6. Jasmine #2
I take a slow step forward, glancing down before looking back up at her with a lazy grin. “Sorry, you’re gonna have to say that again.”
She cocks her head, one brow raised, lips glossed and twisted in amusement. “Why’s that?”
“Because you caught me off guard,” I say with a low laugh, leaning back against the counter beside the fridge. “I didn’t expect to turn around and see the love of my life.”
Her snort is sharp and unapologetic. “Cute and corny?”
I place a hand dramatically over my heart, slumping just a little—just enough to play it cool while my brain is short-circuiting.
Because now that I’m closer, I can see every perfect detail: the shimmer of her lip gloss, the dusting of freckles across her nose, the glint of mischief in her eyes.
And of course, that smell—sweet and warm, like cinnamon sugar and the inside of a bakery.
“Wait,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “Did you just call me cute?”
She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitches. “Earlier, I said I bet that guy’s hand wouldn’t make it under her skirt.”
I follow her nod toward the human suction cups still attached at the mouth.
The girl’s hands have moved to bunch the guy’s shirt at the collar, and his hand has crept dangerously close to the hem of her skirt—but it’s the other hand that’s interesting.
It’s slipped up her side, fingers resting right under her bra strap.
I tilt my head. “He’s not going for under the skirt. He’s going for the boobs.”
“No way,” she says, turning back to me with narrowed eyes.
“Yes way,” I grin. “Watch. His hand's doing the classic slow creep. He’s gonna go for the?—”
She gasps. “Oh my God, he is .”
Right on cue, the guy’s hand slides up her side, inch by inch, until his fingers are boldly cupping her boob. She immediately pushes him back and smacks him firmly across the face.
“What the hell, Brad?” she snaps, wiping her mouth like he’s contaminated her.
Brad—because of course his name is Brad—looks confused, hand still hovering midair like he can’t quite process what just happened.
She hops off the counter, adjusting her skirt with one hand and flipping him off with the other as she storms off, muttering about boundaries and octopus hands .
Once she is out of earshot, I look back at the beautiful mystery girl neck to me and smirk.
“Boom,” I say, like I just won a game show. “Welcome to Kiss and Grope 101 , hosted by yours truly.”
She laughs, full and real, the sound crackling straight through me like a match to a fuse.
“So…” she purrs, body angled into mine, her fingers lazily tracing down my arm. “I’m assuming you’re a boob girl?”
No, I’m a you girl.
I smirk. “Nah, I’m an everything girl.” I toss her a wink, and she snorts into her cup, nearly choking on her drink.
“What are you drinking, everything girl ?” she teases, nodding toward my empty hand.
“Beer. Where’s the cooler?”
She jerks her chin to the corner of the kitchen. “Right there. Next to the microwave.”
I step over, pop the lid off a cheap Styrofoam cooler, and fish out a cold one. I crack it open with the edge of the counter and take a long sip before turning back to her with a grin.
“So,” I say, lifting the bottle slightly. “I won the bet. What do I get?”
She grins—slow, shameless, and dangerous—eyes dragging over me like she’s already decided what part of me to unwrap first.
“I don’t know,” she says, leaning in close. “What do you want ?”
God help me, I might actually melt.
“Your name.”
She fans herself with one hand like a dramatic Southern belle, her hip cocking just enough to make my breath catch. “Well, what a gentleman you are.”
I shake my head, letting my eyes trail down her body and back up through my lashes. “Nah, not really…I’m a dog.”
“Oh, really?” she purrs, stepping in until there’s barely a breath between us.
I nod with an exaggerated pout and a crooked grin. “Oh yeah. Total horndog. I just like to know a girl’s name before I marry her.”
“And they say chivalry is dead.”
“I’m the last of a dying breed, girl,” I whisper, letting the words brush against her lips. “Now… what’s your name?”
Her eyes flick down to my mouth, then slowly back up. Her breath is shallow, warm against my skin. “I’m Brooke du Pont.”
“Jasmine,” I say softly, already curling a hand around her waist, dragging her flush against my chest. “Jasmine Rivera.”
Her cup drops somewhere to the floor with a quiet thud .
Brooke’s mouth crashes into mine, warm and hungry, her lips soft but commanding. I open for her instantly, letting her tongue slide against mine as the kiss deepens, wet and breathless. She tastes like cheap beer and cinnamon, and I can’t get enough.
