The Studying Hours(43)

Arms crossed, Jameson’s laugh surprises us all. “You still haven’t paid him for the bet I helped him win, by the way,” she innocently chimes in, expression schooled. “You owe him five hundred bucks.”

Emotionless silver irises slide in my direction. “See what I mean? She’s only after your money.”

“What money?” Jameson laughs. “You’re a deadbeat. Unlike you, Oz is actually a nice guy who works his ass off for your team, and look how you’re treating the people he cares about.”

“People he cares about?” Zeke grits out through clenched teeth. “You are a waste of his time.”

“Whoa, son, show some respect.” Pat cuts in before I knock Zeke to the ground, arm braced across Zeke’s chest, forcing him to stand down. “Brother, I think you timed out. Walk away before Osborne and his girls knock yo pretty white boy teeth out yo skull.” The big black wrestler bumps Zeke with his meaty arm. “Sorry ladies. His mama never taught him no manners.”

Allison continues to stare Zeke down, pure loathing aimed in his direction as she salutes him with a solid middle finger salute. “Bye, bye Daniels. Nice meeting you.”

A retort is on the tip of his sharp tongue, but he hesitates—long enough for Pitwell to shove him toward the kitchen and away from the confrontation, women, and all people in general. Daniels turns, shuffling across the carpet into the other room—but not before shooting a glare over his shoulder.

At Allison.

At Jameson.

“He’s got a real chip on his shoulder,” Jameson says, nestling into the crook of my arm. “I wonder what his problem is. For real.”

“Abandonment issues, obviously,” her roommate theorizes as Parker finally drags his sorry ass over. Allison hiccups, recounting the entire exchange, narrowing her eyes toward the door Zeke disappeared through. “I want to scratch his dead lifeless eyes out.”

“He can be a decent guy once you get to know him,” Parker throws in diplomatically, having missed all the action.

“No—he is a major douchebag,” Allison counters. She throws her hands up. “And you! Did you hear what he called me? Maybe I should be pissed at you, too! What is wrong with you? How dare you disrespect me like that?”

“I haven’t done anything!” Parker argues, red faced.

“He called me Fuck Buddy!”

“I was in the backyard playing beer pong, babe.” Parker goes on the defense. “And I’ve never called you fuck buddy in my life!”

“That’s true, Allison. He hasn’t.” But then again, he’s also never defended her when we say it.

“Let’s just leave. This party is a train wreck.” Jameson steps out of my hold and into Allison’s for a hug. “What do you want to do?”

“My head hurts. I want to go home,” Allison murmurs, elbowing Parker in the ribcage. “Parker, take me home. And this time, you’re spending the night.”

I shoot good luck Parker’s way and give him a fist bump, glad Jameson and I weren’t the center of all the drama, glad I’m not on the receiving end of what’s sure to be one hell of an ass ripping.

A few quick nods, a few more hugs.

“We’re out. I’m getting James the fuck outta here.” I give Allison a pointed look, glancing down at James. “Don’t wait up.”





Jameson





I can’t get Zeke Daniels off my mind. His indifference. His rude behavior. His callous demeanor.

Something about the way he was watching Sebastian and me from across the room caught and held my attention; long before his careening gaze turned to a scowl, it was filled with something completely unexpected.

Pain.

I’m no psychologist—and I’ve been wrong before—but there is no denying it: Sebastian Osborne has something Zeke Daniels wants, and he’s as petulant as a child who can’t express his feelings, dealing with it the only way he knows how—through frustration and anger.

And mini bitch fits.

But why?

Why did he find it necessary to degrade Allison? Why did he find it necessary to demean my budding relationship with Oz? I assumed they were friends, but now I’m not so sure.

No one would treat a friend like that.

Not if they cared.

I consider this fact while Oz uses the toilet, emerging from the bathroom moments later to collect me where I’m perched on the end of the sofa in the living room.

He leads me by the hand down the short hall to his bedroom, lacing our fingers together when we cross the threshold. Flipping on the light, he presses me gently against the back of the closed door. Large hands cup my face, thumbs brush the underside of my chin in slow strokes. Dark, penetrating eyes scan my face as we wordlessly study each other.

