Chapter 10
Ten
Lucas
“I’m starting to think that you want to get me drunk,” I laugh over the music, pushing away the second shot Moose tries to shove my way.
The warm liquor spills onto my hand. I lean forward on the couch and set the shot glass onto the tattered coffee table but I still lick the vodka off my skin. Moose shoves my shoulder, shooting back the very shot I just set down.
Another teammate, Lenny, comes up behind the couch and slaps his hand against Moose’s forehead, leaving a fluorescent orange handprint.
The two-story house is being mainly lit up by blacklights. But scattered around are glow sticks, glow-in-the-dark balloons, and colorful disco ball lights.
Moose is covered in paint, making him glow brighter in the dark. That and he asked Preston to draw a dick on the back of his white shirt, so he’s kind of been hard to miss all night.
“Come on, Callahan!” Moose shouts. “Drink with me!”
He slurs his words and I don’t know why he decided to drink so much when I told him that Denise is bringing her friends tonight. He kept talking to me about how he’s interested in the girl with bangs—Bethany—and I offered to try and set something up.
I’m honestly not exactly sure why he decided that a drawing of a dick would do the job of charming Bethany but hey, it’s his love life.
I make conversation with whoever comes over to me. I laugh and fuck around with my friends but I keep sliding my phone out, checking the time.
Nine-fifteen.
I’ve noticed that Denise likes to arrive almost everywhere fashionably late, but I can’t complain too much when she does show up looking like a meal I’d like to consume.
Moose tries to offer me yet another drink.
“Nah.” I shake my head. “I don’t really want to throw up on the lawn again.”
Moose shrugs his shoulders and leans back on the couch, throwing his legs onto the coffee table and kicking a few cups off. People sitting nearby roll their eyes.
“So, this Bethany chick? You think she’ll like me?”
I nod my head, not having the heart to tell him that he might have just thrown his chances out the window before even getting a chance to try and score.
My eyes catch on Preston, who just finished throwing back five shots in a row. The girl whose arms are wrapped around his waist don’t belong to Grace and I can’t help but roll my eyes.
Jesus Christ, this fucking guy.
Choosing to ignore the terrible choices of my best friend, my eyes go back to the front door behind me, only to sigh when there’s still no sign of Denise.
I eventually let Moose guide me around the party, merely because I can’t sit still, otherwise I’m just going to keep looking at my phone and the front door. We end up joining in on a game of beer pong, when a few girls come up to us with fresh paint on their hands.
One is quick to lift Moose’s shirt up, resting her open palm on his stomach. Her friend turns to me and tries to do the same thing but I’m quick to gently catch her wrist, making sure to keep an easy smile on my face.
“Don’t think my girl would appreciate that very much.”
The words leave my lips before I can stop them but when I do catch what I just said, I realize I not only said it to this random girl but with Moose right next to me.
He grins. “You heard him, ladies. Hands off.”
I let go of the girl’s wrists, nodding my head as they look at each other before walking away. I don’t feel bad for brushing the girl off when she’s already leaving her handprint on some other random guy.
“Does Denise know you guys are official?” Moose chuckles. “Or do you just plan on telling her when you kidnap her on your wedding day?”
I grab one of the many bottles of paint lying around and squirt some onto my hand. I slap his cheek. Not hard enough for him to feel the need to do it back but enough for him to get the point.
“I’m working on it,” I grumble more to myself, not bothering to speak over the music.
Moose slaps his hand on my back, gesturing behind me. “Speaking of your girl.”
He barely gets to finish his sentence before my entire body whips around, eyes desperately scanning the all-too-crowded party.
Denise is standing on the other side of the living room, near the kitchen. She, Sarah, and Bethany are already busying themselves with painting each other’s faces and breaking light sticks to put them around their wrists and necks.
She doesn’t even bother to look around the party, perfectly content with just Sarah and Bethany’s company. Instead of worrying about anyone else around, she’s focused on decorating her friends’ faces with paint.
