Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
We need a distraction, so I push to my feet. “Come on, Big Guy.”
“Where we goin’?”
“To pretend we’re still in high school and not over here worrying about adult stuff.”
He doesn’t ask questions; he just follows, and the second our feet hit the floor of the barn, he takes my hand in his.
It’s warm and rough against my own, swallowing my fingers until even that small touch feels like a mountain of armor that nothing could break through.
My steps slow as I consider that thought a little deeper, wondering why it arose in the first place, but it’s there nonetheless.
Nothing—or no one?
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Brady
“You’re kidding?”
She shakes her head, throwing her seat belt off.
I frown in horror, looking out at the dozens of teenagers getting drunk around the firepits. It’s barely after five, but teens around here have always used the time change to our advantage and it seems that hasn’t changed in the few years we’ve been gone.
My attention snaps back to Cameron. “They’re going to think we’re old!”
“Nah.” She pushes her door open, grinning wildly at me. “They’re gonna think you’re a king.” She jumps out, slamming the door behind her.
She doesn’t just take off into the group of people or wait for me by the bumper. No, that’s not her style. Too basic. Too boring.
Cameron’s arms are already lifting, her body swaying to the beat of the bass as she dances her away around until she’s right there, hips moving under the headlights. She spins around in a cute-ass, little hip roll, pointing at me as she belts out the song playing because, of course, she just so happens to know all the words to it.
I drop back in my seat, completely and terrifyingly fucking stuck.
Cameron smiles, her chin meeting her shoulder as she teases, her natural flirty state shining through, something I haven’t seen too much from her lately.
She’s here tonight, though. Wild on life. High on moonlight.
My little Hellcat.
She tips her head from side to side, neck stretching delicately, and my eyes trace the rhythmic roll that moves through her. Even in my hoodie that hides her figure completely, she is a sight. My gaze falls to the bottom hem, skin prickling at the way it rubs against her upper thighs. I wish it were my hand gliding across her there, my fingers bending slightly between her legs the way that thick cotton is.
Fucking shit. Alister was wrong.
I’m not falling for her.
I already fell so hard my ass has hit the floor, and now all I want to do is tug her down on top of me. I want her to straddle my waist, her soft hands sliding along my skin until she’s holding on the way I would be—and I fucking would be.
If given the chance, I’d hold on with everything I’ve got.
That’s a dangerous thought, my boy.
Her arms lift, sleeves falling down her wrists, but my attention snaps to her legs as she spins again. With each inch higher her hands go, more flesh is exposed until I can see the point where her thigh becomes her ass.
I jerk, turning the headlights off.
That works like a charm, and she whips around, waiting for her eyes to adjust so she can see me through the windshield.
Behind her, the edge of the party stares this way, whether it was from her solo dance or the flash of the light disappearing, I can’t say.
If I were one of the guys standing over there, it sure as shit wouldn’t have been the lights.
I climb out, tucking the keys in my pocket, and meet her where she stands. She smiles innocently, and my own tugs at my lips as I throw my arm around her, tugging her close. “Okay, brat. You’re doing the talking here.”
“My pleasure, Big Guy.” She stretches up, kissing my cheek before taking my hand that’s around her and leading us straight to the pickup with the keg in the back of it, several small tents off to the right.
A brunette girl and two blond dudes are sitting in folding chairs in front of it, and they look at us wearily, wondering if we’re about to narc on them. Little do they know, it was our parents who started this tradition when they were back in high school and the owner of this land used to babysit us both.
“Is the buy-in still ten bucks?” Cameron gets right to it.
One of the blonds narrows his eyes, looking from her to me and back. “It’s fifteen for outsiders.”
An unexpected laugh leaves me, and he glances over again. This time, his eyes widen. “Wait, I know you,” he starts.
Before he can say another word, another shouts, “Bro…dude, it’s Lancaster!”
I look toward the voice, finding a guy wearing the same letterman’s jacket I’ve got hanging in my closet sliding up, red Solo cup in hand.