Her hands grip the back of my head, pulling me closer, and I stumble a step forward, pinning her lightly against the counter. One of her legs slides between mine, thigh pressing up just enough to make my breath hitch.
I let one hand roam—fingertips skimming the curve of her waist, the dip of her lower back—while my other hand holds her jaw steady as we kiss harder, deeper. She moans into my mouth and I swear it shoots straight through me.
Her hand slides down, palm curving over my ass with a firm squeeze.
I pull back just enough to whisper, breath hot between us, “Maybe buy me dinner first?”
She grins, breathless. “I thought we were getting married.”
I smile and kiss her again—rougher this time.
“That’s right, babydoll.” I growl into her, my hands snaking around her sexy thighs and hoisting her on top of the kitchen counter. “Get used to being mine.”
She giggles into my mouth, and I fucking lose it. She tastes just as sweet as she smells and kisses even better. Her teeth catch my bottom lip and she pulls on it teasingly.
“Fuck,” I groan, my hands roaming up the curve of her spine as she arches into me.
“Now, I love that my girl went out to play,” Landon’s voice cuts through the room like a blade wrapped in velvet, his teasing London accent thick and smug, “but I’m fairly certain I told you to stay home until I got back.”
I freeze mid-kiss, lips still parted, breath tangled with Brooke’s, and I want to scream .
“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath, slowly pulling away from Brooke’s mouth, her lip gloss still clinging to mine. My hands linger on her hips.
“How the fuck —” I start.
“Peach,” Landon says flatly, voice low and stern, “I’ve got a tracker on you.”
I spin around, jaw tight, eyes locked on his smug, infuriating face. He’s leaning against the doorframe like he doesn’t have a care in the world, sleeves rolled, expression dark with amusement. “Wouldn’t be a very good stalker if you didn’t,” I bite out.
He steps forward—lazy, predatory, eyes dragging over me and then flicking to Brooke like she’s a detail in the background. “You see, I do my job. But you , Peach... you don’t listen.” His voice drops an octave, velvet-wrapped steel. “You’ve been very naughty.”
Before I can spit fire back, Brooke’s voice slides in behind me—cool and unfazed.
“I’m sorry,” she says, hopping down from the counter and pressing up against my back, her soft curves flush with mine. One arm slips casually around my waist. “Is this guy bothering you? Need me to call the police?”
“No,” I blurt—too fast, too defensive.
Landon’s smirk sharpens like a blade. “Didn’t know I needed to be arrested for doing my job.”
“He’s my... bodyguard,” I mumble, turning to face Brooke again.
“Bodyguard?” she snorts, one brow raised like she doesn’t buy it for a second.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a small, tight smile. “I have to go.”
Brooke steps forward, slipping her hand beneath my chin and tugging my face gently to hers. She plants a slow kiss on my cheek, lips lingering just enough to make Landon’s jaw clench.
“Don’t worry, sugar,” she murmurs, voice honey-thick and wicked. “I’ll see you at the chapel.”
Fuck this girl -- I think I might combust.
I don’t say a word as I shove past him and out the front door of the frat house, heels clacking hard against the pavement. My fists are clenched, my jaw locked. I can still taste Brooke on my lips.
Landon follows behind me like a shadow—quiet, steady, infuriatingly calm.
By the time we reach the building, I’m stomping ahead of him like I want the ground to feel my rage.
I slap the elevator button with more force than necessary, eyes fixed straight ahead.
My skin still burns with leftover adrenaline, and my chest feels too tight with everything I didn’t get to finish.
The elevator doors slide open, and I step inside without looking back. Landon follows—of course he does—and as soon as the doors close behind us, he steps in close.
Too close.
He looms behind me, heat bleeding off his chest into my back. One hand lifts, knuckles brushing the wall beside my head. His voice is low and thick, words curling hot against my ear.
“You kiss her like that on purpose?” he murmurs, voice low and smooth. “Make me watch just to see if I’d do something about it?”
I say nothing. My jaw is too tight to risk opening my mouth.
He chuckles softly, breath curling against my skin. “See, that’s the thing about me, Peach. I don’t mind sharing.”
His hand drags lightly down my arm leaving fireworks in his wake.
“I like watching you be bad,” he whispers. “Because in the end? You still come home to me .”