Moose stumbles up to me, hand slapping my shoulder. “Okay, wingman. I’m ready to charm the pants off Bethany.”
He begins to go on about how hot she looks in her skintight white dress, polka dots now painted messily on the fabric—her hair braided in pigtails, or how cute she looks when she smiles. But I don’t care. My focus is on Denise.
Her white cropped top stands out under the blacklight. The fluorescent lights brightening her neon pink mini skirt. She now has hearts and suns painted on her arms and face.
The usual neatly done curls of her shoulder-length hair are straightened, half pinned on top of her head in two space buns.
She’s wearing that rare genuine smile.
Not the passive aggressive one she likes to give to make a point of not liking someone’s presence or that hot as fuck scowl.
No, she tosses her head back when Sarah takes a large amount of paint in her hands and slaps it right in the center of Bethany’s face.
I could stand here and watch her all night. And I plan to do just that for a little longer until some guy comes up behind Denise.
He squeezes her hips like he has a right to do so and Denise is quick to slip out of his grip, making it clear that he doesn’t.
That adorable smile is replaced with an arched eyebrow, grin, and crossed arms. I can’t hear what’s being said but as Denise’s lips are rapidly moving, the guy’s hands shoot up in surrender.
She lightly shoves his chest and rolls her eyes before turning back around to face Sarah and Bethany, who aren’t even bothering to hide their annoyance with the guy.
My fists tighten at my sides and I’m walking over before my brain can even catch up to what I’m doing. The guy turns around to leave, grumbling about how I’ll need a godsend to get with that one.
And he has just enough luck for me to decide not to make him turn around and apologize.
I stand behind Denise but instead of holding onto her hips, I gently tap my knuckles against her arm.
Sarah and Bethany’s frowns are replaced with smiles as they wave. Denise throws her head back, groaning as she turns around.
“Can you just fuck off—”
Her annoyance eases when she realizes it’s me and like she just caught herself having a sense of relief at my presence, she crosses her arms again.
“Aww.” I smile. “Come on, Princess. You don’t mean that.”
She tries not to smile but the harder she tries, the more I want to keep pestering her until she stops fighting it.
Denise ignores my teasing, instead reaching for me. “Give me your hands.”
Call me pathetic because I do exactly as she says. No questions asked.
She picks up a tube of neon orange paint and squirts it onto the palms of my hands and has me rub them together. She grabs my wrists and without a warning, she puts both of my paint-covered hands right on her breasts.
And as if me having my hands on her breasts in front of everyone isn’t bad enough, she rests her hands on top of mine and presses my hands deeper, allowing me to squeeze the flesh.
Bethany and Sarah giggle from behind Denise, watching the whole thing.
And then because it’s not like I’m not already growing hard in my jeans, Denise takes a step back, puts more paint onto my palms, and shifts closer.
I open my mouth to ask her what she’s doing when her still wet chest presses against mine and she guides my hands to her ass.
This time I don’t wait for her to do it herself—I squeeze the flesh all on my own.
“Okay!” Bethany gasps. “That’s our cue to mingle.”
She and Sarah walk away in a fit of giggles but neither Denise nor I move.
The heels she’s wearing makes her stand at eye level with me, which is easier to lean forward, bringing our faces closer. Her grin widens as she swipes her lips across mine, but doesn’t allow me to press them together. She presses herself closer to me and my hands remain on her ass.
The music is now background noise to the sound of my very own heart and if I thought it was hot in here before, having Denise pressed up against me, her ass in my hands, has me thinking of going outside just to get some fresh air.
And maybe drag Denise along with me.
“This mean you’re mine for the night?” I ask, hoping I get the fucking answer I so desperately want.
Her own hand slides up to hold the back of my head while the other gently pulls on the chain around my neck.
“Something like that.” She licks my cheek before completely pulling away from me, a smug look on her face when she can see the growing tent in my pants even in the dim light.
“Take off your shirt,” she now tells me—not asks.
“You’re already asking quite a lot of me tonight, Stryker,” I say as I’m actively taking off said shirt.
