“Why?”
She’s still whispering in my ear. “I didn’t realize… We want to give you your space. I’m sure you have better things to do than hang out with your parents.” Her arms go around my waist, hugging me. “Laurel couldn’t take her eyes off you tonight—she really likes you. I hope you realize that.”
Pulls back, straightening the collar of my shirt. Grabs my cheeks and kisses the bridge of my nose.
“So handsome.”
I roll my eyes. “Mom.”
“What? Can’t a mother tell her son he’s handsome?”
Jesus. “Stop.”
“Quit arguing and go say goodbye to your brothers. Hug Dad,” she instructs, nudging me toward my siblings, smacking my rear.
I ruffle the hair on top of Beau’s head. He whacks my hand away.
Austin lets me give him knuckles.
My dad grips me by the shoulders, pulling me in. Slaps my back twice. “Have to get home for my Sunday phone calls. Plus, your mother seems to think you want time alone with your new girlfriend.”
My face was red from adrenaline; now it heats from total fucking embarrassment.
“Wear a condom. Don’t be a jackass.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. “I spoke to your coach and he assures me you boys are on the right track after your stay in the woods or whatever the hell that was, but I want you to call us if anything happens.” He shoots a glance at Laurel, who stands laughing with my brothers. “I’m going to assume with that red hair, she’s a little spitfire. Maybe she’ll be good for you.”
She will be.
She is.
“But use your damn head—this one.” He taps my skull. “Don’t get her pregnant.”
Jesus Christ, Dad.
“All right. We’re going to head out. Proud of you.”
“Thanks.” I mean, what else is there to say?
“Walk us out.” Another smack on the back, hand clamping down on my shoulder, guiding me back to my mother. Brothers. Laurel.
She’s blushing when I sidle up, shooting shy glances at my parents, the concrete floor below our feet, back at my parents. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
The tension surrounding us is palpable; the last time we stood in this hallway at the end of a meet, after a match I’d just won, I pressed her against the wall and stuck my tongue halfway down her throat.
Instead, my hands hang at my side, right arm shouldering the weight of my duffle.
Side by side, we follow my parents down that long corridor, walking so closely together our fingers brush. Laurel wiggles her index finger, brushing it over the flat of my hand.
My mom catches me biting back a stupid grin when she glances over her shoulder, raising her brows, watching us both. Pushes my brothers along in front of her because they insist on dawdling.
We reach the heavy steel doors, shoving through to the stadium parking lot, trailing the group to my mom’s black suburban—the same SUV that drove me from practice to matches to meets and home again for years, until I could drive.
We stand next to it, my brothers not giving a shit about saying goodbye and immediately hopping into the back seat.
“Bye sweetie.” Mom’s lower lip has a slight quiver. “So grown up.”
I want to groan out loud, but pull her in for a hug instead. “Bye Mom. Love you.”
She sniffles into my neck. “You look so happy.”
“Then why are you cryin’?”
“Because my baby is falling in love.”
I glance around to see who’s watching, patting her head. “Jeez, Mom.”
“A mother knows these things.”
“Mom—”
She scowls, tearing up. Sniffles. “Let me say what I have to say.”
“Here?” Now? Jesus.
Laurel and my dad look on, awkwardly standing next to the car, not knowing what to do with themselves while we stand having a sidebar. Dad shoots a taut smile.
“You work too hard. I want you to have some fun.”
“I am.”
“But you don’t, not really. You hole up in your room and keep to yourself, and I know you’ve had a tough time.” Her hands fiddle with the buttons on my shirt. “But now you have Laurel, and I think…she has your back. She’s a good friend.”
Friend.
Mom squints at me. “Don’t give me that look, you know what I mean.”
I have no idea what look she’s talking about, so I jerk my head with an acquiescent nod to make it stop. “Fine.” Okay. Whatever.
“Okay then, I guess we’re going.” Kisses my cheek. “Home for Thanksgiving. We’ll pay for the gas.”
I rock on the balls of my feet. “Okay.”
Her eyes dart to Laurel. “You can bring a guest home this year if you’d like.”
