Kiss and Break Up (Magnolia Cove, #1)(27)

I turned the volume down. “Show me your new TV?” Apparently, he’d gotten one for his birthday at the start of summer. I didn’t typically go to his house, but it wasn’t by choice. He was just always showing up at mine before I could ever consider it.

He peeked over at me, then shrugged, turning around and heading toward the bay.

Dash’s house was a weird mix of old meets new architecture. Sloping and flat rooftops met provincial-styled columns in various shades of cream and dull blue. In the meticulously kept gardens, hedges intermingled with May’s favorite flowers, roses, and a gurgling fountain sat in the middle of the pink stoned circular drive. When we were kids, we’d TP it for Halloween or draw moustaches on the statue of the naked man, who spewed water from his mouth.

“It’s still the most ridiculous fountain I’ve ever seen.”

“I think its dick fell off.” Dash hit the brakes, turned off the ignition, and jumped out.

“You’re joking.” I shut the door, leaving my bag in the car as I traipsed over to the fountain.

“Looks like Emanuel glued it back on.”

Sure enough, it looked as if a line of clear glue sat over its shaft. I snorted, then bent low to drag my fingers through the cool water.

Dash tugged at a piece of my hair. “It’s hotter than Satan’s scraped up asshole out here. Let’s go.”

“You say the nicest things.”

Dash huffed, holding the door open for me, which shocked me a little.

“Dash, oh—hi Peggy.” May was standing at the end of the hall, holding a martini in one hand and her sunglasses in the other.

“Hey, how are you?”

“Good, good.” An awkward pause settled as she stared at me, and I kicked off my boots, not to be nice, but more for something to do. “How’s your mother?”

“Great, thanks for asking.”

Dash cleared his throat. “Why don’t you go drink that martini, Mother?”

May blinked, then forced a smile. “Yes, why don’t I?” She took a sip, then disappeared.

“Nosy fucking woman,” Dash said as we traversed one of the long halls to his room, and then another hall, and then stopped at the last door on the left.

“You’re like a cynical old man,” I said as he slammed the door behind us. “With the slippers and cat to match.”

“What? I am fucking not.”

I raised a brow at Church, who was asleep on said slippers.

“Don’t talk shit about Church.”

His room was bedecked in dark browns and grays, and having the drapes pulled shut gave it a modern dungeon-esque feel.

Framed records hung on the dark brown walls. The Rolling Stones, Arctic Monkeys, and varying other bands’ records were signed and protected by a sheet of glass. He’d gotten tickets to see the Arctic Monkeys live for his seventeenth and had taken me with him. His dad had scored the signed record from the Stones.

Half a dozen boots of the same design in different shades of black and gray littered the floor, hiding beneath jeans, T-shirts, ties, his leather jacket, empty chip wrappers, and textbooks.

And then there was the giant TV hanging from the wall opposite his giant king-size bed, the latter sitting low to the ground.

“How do you even watch that?” I asked.

“With great ease.” He stripped out of his blazer, tossing it on the brown leather sofa in the corner.

“It’s so fucking big.”

“That’s what she said.”

I coughed out a laugh, then lowered to his bed, my school skirt fanning up around my thighs.

“You’re curious, aren’t you?”

“About?” I pretended to take an interest in my nails.

The bed dipped, and then his voice was directly behind me. “Lie back.”

“We don’t need to—”

“Cut the bullshit excuses, Freckles. We know why you wanted to come over, and it wasn’t to see my TV. Lie back.”

I did, though I was tense, and a nervous breath sat stuck in my throat.

“Good,” he whispered when my back settled against his chest. His hands brushed down my arms, rubbing until he could feel my breathing steady. “What exactly did you see?”

We both knew what he was talking about, so I didn’t bother pretending otherwise. My eyes had shut. The gentle touch of his hands lulling my body to relax and meld into his. “Well, he was kissing her.”

A swift caress had my ponytail shifting, warm breath heating my neck. “Where?”

“Her mouth and …” I swallowed when his lips grazed my neck. “Yes, there.”

“What else?” I could’ve imagined it, but I swore his voice turned huskier.

“His hand was up her …” I licked my lips as his rubbed over the curve between my shoulder and neck. “Her …” I stopped, a gasp leaving me when I felt his other hand bunch up my skirt. “Skirt.” My exhale tumbled out of me when the pads of his fingers hit my thigh.

“What do you think he was touching?” The words were nothing but heated air, barely audible, and my stomach flooded with drunk bees, buzzing and flipping.

“Her … her …” Oh God, I couldn’t even say it, but he didn’t force me. He tilted my head back with his fingers at my chin, his mouth crashed down on mine, and his other hand climbed between my parted legs.