Undeniable (Cloverleigh Farms #2)(83)

“Getting ungrounded.” Her mother had shortened her punishment for the tattoo by two weeks after she’d agreed to be my date tonight.

“Oh yeah.” She grimaced. “I guess I’ll have to suffer through it.”

But actually, we had a pretty good time. Unlike Caitlyn, Chloe didn’t really care if I made an ass of myself doing the worm across the floor. She could talk to anyone, even the adults, and she laughed at all my jokes. It was comfortable and fun being with her, like old times. And she looked so fucking good in that dress. We’d never fooled around before, but I caught her looking at me once or twice, like she might be open to it. I couldn’t decide how I felt about that.

After the dance was over, we went back to my friend Jeff’s house for a pool party, and all of my buddies were drooling over Chloe’s body in her skimpy white bikini. I stayed silent, although truth be told, I was drooling too. Since when had she gotten those curves? Had they been there inside that key lime dress all night long? I wondered what they’d feel like under my palms.

“Pemberton, you don’t mind if I hit that, do you?” asked Lowell, his eyes on Chloe as she lowered herself into the hot tub with some other girls.

“Yeah, I do,” I said, realizing that I minded way more than I thought I would, and not just because I thought Lowell was a dickhead. “So don’t even fucking think about it.”

The guys all gave me shit about my reaction, and Lowell started getting in my face a little, so I left them and went over to stretch out on a deck chair near the hot tub. I didn’t want to get into a fight with my friends on prom night. And actually, I wanted to hang out with Chloe more than I wanted to be with them.

When she saw me sitting there alone in the dark, she got out, wrapped a towel around herself and dropped onto the chair next to me.

“Hey,” she said over the music. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” She lay back, crossing her bare legs at the ankle. “I don’t believe you.”

“My friends are being assholes.”

“Ah.” She glanced over toward the pool, where Lowell was busy flexing on the diving board. “That guy’s a dipshit for sure.”

“He thinks you’re hot.”

“Ew. Fuck him.”

“He asked me if I’d mind if he hit on you,” I told her, sensing an opportunity to be a bit of a hero. Maybe she’d be grateful enough to put her hand down my pants or something.

“What did you say?”

“I told him to stay away from you.” Tucking my hands behind my head, I felt proud of myself.

Except then she got huffy. “Is that what you’re doing over here by yourself? Guarding me? Because I don’t need you to do that. I can take care of myself.”

“Fine.” So much for a gratitude handjob.

A moment later, she asked, “Just out of curiosity, what would you do? If he didn’t stay away from me, I mean.”

“Like if he tried something with you and you didn’t want him to?”

“Yes.”

“I’d fucking kick his ass.”

“You’d get in a fight with your friend for me?” She sounded surprised.

“No, I’d kick his ass. There wouldn’t be much of a fight.” It wasn’t true—Lowell was a big dude, and I’d likely endure a serious beating if I took a swing at him, but Chloe didn’t need to know that.

“Oh. Well, … thanks.” A few minutes went by. Over in the pool, girls were climbing on to guys’ shoulders for a game of chicken, and in the hot tub, one couple had started making out. It was warm for early June, over seventy at almost midnight, and I felt kind of hot and sweaty, even though I wore only a bathing suit. I thought about Chloe up on my shoulders, her pussy against the back of my neck, her legs hooked around my torso, and my dick started to get hard.

Great.

What was I going to do if it didn’t go away? Could I sneak off to the bathroom and take care of it myself? It didn’t help that a soft breeze was coming from Chloe’s direction and I swear to Christ it smelled like key lime pie.

“Oliver,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever think about me?”

I wondered how the hell to answer that question without getting punched in the face. Was she looking at my crotch? “Think about you how?”

“You know how.”

I crossed my legs at the ankle and tried to keep cool. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because I want to know.”

I laughed. “I’m not sure you do.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “But it’s not really my fault. I’m an eighteen-year-old guy and we don’t think about much else.”

“Girls think about sex too, you know.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. A lot.”

Hope, and my erection, rose higher. “So you’ve thought about me like that?”

She laughed. “Not even for a minute.”

“Fuck off,” I said, heat rushing to my face.

“Sorry. Just being honest. I’ve really never thought about having sex with you.”

I said nothing because I was too busy being mad that she’d tricked me. I should have known better than to be honest with her.