Red Hot Kisses Page 7

  “Do tell.” I point my water bottle to the King of One-Night Stands. “What makes a playboy change his ways? Did your compass finally lose its needle, or did the boys down south catch a case of Chernobyl Chlamydia and all their hair fell out?”

  “Eww!” Now it’s Sunday pegging me with a pillow. Stupid couch and all its fluffy weaponry. “Do not reference my brother’s pubes. That’s freaking sick and off-limits.”

  Rush and Knox groan in unison before Knox tousles my hair. “See what you did? You made Sunday say the word pubes. Ten bucks says Rush barfs all over his shiny new floors before you leave. In fact, maybe you should leave before Rush risks not getting his security deposit back. I’ve seen him puke before. His vomit has the power to strip the varnish right off the floors.”

  “Relax, all of you.” Rush nails me with those eyes. I can tell I’ve hit below the belt in all respects. The way he’s glaring at me you’d think I were personally responsible for his self-proclaimed dry season. “I just need a breather, that’s all. Plus, Knox needs someone to walk him home at night. Isn’t that right, princess?” He extends a knuckle bump to my brother, and like an idiot he complies.

  “That’s right. Rush here is my private bodyguard. A linebacker like me always seeks out the lankiest basketball player the school has to offer and hits him up for protection.”

  “Dude”—Rush kicks my brother’s knee in from behind—“who you calling lanky?”

  Sinewy maybe. Lanky? Never.

  Something near the door catches my brother’s eye and he winces. “Shit. Fish got out again. I’d better go get him.” He bolts for the door. “Fish! Get your ass back here!”

  Fish is our cat. The fat bundle of furry love we grew up with. The one my mother no longer wanted when she left us, and the one my father threatened to take to the pound once we left him for college. Yes, my parents are just that great. But Knox really is great. He took a rental home so we could keep Fish, and I could have the dorm experience. Knox has always been the one to stick up for me, save me, take the blame even when I did something wrong. I would die if I lost him. Of course, I feel the same about Rex, but Knox—well, he is me. I would literally die if something happened to him.

  Sunday ransacks the cabinets until she comes up with a small glass bottle. “Oregano! It’s the poor man’s catnip. My cats used to love this,” she shouts as she runs out the door.

  It’s just Rush and me openly glaring at one another as if we were each responsible for skinning the other’s cat alive. A rather grisly analogy, but at the moment it feels about right.

  Rush pulls a box forward and begins to unload book after book onto the counter. “I’ve been thinking about giving you an extra assignment. You ever read the Daily WB?”

  “Are you kidding?” My heart races at the prospect, and I make a beeline to the counter across from him. “Only every issue. I used to have Rex save them all and bring them to me when he came home for the holidays. The online version is students only, but even though I’m here now, I still appreciate the feel of a newspaper between my fingers. It seems like reading anything in paper form is a dying art.”

  That hard look in his eye rounds out a bit, and it’s only then I note the stubble outlining his cheeks. His downy face, those pillowy lips—everything about Rush looks a bit softer at the moment. He’s such a narcissist. I bet he thinks I’m admiring him, so I scowl just to throw him.

  “I agree.” He holds up a paperback, George Orwell’s 1984. “There’s something to be said for the soft feel of paper between your fingertips. I can get drunk off the scent of a book alone.”

  My God, is Rushford Knight actually speaking my language?

  “The next thing you’re going to be telling me is that you’ve got a book girlfriend.”

  “A what?” he mouths the words, genuinely confused.

  “You know, sort of like a book boyfriend? It’s a real thing. I happened to have one. A fiction-based beast of a man.” I snatch the book from his hand. “He’s real kinky and likes to have his way with me nightly.” I steal a sly glance his way while pretending to peruse the book in my hands.

  Rush looks anything but amused by my book boyfriend’s nightly agenda. “That’s great because it brings me back to the point I was trying to make. Marley Jackson is a senior, and she’s been writing the—”

  “‘Sex and the Coed’ article?” My mouth falls open. That salacious article alone is the very reason I begged Rex to sock away all those Daily WB back issues. Although I’d die before ever admitting it to my brothers. In my mind, Marley Jackson is the big sister I never had.

