Him (Him #1)(46)

It’s one hundred percent honest to say I’ve never been happier. But of course I can’t say it aloud.

Trouble is, it’s harder every day to express any of the f*ck-it-all attitude I’m famous for. And I’m not going to look over his shoulder and read the text. That would be an * thing to do, right?

I look. The screen says HOLLY.

The next instant I feel a f*cking tsunami of jealousy. “You want to go to a movie?” Except I don’t want to go to a movie, and they’ve probably started already. “What’s at the theater this week, anyway?” I ask. As if I care. I’d rather get naked and make out.

“A chick flick and a kids’ movie,” he says. “I checked.”

“Bummer. Blowjobs, then?”

He snickers. But he’s still holding that goddamned phone. I’m not saying a word, though.

Right.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Texting Holly.”

I can’t help it—even the sound of her name on his lips tenses me up. The first and only time I met the girl, she had sex-tousled hair and a dreamy smile on her face. It bothers me that Jamie was responsible for both of those things.

“What’s she up to?” I try to sound casual.

I fail, because he turns his head to roll his eyes at me. “Is that your way of asking if we’re sexting?”

I shrug.

Jamie starts tapping on the phone again. “We’re not sexting. We don’t do that anymore, by the way. And tonight she’s stuck babysitting her little cousins on Cape Cod. They keep watching the same movie over and over again, and she’s about to quit the family and join a traveling circus.” He turns to smile at me. “I suggested fire eating, but she thinks trapeze would be fun.” He stops talking, those brown eyes holding a hint of amusement. I think he’s this close to calling me on my dickish behavior.

Then he doesn’t. Fucking Jamie. Always so easygoing. Some days I’d give up a limb to be more like that. But not a leg, because I need those for skating. And not my arms… God, I’m stuck inside my head tonight.

Do I need a blowjob or what?

Jamie reads the screen again and chuckles, and I want to grab the phone and bash it against the wall. The only thing holding me back is the fact that Cape Cod is like five hours away from here. Maybe six.

So I start kissing his neck instead. That’s something Holly can’t do.

After a while, it works. He sets the phone down and drops his head onto the pillow. “You feel good up there.”

“Yeah?” I thrust my hips downward and feel him pushing back at me.

I slip a hand under his T-shirt, stroking his side. Then I work the shirt upward and kiss his back, and he flattens under my touch, his body lazily shifting on the bed.

“Want you,” I whisper. Lately, those two words define me.

“Have me,” he says.

My heart stutters in my chest, and my dick hardens into the approximate texture of an iron bar. Does he even mean it the way it sounds? We haven’t talked about f*cking since the one time. I want him so badly, but only if he wants it.

Only one way to find out.

I climb off him and yank his shorts down. And his briefs. His ass is perfect—strong and round, with a tan line cutting across at his waist. I kiss the tan line, because I have to.

“Mmm,” he agrees, his eyes shut. I watch as he pushes his hips into the bed. Like me, Jamie has two speeds: horny and asleep.

I yank off my shirt and then my shorts. The more of my skin that touches his, the happier I am.

Then? His phone rings.

I swear to God, if that’s Holly…

Since I’m lying on his body, I swallow my annoyance and ask if he wants me to get it.

“Just check the number,” he says lazily. “It’s probably nothing.”

But Jamie’s phone doesn’t usually ring at this hour, so I look. It’s not Holly. The display says KILLFEATHER.

“Um… It’s a camper.”

He lifts his head up quickly. “Really?”

I hand over the phone, and he answers.

“Hello?” He frowns. “Where are you? Where?” Another pause. “I’ll be right there.” He ends the call.

“What’s the matter with your goalie?”

Jamie scowls, and I can’t help noticing even his grumpy face is hot. “That was Shen using Killfeather’s phone. Apparently my goalie is drunk with two of your forwards. They’re not far away, but Killfeather won’t come home, and they didn’t know what to do.”

I reach for my shirt. “Let’s go. Where are they?”

“Behind the high school.”

“That’s original. When I got you drunk, it was on the roof of the Hampton Inn.”

Jamie laughs, tugging his clothes into place. “They can’t all be Ryan Wesley. The town would have to double the size of its police force.”

By silent mutual agreement, we leave the dormitory like thieves in the night. If it’s necessary to call in reinforcements, I’m sure Jamie will do it. But sometimes it’s just better to handle things quietly.

Once outside, we book it toward the high school. There’s a fence around the place, but Jamie points to a two-foot gap. When I squeeze through ahead of him, he puts a warm hand on my back, and I shiver slightly.