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Jamie’s been an outcast since . . . I fucked up. I haven’t always been there for him.
I glance over at Lachlan and Rory. Rory torments Lach because the little shit has mad love for science. But if Rory had a problem, the first stop for him is Lach. Jake runs straight to Rory.
If I’ve gotta problem, which requires more than my muscle, Leith’s my ace, and he will go to Brody. It’s the clan way. Jamie’s supposed to be Lachlan’s goon. But I fucked up when we were little. So, I hold all my little brothers down.
* * *
Tuesday, Willow did the same army salute. Her little display left my dick hard. On Wednesday, she pulls the same scenario. Horny as fuck, I pull rank, grabbing Willow’s arm and slamming her back against a locker.
“What the feck do you want, Willow?”
Torture mars her gorgeous face. “Easy. Ghost me, like Christian.”
I drop my palms on the locker above her shoulders. “Stop reaching out to him. I’m willing to fulfill all your fantasies, Lo.”
She snorts. “You’re confident. Are you up to playing the confidant, though?”
A friend?That’s not in my vocabulary. My eyes roll away from her and toward the crowd forming. “Go!” I growl. Barbies and Kens scat. Shit, at least they haven’t begged to see us fuck.
I recall Willow’s text correspondence with the loser. Christian offered to take her to visit her mom. “You need a ride to Watts?”
Her nose wrinkles in confusion.
“The text, Lo.” It doesn’t sit right with me being a douche while her mom is in a coma. My mom would punch me in the face, but here I go, doing it anyway. “Christian was doing you favors. Transporting you to your mom so that he could feck.”
Her body quakes beneath my pressure. “That’s more than you’ve ever done for me.”
“First of all, most women never orgasm. You’re so very welcome for all those fecking favors.Second, I don’t give good head without reason. Appreciate me, Willow, so we can pick up where we stopped.”
With a dramatic giggle, Willow glares up at me. “I believe you meant worship you. And no. That two-letter word brings you misery, doesn’t it? No. Nope. Nada. You aren’t getting no love from me.”
I aid her joke by way of a clipped laugh. “Forget the text, Willow.”
“How many times must I say, no,” she sings.
“Okay, what’ll persuade you, candy and flowers?”
“No, no, nooo.” She holds a tune.
I backtrack, grabbing a Snickers straight from a freshman’s mouth. “Here you go, Lo. I’ll have you a bouquet of flowers tomorrow if this doesn’t suffice.”
“Oh, thank you!” Willow’s mouth tips in mock appreciation. She pulls me against her. Riding on her tippy toes, Willow licks my mouth. My tongue dips out, tangling with hers, and she bites down hard. Oh, we’re drinking my blood today. I clamp her ass, hoist her legs over my hips.
“Wait . . .”
Now, an audience surrounds us again. These greedy bastards may beg for more. Or worse, they’ll ask why we didn’t go live on Saturday night. But I’m too much of a bastard not to give the spectators what they crave. If they mention the Green Room, I’ll killthem all. It’s like fucking Vegas—whatever happens there stays there—so I bank on them keeping their horny asses in check. Because while my hands skim Willow’s body and her sweet scent swirls around me, I’m out of fucking control.
