Ballsy Page 3

  When I look to see who the culprit is, I’m not surprised to discover Rachel sneering at me.

  “Sorry,” she says, without an ounce of sincerity. She continues to elbow her way through the crowd, leaving me behind.

  Fuck. You.

  Luckily for me, it’s so packed that even if I wanted to collapse to the ground I wouldn’t be able to. Unlike Rachel, I take my time to catch my breath and move as quickly as I’m able to without causing further damage to my body.

  An arm reaches around me and steadies me. I don’t have to look to see who it is: a spark ignites, setting my skin on fire, and I know it’s Kieran. I feel it in my bones… and perhaps other places.

  Still, looking up and seeing his familiar face, with the gruff five o’clock shadow and concern that causes his brow to furrow, is like a breath of fresh air. I allow myself to play the damsel in distress for a tad bit longer, leaning against his sturdy frame. I take in the scent of him — he’s sweaty, yes, but he smells so. Damn. Good.

  Just so manly and raw, you know?

  I want to bottle the smell of him and save it for later. So I can douse the scarf he gave me with it, savor him.

  Is that a creepy thing to wish for?

  “Wow, sudden onset fatigue from sitting on the bleachers?” Kieran’s voice is light and airy. I wish it were just the two of us so I could melt into his good mood, let it infect me with his cheerfulness and high spirits following the absolute ass-whooping their team gave to their rivals.

  “Rachel,” I say, my voice low and cautious in case she and Baylor creep up on us.

  I get the feeling neither of us wishes to trigger one of Baylor’s bad moods or inquisition-like interrogations about why we’re close enough to hear each other without shouting.

  With that in mind, I take a deep breath and put one good, respectable step between myself and Kieran. We exchange another quick look. His chartreuse eyes shine bright as if they’re lit by his post-game energy alone. His hair, slightly wavy and longer than he usually keeps it, is glued to the side of his face, his cheeks are flushed from the exercise.

  “Forget her. Let’s celebrate,” Kieran says.

  God, there really isn’t anything sexier than an athletic guy riding high after a big victory.

  Especially when you’re wearing the scarf he knit you.

  I instinctively reach my hand up and tug on the scarf, because if I can’t touch Kieran, I’ll be damned if this isn’t the next best thing.

  “I should check on the snacks I prepared.” I hate that I have that on my to-do list. If I had it my way, Kieran and I would stand awkwardly in each other’s presence, basking in the glow of, well, us, whatever that meant, until it got old.

  I don’t think I’d get tired of it so soon. Something tells me he probably wouldn’t either.

  By now the crowds have dissipated and it’s just us and a handful of adjacent clusters composed of Kieran and Baylor’s teammates and their respective family members. I spot Baylor approaching, arm wrapped possessively around Rachel and strutting like he owns the place. I love my brother but it bugs me that he’s so cocksure when he’s around her. For the zillionth time, I marvel at just what it is he sees in her, feels when he’s with her, that seems so crystal clear to him yet baffles everyone around him.

  “Now seems like a good time for me to take my leave,” I quip, jutting my chin out at them.

  Kieran glances in the direction I pointed. He chortles and looks back at me with an expression of sympathy. “Go. I’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone.”

  “Ugh,” is all I can muster. “Thanks, though. Really.”

  “See you after?”

  I flash him what I hope is an enigmatic smile and retreat without giving him a firm response. The truth is, I really do need to check on the snacks because I know from past experience most of the team is just about ready to devour a banquet fit for a king if one were available. Alas, they’ll have to do with my comparatively modest offerings instead.

  Then, however, it won’t be a quick bite to eat before we all disperse. The post-game mixer will turn into an impromptu party, no doubt about it, and I’m not sure I have it in me to wear the mask of an enthusiastic nutritionist, sister, and friend to the guys. For some reason, the fact Rachel is going to be there is really bumming me out, draining me of any will I might have to join them.

