Chapter 8 Drew
DREW
It’s been a week, and I am surrounded—what feels like all the time—by testosterone. Gabe is a lingering, constant presence.
Always leaning in a doorway, checking to see if I need anything, and I swear it’s as if he expects me to disappear out of nowhere.
Again.
Greyson is super helpful planning the events and giving me options for what he can build to make it better, especially for the Santa’s Workshop event for the kids.
That’s the one I think needs to have the most magic. He agrees with me. Christmas is all about the kids.
With that in mind, he’s even volunteered to help with the sledding and snowball events as a judge and general chaperone, a much needed assistance that I jump on as soon as the offer is out of his mouth.
Then there’s Adam. He also makes it a habit of checking on me, but instead of asking what I need he simply brings me things—mostly tea and food.
I’ve never had a man so intent on feeding me.
I also spend most nights over at the Kincaids’ and it’s getting tense, sitting between them on the couch.
They box me in with their warmth and the yummy smell of their soap or aftershave or deodorant.
Whatever it is, it has them both smelling absolutely delicious.
It’s got to be all in my head though, right? I’m just feeling lonely, and they’re safe.
They’re old crushes from when I was a teen and preteen.
But as innocent as this is, it doesn’t feel that way. Imagine if someone came in to see me tucked between the two of them—how Greyson’s arm is half behind me on the back of the couch and Gabe’s knee is pressed into mine.
I find myself cataloging their breaths, their movements, how they each radiate such warmth that I’m nearly overheating. Or is that my hormones?
Maybe it’s the glances they keep giving me. They’re different than when I was younger when I knew their attention was completely platonic.
Or maybe it’s that I know what to do with a man now that I didn’t before that has given me some heightened awareness.
Whatever it is, it has me squirming. I cannot get comfortable. Every time I shift, it’s like my panties get waded and stuck with an uncontrollable desire.
My mind drifts too often to what it would be like to slip into one of their laps.
How it might feel to lean into all their muscle and strength.
What their mouths might taste like.
How far they might let me go before they stop me.
I suck in a hard breath that has Gabe turning toward me with a question in his gaze.
Greyson gets up from the other side of me, leaving the room. I follow his movements, too intent on what kind of energy I’m giving off and if they can tell I’m sitting here like a horny toad, daydreaming about doing naughty things to them both.
Gabe elbows me, swinging my attention back to him. “What’s wrong?”
“What? Nothing.” Shit. He’s caught me. Let me just combust into a smoldering heap and put me out of my misery.
“You’re being squirrely.”
“Squirrely? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Am I storing nuts in my mouth or something?” Okay, bad word choice, but he laughs.
I like the way he laughs. Even more when I’m the one to cause it. He lights up.
Gabe elbows me again. “Just. Relax.”
With a huff, I pull my feet up to my chest and tip into his side. “Sometimes, I hate being in my head.”
“Yeah.” He takes my hand and holds it, giving me the silent support he always has.
All through my childhood.
The perfect older brother type until the year before I ran away.
Because he came back from college on that winter break, and I saw him without his shirt on.
Tattoos covered his left shoulder and pec, a tight line art that I couldn’t make out from the glance.
Besides, I was distracted by his lean muscles, the peppering of hair across his chest and in a trail below his belly button into his jeans, how strong he looked, how grown up.
I had the dirtiest dream about him that night. My mind making up images of his tattoos and the heat that came from tracing those lines with my fingers.
He has more tattoos now.
I got awkward for the rest of his break, but he pretended not to notice.
It’s different now, charged with something more. I don’t mind. Gabe’s the constant I need to keep myself sane.
His fingers squeeze my palm, and I squeeze back, letting the warmth take me to a drowsy comfort.
And I’m suspended in a hazy heat, bordering on uncomfortable.
My body squirms under phantom hands, but I wish they’d move in, over my breasts, down my stomach, between my legs.
I start awake on the Kincaid couch, tucked under a plush blanket.
Coffee fills my nostrils, and I peer up into Gabe’s golden-brown eyes.
He’s holding a mug up for me, steam wafting into the cold morning air.
“Come eat and get ready, and I’ll take you to work.”
I take the mug and slurp the contents with easy satisfaction, settling against the back cushion.
I make quick work of the caffeine, and the smell of butter and toast gets me to my feet.
Gabe slides a plate across the counter as I settle on a stool. Something so simple, but it hits the spot. I finish everything up and wash my dishes as he eats, then I go home to change, meeting him at his 4x4.
The ride is tense and quiet, but not awkward.
Gabe’s silences are second nature to me by now, as familiar as the way he keeps one hand steady on the wheel.
But this time it feels different.
Maybe it’s the memory of his shoulder under my cheek, his hand gripping mine, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling me to sleep.
