16. Check and Mate
Check and Mate
"Dude." Marlow cackles, leaning against the back counter of the bar as I pour a round of shots for Billy and the boys. "He's literally been staring at you for the last fifteen minutes." She pops a peanut in her mouth. "Like full-blown creeper vibes. Should I be worried?"
"This is all your fault," I grumble, refusing to catch Jesse's enigmatic gaze.
If I look at him, I ain't gonna be able to look away.
And everyone knows that prolonged eye contact often leads to prolonged heartbreak and other devastating results.
"If you just minded your own dang business and didn't try to play matchmaker, I wouldn't be in a visual chess match with my freaking roommate. "
"Pfft." Marlow snorts. "According to the retelling of the Great Bedroom Standoff, I'd say you've been checked and mated." She lifts a pushy brow. "You're just refusing to lay down your queen."
The fact I've lasted the last three days without jumping Jesse's bones is nothing short of a damn miracle.
Apparently, Jesse's AC decided to crap out a couple of nights ago.
My guess is that he broke the dang thing himself.
He thinks I'm weak. He thinks I'll be putty in his stupid manhandling hands.
Well, he's wrong. I mean, do I find him waltzing around the house shirtless and sweaty somewhat distracting?
Maybe. Does my belly clench when he licks the Dorito dust off his fingers?
Unfortunately. And does it drive me freaking bonkers whenever he decides to do midday pushups right in front of the couch as I'm reading ? Definitely.
But my beautiful and logical brain is wholly aware of the dangers said bone jumping could pose.
It's the southern organs that don't appear to be on the same page.
At all. Honestly, I'm tempted to burn Pippa's book.
All of this started when that momma of three introduced me to smut.
And now, all I can think about is Jesse's hands all over my body, doing things that would surely ban me from the church.
"Neither my queen nor I will be lying down anytime soon," I say, glowering at Marlow. "Got it?"
"Could always do it standing up ," Marlow quips with a cheesy grin. "That's always an option."
"I truly loathe you," I say, pitching the bridge of my nose. "If I were a violent person, I'd be very much tempted to pull your damn hair right now."
"Go ahead." Marlow smirks, tilting her head in my direction. "I happen to like that. Come on, Savvy. Give it a big, strong tug."
"You're a deviant," I mutter, shaking my head. "You know that? "
"And you're deprived," Marlow retorts with a chuckle.
"It's just sex, Sav. You're both consenting adults.
If you wanna fuck, just fuck. You'll be doing everyone a favor, seriously.
Just watching you guys is giving me blue balls.
" She nods in the direction of Jesse's table.
"Not as bad as his , but still very, very blue. "
"The color of Jesse's genitals is none of my concern," I huff, loading all the shots onto a tray. "They could be red and on fire for all I care."
Marlow snorts. "If his balls were red, I'd suggest you stay far, far away, but they're not Sav. They're blue." She feigns a pout. "And blue's such a sad color."
I roll my eyes. "If you're so worried about his balls, why don't you relieve some of the pressure, huh?"
"Okay, ew." Marlow cringes. "Number one, JP's like a brother to me. Number two, I'm engaged to your brother. And number three"—she shrugs—"I'm only into blue-eyed babes."
"If Jesse's like a brother to you, don't you find it kind of strange that you're trying to get him laid?" I ask, tilting my head. "That's a bit too Alabama, even for me."
"I'm trying to help both of you!" Marlow throws her head back and expels a heavy sigh. "Why are you so difficult?"
"Because I refuse to be easy," I whisper back in a harsh tone before marching off to the table of doom.
Alright, just smile and ignore. Smile and ignore.
Billy, Jimbo, and Beau all greet me with a welcoming nod. "Here you are. Four whiskeys."
"Thanks, Sav," Beau says, downing his shot. "Wooo! Shit's rough when it's warm. Oof. We're gonna have to remember to ice a few bottles for the bonfire. I can't drink this monkey piss all night."
"You could always not drink," I state, frowning at my baby brother. "That's always an option."
Beau scoffs. "Just because you go completely off the rails when you drink doesn't mean I do."
I freeze, internally wincing as Jesse slowly cranes his neck in my direction. "Savannah told me she doesn't drink."
"Yeah." Beau snorts. " Anymore . I think she was traumatized on her prom night."
"Rad..." I close my eyes, praying he doesn't get into the details of that horrid evening. "Please don't..."
"Please do ." Jesse grins, glancing at his dad and uncle. "I'm sure it's not half as bad as the shit we've gotten into." He reclines into the booth, humor glowing from his evil features. "Story time."