  Even the thought of spending some time with Kieran, perhaps even flirting some more, doesn’t counteract my Rachel-induced ambivalence.

  I decide it’s better to not spoil their fun. I make my way to the kitchen area (the perks of this being a home game can’t be overstated) and take the trays I prepared earlier out of the refrigerator. I arrange them for the guys and put a stack of napkins off to the side.

  I think of Rachel taking bird-sized bites of my food and making a face all throughout the evening. Any vestiges of doubt I had are gone when I realize I just don’t have it in me to deal with her and Baylor when he’s with her. Nor do I have the energy to keep a strategic distance from Kieran, who is the only reason I’d even want to go to this thing in the first place.

  It strikes me as unhealthy to give Baylor’s opinion about the possibility of something happening between me and Kieran this much weight, but there’s so much history. Even if his choice of fiancées sets off alarm bells that sound off in every fiber of my being, he’s happy and I don’t want to ruin it. I owe him so much. If I can’t have one guy because of it, that’s okay.

  My heart squeezes in my chest at the thought, mixed emotions fluttering through me.

  On the one hand, there’s nothing concrete between Kieran and me. He’s one guy and there are billions of them out there. In fact, there are even thousands of them in my immediate vicinity. I could get out and meet more if I put in the effort.

  On the other hand, there’s only one Kieran.

  And I can’t have him without it causing a rift I don’t want to be responsible for.

  On top of all that, there’s also Rachel who I just can’t make my peace with. There’s something so off about this entire thing.

  I should haul ass out of here while the coast is still clear.

  Who knows what might come out of my mouth otherwise.

  It’s better all around if I sit this one out, I finally conclude, and leave using the back exit. No one sees me. For that I’m grateful.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JOEY

  I’m recovered from yesterday’s bad mood and feeling like a million freaking dollars as I walk up to Baylor’s house. Music is blasting from inside, sending shock waves and vibrations I can feel even tens of feet away. People moving inside, climbing up the stairs or making their way down, and those on the dance floor, all cast their shadows on the windows.

  It’s Rachel and Baylor’s engagement party, and even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have any plausible reason to miss it.

  But I woke up today ready to face it.

  And also to make the most out of my opportunity to get out of my everyday clothes and put on something really sexy without risking sparking a reaction or the third degree from Baylor.

  My LBD—black, slinky, and hugging my body in all the right places—has a mermaid cut, tight around the hips before flaring out along the back while the front is shorter. It’s held up by a sliver of fabric on either side of my neck, tied together like a halter top. My neck, shoulders, and back are all exposed. It thrills me to picture what Kieran will say when he sees me.

  I’m not the kind of girl who dresses to the nines just for the hell of it.

  “Well, look who’s arrived!” booms a voice as soon as I cross the entrance. It’s Leroy, one of the guys on the team. He approaches me, his massive strides reaching me in less than a second. He towers over me and envelops me in the biggest bear hug imaginable. That’s saying something when it’s coming from Leroy. “I didn’t see you last night, but you made the snacks, right?”

  “I had a headache.” The lie rolls off my tongue like it’s second nature to me
. “I’m feeling much, much better now.”

  He gives me a once-over and wolf-whistles to show his appreciation. “Damn, sister, you look it, too.”

  I guffaw because that’s the effect that someone like Leroy has on me—he’s easy to be around and hands compliments out freely and convincingly, so you can’t help but feel like you’re the hottest shit in the history of the world. That quick, efficient infusion of confidence boosts my eagerness to find Kieran. To see him from across a crowded room and move slowly, deliberately, in near-slow-mo until we finally approach and he breaks the silence with some unforgettable one-liner that’ll have me smiling from ear to ear.

  Yes, it’s not lost on me I’m a total goner for the guy.

  I untangle myself from Leroy’s arms and move through the familiar surroundings occupied by familiar people, greeting the ones I’m friendly with and pretending not to notice the way others I’m not are ogling me like I’m a piece of meat. It’s probably not woke of me to admit I appreciate the male attention. It, too, is a welcome reassurance that pads my confidence for the night.

