Page 46 of Don't Puck Him

I severely hope it is the latter, as I can feel myself already starting to strain against my boxers. She has her shoulders out again, that delicious skin calling to me.

I place my fingertips upon the slope of them, then move them along to her collarbone, ever so gently. She hitches a breath in, her skin blooming in goosebumps when I arrive at her throat.

Our eyes flicker up to one another’s, and I smirk. My grip is loose as my thumbs saunter across the center of her vocal cords, pressing lightly, catching a quiver from her lips as I press down more, the muscles of her neck tightening, her breathing passages narrowing. I catch a glimpse of her pupils. They are as black as a great white shark’s on feeding day.

My voice comes from somewhere distant, remote and dusky. I lean in closer and watch her eyes dance.

“I think I know what you are hoping for…”

Before our lips touch and bodies crackle, someone interrupts us. It’s a knock on the car window door. For a second, I wonder which asshole cop is on beat that night to interrupt two college kids' fun.

But when I turn with thinned out lips and a sneer akin to a Halloween mask, I am stunned to see that it is Cash.

His emerald eyes aren’t calm anymore. They look wild and irritable.

“Put your dick away and come inside,” he mutters through the glass.

My hands have already dropped away from Wren’s throat and settled on her legs. I turn to see that her look of arousal is gone, replaced by alarm and worry.

I shake my head back and forth, giving her thigh a reassuring squeeze. She seems to enjoy that.

“I got this. Cash is just thinking about himself. I wouldn’t worry.”

Wren nods but doesn’t look convinced. We climb out of the car into the misty air, and I take her hand in mine as we head toward the apartment. I’m not afraid of Cash, never have been, but I do wonder whether the concept of our returned allyship has already drifted off so soon.

Either way, I am here for Wren. She is my woman, and no asshole is going to ruin that for me – for us.

When we get inside, Cash is sitting with an open beer can, chugging it like water. I walk up to him and rip it out of his hand, splashing some across the floor, while he sprays a fair amount through his teeth. He looks pathetic, sitting there, coughing like a teenager who tried their dad’s scotch for the first time.

“What the fuck is your problem, man?” I blare at him. “You think you're funny coming out there knocking on the window? I thought we were over this!”

Once Cash finishes spluttering, he eyes Wren. This fills me with rage.

“Hey.” I snap my fingers in front of his face, then bend down to his level. “She has nothing to do with this. Everything that happened tonight wasyourfather.”

Cash isn’t very confident when he doesn’t have a drink in his hand. It depresses me, because it's clear that his father has the same problem. I can empathize with his family scruples, but that doesn’t mean he can just do whatever he wants.

The storm in his eyes seems to fade as he shrugs, then leans back hard against the couch.

“Don’t take it so seriously, man. I was just fucking with you. We’re cool.”

He speaks while clicking on the TV and starting up a video game, which irks my adult-like sensibilities. I can either reprimand him like his father used to, or I can let it slide. I look over my shoulder at Wren, who uses one hand in a slicing gesture across her throat.

“Cut it out,” she mouths.

I decide to let it go, as much as it pains me, and let my fists unclench. I step over the empty beer can and motion for Wren to return to the door. I leave with one final statement, hoping somewhere in the deep recesses of his wounded brain that Cash hears me.

We still have a friendship, I think. Maybe he will listen because of that.

“Get your shit together man. This isn’t you, and you know it.”

His eyes are glued to the TV screen, immobile. Little cogent thought seems to be surfing through his mind. I shake my head and lead Wren out, guiding her by the waist until we reach my car again.

“Is he okay?”

I scoff, starting up the engine. I turn to her and see real concern painting her glare. Who is this woman, and why does she give a shit?

“He will be fine. His pride is hurt, and he’s probably a little embarrassed. It’ll be better if we stay at your dorm tonight.”

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