Rebel Heart Page 7

  “To be honest, I think I was half in love with you as a kid, but I also thought of you like a sister, which confused me. I didn’t want to put the moves on you and risk our friendship, so instead when puberty hit and girls started showing interest, I thought with the wrong head—if you catch my drift—and ruined our friendship anyway. By high school, we weren’t speaking at all, and since I’m already spilling my guts here…I’ve always regretted the way shit went down back then. I know it was shitty, and I know one apology won’t make up for it.” I run my hand along the side of her face before palming her cheek. “So, I guess all of that was a fucking longwinded way to say that while I don’t know exactly what we’re doing, I like it and I like you.”

  She nibbles on her lip and places both of her hands on my chest. “I like you too, even if you are a jackass.”

  “Yeah, well…you’re kind of a bitch.” She gasps, and I chuckle. “But it’s all good because bitchy just so happens to look sexy as hell on you.”

  “So, what now?”

  I release a long breath. “Well, as much as I’d like to say, ‘Now, let’s take this somewhere private and finish what we started,’ I want to do things right with you.” She beams up at me, and I know I’ve said exactly the right thing. “Plus, we need to study.”

  She draws her hands back from my chest before plopping them back down in a light, playful smack. “And…you ruined it.”

  “Let me take you to dinner tomorrow night, and I’ll make it up to you.”

  Abby Jane’s cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink and damn if I don’t want to pound on my chest in victory. “Okay, Brock. Pick me up at seven?”

  “Will do. Now, let’s get to work.”

  We both return to our seats and settle in, but every couple of minutes we exchange knowing glances. I’m guessing it’s safe to say we’re both excited for what’s to come.

  AJ

  It’s Friday evening, and I’ve spent the entire day anxious as fuck over my date tonight. So anxious that I called Stacia and asked her to come over and help me get ready. We’re in the middle of twisting my hair up into this cute style I pinned the other week when Stacia finally asks what I can tell has been on the tip of her tongue since I called.

  “Why are you so nervous, AJ? You’ve literally known Brock your entire life.”

  I must take too long to answer her, because she jabs one of my pink-painted bobby pins into my scalp. “Ow, bitch!” I swat her hands away and take over, carefully securing the pin so that my hair looks effortlessly messy. “And, I guess it’s because this almost seems too good to be true.”

  I meet my bestie’s eyes in the mirror and see she’s frowning at me. “Um. What? No. Don’t put yourself down like that.”

  “No. I misspoke. I don’t think he is too good for me or anything. It’s just…for so long he was my best friend in the entire world, and then one day…he just wasn’t. I spent a long time hurt over that, and now, here I am, prepping for him to take me out. As a kid, I always thought we would be a ‘thing’ when we got to high school, but we fell out the second puberty hit. I can’t help but wonder…why now?”

  “Okay, okay. I can see that. But, worrying over it won’t give you any answers, so turn around and let me do your eyeliner.”

  I do as she says, spinning and hoisting myself up onto my bathroom counter. I sit statue still while Stacia rims my eyes in my favorite liner—Perversion by Urban Decay. It is life and makes the best wings. When Stacia finishes, I keep my eyes closed for a few seconds to make sure the liquid is dry. When I do open my eyes, she stands back to make sure everything is even.

  “Fucking perfection,” she murmurs. “What lip color?”

  “Blast Off,” I tell her, referencing my favorite pink from Smashbox. It’s a few shades brighter than my hair.

  “Yes. So much fucking yes.” With a practiced hand, she sets to work, dabbing a light coat of concealer across my lips, following it with clear lip liner before finally slicking on an even coating of my lipstick.

  I hop down from the counter and turn to appraise my appearance. “Girl. Why aren’t you in school for this?”

  Stacia shrugs. “Business seemed like a safer choice.”

  Reaching out, I take her hands in mine. “Babycakes, not sharing your talent is a crime toward humanity.”

  Stacia rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “I would. You could easily be a platform artist or brand educator. And with a business degree on top of it, you could easily run your own empire.” I pause, letting my words sink in. “At least think about it, okay?”