  Rush averts his eyes. “So you’ve heard of it. Good. Marley is looking to train her successor. That would be you.”

  “What?” I jump back as if he had come at me swinging a meat hook. “But I can’t! I mean—I haven’t.” Dear God, did I just admit to the King of Sausage Casings that I’m a lowly virgin? To hell with it. I’m going to own it. “I haven’t tested out anybody’s mattress springs, and I don’t intend to in the near future.” I narrow my gaze onto his, and he penetrates me with those intense honey orbs. A sly smile creeps up his cheek, lopsided and cocky, and if I didn’t know better, I’d bet good money Mister I Can’t Keep My STD-Riddled Snake in My Pants is undressing me with his eyes.

  Every last inch of my body sizzles with heat at the prospect.

  “I don’t expect you to.” He leans in, his lids hanging heavy and far too seductive for me to decode. “It’s a good thing, I promise.” He says those last words as if he were about to savor a delicious meal and his mouth was watering on cue. Hell, so is mine. Rush’s well-chiseled, grizzly stubbled face is begging me to come on over and take a big ol’ bite. “You’ll be a nice contrast. A yin to her yang. We’re switching up the format this year. More of a Q and A. I’ll start CCing you in on the emails we get. That way both you and Marley will have access to them. What do you say? You up for being the voice of celibate reason that the student body so desperately needs?”

  “And this coming from the big bad wolf? There’s an irony for you. But yeah, I’ll gift my virginal perspective to inquiring minds.” I bite down hard on my bottom lip. “I’m assuming we’re using real names then.” My heart begins to race, and the room bounces in and out of focus for a moment.

  “Unless you don’t want to. But Marley does.” He shrugs it off as if it were no big deal. Easy for him to say. People like him prefer to wave their indiscretions like a flag, and yet the chaste amongst us are meant to feel like we need to take cover.

  “Of course, I will. I have zero problems with that.” Lie. “How about you? Let me guess. You’re more of a show-and-tell kind of guy. I bet you have a subscription set up to your YouTube account that shows the boys exactly how to land an entire gaggle of girls horizontal. It’s sexual debasement at its finest. Plus, you get to turn a profit, and don’t think for a minute I’m not aware of the fact the Knights are all about turning a profit.” He flinches with the dig regarding his family, and I immediately regret the move. Oh well, what’s done is done. Besides, didn’t he just effortlessly roast me about my virginal status? And this coming from a guy who revokes V cards on the regular. I’m so onto his placating Olympic level games. And, personally, I think I just went for the gold.

  I clear my throat, far too uncomfortable with the silence I sponsored. Maybe the real low blow was talking about his family fortune?

  “So, as far as the ladies go”—I scowl at him without meaning to—“you down for the count for good, or are you just giving your boxers a breather?”

  Rush glances to the door, expiring the air in his lungs as if he were despondent over the thought of not hosting a nightly rave in his Levi’s.

  Knox and Harper run by screaming for Fish like a couple of cartoon characters trying to dodge trouble.

  “I’m out.” He takes a deep breath as if already regretting the chaste effort. “Let’s just say the nightly routine got a little old, and I’m not feeling the masses anymore.”

  My
blood boils because I happen to have insider information that leads me to believe this turnaround is all in the name of some ridiculous slut. What is he thinking wanting Miranda Smirnoff for himself? Maybe this is a good time to disclose to him the fact that she does not come equipped with her own distillery? I must admit that little vodka-based perk would make many a man ponder their plus one status.

  “Not feeling the masses, huh? So there must be someone in particular who put the kibosh on that good time. Anyone I know?” I lean over the counter, putting my face within striking distance of those lips. Rush has suddenly become my favorite new game, and I plan on destroying each level until I’ve fully mastered and destroyed him. Certainly his penis has allowed his brain to do just that.

  Rush leans in a touch farther, those bedroom eyes of his heavily lidded, those perfectly formed lips twisting as if doing their best to hide laughter. “Who do you think this girl might be?” He comes in just enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his skin, and my anger spikes to the ceiling.