The rough pad of his forefinger traces the line of my skin in a slow trail, over my cheekbone and along the curve of my eyebrow. His thumb tracks down the bridge of my nose until he reaches the cupid’s bow of my lip. Rests it there.

Rubs his thumb back and forth across my soft, parted lips,

his gentle touch leaving a mark on my skin like a brand.

As he intends.

Sebastian slides those magnificent hands across each side of my neck, raking them through my hair, and leans in, nostrils flaring. Settles his mouth on mine.

Kisses me. Softly. Tenderly.

It deepens.

Wide, open-mouth kisses, heavy on the tongue.

Pinned to the door, my back arches when he moves those magic hands lower. Over my shoulders and down my arms, painstakingly slowly. Grasps my hips. They snake around to my rear, grabbing a handful. His knees bend, and before I can react, he’s effortlessly hauling me up and off the ground like I weigh nothing, our mouths still fused together.

With Sebastian, I’m dainty and petite and deliciously vulnerable.

Suspended in the air, my legs instinctually wrap around his waist. He leans into me, all our yummy, private bits smashed together in perfect symmetry, lined up like a sexy, heavily panting puzzle.

We fit.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night.” I gasp when his lips hit the corner of my mouth.

“Yum. You taste like beer and honey.” He hums in my ear. “And me. You taste like me.”

“I like that you taste yourself on me.” I purr at him in between kisses. “It’s sexy.”

“Jesus James, I can’t get enough of you. You’re—”

A booming crash stops whatever he’s about to say; Sebastian goes lethally still, listening.

A door slams shut, the thud accompanied by muffled voices and raucous female laughter. Giggling. More than two people are obviously stumbling down the hallway and falling into furniture. Another door slams, voices resonating from the next room. The telltale noises of mattress springs creaking. The sounds of a girl being tickled.

Moaning. Tittering.

Oh jeez.

“Great, dickwad is back with groupies,” he complains stridently against my lips. “We need a house rule about that.”

“Shhh, quiet,” I whisper. “They’ll hear us.”

“I will not shhh.” His velvety voice raises defiantly. “That dickhead can kiss my lily white ass, especially after that shit he pulled at the party.” Calloused fingertips dip into the neckline of my pink angora sweater, exploring the swell of my breasts. “You’ve been waiting to kiss me all night and I’ve been waiting to get you alone.”

“But we’ve been together since last night.” I nip his earlobe playfully. “I only went home to shower and change.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Deft hands sweep back my hair while his seductive lips find purchase on my neck, nipping gently, tendons in his biceps flexing with every movement as he balances my weight. “So soft and pretty…your sweater is driving me to fucking distraction.”

His voice is low and gruff and hot—so hot. I moan when his mouth does a leisurely lap up the column of my neck in a single stroke, rolling that naughty tongue across my skin like he’s lapping up honey.

And I’ve never, never been one for licking—ever. But I like this licking. Love his mouth and his lips and his tongue. They’re provocative in a way that gets me so deliriously hot and bothered and ten shades of turned on.

Wet.

My hips swivel, rocking toward the throbbing length between his muscular thighs, my eyes wandering toward the bed against the far wall. I must be gazing at it longingly because he asks, “You wanna get naked?”

“Yes.” I feel more alive than I have in years, more sexually awake than I have in my entire freaking life.

I feel sexual. Sexy. Desirable.

Safe, protected with his strong arms wrapped around me.

Adored.

I feel powerful and respected, and there’s no doubt I’m calling the shots here.

Sebastian walks us to the bed, lays me on the edge, and gets down on one knee. Unbuckles my platform wedges, one thin leather strap at a time, before sliding them off my feet and setting them off to the side. Massages my heels before kissing my pink toenails.

Our hands reach for the zipper of my jeans at the same time.

Snap.

Zip.

I lift my hips and shimmy them off with ease. Oz kisses my knees, running his rough hands up my thighs until every last nerve in my body tingles. Quivers.

Jolts alive.

My shaking legs involuntarily spread as I reach for the hem of my sweater, pulling it up and over my head. It hits the ground at the same time Sebastian’s fingers meet the bare skin on my abdomen. He scoots up, bending forward to press his warm lips near the space below my breasts, his big hands caging my ribs.