  She rolls her lips inward and nods. “Okay. But enough about me. Brock will be here in thirty, and we need to get you dressed.”

  We stand side-by-side in my closet, rifling through potential outfits. “Ugh. This would be so much easier if I knew where we were going.”

  “AJ. Stop. Just wear something you feel sexy in.”

  Stacia’s words spur me into action and I begin flinging hangers aside until I find exactly what I’m looking for. I wiggle my way into a pair of structured black leather shorts that stop mid-thigh, pairing them with a super soft gray tank and a black leather diagonal cut blazer. I layer several necklaces of varying lengths and slide my feet into a pair of pointy-toed, metal adorned black leather booties.

  “Thoughts?”

  “Um. I’ll be shocked if y’all make it to wherever he plans on taking you. And if you don’t wear it, I’ll be taking it home with me.”

  I laugh and turn to assess my outfit one more time. The heels make my toned legs look a mile long, and the leather shorts hug my ass, accentuating it nicely. “Fuck yes. I’m gettin’ some tonight!” I sing and Stacia holds her hand up for a high five.

  “Yeah, you totally are.” She lifts her wrist and checks the time on her smartwatch. “He’ll be here in about ten minutes.”

  I walk back into my bathroom and lather myself with my Love Spell lotion and mist myself with the spray, knowing how much he loves this scent. Just as I step back into the bedroom, there’s a knock on the front door. “Oh! He’s early!”

  “I’ll go let him in. You finish up and head down when you’re ready.”

  “Thanks, babe!” I holler after her already-retreating form.

  I hear the front door open, and I strain my ears to hear their conversation, but it’s no use. Quickly, I toss an extra pair of panties, my lipstick, and my phone charger into my bag. You know…just in case.

  BROCK

  I pull up to Abby Jane’s damn near fifteen minutes early. Not wanting to look too eager, I kill time playing on my phone, checking the clock every two minutes. Finally, with only seven to spare, I decided I’ve waited long enough—especially when it already feels like I’ve waited a lifetime.

  I opt to take the stairs up to her apartment, hoping to rid myself of some of this nervous energy, but it’s no use. Knowing that she’s going to be on my arm tonight has me feeling like the luckiest motherfucker on earth.

  When I reach her door, I take a deep, calming breath and knock. I’m expecting her to answer, so it throws me when her friend Stacia is who greets me instead. “Come on in. AJ’ll be down in a sec.”

  “Tell her no rush, she can take all the secs…” I snap my mouth shut and shake my head at myself. “Fuck. Never mind.”

  Stacia laughs and quirks a brow at me. “Got sex on the brain, Mr. Larson?” When I don’t reply, she keeps going. “Are you thinking about fucking Ms. Adams? About sticking your sausage into her love muffin?” Now we’re both laughing. “Planning to play a rousing game of hide the salami? Or do you just want to eat her taco?”

  It’s that very minute Abby Jane steps into the room, and we immediately stifle our laughter. “Did someone say tacos?”

  At that, Stacia and I lose it all over again. Stacia regains her composure first. “Well. Y’all have a lovely evening. Be safe—use condiments…I mean condoms.”

  Abby Jane gives us both a confused look. “What in the hell ar
e you going on about?”

  Stacia ushers us toward the door. “Nothing. Not a thing. Ignore me. Have fun! I’ll lock up.”

  Abby shakes her head. “Whatever. You ready?”

  It’s then that I take in what she’s wearing and my eyes about fall out of my head. I’m used to pearls, not leather, but as I rake my eyes over her smoking hot body, I swear to God never in my life have I been more thankful that Abby Jane marches to the beat of her own drum, because this outfit…fuuuuuck.

  “Why are you staring at me?” she whispers.

  “Because you look fucking incredible,” I whisper back, my voice hoarse with need.

  A throat clears, reminding me of two things. One, that we’re not alone, and two, that we’re loitering in Abby Jane’s doorway.

  I clasp Abs’ hand in mine and tug her out into the hallway. “So, are we getting tacos?” Her voice is so hopeful, and I can’t help but wonder what she’d think if she knew what we were really talking about.

