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“Actually, I, uh … I have to go study. Bye.” He could leave skid marks on the floor with how fast he walks away.
Another smart decision from a guy who I bet doesn’t make many of them when he’s not standing next to a hockey player who’d like nothing better than an excuse to wring his neck.
“Alright,” I say, fixing my eyes back on Phoebe. “We’re leaving.”
“Well, you can leave if you want.” She puffs out her chest defiantly, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have to keep my eyes locked on hers, when I really want to steal a glance at her tits. “But I’m staying.”
Who knew Phoebe Sinclair could be such a brat when she’s had too much to drink?
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Pheebs,” I drawl.
“Ha!” she laughs mockingly. “What are you going to do? Drag me out of here by my hair like a caveman?”
“Close, but not quite.”
I bend over, and when I’m standing straight again, Phoebe Sinclair is in the air, thrown over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
I try to ignore how fucking warm she feels against me, how fucking good she smells, and how soft and smooth her legs are as I wrap my arm around the back of her thighs to steady her.
But I can’t ignore the way her legs kick in the air and the way she beats her fists against my back. Honestly, it’s kinda cute if she thinks her light pats are hurting me.
“Hunter! What are you doing! Put me down!” she yells.
I stalk forward, the crowd parting to let me through.
“I’ll put you down when we’re in front of your house and I can see you walk inside.”
She’s still pounding on my back as I walk out the door, but by the time I reach the end of the block, the blows come to a stop.
“I’m still mad at you,” she grumbles. “I’m just too tired to keep hitting you.”
My lips curl into a smirk. “Noted.”
Now that I don’t have her feebly assaulting me with her fists to distract me, I really can’t ignore how fucking good she feels slung over my shoulder. How warm the creamy skin of her thighs feels against my forearm. The feeling of her perky tits pressed against my upper back.
“What were you thinking drinking so much without someone to look out for you?” I ask.
Her answer is the absolutely last thing I expect to hear from her lips.
“Trying to get laid.”
My abs clench. What did she just say?
Then she giggles, and the sound sure as shit isn’t making it any easier to keep my erection at bay. “Whoops. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
I open my mouth to respond, but my brain can’t summon any words. What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
And why does a girl as beautiful as Phoebe think she needs to get wasted at a party just to find a guy to sleep with? Any man with a working dick would trip over himself for a chance to get with a girl like her.
“You know …” she begins, her voice rising with a musing lilt. After a beat of silence, though, she concludes, “never mind.”
I keep walking, still mentally discombobulated over what Phoebe said moments ago.
“You know …” she says again, this time drawing out and warbling that final syllable like she’s just begging me to ask her to spit it out.
“What?” I oblige.
“You know, if you weren’t such a jerk, maybe …”
