My efforts to forget the horrible night we’ve had are a woeful waste of time when Lennox mutters, “Don’t point that thing this way.”
By ‘thing,’ he means my ass that’s now facing him since I rolled onto my side.
I crank my neck back to glare at him. “I have to sleep on my side. I snore when I sleep on my back.”
“Then roll onto your opposite hip. I don’t want to die in my sleep.”
“I can’t do that either.” I’ll have nothing but gums left by the end of summer break if I don’t stop gnawing my teeth. “Paul said my hands wander in my sleep.”
My eyes pop out of my head when Lennox spits out, “You let Paul spend the night?” When I lift my chin, Lennox screws up his face. “Gross, Summer. Sleepovers are reserved for guys who know what they’re doing, and even then, they should be handled withextremecaution.”
“Says the guy who spent the night with Bethany Christensenonlylast night!”
He cocks a brow. “Yes, I spent the night… but I didn’t sleep over.”
My nose crinkles. “What do you mean? We parted ways at eight, and you did the walk of shame at ten fifteen thefollowingmorning. Are you trying to tell me you didn’t sleep at all during that time?”
“Uh-huh,” Lennox replies, his head bobbing like I’m slow. “That’s usually what happens when you hook up with someone who doesn’t come after three pumps.”
I strangle my pillow instead of what I really want to strangle. And no, it isn’t Lennox’s neck. My unwarranted jealousy is the only thing deserving of a death sentence right now. The no-touch clause I added to our agreement is the reason we’re best friends, but it is also one of the most torturous parts of our friendship. We flirt, and on more than one occasion, we’ve faked being boyfriend and girlfriend to ward off unwanted attention, but nothing we’ve done has ever come close to dousing the heat his shirtless form singes my insides with.
After taking a breather to calm my voice, I mutter, “You’re disturbing.”
“Not as disturbing as your ass still being aimed at me.”
His chuckles vibrate through the bed when I mumble, “Suck it up, princess. I doubt it could be worse than the fishy taco smell your fingers had this morning.”
2
Lennox
Man down.I repeat,man down!
I can handle puke. I can handle shit—even when it isn’t mine!—but there is no chance in hell I’ll ever be able to handle this with the decency Summer deserves. Legs are twisted. Bodies are twisted. And if that isn’t bad enough, grinding is very much on the agenda, but for once, my dick isn’t trying to burrow a new hole to poke. It’s still in my boxer shorts, stretching the rigid material like pain is its new favorite foreplay.
Summer was a little lenient with the truth when she said her hands wander while she’s sleeping. Her whole body gets in on the action. Her pussy is rubbing against my thigh, her right hand is fondling one of my abs as if it dislodged from the apex of my thighs, and her left hand is clutching the headboard so firmly, the high rise of my shirt exposes lying is her forte of late. There isn’t a single dimple in her thighs, even with them being clenched around my leg so staunchly, the jaws of life couldn’t free me from her hold.
“Sum…” I give her a chance to recognize my voice before trying again. “Summer.” When my cock responds to the moan she releases as if a one-off hookup would be worth losing years of friendship over, I shake the living shit out of her shoulders like we’re related by blood instead of mutual admiration.
“What the hell, Lennox?” she murmurs, her voice groggy from both waking up and possible arousal.
“You were humping my leg.”
I’ll admit, I could handle this a lot better than I am, but you can’t feel how wet my boxer shorts are. They’re drenched with pre-cum.
That isn’t good, and it very much steps over the line Summer and I drew in the sand years ago.
“Full-on humping my leg as if you were going to ride it all the way to climax station. You were moaning and shit. I feel kind of violated.”
She rolls over like my worry isn’t warranted. “I wasn’t humping your leg. You were probably dreaming about that sheepdog again.”
“It was a wolfhound, and no, I wasn’t dreaming about the time it tried to rape me when I was twelve! You were moaning and grinding down like you haven’t orgasmed in months.” My cock stiffens right along with Summer’s body. “You’ve gotten off, right? You said you would so we’d avoidexactlywhat’s happening right now.” I know her confession before she articulates it. “Summer Ramsay, you promised.”
“I didn’t promise.” She flops onto her back before scooting up the bed. “I said I’d try, and despite a stellar effort, it never happened.”
“Why not?” I ask as my eyes bounce between hers. “And don’t give me some shit sob story about having no prospective suitors. You had three guys on the hook last week.”
As much as I want to take credit for the influx of guys flooding Summer with attention, I can’t. I didn’t teach her anything about how to snare a guy. When rumors circulated about our exchange at Books N Bites, her once slim list of possible bed companions fattened out quicker than a pageant contestant when she marries a rich schmuck.