  It’s clear he’s dismissed that kiss we shared as a foolish endeavor on my part—hell, for him that was just another Friday night. For me it was the first time I had ever been kissed that way. Most likely the last.

  I swallow hard, but I can’t seem to stop the words from bubbling up my throat. “Miranda Smirnoff.”

  He blinks back hard like I just shot him. “Miranda?”

  “Cat’s out of the bag!” Sunday shouts from behind, and I jump back to see her carrying Fish, the sweetest kitty in the world, who looks as if he’s forever wearing a tuxedo, white mitts, matching belly, and nose. The rest of him is dark as midnight. “And this cat’s back where he belongs.” She buries a kiss between his fur. “Knox is next door.”

  “Who cares about my hairy scary brother?” I gently take Fish from her and pour out all my affection over him. “This is the only man I’m interested in.”

  Rush hooks his eyes to mine, and we remain locked that way for what feels like an uncomfortable eternity.

  Yes, crawling under Rushford Knight’s skin is my new favorite pastime.

  And when Rush is around, it’s definitely game on.

  Rush

  Trixie Toberman has successfully managed to crawl under my skin for the last week and a half, and tonight I’m bracing myself for more of the same. I’ve hung around the Annex on nights she’s on the air. The girl plays Elvis songs for an hour straight. I guess she figures there’s no better way to lull the WB student body to sleep than with a few good oldies. And once she’s done, I make sure she gets to Cutler Tower. The campus is safe for the most part, but I wouldn’t want Sunday walking around by herself that time of night, and I did tell Knox I’d keep an eye on his kid sister as if she were my own.

  The Mustangs had a bye last week, but this Saturday night it’s a home game against the Lambert Tridents, our self-professed rivals. The entire school has shown up in number and so has Lambert. I don’t think the stadium could house another body even if it was standing upright.

  My phone buzzes, and I look down to find a text from my cousin Lex. The Sloppy Pelican tomorrow night at six. Don’t forget!

  I text right back. Wouldn’t miss it.

  Tomorrow happens to be my brother Nolan’s birthday. Lex has been coordinating our birthday get-togethers for as long as I can remember. As long as my mother’s been dead to be exact. I know for a fact my dad can’t make it. He’s in Europe doing a tour of duty at all the local whorehouses, I’m sure—even if the trip is thinly veiled with the prospect of snapping up real estate. My father is into collecting homes, land, buildings, the way others collect art.

  The Media Club is all over Mustang Stadium tonight, but I gave Trixie the run of the field, along with myself, of course. I’ve worked the field during every game for the last two years, and I’m not about to give up the best proverbial seat in the house starting now. I paired Seth with Miranda to work the student section. I figure a couple of hours huddled with the screaming student body should set them both straight. Miranda has been showing off her moves and assets all week wearing those low-cut sweaters, those short skirts that make very little sense with the frosty temperatures we’re having. For whatever reason, she’s turned up the volume this past week, practically begging me to do a nightly visit to her sorority. And when that didn’t work, she showed up at my new rental with a bottle of champagne to christen the place. It took me an hour and a fake illness to finally get rid of her.

  I squint out into the crowd and spot the two of them. Miranda screaming right alongside her buddies, and Seth settled between Sunday and Serena. I can’t help but growl over at him. Who the hell does he think he is hogging every second of Trixie’s time the second she steps into a meeting? I get it. We’re all free to work on our projects, help each other out, but there’s something about the way he lingers on her every move that really pisses me off. It’s a damn social outlet, not a dating site I’m hosting. Sunday let me know he’s been making any excuse he can to hit up their dorm—even goes as far as stalking them over at the Black Bear. They go out for coffee? Seth miraculously appears. He’s desperate. And women don’t like desperate.

  I can’t see Trixie with someone like him anyway. My teeth grind just thinking about it.

  Trixie and I work the periphery making sure to get Rex and Knox in each shot we take. Trixie can’t stop howling for her brothers and losing her mind in the process. And as much as I want to keep my eyes on the game, my gaze keeps drifting to those jeans she’s wearing, the way they hug every curve without giving a millimeter of space in between, and that sweater to end all sweaters. It’s not cut down to her belly button like Miranda’s entire closet seems to be composed of, but it sure as hell lets you know what’s going on underneath it. Trixie’s body is comprised entirely of switchbacks. Each and every curve as sharp and honey sweet as the next.

