She laughed as she maneuvered around piles of slushy, melting snow. “I’m trying, I’m trying!”
“God, woman,” he growled when she got close enough for him to grab and pull in tight. She’d swapped out her fluffy parka for a white fleece number that significantly reduced the amount of fabric between her tits and his chest. His cock took notice. “You feel so fucking good,” he murmured against her neck. “Best part of my entire week.”
“Mine, too.” Her fingers slid up into his hair as she wiggled closer, and he shivered. More of that, please. “But I have a confession to make.”
“What’s that?” he asked between stealing kisses and ridding her of her jacket.
“I’ve actually been driving around for an hour trying to find you. Tony gave me the wrong address.” She bit at her lip and made the most adorably uncertain face ever. “I wanted to surprise you.”
Well, hell. Words couldn’t do justice to how friggin’ elated that made him. Women had shown up on his doorstep lots of times, flaunting their proverbial trench coat and batting their fuck-me eyes, but not one—not a single goddamn one—had ever shown up late on a Saturday afternoon just because she wanted to see him.
Inch by inch, he backed her toward the wall in his hallway. When her shoulders hit the dark red paint, she gasped and he took great pleasure in covering her sweet lips with his...in swallowing that breathy sound and letting it seep deep into his lungs.
Her hair felt like ribbons of satin between his fingers and her heat like a fire in the middle of a cold, barren Afghani desert. He couldn’t get close enough, needed more of her all around him. And she gave him just that, pushing up onto her toes, so she could fold her arms around his neck and eliminate every possible space between them. All the while, she fed his soul with wet, addictive kisses that soothed him from the inside out. A high like he hadn’t experience in too damn long built fast and heady, better by a million than any whiskey-induced buzz could have ever been.
“I like surprises,” he muttered against her mouth. “Especially when they taste like sugar.”
She laughed and the lush, full-bodied sound echoed off his walls, spilling a little of her essence into his home. He wanted more of that laughter...wanted her to fill up every bit of his space with all the parts of herself she was willing to share. She was the comfort in his otherwise chaotic world. His peace of mind when his head filled up with so much shit, he couldn’t think. And by some strange, nonsensical twist of fate, he suspected he gave her something similar in return.
“We good now?” he asked, slowly and regretfully loosening his hold on her before he got greedy and pushed past her boundaries.
She nodded. “I think so. Though, we might want to double check a little later.”
From deeper inside the house, someone coughed. “Sounds good to me. You two bring the heavy breathing and roaming hands, I’ll bring the popcorn.”
Fucking Sam. “Really, man?”
“Dude...” His buddy took the final couple steps to the top of the basement stairs, situated between the front hall and the living room. “You’ve been up here for twenty minutes. I thought maybe you had an aneurysm choking it off in the bathroom or something.”
Jenny giggled and, to his disappointment, shimmied out of his arms. “You must be Sam,” she said, offering the asshole her hand. “I’m Jenny Riley. I’ve seen you in River Bend before, right?”
“Not I, ma’ lady.” He bowed his head with a flourish and kissed her knuckles. “You’re probably thinking about the guy who walked around the pub with his wanger hanging out. That was most definitely not me.”
Brody snorted. “Get your skeevy lips off my girl and grab the rest of the beer from the fridge, will ya?”
Walking backwards into the kitchen, Sam threw a single-finger salute and Jenny laughed again.
“I totally remember that night. I wish I didn’t, but unfortunately that’s not something you really forget.”
“Don’t worry—he only whips it out when he’s got at least a dozen spectators.”
“So we’re good as long as no one else comes over. Whew!” She winked and he tangled his fingers with hers, nodding toward the basement and the den-turned-man cave. “Ready for a little therapy a la the Kansas City Royals?”
She winked. “You mean therapy a la Alex.”
Kissed like an angel and a Gordon fan? Ah, hell.
***
Watching men interact with one another in their natural element was almost as entertaining as a Will Ferrell movie. Come to think of it, it was like Stepbrothers come to life, in Brody’s suburban Nebraska rec room.
While Brody tried to be conscious of her presence, shooting her apologetic faces from time to time, the effort was lost on Sam and Ty’s unbarred behavior. Farts, burps, talk about sports, and, of course, a very colored discussion about which combination of Victoria’s Secret models they’d most like to take on for a three-way.
By the time the game ended—and the Royals won their spring training opener—she felt like she needed a shower...and maybe a trip to the confessional.
“Hopefully we haven’t made you second-guess what you’re doing with Nelson,” Ty said as he stood in the front hallway, saying his goodbyes.
Jenny shot Brody a contemplative look. “Hmm, now that you’ve mentioned it...”
Sam chuckled, coming from the bathroom with his arms above his head, stretching. “So all the work I put into strategically hiding that camera in the shower was for nothing? Dammit all to hell.”
Brody grinned, the knowing twinkle in his eyes stirring a guilty ache in her stomach. His friends thought they were sleeping together. They probably even thought that the lock would flip as soon as they left, so she and Brody could pick up where they left off earlier.
Only, the two of them knew that wasn’t the case. At least...she hoped they were on the same page.
Then again, she was at his house on a Saturday evening, a solid four hours from home.
The guys gone, she turned a sheepish smile his way, completely unsure where they went from here. Did she play it safe and say goodbye, too? God, she didn’t want to. But if she stayed, he might...expect things.
More crappy planning, Jenn. Way to work it.
“Come here and tell me why you look like you’re ready to bolt.” From his perch on back of the couch, he crooked a finger at her and her heart began to pound like a freight train in her chest. She’d totally screwed this up, hadn’t she? “I hope it’s not because they’re disgusting pigs.”
“No.” She bit her lip and shook her head. “I grew up with the River Bend boys. I’m pretty acclimated to the locker room talk.”
He pushed off the sofa smiling softly and came to her instead, one slow, sock-clad foot at a time, hooked a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. There wasn’t a thing she could do to hide the panic she was sure he could see in her eyes. “I’m not going to pounce on you, sugar. At least not unless you ask.”
“I’m not worried about that.” Mostly. “I just...I was so excited to see you that I didn’t think this through. I’m not ready to go, but I’m not sure you want me to stay either. If you do...” She paused to swallow. “And I stay, it’s either going to be a late night driving home or...”
“Or what?” He smoothed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, so at ease while she stood in his arms, twitching like a live wire. “You spend the night so I don’t have to worry about you traveling this time?”
“Brody...” Laughing softly, she put her hands to his chest, fingers splayed wide over the solid wall of muscle filling out his t-shirt. “What are we doing? Is this...anything? Are we, like, seeing each other or is this something else altogether?”
His thumb rose to her cheekbone, his touch just as gentle. “Define something else.”
Say it. You’re a grown woman, not a naive virgin. “Sex. Are we just building up to sex?”