Page 45 of The Big Puck

I walk up to him, getting so close my breasts are within two cup sizes of him, and I stare back into those sizzling golden eyes. The pull of his intensity makes me feel like I’ve had a couple too many margaritas, and I realize I’m drunk on the essence of Spence, the hot coach. And it’s no wonder.

“Go ahead. Kiss me if you want to,” I say, breathless, almost slurring my words.

Chapter 16

SPENCER

Pop Rocks: a sweet or tangy hard candy that crackles and pops in your mouth.

“What makes you think I want to kiss you?” I ask stupidly. The heat between us is so real it must have scorched my brain. I’m tempting fate, gambling that I can call her bluff when the odds are stacked against me and a mile deep. By odds, I mean baggage.

Odds I can handle because I was always an underdog and always fought my hardest against the odds. Her beat of silence gives way to a sexy grin with more than a hint of devil lurking at the corners of her mouth and playing havoc with my self-control.

“It’s the look on your face,” she says, her voice quiet and serious and wafting over me like a silky breeze. Like a fucking powerful aphrodisiac. She goes on with her torture. “It’s in your body language and everything you don’t say, the way your eyes sometimes avoid mine, the way they sometimes take me in when you think I’m not looking.” She pauses and I gulp, letting her words sink in and do their magic. And by magic, I mean levitating a certain body part of mine.

She finishes in her normal cheery voice, “But mostly, Spence, it’s the bulge in your pants right now, shouting loud and clear that you want me. Period.”

Fucking-A. I hold that comment to myself. Barely. My body goes tense—or tenser than it was before she spoke her mind to make a convincing, world-class-debate-team case in her favor. I growl, which isn’t much of an upgrade over saying fucking-A out loud. Her mouth twitches, and the wires in my mind cross, leaving me without any restraint or the ability to remember why I shouldn’t kiss her.

I find my voice, and raspy as it is, I say, “You have a point.” Then I stop talking because the urgent need to devour her mouth dominates my consciousness, and I move forward, lowering my head and crushing my lips to hers, pressing my tongue along the seam of her mouth.

She gasps and opens to me, her hands reaching up around my neck and through my hair.

Even as I’m rocked by the feel of her fingers on my scalp, holding my head tight and close, the taste of her explodes in my mind like the tangy sweetness of a Pop Rock. I wrap her up in my arms as she kisses me back, and I spar with her tongue for control, a sexy battle, hot and unexpected. The taste of her is a shock to my system, the quench to my need.

And this kiss is the exact wrong thing I should be doing. I break away and step back with the jolt of sudden rational thought intruding, holding her away at arms-length as if there’s a strong magnet between us and we need to be forced apart.

Technically, there is a magnet between us—my dick qualifies with the way it’s struggling against my pants to reach her right now...

“Don’t stop now. Why did you stop?” Her eyes flutter, and she sways forward.

I regrip her arms. “I shouldn’t have started. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Her gaze darts to my crotch and then she flashes an accusatory smirk at me. “You don’t look the least bit sorry to me. That is, unless you’re apologizing to your stiff dick.”

Her words hit me like a puck clanging against the post.

I laugh. For real. God almighty, I don’t remember the last time I laughed, the last time I let go of the weight of each and every responsibility in my life, of the setbacks and tragedy and sadness and regrets and let the buoyancy of the moment lighten me. It feels too fucking good. Like a tempting invitation to hell issued by a beautiful she-devil.

The look on her face, the shocked O shape of her mouth, so perfect, makes me pull her towards me until her body smashes up against mine with all its heat and energy and sexy softness. And her scent.

Inhaling deeply, I almost get dizzy with that sweet scent of her. There’s a hint of citrus, enough to account for her sass.

“Did I ever mention how good you smell?” I bury my face in her hair and whisper the words, breathing her in like I’m starved for oxygen. Like she is my oxygen.

“No. You’re killing me, Spence. You laughed. I made you laugh. That’s so—”

I don’t know what she was going to say, but it doesn’t matter because it couldn’t be more important than getting my lips back on hers right now.

“Spence,” she whispers into my mouth, and I hear the hot desperation mirroring the fire in me, the sudden surge of need as I grip her hips and slide my hands to her ass to discover what a fine ass it is.

“Jesus.” The word slips out as my mouth which travels from her lips to her jaw and the delicate shell of her ear, and I breathe in that sweet and citrusy scent that I’m afraid I’m now addicted to. My dick swells, and I know I should stop.

She lets out a soft moan and shivers as I nibble her earlobe and press her hard against me because my dick insists, needing to feel her, that perfect pressure, and despite all our clothing, I know I could come if I keep going.

I can’t believe I’m seriously contemplating my next move, can’t believe I’m forgetting about Shonda, Jason, and Krissy. And Gavonza. Fuck.

A faint sound comes from upstairs, and Lainey pulls from my arms, her mouth looking kiss-ravaged, pink and plump, but I don’t miss the panicked look on her face.