  She jumps to her left as she struggles to get that perfect shot with her phone and accidently lands on top of me.

  She jumps back, my hand still burning with the heat from the touch of her thigh. Her eyes snag on mine, and something electric sparks between us. Maybe it’s the game, or the inhuman level of cheering taking place, or the fact I just abstained from sex for eleven days in a row, but my boxers twitched with hope at the exchange.

  Trixie screams right through a laugh, breaking the spell as she reaches up and gives my ear a yank. “Watch where you’re going, frat boy.” She takes a moment to glance up at the student section. “I’m sure there’s a girl who will happily let you destroy her body later this evening.” Her eyes dart to mine. “This body just so happens to be off-limits.” Her lips saw the words out slowly, and it’s as if the world, the noise around us grinds down to a demon’s chant, and all I heard was her voice in a tunnel.

  “You wish.” I give a little wink and catch her mouth falling open as I start shouting at Rex to move the ball again. But I’m still watching Trix from the sidelines. Every move she makes has me forgetting where I am, whose little sister she might be.

  Trixie is wrong. There is not a single warm body I’m looking to destroy later on this evening. My balls ache just watching her jump up and down as if she were on a trampoline. But for whatever reason, Trixie has managed to destroy me, or at least she’s getting damn close.

  Toward the end of the fourth quarter, we’re both exhausted from running back and forth like a couple of kooks. Without thinking, I rest an arm around her shoulder, and freeze, forcing myself to look at those dudes running the ball down the field.

  “Good game,” I say matter-of-factly, trying my best to offer a friendly display of affection, something a big brother might do. But hell, I’m not even sure I comprehend what just happened out on that field tonight. Try as I might to be that third big bro in the equation, my arm begins to burn from her touch as if her shoulders were steel on fire. Touching Trixie, being near Trixie, is turning me into an animal. Every last part of me demands to flip her onto the nearest bleachers and have my way with her.


  Trixie hikes up on her tiptoes, landing those cherry red lips just inches from mine, as she reaches up for my baseball hat and steals it. “It was a good game.” She sinks the hat over her head snug and looks cute as hell. Just the sight of her like that sends my dick pumping to life. Crap. “I think I’ll keep this as a reminder of a great time we had.” She bats her lashes up at me caustically, and I can feel the dig coming a mile away. “I’m sure Randy Mandy will give you something to remember it by. A touch of syphilis perhaps?” She saunters off as the final whistle blows.

  The game went off without a hitch. We dominated the stadium, thirty-one to ten. It’s pretty clear that every WB player on that field is getting laid tonight.

  I watch as Trixie takes off toward the stands, double-teaming Sunday and Seth with a violent celebratory hug.

  Scratch that. There’s one person on the field who won’t be getting laid tonight.

  And that’s me.

  Trixie leaves the stadium with her friends, laughing and dancing with my hat still planted over her head like a trophy. I don’t head to the Black Bear or to the frat party after. Instead, I make a beeline for my new place and soak in the silence. It feels as if I’m an entire world away from Whitney Briggs out here.

  And I think I actually like it.

  * * *

  The next evening, The Sloppy Pelican shines like a diamond in the rough out in the middle of Hollow Brook, nestled among the residential properties and strip malls that soccer moms like to frequent. I offered to drive out with Sunday, but she said she was catching a ride with Serena and Seth but that she had a surprise for me. So I headed here on my own, and ironically on my own is something I’ve been a lot ever since I stopped my condom addiction and the girls who were there perpetuating it. Bloody hell, I haven’t had a girl on me in what feels like years. I don’t know how other dudes do it. I’ll have to ask Eli, the only other guy I know who isn’t boning girls on the regular. Everyone else seems to have a plus one these days. Knox has Harper, Lawson has Lucky, Grant has Ava. It’s just Eli and me left out in the cold. Seth, too, but I’m still pissed at him for no good reason.