The Hook Up (Game On Book 1) (31 page)

“After Dave crashed into me with three gallons worth of fruit punch during an alumni picnic, I’ve never gone into work without backup clothing.”

But she’s wearing my shirt.

Anna’s curls tumble about as she shakes her head. “Unfortunately, no hair products, so I couldn’t wash my damn hair.”

It’s then I notice her skin is pink and flushed from a shower. “In case you failed to notice, I do have shampoo.”

She gives me a look as if I’ve just said a dirty word. “I’ll wear secondhand clothes, buy cheap t-shirts from Target, but I am
not
using drugstore shampoo on this hair. Not if I want to walk among the living.”

I can’t hide my grin. “Oh, well, don’t sugarcoat your distaste.”

“It’s fine for you. You’re a guy. You could probably use soap on your hair and it’d look good. Annoying, tend-to-fuzz-out-of-control curls are a whole other story.” She walks further into the kitchen and sees the eggs. I cross my hands over my chest, feeling distinctly flushed.

“I tried to cook.”

Her lips twitch. “I can see that.”

I shift my weight onto my other foot. “Not sure what happened.”

A small laugh escapes her. Instead of feeling stupid, I find myself laughing too.

“Too high heat would be my guess,” she says, then comes up to me. Her hand lands on my chest, right over my heart, as she goes up on her toes and gives me a kiss that makes my breath hitch. Instantly, my arms wrap around her. She feels warmer in the morning, softer. I kiss her back, exploring deep, and taste my toothpaste on her tongue.

Anna’s voice drifts up between kisses. “You got practice today?”

I hold her just a bit tighter. “Yes. Damn it.”

And she laughs, a slow, contented sound.

For the first time in my life, I want to skip practice. I don’t want to do anything other than spend the day with Anna and convince her to stay another night. I’m seriously considering letting her talk me back into the bedroom right now, but she pulls back and gives my chest a friendly pat.

“Then let’s get some food in you. Eggs, I can make us,” she says. “I just need some coffee first.” She glances around my countertops.

“Uh…” I scratch the back of my head. “I don’t have any.”

It’s like I’ve slapped her. She gasps, her face going pale. “What?”

“I don’t have coffee, or a coffeemaker, for that matter.”

I give her what I hope is an apologetic, peacemaking smile, because Anna starts to bristle. Like a fricking hedgehog getting ready to attack.

“How on earth do you not have a coffeemaker in your house?” Pacing the length of my kitchen, she lifts her hands up in appalled outrage. “In this gorgeous kitchen?”

“I suck at making it and get my coffee at a shop?” I offer helpfully.

Her nostrils flare in a huff. “You can’t make coffee? Oh, come on, Drew. It’s just grinds and water! Gah!”

“Believe me,” I say as I pour her a glass of orange juice, “coffee can be royally fucked up.”

Her lips quirk as she glances at the mess that used to be eggs. “Oh, I believe you.”

It takes me two strides to reach her. She squeals when I clasp her waist and lift her onto the counter. But her thighs instantly part to make room for me, and I step in closer, setting my hands on the full curve of her hips, as she clutches my shoulders.

“So,” I nip her upper lip, then her bottom one. “Now that we’ve established that you turn into raging beast without your morning coffee—”

“I wouldn’t say ‘raging beast’…” She pauses with a grin and a blush. “Okay, fine, I’m a raging beast.”

“A cute one, though.” I kiss her once. Twice. “So if you had your choice of coffee, what would it be?”

Her legs wrap around my hips, drawing me in as she explores my neck with soft lips. When she hits that spot, that damn spot that I feel down to my balls, I groan. Her smile imprints on my skin. “Espresso,” she murmurs, still busy with that spot. “Most mornings, though, I like lattes or a cappuccino.”

“I could be wrong,” I lift a section of her heavy curls and kiss behind her ear, “but I don’t think a simple coffeemaker would do the trick.”

“You’re right. You’d need a moka pot.”

“What the heck is that?” I kiss my way to her jaw.

Humor warms her voice when she answers. “It’s a pot for making espresso.” Anna pulls back with a slight frown. “Sadly, I can’t make it nearly as well as my mom. I really need one of those fancy espresso machines to achieve perfection. But I can’t afford that.”

“Well then,” I say, “let’s go get you some coffee.”

“We’re doing carry out,” Anna says against my shoulder. “I’m a freaking hair-catastrophe.”

“What? You’re crazy.”

“Drew,” she says in exasperation, “my hair looks as if I’ve been wind tunnel testing.”

I lean back to inspect her, and she crosses her arm over her chest, her chin lifting in defiance. Okay, so her hair is a bit wild, swarming around her delicate face in a dark red, angry cloud. But that only makes her look like she’s spent hours in my bed. I approve.

Wrapping my arms around her shoulders, I pull her in close, because, really, I can’t keep my hands or mouth off her. “You’re beautiful.”

I’m not surprised when Anna rolls her eyes. My prickly girl.

“Beautiful.” She says the word like it’s a disease. “Typical.”

“Why typical?” I fight a smile. She thinks I don’t know her. But I do. And I know exactly where she’ll go with this.

Her nose wrinkles, which makes her cheeks plump. Though I’ve caged her in with my arms, she manages to lift a hand and tick off her points on her fingers. “Why not funny, or smart, or interesting?”

I grab a finger with my lips and suck it in my mouth, making her shiver. Slowly, I draw back releasing her finger with care.

“You know all of that.” I run my thumb along the crest of her cheek. “But I don’t think you know how beautiful you are. So that’s what I chose to tell you.”