  “Uh. No. Not tonight. Maybe next time?”

  “Already planning our next date, Jockstrap? Aren’t you confident!”

  “You think I’m letting you go after finally getting you? Hell no.”

  I ease my truck to a stop in the little back lot behind Vinny’s and watch as Abby Jane’s eyes light up. As kids, our parents always ordered takeout from here, and it’s a Cottonwood staple through and through. “Really?” she asks, not bothering to hide her excitement.

  “Yes, ma’am. Figured there’s no better place for our first date.”

  “I bet you take all the girls here.” She says the words as a joke, but I still feel the need to set her straight.

  “Nope. Never brought a girl here. In groups, sure. On a date? Never.”

  “R-really? Why?”

  I shrug, trying to downplay my reason, because really, it’s sort of dumb. “I don’t know. This was always kind of our thing, Abs.”

  My answer must please her, because she presses her pretty pink lips to mine before turning and hopping down from my truck—which is no easy feat with how high it’s lifted.

  We meet at the back bumper and I loop my pinky finger around hers, guiding us around the building and toward the entrance. I pull the worn, red-and-glass paneled door open, allowing Abby Jane to enter first. The hostess stand has a sign up asking patrons to seat themselves, so with my hand pressed to the small of her back, we search out a table.

  We settle on a rectangular two-seater near the door. After making sure Abby Jane’s seated, I lower myself into the seat across from her. “You know, I’ve always loved the lighting in here,” she says, referencing the cheese grater and wine bottle chandeliers. “As a kid, I was determined to have one like it in my kitchen.”

  “Hmm. I don’t seem to recall any funky lighting in your apartment.”

  She laughs, and it warms me from the inside out. “Yeah, I grew out of it. But I still love to see it in here.”

  Right then, our server steps up to the table. “Hey, y’all! Welcome to Vinny’s. Our special pies are on the chalkboard. Y’all need a minute?”

  I glance to Abby Jane and decide to take a chance. “Nope, we’re ready to order. We’ll both take draft root beers in frosted mugs, and we’ll split a fourteen-inch pie, extra cheese, with pepperoni on all of it and black olives and green peppers on half.”

  “Got it. I’ll grab your drinks and bring some bread.” She pivots on her heel and heads back to the kitchen.

  I turn to Abby Jane and find her gaping at me with wide eyes, looking slightly shell-shocked. “What? What’s up?”

  “You remembered?” Surprise paints her tone.

  “Our order from back in the day? Fuck yeah, I remember. To be honest, there’s not much about you I don’t remember.”

  “Oh really?” she asks, her competitive side rising to the surface. “Okay then, when we were nine, what did I want to be when I grew up?”

  I drum my fingers once on the tabletop. “Really? A quiz?”

  She smirks. “I mean, if you don’t know…”

  “Well, to answer that question accurately, I’d need more info. Are you referring to at the end of third grade when you wanted to be an astronaut and begged your mom to send you to space camp? But she sent you to equestrian camp instead, and you changed your tune and decided you wanted to be a horse groomer, because you liked braiding their manes. Or maybe you mean the start of fourth grade when you wanted to be a veterinarian after helping treat one of the horses for a snake bite?”

  When I’m finished, she sits there slack-jawed for a minute or two—long enough for our server to drop off our frosty mugs, two plates, and a platter of thick-sliced bread.

  “Holy shit. You really do remember, huh?”

  I pour a generous portion of olive oil onto my plate and dust it with some oregano and red pepper flakes. I tear off a bite of bread and run it through the oil before popping it into my mouth. After I swallow it, I take a long swig of my root beer. I know my silence is driving her a little bit crazy, so I decide to let her off the hook.

  “Told ya. If it involves you, I remember.”

  We munch away on the bread until our server returns with our pizza and two fresh, frosty root beers. “Here y’all go. Lemme know if you need anything else.” She carefully places the pan on the pizza stand, and I waste no time serving us both up two slices—pepperoni for me, added veggies for her.

