.”

He shrugged. “Or maybe you really like my disgusting comments but don’t want to admit how much, so you say it’s lame to camouflage your true appreciation…for my comments.”

Damn, he was good.

But I shook my head anyway. “You are so delusional.”

“Definitely.” He winked. “What else you got?”

“What do you mean, what else do I got?” Did he actually want me to call him more nasty names?

“My forbidden status.” He snapped his fingers, encouraging me back on track. “You said first of all with the age thing, leading me to believe there was more than one aspect making me so illicit and exciting. So what else you got, baby doll? Lay it on me, thick and heavy, or you know, just lay yourself on me.”

I sent him a dry stare, even though inside, I shivered, feeling the word baby doll make parts of my own anatomy tingle, which totally unnerved me. Coming from any other jackass’s mouth, baby doll would piss me off. I mean, what a stupid nickname, right? But coming so playfully from Colton, it sounded, I don’t know, scintillating.

And lay yourself on me? Really? That should be a weak, pathetic, laughable come-on. But all I could imagine was crawling on top of him, buck-ass naked and laying it on him…thick and heavy.

And that felt wrong. So, so wrong.

So I glanced away and bit my lip, unable to tell him to stop misbehaving, because I knew he’d just keep going, probably stronger than ever, if he knew how much it got to me.

Except I couldn’t tell him the biggest reason why I found him forbidden, either.

I knew interracial couples weren’t such a big deal in the grand scheme of things anymore, but where I’d grown up, each group had basically stuck with its own kind. My friends would tease me mercilessly; I’d probably be too embarrassed to ever introduce him to them. And besides, with the dad I had, well...let’s just say I wasn’t sure how he’d take it if I ever brought home a white boy.

Then there was the fact I’d straight up been told once, “I don’t date black girls,” by a guy I hadn’t even thought I’d been flirting with, which had made me feel about as worthless as pond scum. But it had also gotten me curious to know what had made that prick so damn special that I wasn’t good enough for him or his kind. It also made me want to show him, to find some white guy who thought I was all that and shove him in that dick’s face, prove I was worthy of anyone I wanted.

Crazily enough, I had never actively pursued a white guy, though, not until I’d met Brandt, but that’d had nothing to do with kinds or colors and everything to do with how utterly perfect he’d been. Besides, somewhere deep inside, I think I’d always known he and I would never really go anywhere. He’d been more of a pipe dream because he pretty much possessed every quality of my ideal dream man: handsome, kind, likable, not full of himself, hard-working, and honest. So I’d had to try for him, of course, but I’d also been aware from the very beginning he was too good to be true.