A slow smile curls the corners of her pouty lips. She’s fighting it, though, which means I’ve touched a nerve. “Because I need to know I’m beautiful?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I press a slow, lazy kiss on her mouth. “Yeah, you do.”

Anna has confidence and has never hidden her body from me, which is a huge turn on. But I don’t think she’s been appreciated for all that she is.

Her green eyes shine up at me with pleasure, and my heart clenches. Then her long lashes flutter closed as she kisses me back with gentle, languid attention, and my head spins. A small hum rumbles in her throat.

“And what do you need to know?” she asks, running her fingers through my hair. God, that feels good.

I sag into her, nuzzling the warm, fragrant spot on her neck where it curves towards her collarbone. My words come out muffled. “It’s not my place to tell you.”

“A challenge?” She sounds way too pleased about that.

“Maybe.” I lick a path across her collarbone.

“Hmm…” Her hands cup my cheeks. She lifts my head and looks into my eyes as if she’s searching for some hidden secret. “Well then, you’re funny. Smart. Interesting.”

While I’m happy she thinks that, it isn’t what I need to hear from her. I’m beginning to regret challenging her. Because I can’t tell her what I need without exposing my underbelly. So I resort to the safety of quips. “Not beautiful?”

“You are.” Her grin turns cheeky. “But you know that already, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“You do.”

I nip the tip of her nose. “Not as important to guys as it is to girls, I’m afraid.”

“You’re probably right.” She snuggles closer, wrapping her arms around my neck, her hands playing with my hair again. I love the glint in her eyes. “Oh,” she says lightly. “There’s one other thing.”

“What?”

Her expression eases into something soft. “I like you just the way you are, Drew Baylor.”

Poleaxed. Again. My throat closes too tight to find my voice. I swallow convulsively.

“I like you just the way you are too, Anna Jones.”
I’m crazy for you. I fucking adore you.
“Go put your damn hair up,” I tell her instead. “And we’ll get you some coffee.”

SLINKING INTO MY apartment in the middle of the morning, I feel like an intruder. I don’t want to be here. I want Drew. Disconcerting, as I’m more needy than I’ve ever been in my life. About anything. Though I’m pretty sure Drew is just as needy. It took twenty minutes of making out in his car before he let me go with a sigh and a promise to meet me after practice.

Practice and team meetings are not a choice but an obligation. I honestly don’t know how Drew will manage, seeing as he barely slept. But his body is a machine—a gorgeous, perfect machine—and he knows how to operate it.

Despite his protests to wait for him at his house, which were varied and persuasive, I came home. It would be too strange waiting around in his house alone. Too much of an opportunity to think. And Lord knows I’m an expert at overthinking things.

So here I am, lips swollen, hair wild, holding tight to my keys to keep them from jangling, and tiptoeing past the living room on the way to my room. When the couch squeaks and a dark shape lifts from it, I do the sensible thing and shriek like a poked banshee.

The keys fly across the room, and Iris barely ducks in time to avoid them hitting her head.

“What the fuck, Anna?”

“Sorry.” I sag against the living room wall. “You scared the ever-loving shit out of me.”

“Must have been preoccupied, what with doing the walk of shame,” Iris grumps before bursting into tears.

“'Ris!” I drop my bag and hurry to the couch. Only then do I realize she’s a mess, her makeup smeared, her hair standing up on one end. Her clothes are rumpled and creased as if she slept in them. And judging by the dents in the couch cushions, she probably has. “What’s going on?”

“Henry,” she wails as I sit next to her. “He fucking… fucking…”

“What?” I grab her arm. If he hurt her…

“Cheated,” she gets out.

Expecting the worst, this actually fills me with relief, but my heart aches for Iris. I’m not the touchy-feely type, but Iris is. So I pull her into my arms, and she leans heavily against me.

“Oh, God, Anna, it was so embarrassing.” She sniffles and reaches for the half-empty box of tissues by her feet. There’s a snowstorm’s worth of used ones littering the floor. “I went over there to surprise him, you know?” Her dark, wet eyes blink up at me and all I can do is nod, not liking where this is going.

“His roommate lets me in, and I… and I…” She shudders. “I was wearing this slinky teddy…”

Hell.

“And waiting on his bed, when he…he… He fucking bursts into the room with his tongue down some slut’s throat!”

Ouch.

A keening noise pierces the air as she leans forward, pressing her hands against her face. “They didn’t even notice me until they were right on top of me!”

“Oh, ‘Rissy.” I stroke her hair. “I’m so sorry.”

She rears up, her palms hitting her thighs with a slap. A wild anger lights her eyes. “And that piece of shit,
puta madre
, fuckhead had the nerve to shout at me.” She stabs a thumb to her chest. “Because I came over without asking.” Her laugh is manic. “He was all, ‘Shit, Iris? What’d you expect? We aren’t married or anything.’”

She breaks into a rapid-fire string of Spanglish cursing that I appreciate if only for its inventiveness.

“I cannot believe he didn’t even try to apologize!” I say when she calms enough to get a word in.

Iris whips around to face me. “Well, why should he? When Henry is
never
wrong.” Her fists tighten on her thighs, and then she’s crying again.

I can’t do anything more than rub her back. “Do you want me to call George—”

“No!” She looks horrified. “He’ll just make it worse by going over there and kicking Henry’s ass.”

And George would do a good job of it too. While he might be happy-go-lucky and obsessed with finance, George likes to keep in shape by practicing mixed martial arts.

“This is a problem, why?”

Iris scowls. “I don’t want Henry thinking he’s worth it.” She scrunches down in her seat and scowls. “Besides, George will be all, ‘I told you so, 'Ris.’ Which I do
not
want to hear.”

Mental note: bite back any and all urges to say ‘I told you so.’