He grabs for her, misses her arm, and squeezes her boob.
“All right then,” Lilia says. “Someone’s handsy. Here, have some water.”
“We’re still playing,” Ryan says, his jaw tense. “Nobody’s upset here.”
“Ryan, please, let it go,” I murmur. We’re close enough that nobody should be able to hear, but since everyone is paying such close attention, they can probably read my lips. “It’s his bachelor party. He’s allowed to overindulge. Forget about it. Leave your finger up. Boxer, do you want to go again?”
“Never have I ever fallen in love with a delivery girl.” Boxer snorts dumbly. “Good one.”
Ryan turns his gaze to his teammate. “Really, Boxer?”
“Ryan…” I rest a hand on his arm, but that only serves to set him into motion.
He puts his finger down solidly. In fact, he puts down all of his fingers except for the middle one. Turning to me, I catch a glimpse of something in his eyes—lust, longing, desire, whatever it was that drew us together—and beneath it I see a hint of something more. It’s not love; it’s too soon for that, but it could be friendship, maybe.
I don’t have long to analyze what’s going on in those beautiful brown eyes of his because the next thing I know, he’s leaning in, breath spicy with the scent of his gum, his hands sure as he grips the back of my head. He kisses me, in front of everyone, a scorching kiss that causes Lilia to suck in a breath.
When Ryan pulls back, he’s wearing a smug expression as he glances around the table. He slides an arm around my shoulders, hugs me to his body, and smirks. “Who’s next for the game? I’ve got a finger or two left.”
Lilia exhales. “Never have I ever been kissed like that! Damn. Come on, Lawrence. We’re going home. You’re going to sober up and kiss me like that.”
“Like what?” Lawrence is staring somewhere between Ryan and myself, his eyes not fixated on anything.
“You’re right.” Ryan stands, pulling me with him. His hand slips over my ass, cupping it possessively. “It’s time to go home. Tommy, can you drive these guys home? We’ll find our own way back.”
CHAPTER 27
Ryan
“I wouldn’t have been brave enough to try this place on my own.” I inhale another taco and pray it doesn’t wreck my intestines tomorrow. “How’d you find this thing?”
Andi laughs, a sound that makes me smile back at her involuntarily.
“My dad’s always been a big foodie—you know, before it was cool. I know Peretti’s doesn’t seem all that fancy—it’s not, really—but my dad cares a lot about food. He worked for years to get a recipe for pizza sauce that he was happy with.”
“My brother recommended your dad’s place,” I say. “That’s how I found it in the first place. According to Lawrence, it’s the gem of the pizza world in LA.”
“We get a lot of local business,” she says happily. “Repeat customers. We’re not a big name chain, but we try to make sure our customers are happy with what we serve. My dad might be blunt and seem a little emotionless—he loves playing the tough guy Italian card—but really, he’s sweet. He cares more than anyone I know.”
Listening to her talk about her family is equal parts fascinating and heart-wrenching. The way she speaks about them makes it easy to see the love, the connection. Though she doesn’t talk about it much, I can sense how much she misses her mother, and I hate that she’s lost someone so important to her.
My own family is close-knit back home, even though my brother is a dick sometimes. My parents are great, truly, and I can’t imagine losing my mom like Andi has. When my brother isn’t being a drunken asshole, he can be decent, too—unlike tonight. I’m still pissed at him for putting Andi and me on the spot like that.
Luckily, she doesn’t seem all that fazed by it. After we loaded Lawrence and posse into Tommy’s huge rental and sent them home, I asked Andi to grab a bite to eat with me. Since she knew the area well, she suggested a local place that sold tacos.
I love tacos, I just hadn’t expected to love them from a sketchy-ass cart on the side of the road. Seriously—there’s a small guy behind the cart flipping meat and other various substances that resemble food, and if I had to guess, one could catch salmonella from simply breathing in the scent of sizzling meat.
But Andi insisted they were great, that she comes here all the time after her shows, and that she hasn’t gotten sick once. One bite in, and I was sold.
“If I get sick tomorrow,” I say to Andi, swallowing a mouthful of taco. “It will have been worth it…almost.”
She laughs again and steals one of my tacos. I lean in to snag a bite, but she moves the taco at the last minute and puts her mouth there instead. I let my other hand find her waist, my fingers sneaking a squeeze of her glorious hips as her lips play over mine.
The girl is heaven. She tastes like it, looks like it, smells like it… I can’t imagine what it’ll feel like when we finally give in to temptation and put Andi’s new amendment to use. The tension is crackling through the roof now, hotter than the sizzling pan next to us.
“You’re good,” I murmur, reluctant to pull my lips from hers. “I would’ve fought you for that taco, but it seems you’ve traded me for something I like better.”
She gives a shining grin, then pulls back with a teasing wink and bites into the taco. “Aha! You fell for my trap.”
I reach for her as she shrieks loud enough for half the street to hear. I don’t give a damn—I’m having too much fun to care. She tries to run away from me but I scoop her up by the waist, toss her over my shoulder, and snag a bite of taco as I run my fingers along her ribcage.
She squirms, shouting good-natured expletives as I carry her fireman style. She’s light; I’m pretty sure I’ve carried burritos heavier than her. The whole situation sends my mind spiraling toward the bedroom.
I imagine my hands squeezing her hips, sliding into her softness, bending her over the couch, the counter, the…hell, anywhere. She’s light enough that I could hold her with one hand against the wall.
The thought has me bursting at the seams of my boxers while marching down the street with her over my shoulder. She’s given up squirming and now rests her elbows on my back, her chin in her hands, probably a pout on those lush lips of hers.
“Hey,” she says after half a block. She taps the top of my head. “Want a bite of my taco?”
I freeze. “What did you say?”
“I have one left.” She laughs. “Want a bite? I’m full.”
I need to see her smile more than I need to breathe. The urge to hold her, to kiss her is more than anything I’ve ever known. I swing her into my arms, my eyes locked on hers as a brush of surprise sweeps across her face.
She holds the half-eaten taco with both hands as I cradle her in the middle of Hollywood Boulevard for all the bums, tourists, and late-night streetwalkers to see. I don’t care who sees us. Bring on the paparazzi. Let Jocelyn watch.
I can’t be friends with this girl. I haven’t laughed like this, had fun—fun!—like this since I was five years old shooting dart guns at my brothers. Being friends is not an option. I need more.
I’m just getting ready to tell her that when she puts her arms around my neck and gives me the softest, sweetest kiss I’ve ever tasted. It’s honey on marshmallow levels of sweetness, and I can’t handle it. I need her so badly it’s painful, and I groan.
“Sweetheart, can we go somewhere else? Preferably somewhere private.”
Her eyes burn, smoldering with desire. “Please.”
I wiggle out my phone, not daring to set her down, not daring to let this moment pass. I hit the call button for an Uber. It gives me an estimate of three minutes. Three frigging minutes—I can’t wait that long…but I guess I’ll have to, because she slides out of my arms.
“One second,” she says. “How long ’til the Uber comes?”