Dutton #2
“How does that happen?” I say and fan the pages to the scene I'd been reading when she scared the shit out of me. It wasn’t like I’d been jerking off to the scene, but my dick was a little hard from it. Mostly at the thought that what I was reading could be something Brooke was into.
“I know I asked you this earlier, but are you into this stuff?”
She shrugs. “I like reading it, but I’d probably freak a little if it were real life. Although, honestly, I don’t know. I’d have to have a sex life to find out.”
I watch her lips move with each word.
God, her lips are pretty.
Soft pink.
Plump.
And that dimple on the right side when she grins is sexy as fuck.
“Yeah, what was your sex life like when you had one?” I ask.
I really want to ask when the last time was that she had sex. I want to punch that guy in the face.
“It was blah,” she says and laughs. “I’m too shy to ask for what I want.”
I chuckle. “Which is clearly something close to these books you read.”
“Maybe. I’ll let you know someday.”
The smile on my lips drops.
And who the fuck is she going to try this with?
“Your turn. Tell me about your sex life,” she says, cool as a fucking cucumber, and I love every moment of it.
“You really want to know?” I ask.
She bumps my shoulder with hers and then lays her head on it.
“I told you about mine.”
“Barely.”
“Big D, you could ask me anything right now and I’d tell you the honest truth.”
“Is that so?” I ask her, ignoring the Big D nickname.
“Yes.”
Can I kiss you?
Can I be the man you try this with?
But I don't ask either question. Instead, I go back to our previous topic.
“My sex life is nonexistent, too.”
“Really?” The surprise in her tone is loud. “But look at you.” She sits up and sets her wineglass on the floor behind her. “You have the lush hair a woman can run her fingers through,” she says and does just that as she moans. “And it’s so dang soft.”
Then her hand cups my jaw, jerking my face to look at her. “And your chiseled features are so—” She bites her lip on another groan.
She’s going to have to stop doing that.
Her hand drifts down to my neck and then my chest, while my heart begins to race at her touch. “And you’re ripped.”
Her hands smooth over my shoulders to my biceps.
“And these tattoos.”
Her gaze drifts to my arm.
God, she’s biting her lip again.
She’s trying to kill me.
“Annnnd,” she says as she drops her head back to the sofa and covers her eyes. “You’re sweet. Like super sweet. You’re a catch, Dutton.”
I open my mouth to tell her she’s wrong. That I’m only like this with her and it baffles me, too, but like before, she jumps up. This time, she stumbles a little with each step.
“I’m opening the last bottle.”
“Is that a smart idea?” I ask as she rushes away, her plump ass in those tight spandex shorts swaying.
“No, but I'm doing it anyway.”
Bottle four was a bad idea.
A great idea, but bad nonetheless.
“All right, then you just swoop your leg like this and slowly lower yourself to the ground.”
Somewhere between glass, umm … I lost count, and now, Brooke convinced me to get my gym bag from my truck and change into my shorts and T-shirt so we could get in some stretching.
Her face lit up at the idea, and there was no way I was going to tell her no.
So yeah, here I am, buzzed off wine and twisting my body into a position it should most definitely not be in.
But when she looks at me, letting out a laugh that I can't get enough of, it’s all worth it.
“This is supposed to be relaxing, Big D. Whatever you’re doing is actually painful to look at.”
I unfold my body with a chuckle and lay flat on the ground.
“I’m just along for the ride and clearly need to stretch more.”
“Yes, you do.”
Brooke holds her pose for a few more seconds and then takes the spot next to me.
Her hand flops between us, her fingers brushing against mine.
Silence settles between us, but she doesn't move her hand, and neither do I.
“I like being around you,” she admits, catching me off guard with her honesty.
Still, the moment I hear the words, I know exactly what she means. I brush my pinky finger against hers. “I like being around you, too.”
Another moment passes between us, and I wish I knew what she was thinking. I wish that we’d become friends long before this. I wish that we weren’t just friends.
And that’s …
“No.” She pushes up and lays on her side, head propped up by her hand. “What I mean is, I think I like it too much.”
Her blue gaze latches onto mine like a lifeline. As if my next words will either save her or drown her.
Turning so that I’m facing her directly, I brush my hand against her cheek and thread my fingers into her hair.
“Not as much as I do, Books. I can promise you that.”
My forehead drops to her.
Fuck. I want to kiss her. I want to hold her in my arms and make her mine, but I can’t.
Our confessions are fueled by alcohol, and I’m not about to let our first kiss happen because of it.
When I do get to kiss her—because I will—the only thing that will cause it is the pure need we have for each other.
Brooke clears her throat and then takes a seat on the couch, putting distance between us.
“Do you think the fact you’re not in a relationship comes from what you’ve watched your dad do to your mom?” she asks, and fuck, does it annoy me that the answer is yes.
I nod, getting up to join her on the sofa. I don’t want distance.
“I mean, growing up with that example of what love looks like doesn’t exactly send me out there searching for it.”
“No, I suppose it wouldn’t.”
“What about you? Why aren’t you in one?”
She shrugs quickly and replies in almost a whisper.
“Everyone always leaves, and if they don’t, it’s like I don’t exist unless it’s on their terms.”
A tear slips over her cheek, so I brush it away with my thumb, take hold of her hand, and lace her fingers with mine. “That’s an absolute shame, because you’re turning out to be my favorite person in this world, and right now, I can’t imagine not having you in my life.”