  “Joey!” Sarah, the girlfriend of one of the guys on the team, shrieks before jumping on top of me and hugging me fiercely. “You came! How wild is it your brother is getting hitched?”

  “You need to tell me where you got your liquor,” I reply, ready to make use of any deflection to get out of talking about Baylor and his upcoming nuptials.

  “The kitchen, silly! Your brother really went all out! He’s got such good taste!” Sarah pushes a loose strand of her strawberry blonde hair out of her face, exposing her pair of deep, indigo eyes. Her pupils are dilated, so she must be halfway to wasted at the very least, but she’s got a hazy, lazy, self-satisfied expression going, so I decide I want to get a buzz like hers going.

  Pronto.

  “Yeah, he does,” I echo, heading to the kitchen.

  Sarah doesn’t follow me. When I turn to look where she went, I find her busy chit-chatting with some other new arrival who’s wearing a tux. A tux!

  I’m in such a good mood. It’s a shame I don’t drink or it would probably be even better.

  And then I notice him, out of the corner of my eye. Kieran, with his bottle-green eyes that look at me and telegraph only bad intentions.

  God, I want him.

  As if on cue, we move toward each other. I haven’t had a drop of alcohol but my head is swimming. The edges of my thoughts are blurring, bleeding off to the sides. I’m so lightheaded that if anyone asks me my name, I’ll probably draw a blank.

  But none of that matters because Kieran is inches away from me and we’re communicating as if by telepathy. He doesn’t even need to nod toward the back stairs that lead to a more private area of the house and already I’m trailing behind him, trying and very nearly failing to keep from giddily jumping up and down as I imagine the possibilities.

  What’s to come?

  We’re bolder than we usually are. We’re moving forward. We’re in sync.

  Isn’t that the recipe for a night to remember?

  My feet are light as air as I flutter up the stairs and follow Kieran to the private balcony that overlooks Baylor’s huge backyard, with its beautiful blooms and uproarious color. The fragrance of the flowers fills the air. A breeze blows through us, rustling the leaves. It messes with my hair somewhat, but on the whole, I’m weightless, like every atom of my being is gliding and headed for a freefall.

  We still haven’t said a word to each other.

  Then he’s looking at me, our eyes locked and our lips only inches apart. It’s catching up to me, all of the innuendo and insinuation that’s built over the years to lead to a moment like this. My confidence wilts just a tad, and I straddle the line of uncertainty between conviction and fear.

  “Hello,” Kieran says.

  Has his voice always sounded so melodic? Have my senses always felt this heightened? Sharp? Crisp in the dead of night?

  Another gust of wind swirls around us, this one stronger than the last. Goosebumps spike all over my skin. My nipples harden. I’m not wearing a bra, and their sudden arousal seems to have caught Kieran’s undivided attention.

  There’s no denying he’s looking at my chest.

  There’s no way he doesn’t see my nipples, rigid and taut against the fabric of my dress.

  There’s a throb of longing between my legs.

  I sway toward the side of conviction. I want this.

  Whatever this is.

  “Hello,” I finally reply.

  “Are you cold?” He doesn’t take his eyes off my chest. “Do you want my jacket?”

  More clothes isn’t the direction I’m looking for.

  On the other hand, I am getting a little too cold for comfort, so I accept.

  He slips off his leather jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. I like that he doesn’t ask if I want to put it on for real or if this is enough, because this is enough and any belabored exchanges would take away from this moment we’re having. I don’t want any distractions. When we’re out here, with such a beautiful sight in front of us and in no danger of getting exposed, I don’t want to waste a single second on anything that isn’t me and him and us.

  “It’s nice out here,” he says.

  I study his lips. Their perfect fullness. The way they look like ripe fruit, just ready for the picking. The way their shape changes as they form words. The way they’re not chapped at all but also not excessively moist.

