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She giggles and a hot spike pierces my chest.
“They’re overprotective,” she whispers.
That’s an understatement. Five minutes after I walked through the front door I could see they treat her like a speechless infant rather than the person she’s become, but whatever, I’ve got my own family problems to deal with.
“Are you looking f-forward to working f-for your grandfather?”
“I guess…I’ve never thought of doing anything else. I’m the last Anders-Burns. No cousins or siblings. There’s no one else to take over once my grandfather steps down…or worse.”
Which, knowing the man is built like a bull, shouldn’t be for another ten years at the very least, thank God.
“You c-could do or be anything you w-wanted to…anything. You’re the most p-perceptive person I’ve ever met. One of the smartest too.”
Her praise does strange things to me. My neck feels hot, so does my face. Her big brown eyes glide over me, honest and unflinching. I can’t handle the intense scrutiny. Like she’s trying to get inside my head. So I distracted her, press my toes against her thigh.
She smiles. It’s a naughty little smile. Then she runs her short nails up the bottom of my foot and I nearly shoot off the couch.
“That’s evil.”
“So whose f-fault is it?” she says, throwing my words back at me. “You shouldn’t start a foot fight if you’re t-ticklish.”
I thought the talk we had a few nights ago at the Cantina would take some of the energy out of the sexual heat between us, but no. My “heat” still has a hard-on for her that won’t quit.
“When are we breaking and entering?”
She glances around to make sure the coast is clear. Her parents retreated to the kitchen twenty minutes ago to clean up.
“After they go to s-sleep.”
Silence falls. The sound of the action on the TV fills the void. Neither one of us moves or looks away and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore what’s happening between us. Trained on my mouth, her eyes slowly move down the column of my neck to my chest, down my arm with the chain mail tat.
My dick is halfway to hard already, which is a sign I need to take measures to avert where this is going. Not that I would mind it going there. Fuck, I’d welcome it. But not here. Not now. This isn’t about us. It’s about her and I’m not gonna let her down.
Clearing my throat, I adjust myself under the blanket covering us. “Bathroom?”
“All the way down the hall and to the right.”
I make it as far as the end of the hall near the kitchen when a pair of quiet voices stop me. The first is barely above a murmur and yet I immediately recognize the authoritarian, nut-crushing tone belonging to Jay Ramos.
“Where’s he sleeping?”
Probably not my best idea to creep on Dora’s dads, but fuck it. A: I’m a nosy bastard. And B: I was getting some hardcore negative vibes from the Chief earlier. I’m chalking this up to self-preservation.
“The guest room,” Evan Ramos answers. “Where would you like him to sleep?”
“Malibu,” the nut-crusher replies.
A deep chuckle. “Don’t start.”
“The kid’s bad news, babe. I’m telling you.”
Glad we got the false pretenses out of the way. At least Evan seems like a cool dude.
“He seems perfectly nice to me.”
Tell him, Evan.
“Nice?” Jay scoffs. “We busted a kid who seemed just as nice last month for distributing three kilos of coke at his local high school. These rich kids always think they’re above the law.”
“Don’t ruin this for me. I’m begging you. He’s the first friend she’s ever brought home––you go on a campaign of terror and it’ll be another twenty years before it happens again.”
“Friend, my ass,” Jay mutters. “Have you seen the way he looks at her?”
“He’s young, Jay. You remember being young, right?”
“I remember that’s the same way I looked at you before we slept together.”
That’s my cue to split. Before I get clear of the hallway and enter the bathroom, I hear Evan Ramos speak again.
“He can sleep in the basement.”
The knock on the guest room door has me glancing at my phone. Two a.m. and right on time. I hop out of bed, but the door opens before I can reach it.
Dora steps inside and hisses, “Are you dressed?”
“You’re inside the room already. Seems pointless to ask, don’t you think?”
“Oh, yeah. Hahaha.” She smiles so wide those sexy-as-fuck bedroom eyes of hers turn into slits.
That’s when I notice the black tank top she’s wearing. It make her breast look like a thirteen-year-old’s wet dream. Strike that––it makes them look like my wet dream. On the bottom she has pajama pants on, but those barely warrant a second glance in comparison to what’s happening on top.
I went to bed in shorts and a t-shirt. You know, just in case her dads tried to kill me in my sleep, and I had to bug out in the middle of the night.
