“How are you so sober?”
“Water?” His answer. “No, but seriously, this whole mattress balance act, how does it even work if we’re having sex.”
“WE ARE NOT HAVING SEX.”
“IN THEORY!” he snaps. “I’m not stripping you naked right now, am I?”
Why does that make me want to say something snappy like, you should, or you wish, or I guess that’s not snappy; it’s just immature.
“Why are we yelling again?” I whisper.
He lowers his voice. “You started it.”
“Very mature.” I pound the pillow beneath my cheek and stare at him. Who looks that hot after getting drunk and puking? Life isn’t fair.
“Yes, I’ve been known to be addressed as an adult from time to time.” He leans in. I can smell his minty breath, and I hate that I’m tempted to kiss him.
Hello, he just vomited up half of Tijuana from that mouth.
Right?
And he’s only kind of sexy.
His eyes lower to my mouth. “Explain this whole mattress thing before I fall asleep between your boobs.”
“Huh?” I shake my head. “How would you accidentally fall asleep between my boobs?”
“Did I say accident?”
“Men.” I roll my eyes.
He grins. “I remember them being soft, and like I said, I’m sad. I feel like shit and deserve an award.”
“I’ll buy you a trophy tomorrow,” I deadpan.
“Promise?” He laughs, and I join in because I can’t not laugh and maybe because I’m a little buzzed too and a lot exhausted.
“At least one for participation,” I add, tucking my hands under my head while he scoots closer to me.
“Those shouldn’t even be allowed. You either win, or you lose. Teaching the youth of today that you get a high five for trying is like, I don’t know, giving a dude a high five for knowing where to stick it but getting no orgasm in the process. Wow, as I’m talking I realize how inappropriate and weird that just sounded, yet I just couldn’t stop.”
I burst out laughing. “And you’re concerned about my mattress? You just went from kids’ participation trophy to sticking it to someone and leaving them wanting.”
“Hey!” He smacks me lightly on the ass, the duvet padding the light sting. “I never leave anyone wanting.”
“Ummmmm… do you not remember the other day?”
“How could I forget?”
We’re both quiet.
I clear my throat. “Anyway, we should sleep; big day of torture tomorrow.”
“Sleep, sure.” He wraps an arm around me and then tugs me close. “But first things first, I have a job to do.” I’m spooned up against him.
“Wh-what are you doing?” I ask.
“Making the mattress equal, also known as spooning in the middle, now go to sleep before I’m tempted to show you just how thorough I can be when participating…” He kisses me on the forehead.
I melt a little.
Then I want to kick him for making me want to melt and for confusing me so much. We’re just partners in forced proximity, which makes feelings confusing.
Plus, we’re both competitive, so really, he just wants to win when it comes to any and every argument.
I stiffen.
“Relax.” His breath tickles my ear. “Sleep.”
“This means nothing.” Even as I say it, I’m snuggling closer to him and throwing my leg over his. We both adjust until we’re plastered against one another. He’s so warm.
“Agreed,” Jack finally answers. “It’s just participation.”
“Just participation.” I yawn against his neck.
His hands start running through my hair.
Funny how participation suddenly feels like winning.
Chapter Eleven
Jack
I don’t want to move.
My head’s pulsing with a headache from hell, and I’m starving, but she’s laying across me, both legs somehow pretzeled between mine, her hair’s all over the place, across my chest, next to my mouth, my shoulder, it’s like she was attempting to see how much of herself she could get on me throughout the night.
So why am I not moving?
Partnership was either the best idea I’ve ever had or the worst. My heart’s already way too involved, and my brain’s screaming that we should have just stayed away.
Because we knew this would happen, like seeing the cliff, dancing alongside it, and convincing yourself that you won’t eventually fall off the side, knowing full well that when you do, you’ll either crash and burn or land in the ocean and survive.
Jury’s still out on that one.
She moves against me, her hands sliding down my side until she grazes the front of my briefs.
I bite down on my lower lip to keep from moaning out loud; her hand flutters by again. I’d almost prefer getting punched in the dick because this is torture. I want to move my hips toward her so bad that it hurts.
She does it one more time. I pump against her fingertips.
Her hand freezes.
I squeeze my eyes shut in frustration.
And then she starts to palm me through my briefs, and I’m so close to exploding all over her and myself that I can’t even be embarrassed.