  He’s got such sexy lips.

  And a sexy beard.

  I want to feel him graze against my cheek.

  I can’t stop wanting things, damn it.

  “Yeah, it is,” I say rather simply. What could be more natural than talking about the weather when you’re nanoseconds away from spontaneous combustion on the inside?

  “Hmm.” He comes closer, and now there is only a fraction of an inch between us.

  I love how easy this is. How we just move in perfect synchronicity when we’re not putting up a fight and when there is no one to stop it. I don’t have to partake in monotonous, ceaseless back-and-forth conversations in my mind trying to justify whether to turn right or veer left or stay put anytime he walks into a room. I don’t have to keep reminding myself of why it’s wrong to want him or why we can never, ever happen. I don’t have to work so damn hard to convince myself that all of those justifications make sense and that it’s not at all too much to ask of someone to stay away from someone else just because their sibling might object if something happened.

  I can just throw all that out of my mind and be.

  It’s so fucking good to just be.

  And no one gives me more opportunity to just be than Kieran.

  I can’t explain why. It’s not logical or rational. It’s one of those things that just is. The sum of a million subconscious cues I must be picking up from him and everyone else that’s led me to the here and now.

  I stop processing the moment in a continuous line. Everything but Kieran and his perfect boy lashes and his body and the warmth emanating from him—all of it falls away.

  My eyes flutter shut. I know he’s going to kiss me before he lowers his head level with mine and presses his soft, cool lips against mine. What starts out shy blows up, an explosion of pent-up desire and need. A rhapsody of shy inhibition and savage, primal instincts.

  I let them take over. My mouth parts and my body collapses against Kieran’s. I can feel every inch of him against me. His tongue explores mine, teasing, touching, prodding me until I’m ready to melt into a shimmery puddle.

  It’s a kiss so intense it threatens to consume me whole.

  I want it to.

  Kieran groans. The vibration reverberates against my skin. I bite his lower lip and draw him in again, deepening the kiss. He pushes me up against the parapet, willing me to perch on top of it. I do, spreading my legs so he can take position between my thighs.

  I don’t know how long we stay there, folded into each other, unable to determine where one begin
s and the other ends.

  However long it is, it’s not enough.

  A single thought strikes through the heat.

  Only the thin material of my panties is between us now and we’re all alone. I’ve never done something like this, but right now it feels like the most natural thing in the world to press my hand against his groin, feel the length of him, lower his zipper until I set him free. And then he could just…

  I shiver at the thought. My eyes flicker open. Kieran is staring at me with such intensity I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s thinking the same thing.

  So I do it.

  I reach between us and rub his cock over his jeans, surprised at how thick and hard it is, at how much the jeans are straining against the size of him.

  I’m in a state of perpetual ache between my legs. My pussy clenches, wet, so ready, so willing, so…

  There’s a sound in the distance. One that doesn’t belong.

  We pause, exchanging a stricken, panicked look. And we wait.

  A pair of footsteps approaches.

  “Joey?” Baylor calls.

  Kieran inhales sharply. “Shit.”

  Quickly, Kieran pushes away from me and faces the wall. He adjusts his pants and shakes his shoulders just a bit, like he’s trying to extinguish whatever fire we lit between us just now.

  I plop off the edge of the balcony and take deep, deliberate breaths. I summon the courage to look down and see how sexed up I look… and then quickly work to lower the hem of my dress to its appropriate place. I smooth my hair as Kieran pivots to face me again.

  “Hopefully he’ll be good and drunk,” he mutters.

  “Yeah,” I agree. I feel dumb for not having anything more intelligent to add.

  “God, I feel like a fucking criminal,” Kieran confesses, just as Baylor struts into the room with Rachel in tow.

  “You didn’t even come say hello to me,” Baylor starts. He’s already hammered, his black hair plastered against his forehead and sticking out in several different directions. I don’t have to use my imagination to figure out what he was up to before he decided to disturb my moment with Kieran.