“I want to see if you’ll listen, Callahan.”
Fuck.
Baby, I’d crawl to you on my hands and knees if you asked.
Denise grabs another bottle of paint, pink this time, and squirts it onto one of her hands before tugging me along by my belt loop, so we’re no longer standing near the paint table, but instead the hallway near the front door.
It’s still dark and there’s still people around but most are either too drunk or too preoccupied to care when Denise presses me against the wall.
My grip on the shirt in my hand tightens.
She presses the palm of her hand that’s covered in paint to her lips and brings her other hand to the side of my neck, pulling me closer.
Then she starts kissing my neck, down my shoulder, and across my chest. When the paint on her lips begins to fade, she goes back in and repeats the process.
My hands rest on her hips, trying to not start grinding into her but she seems to want to make this hard on me by purposely pressing herself further into me.
She pulls away, taking a look at her progress, her head cocked to the side.
“Happy with your artwork?” I chuckle, breathlessly.
The tip of her index finger that doesn’t have paint on it, travels from the center of my chest and stops right at the top of my jeans. She shakes her head.
“Not yet.”
And before I can ask her what else she has in mind, she presses more paint to her lips but instead of my neck and chest, she begins leaving kisses down my stomach, traveling further and further down.
I think she’s going to stop right at the top of my jeans but then she drops to her knees in front of me.
I don’t bother to look around at anyone else.
Not when she looks up at me like that. Pink paint starting to fade on her lips, trouble written all over her face.
Denise has the power to completely destroy me and I’d be perfectly fine with that.
At least I’d die a happy man.
Like she knows all of this, she brazenly presses her lips directly on my crotch, leaving orange marks of her lips on the black fabric of my jeans. When her lips purposely press harder against me, I throw my head back, a strangled groan vibrating in the back of my throat.
Only then does she pull away, leaning back on her knees, staring up at me with a certain hunger that makes it really hard to think very gentlemanly thoughts.
I try, I really fucking do because I see the way people look at Denise.
The way they touch her like she’s free real estate.
Like what she wears and the skin she shows, is an invitation for unwanted comments and hands and even though I see the way she tells people to fuck off, I never want her to have to do that with me.
Sure, I tease and maybe sometimes I step a little too close just so I can smell the strawberry scent of her shampoo, but only because Denise allows it.
She may not realize she’s doing it—though I doubt she doesn’t—Denise invites me in. Every time.
Whether she’s making it known that she’s aware that I’m watching her by grinning and purposely doing shit to keep my eyes glued on her. Or even the way she steps closer to me. Like she thinks I either won’t notice or won’t do anything about it.
I don’t want to be just another guy that looks at Denise and only sees that she’s beautiful.
We stare at each other for a moment. Not being able to take the sight of her on her knees in front of me without getting the urge to watch me fuck her mouth, I reach my hand down, holding it out for her to take.
She does without any arguing. For once.
“I was waiting for you,” I admit when we’re face to face.
She chuckles, caught off guard. “What?”
“The guys were teasing me because I kept watching the front door, waiting for you to walk in.”
“Why?”
I shrug, like it’s a fact she should know by now. “Because I’d rather be talking to you than anyone else here.”
Her eyes widen for a split second before they narrow, as if that’s such a foreign concept. That someone would look forward to talking to her.
But recently it’s all I’ve been talking about.
I crave her goddamn attention.
I don’t care whether it comes in the shape of her mocking me. Laughing at me. Telling me straight to my face that she wants nothing to do with me. Because as long as her eyes are on me, it soothes the ache in my chest and buzzing in my hands.
Shit, I’d take her humiliating me in front of everyone at this damn party if it meant I had her sole attention.
Her face softens for a moment as she wraps her arms around my waist and her chin rests on my chest, looking up at me. There’s no teasing grin or mischievous gaze—she’s just simply looking at me without feeling the need to perform.
“Well, I’m here now.” She smiles.
Yeah, she is. And now I feel like I can finally breathe.