  Abby Jane lifts hers to her mouth and takes a bite, a string of gooey cheese connecting the slice to her lips. I reach out and wrap the strand around my thumb, severing it from the slice. With her eyes locked on mine, Abby Jane sets her slice down onto her plate and grabs my hand, sucking my thumb briefly into her mouth, ridding it of the cheese. I’m talking in and out in two seconds, but Jesus, I think I lived and died in those two seconds.

  “So good,” she moans as she digs back into her pizza. She’s polished off an entire slice, and I haven’t even started on mine. I’ve been too busy watching her eat, reveling in her little moans of satisfaction, obsessing over how it would feel to have other parts of me between those luscious lips of hers.

  “Aren’t you gonna eat?” she asks, nodding to my still-full plate.

  Mentally, I shake off the haze I’m in. “Yeah, sorry. Got sidetracked.”

  We polish off the rest of our meal in a comfortable silence, and when our server comes by to ask if we’d like dessert, we decline, and I ask for the check. When she deposits it on the table, I can’t hold back my laugh.

  “What?” Abby Janes asks.

  “Look.” I spin the wooden board the bill is banded to toward her. “Read the band.”

  She scans it over, a huge smile breaking out across her face when she reads the words embossed into the band: seven days without pizza makes one weak. “Oh, my God. That is great. How have I never noticed that before?”

  “I don’t know, but I haven’t either. It’s fucking funny. I guess it’s new?”

  Just then our server reappears. “You mean the bands? Yeah. They’re new. Just got them in this week. I’ll have to tell Vinny y’all liked them. He was hesitant.” She nods toward the board. “You ready for me to take that? No rush or anything…”

  I pull out my wallet and slide two twenties under the band. “We’re good. Keep the change.”

  AJ

  “Thank you for dinner,” I say to Brock as he opens the passenger door of his truck for me. “It was delicious.”

  Brock backs me into the open door, causing the running boards to dig into my legs. He presses a soft kiss at the base of my neck—light and lingering, before working his way to my just below my ear. He gently traces my lobe with the tip of his tongue, sending shivers down my spine.

  Unable to take any more of his torture, I grab his face and angle it toward mine, claiming his lips. He opens for me immediately, groaning into my mouth as he palms my ass and lifts me into the truck and pulls away.

  We’re both out of breath, and the wood he’s sporting beneath his jeans is impressiv
e—it’s something I’d like to get intimately acquainted with. Brock catches me ogling his junk and reaches down and gives it a hard squeeze before adjusting himself. “Buckle up,” he all but growls, and I fucking love knowing he’s all worked up over me.

  The drive from Vinny’s back to my place is excruciating. I can’t help but be curious about what’s going to happen once we arrive. Is he going to come up? God, I hope so, and then he can go down…on me. The thought almost makes me moan out loud, and I shift in my seat, squeezing my thighs together.

  “You okay over there?” Brock asks, smirking, not once taking his eyes off of the road.

  “Mmhmm. Why?” I frown at how breathless my voice sounds.

  “Just over there moanin’ and wiggling in your seat.”

  Great. Guess I did moan out loud. “I’m just dandy. Don’t you worry about me.”

  Brock guides his truck to a spot across the street from my apartment. “It’s my job to worry about you. Now, c’mon, I’ll walk you up.”

  I roll my eyes outwardly, but on the inside, that line melted me. “Okay, Casanova.” Little does he know our night isn’t ending here.

  I press the call button for the elevator, and Brock stands directly behind me, so close the heat from his body covers mine. Ever so slowly, I push my ass into him, and now he’s groaning. “You okay over there?” I ask, throwing his earlier words back at him.

  He grips my hips with his strong hands and brings his lips to my ear and harshly whispers, “You’re playin’ with fire, Abby Jane.”

  The elevator doors open, and I step away from him and into the car; he follows and taps the button for the second floor. I step closer to him and palm his erection. “Good thing I like it hot,” I whisper, and the words hang between us, mingling with our lust.

  The doors open, and we file out and make it to my apartment. I slide my key into the lock and step over the threshold. “Aren’t you gonna come in?”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t?” he asks, sounding torn.

  I look up at him from beneath my lashes. “I really wish you would.”