The silence between us isn’t empty—it’s full, crowded with the reminder that I don’t just know him. I want him.
We park around back, and he walks me through the back offices, passing Adam’s and his own to see me to mine.
That overprotective tendency of his rearing its head.
Gabe gives me a nod before he stalks toward the front desk, probably to check in on whoever’s manning it.
I open my door to see Adam sitting behind my desk, smiling. My heart works a little harder to keep oxygen pumping to my brain.
Stunned, I throw a look at Gabe, who lifts his brow at me before he crosses the threshold into the lobby.
After a frozen moment, I step inside and shrug off my coat, hanging it on the hook beside the door as I try to gather myself.
I am in so much trouble here, even though nothing is happening.
Nothing has happened, but a threshold is looming not far on the horizon for me.
Who’s going to tip me over it first?
I shake my head at myself. I shouldn’t be entertaining the possibilities of having anyone. Not with the betrayal and heartbreak still so fresh for me.
In mid-spin to face Adam, my mouth falls open in a yawn that I barely cover, and the mischief in his eyes pins me in place. “Have a long night?”
Strapping on the only armor I’ve ever felt comfortable in, I shrug. “Not particularly.”
His gaze narrows on me, a challenge and a tease layered with unspoken awareness.
It cranks at my insides, everything going taut. It’s so easy for him to tug on it.
Adam leans back in my chair, bringing his hands behind his head to accentuate the size of his arms and chest. God, he’s so big.
It should be overwhelmingly intimidating, but I simply want to run my hands over all that muscle.
We stay in this stalemate for a few minutes, me looking over him, and him staring back at me—a smug smile stuck to the curve of his mouth.
Until another yawn takes me over.
Adam drops his arms, standing slowly. “Don’t let them tire you out.”
The probing meaning isn’t lost on me. “I fell asleep on their couch.”
He gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me. That it doesn’t sound as innocent as it is.
“I’ve spent most of my life on that couch.” See, completely innocent, even though I’m starting to second guess that fundamental truth.
“I thought you didn’t have a lot of experience knowing when men are attracted to you?” He rounds my desk, slow like he’s stalking me, hunting me.
My breath comes a little faster as he gets closer, and I back into my desk, truly trapped prey, no fight, no flight, just rooted in place—ensnared by the shifting emotions in his eyes.
“Yeah. I’m usually pretty clueless.”
He erases the rest of the space between us, setting his hands on the desk on either side of my hips.
And it’s hard not to look at his lips, soft and pink against the dark shadow of his skin where he’s shaved this morning.
“When a man’s interested, there are signs.” Adam’s voice has gone low and husky. His mouth is a pleasure to look at when he speaks. I want to sink my teeth into him, but I’ve never been forward enough to do something even remotely violent.
Instead, I pull in a slow breath, hoping it will settle my pulse.
And my thoughts.
Both need a good sedative.
“Like what?” I barely have a voice, and the air between us is nearly solid from the tension cranking up.
Is that me or him?
Or is it because neither of us can help ourselves?
“One sign is proximity. He might lean in, trap her against something. Stir up tension. Gauge her reactions.”
My breath goes shaky. Is that what he’s doing? Is he trying to tell if I’m attracted to him?
Am I not as obvious as others have always told me?
“And how should she respond?”
His smile is dirty. “Well, if she’s not interested, the word no is appropriate. Pushing him back, gently, as to not hurt his feelings.”
Adam pauses, like he’s giving me the opening to do just that—push him back.
When I don’t, he continues, “Or if she is interested, she might lean in, too, touch him, or take charge and put him out of his misery.”
I’m not bold enough to kiss him, but my gaze drops to the open collar of his shirt.
I lift my hand to touch his chest, slowly working my way up to that small patch of bare skin.
He’s so unbelievably hot under my fingertips.
Heat pommels me at this small connection, and my insides turn gooey.
“Look at me, Drew.”
It takes me a second, but I do. We’re so unbelievably close, and my heartbeat rampages.
His green eyes are almost swallowed by the flare of his pupils. That’s a sign of attraction, isn’t it?
Adam takes a second to search me before he tips my chin up and lowers his mouth over mine.
Electricity zaps down my spine, lifting me further against him. My hands find purchase on his shoulders, gathering the fabric of his shirt in my fists.
His kiss starts gentle, but when my mouth softens, opens to him, he takes advantage, pressing his tongue inside to kiss me so thoroughly that my mind goes blank.
I’m submerged in sensation. In need. In the idea of being consumed completely by Adam, because this man knows how to kiss.
His big hand finds my hair as he moves me where he wants me, and I’m more than willing to submit to him.
To give into his lesson on what a kiss should be. To fall into the devoted, all-consuming energy of him as he peels away my reservations.
As he shows me exactly how much he wants me.