"I'd rather?—"
"So it was Sav's prom night," Beau begins, ignoring me.
What a turd! "She was dating this dude that my parents absolutely hated.
" My brother shoots me a playful smile. "Remember him?
It was during your 'Fuck You, Mom' phase.
" I visibly shrink. Jesse does not need any more ammo.
Dang it. "Anywho, this dude convinced Savvy to steal one of our dad's five-hundred-dollar bottles of scotch.
Which she did ." Jesse's grin spreads. "So, I guess they were having a little after-party at our place, and I come home from practice that night to find this girl"—he points this thumb at me—"passed out half naked in our momma's favorite rose bushes.
" Beau laughs as he reminisces. "And top it off, she puked all over me as I carried her to her room.
Remember all the thorns we had to remove the next morning? "
"How could I forget," I mutter, shivering at the memory. "I looked like a damn pin cushion for weeks."
"Savannah had to lie to our parents and say she went to a shoddy acupuncturist." Beau chuckles. "Momma almost made you drop out of Miss Greenville, remember?"
"I'm surprised you remember," I say, a warm feeling spreading through my chest. "That was a long time ago."
"I remember everything," Beau says with a shrug. "Good and bad."
"So, what Rad is essentially saying is that there's a wild side to you, huh?" Jesse licks his lips. "How do we bring her out?"
"You don't," I state, glaring at him. "She's locked and chained."
"Come on now. You're young, kid," Billy pipes up. "This is your time to be wild and free." He nods at his son. "Just don't be stupid like this fucking guy and pop a pizza in the oven with the cardboard still attached." Billy releases a hacking cough. "Fucker almost burned down his mom's house."
"He what now?" I ask, pressing my lips together to keep my composure despite the comical image. "How drunk were you?"
Jesse's face falls flat. "Evidently, very." He glowers at his dad. "That was unnecessary."
"Hey"—Billy shrugs—"you're the one that said story time. It's only fair."
"Thanks, Billy," I say, tossing Jesse's daddy a grateful wink. "I agree." Okay, this wasn't as awful as I thought it'd be. "Alright, anything else, boys? I'm off in a couple of minutes here."
"Think we're good for now," Jimbo says, helping me stack the empty shot glasses on the tray. "We're pacing ourselves. Got a club meeting later. We all know how that goes."
"You need a ride home?" Jesse asks, checking his watch. "I got a few to spare."
"It's fine," I say. Do I need to be latched onto his tempting torso going sixty miles per hour for ten minutes? No. No, I do not. "Marlow's gonna drive me." Clearing my throat, I wave bye to the boys as I head back to the bar. "Hey, Mar, can you give me a ride home?"
"Jesus." Marlow rolls her eyes as she exchanges bills at the register. "He's just a human man, Savannah. He doesn't have superpowers." She points to an old, framed photo of a woman and a toddler hanging above the register. "That. You're scared of that?"
"Awe." I pout, looking at the photograph taken in front of the original Flying Hog. "Is that Jesse and his momma?" I lean in closer, squinting. "Was he blonde as a kid?"
"Maybe he's still blonde," Marlow teases. "Could always check under the hood, you know?"
"I hate you," I mumble, shoving past her to the back kitchen. "Let's go."
Not only do I hate Marlow, but I hate myself as well.
While Jesse's been drinking all night with the boys, I've sitting in the same spot for hours, flipping page after page.
Maybe I'm a masochist. Maybe I enjoy suffering in the name of literature.
Cliterature , that is. I can't stop. I can't stop reading.
I'm well aware of the fact that bumping into a BDSM-inclined billionaire is improbable, and quite frankly, the man is far too controlling and uptight for my liking, but here I am, nearly slobbering onto the page like a famished beast.
Just as the characters are about to go at it, I hear the familiar rumblings of a bike. Shoot! Hating myself even more, I commit a cardinal sin and dog ear the page.
The front door creaks open, and my heart seizes. It's fine. Just be cool. Cool and chill and normal. I quickly place the book on the arm of the couch and sit up straight.
Be cool.
"Fuck, it's hot in here," Jesse groans, tossing his bike keys on the console table before strutting into the living room with an off-kilter gait.
Don't need to tell me twice.
"You're home," I say, crossing my legs as I shift uncomfortably on the couch. "How was the meeting?"
His head snaps in my direction, a sly smirk clipping his upper lip as he grabs the hem of his black t-shirt. "Oh, you're still up?" He slides the shirt over his head agonizingly slowly as he walks toward me. "Meeting was good."
