The alcohol is blurring reality for the moment.
Everything is confusing but feels really good.
How she’s straddling me now, her fingers gripping my hair as she tries to dominate me with a kiss. I’m mesmerized by her round ass, squeezing it and pulling her across my dick. I’ve only ever kissed one girl. Eva Finch in the eighth grade. I’d been so grossed out, I swore off chicks for eternity.
Mia doesn’t kiss like Eva.
Mia kisses with heat and need and purpose.
She dizzies me because this is not fucking normal for me.
Since I’m feeling drunk and curious, I skate my palm up her ribs, amused by the full-bodied shiver that runs through her. My palm roams over her breast and she gasps. I’m about to pull down the front of her cami to feel up my first female breast, when I hear keys at the door.
“Oh shit,” she squeaks out, falling back to the other side of the couch.
I blink at her, embarrassed by the way my dick is tenting my sweats. What the fuck just happened? I kissed Mia. I fucking kissed Mia. She must see the shock, bordering on horror, because she buries her face in her palms. I’m still staring at her when I feel a presence looming over the back of the couch.
“Did I interrupt something?”
Drew’s deep, husky voice does absolutely fucking nothing for my unruly dick, making it thump, drawing his attention and now Mia’s.
“Yeah,” I grit out, ignoring the fact that I’m hard as fuck and confused as hell. “Mia was telling me how you were being a fucking asshole to her. She’s not some whore you can brag about.”
His face pales. “I… It wasn’t… Fuck, I’m sorry. It was stupid.”
I snort as I grab the Twizzler out of my glass and start chomping on it. “Agreed. You know what you have to do.” I shoot him a warning glare that has him dropping his head in shame.
“I’m sorry, Mia. Brayden just…” he trails off. “He pushes my buttons. I should have never used you as a weapon.”
She sits primly, her chin lifted in the air.
“Not good enough,” I say for her. “My girl here thinks you need to grovel some more. We’re hungry. If you can’t cook, I suggest you find us food. Stat. Mia hates green onions and I won’t touch sushi with a ten-foot pole. Other than that, we’re easy to please.”
He remains there, quiet, until I restart the game. Mia joins in. Together we ignore him until he disappears to hopefully get us some fucking food.
As much as I want to shut off the game and ask Mia what the fuck just happened between us, I don’t. Instead, I play the game with my best friend, pretending that we didn’t just screw up and do something royally stupid.
Avoidance is my favorite game.
I can’t get the scene I walked into out of my head. Mia’s pouty pink lips, swollen like she’d been kissed good. I recognized the look because they were the same way the night we almost fucked. Her nipples were poking out of her tank top. A clear indication she was turned on.
Ashton’s face and neck had a little pink hue to them, like he was flushed. He was sporting a tent under his pants that couldn’t be explained by anything other than a hard-on.
All signs point to these two going at it before I walked in, which is really fucking weird since Ashton is gay. Maybe he plays for both teams. But if that’s the case, and he and Mia have something going on, why did she allow my mouth on her and my fingers in her the other night? And why does it seem like Ashton might be fully aware and okay with that?
I should be in my room studying plays, but instead I’m going to get food. It was like Ashton tricked me into that shit. His mouth was moving and words were coming out and the next thing I knew, I was jumping into my truck to get them food as he demanded.
I stop at Olympia, my favorite Greek restaurant, and pick us each up a gyro with fries, making sure Mia’s doesn’t include any green onions, and then head back to the apartment.
This time when I walk in, they’re on opposite ends of the couch, silently playing a video game I immediately recognize as Call of Duty.
“Got the food,” I say, dropping the bag onto the center of the coffee table, knowing full well I’m blocking their view of playing.
“Damn it, I was killed,” Ashton whines. “You better have included dessert in there,” he says, dropping his controller next to him.
He rifles through the bag and nods. “Good job. We love Greek.” He throws Mia a foil-wrapped gyro. “Don’t we, MiMi?”
“Yeah,” she says softly, catching it.
“I aim to please,” I say sarcastically, grabbing my own, so I can take it to my room to work.
“Hey, man,” Ashton calls out, “don’t be like that. You bought, so the least we can do is repay you with our wildly entertaining personalities.”
Since I’ve made an ass of myself where Mia’s concerned, it’s probably not a bad idea. Plus, they both seem eager for the distraction of whatever it is I interrupted.
“Do you guys do this often?” I ask as I sit down in the recliner beside the sofa. I motion with my gyro to the candy and alcohol stockpile on the coffee table.
“Pretty much.” Ashton shrugs and inhales his gyro.
“How are you so…” I gesture at his body—cut abs, muscular shoulders, and solid biceps. “That.”
Ashton
