36. Lyla
Chapter thirty-six
Lyla
I had to hand it to myself. I was becoming scarily skilled at finding windows of opportunity for Cassie to see Deacon and I wrapped up together. My legs were literally wrapped around his waist. His hand was in my hair as his mouth traveled up my jawline. His lips found their way back to mine, and instead of the quick-paced hunger he demonstrated a few seconds ago, they slowed down and made me realize that I wasn’t just kissing Deacon.
I was kissing Deacon, and I didn’t want it to stop.
I had kissed Deacon more times than I could count. No matter how often we played out the on-screen performance, I always thought back to the first time he kissed me at The Attic, where he asked for permission instead of just laying one on me. I didn’t think anything could beat that moment. My skin was on fire, and I was happy to be proven wrong.
My ass hit something hard. Was it a desk? I didn’t care. Deacon’s tongue was eager against mine, and his hands skimmed the skin under my breasts. What was it about this man and how he took his time that made things so delightful ? Most guys would’ve already had my top off. Some of them might not have even bothered to take anything off at all. Everything was rushed and heavy, and when I felt Deacon’s erection on my thigh, alarms went off in my head .
I didn’t want this to stop, but it needed to. We no longer had an audience. We were off-screen, and neither of us hinted at pausing it.
As if he read my thoughts by pressing his forehead to mine, Deacon pulled away. “Lyla,” he whispered.
We made eye contact, and I didn’t know what I was waiting for. Was he the one waiting? One of us needed to say something . It didn’t feel awkward. The only uncomfortable part about this was stopping something that felt completely natural.
Not a real relationship, no lying, fuck around in private, and no love.
I guess this could be fucking around in private. It was lacking in climax but offered a nice plot twist.
“Top-tier, Deacon Scott,” I whispered back with a smile.
Deacon chuckled, pushing off the desk with his hands. “Come on. Let’s get back to your game.”
“We can’t go out there yet! We’ve been in here for like five minutes.”
“And . . .”
“And do you want Cassie thinking you’re suddenly a two-pump chump? Have a seat for a moment.”
He narrowed his gaze and glanced around the room. “Cassie would never think that. She’s had a front-row seat to—”
“Stop talking.” I giggled uncontrollably and covered my eyes. I hoped to help block out the mental images of Deacon bending me over the desk. His chest pressed against my back, and his hand gripping the hair at the base of my neck like he had done a few moments ago before—
“We don’t lie, right? ”
I moved my hands, and Deacon was lying across the recliner on the other side of the room. His hands were behind his head, and his lips curved into a slight grin.
“We don’t lie,” I said, leaning back against the desk.
“What was that?” he prompted gently.
“Boyfriend-girlfriend shit.” There wasn’t a millisecond of hesitation to my answer, and it wasn’t a lie. Everyone just witnessed a couple backing into an open bedroom. It wasn’t unordinary at all.
“Boyfriend-girlfriend shit,” he agreed with the smirk that drove me nuts. “Okay.”
I cocked my head. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“Oh, I’m not.” Deacon smiled before he stood up and started walking toward me. “But you’re a fantastic performer, Lyla Brooks, and we don’t lie. So if you say it’s just boyfriend-girlfriend shit”—Deacon leaned forward so his face was inches away from mine—“it’s just boyfriend-girlfriend shit.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling. There was a playfulness in his eyes I hadn’t seen before, and I was getting pretty good at reading this downright delightful human. This version was excited about what just happened, and moments ago, I had the physical evidence against my leg to prove it. When the alarm bells returned, I gripped the desk behind me to keep my hands off his chest.
I smirked back at him. “Let’s go Popeye. Olive needs another drink.”
Deacon laughed, putting space between us again.
Out in the living room, it was clear the free bedroom routine worked. Charlie, like an asshole, clapped enthusiastically from the pool table. A disappointed Regina George stood by the stairs, and soon, two supportive animal friends followed her up to the kitchen .
I pulled Deacon into the doorway and lifted my phone.
He looked back at the room with a naughty grin. “Again?”
I smacked his bicep and gestured toward the phone in the air. “No, a photo!”
Right on cue, Deacon grinned at the camera and kissed the top of my head for the second shot. I posted the photo and then sent a copy to Aaron Brooks for good measure.
“Good call.” Deacon took off his sailor hat and ran a hand through his hair. “I almost forgot about a photo.”
“I have to start prepping my dad for Thanksgiving,” I explained. “He’s meeting you in a few weeks, and I just—”
“I’m not worried, " Deacon said, throwing his arm around my shoulders. “But something tells me you are.”
“Can’t help it,” I admitted, crossing my arms in front of my chest. I hated how my dad wasn’t even in the same state and could still make me nervous. “If anything about that goes badly, he’ll pull the plug. I’m almost a semester away from graduating, and all I can think about is how much I want to move forward.”
“Hey.” Deacon nudged me so I would look at him. “This will work. Knight in shining armor, remember?”
I rolled my eyes and chuckled at his boyish grin.
“Don’t underestimate me,” he threatened playfully. “Let me get us another drink, and then I’ll teach you how to play pool.”
Deacon crossed the room to the stairs, and I yelled, “How do you know I don’t know how to play?”
When he turned around, his sexy smirk was back. “I’ve seen your form, baby girl, and I have no issue showing you how it’s done.”
Baby girl, huh? The butterflies erupted in my stomach, and heat pooled between my legs. Fuck me.