My salivary glands nearly rupture as I shamelessly stare at his clenching abdominal muscles. He tosses the shirt to the side, grinning at my thirsty reaction as he plops down beside me on the couch, so close that he's nearly on me. Are you kidding me?! He kicks his boots up on the coffee table.
"Man, I'm beat."
"Yeah, drinking for hours will do that." I squirm beside him, willing for the couch to somehow expand a couple of inches in length. "Why are you sitting so damn close? Move over."
"Nah." Jesse yawns, his liquor-scented breath floating up my nose. "I like it right here ." He taps my bare thigh, and I frown, turning toward him. He sighs. "What?"
"You shouldn't have ridden your bike home," I say in a scolding tone. "You could've gotten hurt."
"Not my first rodeo, princess." Jesse rolls his eyes, draping both arms around the couch. "And it sure won't be my last."
"Drinking and driving ain't safe, Jesse," I state, shaking my head. "No matter how much experience you have."
"I know." Jesse's jaw locks as he swallows. "I'm under the limit, okay? Relax."
"Yeah?" I ask. "And how would you know? You got a portable breathalyzer in your saddle?"
"In fact," Jesse says, casting me a wary side-eye, "I do. Had it for a couple of years now."
I swallow, remembering Andy's comment about his momma. "Oh..."
"Yup," he hums, hand dangling over the side of the couch. "So, what you get up to tonight, princess? Paint your nails? Do a little mask?" He pouts. "Write in your diary? "
I scowl at him. "I was reading , thank you very much."
"Yeah?" His gaze floats to the book on the armrest. "And what are we reading?" He leans over, grabbing the book, and my eyes widen with panic. Crap! He skims the cover, blinking, “Isn’t this…?”
"Give that back!" I demand, reaching for the book, but he changes hands, holding it above his head. Amusement muddles Jesse's features as he fends off my attempts to retrieve my dirty little secret. "Stop it! Jesse!"
"What's it about, Savvy ?" Jesse teases, turning his back toward me and crushing me against myself. No. No. No. No. He flips open the book to the earmarked page, and my soul leaves my body. This is it. Death. There's no coming back from this.
"Oh, shit..." He looks over his shoulder, grinning like a damn fool. " This is what you're reading?" He clears his throat, and I know he's about to start reading it out loud. "His throbbing cock?—"
"Stop!" I jerk up, leaping toward the book. Jesse's cat-like reflexes don't waste a second as he changes hands again. I straddle his lap, stretching my arms as far as they go in order to preserve my dignity. "Jesse!"
He switches hands, and I wobble back and forth, failing with each attempt.
"Just give it back! Come on! Just give it—" Jesse freezes, and my eyes widen when I feel a twitch against my ass. "Umm..." I sheepishly peer down at Jesse, catching his blazing expression. My gaze flits down to his semi-parted lips and then down to his bare chest toward... Oh Lordy… “Are you..."
"Why'd you stop?" Jesse rasps, dropping the book behind the couch. His shallow breaths blow against my chest as I realize just how close we're sitting. I swallow, not moving as he dances his fingers up and down my thigh, drawing tiny circles in his wake. "Keep going, Savannah."
"I—" Move. Get off him. Move your ass! My breath hitches as Jesse looks up at me with hooded eyes and drags his thumb across my bottom lip. His heady gaze floats across my burning face. "Don't look at me like that," I breathe. "It's?—"
"You know," he whispers, his calloused fingers softly sweeping down my neck, "You're quite beautiful.
.." He glides his hand down my chest and over my breasts, stopping at my hardened nipples.
My mind spins from his calculated touch.
Oh, God... He sucks in a breath, adding with a cocked head, "When you're not talking, that is. "
I blink at him, brain fog lifting. What did he just say? My jaw drops. Abruptly, I jump out of his lap and grab the closest cushion.
"Such a dick!" I grunt, chucking the throw pillow at his face as he laughs at me.
Cursing myself, I round the couch and grab the book off the floor.
"Dick, dick, dick!" I smack Jesse over the head with four hundred pages of sizzling hot spice.
"Dick!" I grumble, storming to my room. "I'm going to bed! "
“Dick? Don’t you mean cock ?” Jesse calls out, chuckling obnoxiously. "Oh, come on, princess, where are you going? You didn't finish your lap dance!"
I slam my bedroom door, sinking down on the floor and burying my face in my hands.
That's it. I'm burning it. I peep through my fingers, swallowing as I stare at the demon book. In a hundred more pages.
Maybe I am a masochist, after all. Or just deprived. Either way, I'm screwed. Figuratively speaking.
Unfortunately.