“Mom.”
Her hands go up. “What?! I’m just sayin’.”
“We’ll see.” I smile down at her. “Love you guys. Thanks for comin’.”
Her lip quivers again. “We love you.” She turns, taking the few steps to Laurel, wrapping her arms around her, too. “Bye sweetie. It was good meetin’ you.”
“Bye Mrs. Rabideaux.” Those blue eyes find mine over my mother’s shoulder, sparkling with mischief. “Drive safe.”
“Everyone in the car!” my dad bellows, having long passed his patience threshold, pounding the hood of the car with his fist. “Boys, buckle up.”
We watch as my parents get in the car. Dad starts the engine, puts the car in drive, and heads across the parking lot toward the massive stadium entrance.
Before I can think about what I’m going to say next, Laurel flings herself into my body, arms folding behind my head. My heavy bag falls to the pavement and I haul her against me, mouth melting onto hers. Tongues mingling with no preamble, adrenaline still coursing through my body.
“I love watching you wrestle. It’s such a turn-on.”
“Yeah?” I could get used to this, having her to greet me after coming down off a win—or loss. Telling me how amazing I am after every match, boosting my ego. Sticking her tongue down my throat and rubbing her tits against my chest.
Laurel pulls at my hips, and I guide her back until her ass hits the driver side door of my Jeep, not giving a damn that my parents are probably still on the street adjacent to the parking lot and can most likely see us making out.
“Aren’t you tired?” The palms of her hands sneak beneath my shirt, running across my abs. Belly button. Toy with the waistband of my pants.
“No.” Not only am I not tired, I’ve never been this horny in my whole goddamn life.
“Are you too tired to do something tonight?”
Too tired to hang out with her? Not likely. “Like what?”
“Your mom mentioned it was your birthday last week. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I’m a guy. We don’t usually give a shit about our birthdays.”
“I give a shit about your birthday because I give a shit about you.” She plants a kiss on the tip of my nose. “I might have a treat for you.”
This piques my interest. “Oh yeah? What kind of treat?”
“Don’t get too excited—it’s nothing big. Just something small because I didn’t get to celebrate with you on your actual day.”
“All right.” We part so I can open the passenger side door. She hops up. “Your place or mine?”
“Mine, if that’s okay? I cleared it out—Lana went home, and Donovan is spending the weekend with the new guy he’s dating.”
Her roommate is gay? Huh.
How did I not know this?
When we make it back to her place and I sidle up to the curb, she unbuckles, twisting her fantastic body, leaning across the center console for a kiss, breath minty from peppermint gum.
We make out for a good ten minutes, tongues rolling, hands roaming, until I’m painfully hard and ready to bang Laurel in the back seat of my Jeep.
I want her that fucking bad.
Instead, she pulls back, chest heaving. Eyes sparkling. “Give me twenty minutes and come back?”
Shit.
Adjusting the raging hard-on in my track pants with a groan, I nod, raking one of my large palms through my mop of hair. I went twenty-one years with (basically) no sex; I can wait another twenty minutes.
“Yup.”
“Eek!” Another hasty kiss pressed to my mouth and she’s gone, fleeing to the front porch of the house. Gives a little wave before she and her flaming red hair disappear into the house.
Would it be weird if I sat here and finished myself off? Jerked off in her driveway? I sit with my hand hovering about my cock, the stiff erection straining for release.
Cover it with my palm, one of the worst fucking ideas I’ve ever had, because it twitches, triggered.
Glancing at the house again, groaning when I give in and slide a trembling hand into my pants, fisting my shaft with one hand, the Jeep’s grip bar above my window with the other. Slide my hand up and down, building speed, head tipped back when my balls tighten. Stroke and stroke, Laurel’s red hair dominating my fantasy. Her creamy, pale breasts. The well-manicured landing strip between her spread thighs.
Shit, yes. Yes, oh fuck—fuck, I’m whacking off in front of a girl’s house like a complete goddamn pervert. My pace quickens out of desperation and fear of being discovered, but it feels so fucking good I can’t stop.