Page 9 of The P*ssy Next Door

I'd honestly so much rather be taking a nap than watching the Mustangs game. But here I sat, with Seven in my lap and bowl of popcorn by my side, keeping a running tally in my head of the best football butts. I'd be reading, but when I pulled out my Kindle, my mom gave me the look, and I put it away.

“Yeah, take that 'Stangs, you pussies,” Xander shouted at the television and the rest of us pretended that was normal.

Football games were long and slow and... shh... boring to me. They just did the same thing, over and over. Then the other team did the same thing over and over going the other way. I knew the rules of the game. How could I not, living among the footballiest family next to the Kingmans? I just didn't care.

When your twin brother plays football in junior high, high school, and college, a supportive and discerning sister must find something to occupy her time at all those damn games. At least I'd been spared most of the college games since I was always very, very out of town.

To make sure my mind didn't melt into a pile of bored goo at a thousand and one football games, I ranked the butts of football players. In my head of course. Couldn't let a list like that get out. In school, Hayes hadn't ranked high or low on that list.He'd just sort of been in the middle.

Until yesterday.

Apparently, I'd been paying attention to the wrong side of the uniform, which became very obvious when he'd gotten a huge bulge in the front of his pants. And it wasn't like he'd been wearing gray sweatpants or something either. He'd had on jeans, and I could still see the outline of his dick. Poor guy probably had an imprint of his zipper in his flesh.

I snort-laughed and then had to shove a mouthful of popcorn in my mouth when everyone in the living room looked over at me like I was cuckoo for cocaine puffs. Even Seven made an irritated, be-quiet-human, squeaking meow and tried his best to poke me in the leg disguising it as a stretch.

I'd spent way too much time thinking about Hayes and his dick. But he started it by prancing around naked in his backyard.

There had always been girl talk back when we were in high school, saying that the Kingman boys were well hung, but how did that monster between his legs even fit into his football uniform pants? His cup had to be a size eleventy-billion.

“Woo-hoo,” George, sporting his new autographed H. Kingman jersey that he swore he'd never wash, jumped up and did a little dance. “Touchdown Mustangs!”

Uh-oh. Xan scowled and grabbed his empty beer bottle. He didn't even say anything, just skulked away toward the kitchen. We all tolerated the way he cheered for any team playing the Mustangs. Except George, who refused to dampen his pure love for the team.

Of course, George was the one who gave me the head nod to go after Xan and make sure he wasn't crying in the kitchen. Not that I'd ever seen my brother cry. Even when he maybe should have.

I waved at the cat on my lap. It was against the rules to move a sleeping feline. The universe might implode or something.

Liam shook his head at me, but with a smile. “Anyone need any refills?”

The second Liam moved toward the one room in the house that Seven was allowed to have treats, my traitorous cat jumped off my lap like I was made of dog slobber. Fine. I'd accept the sign from the universe that I, too, was needed in the kitchen.

Xan was leaning against the kitchen island nursing a new bottle of Fat Tire. He'd never been a big drinker, since he was forever in training, so it niggled at my brain that this was his fourth, and the game wasn't even at halftime yet.

I glanced at Liam, who just shrugged and grabbed the bag of treats from above the fridge. Seven curled around his leg until he tossed a few crunchy snacks on the floor. Then the rest of us no longer existed to him.

I worked on filling up a tray with more of Liam's famous fall caramel apple cider. Then I snagged one off the tray and propped myself against the fridge, across from Xan. “How was your game yesterday?”

I already knew it had gone well and that he'd scored the game-winning touchdown. But nothing put Xan in a good mood like getting to relay his accomplishments. To me.

Instead of answering my question, he pointed his beer bottle at me and then Liam with a glare. “You two were awfully cozy with Kingman yesterday.”

“He just stopped in to get a cup of coffee, and you know Liam couldn't resist doing something for George.” Regardless of his mad-on for Hayes and all things Mustangs, I knew Xan could never hold a grudge when it came to George and Liam. Me, on the other hand, well, let's just say twin telepathy made it too hard to keep very many secrets from each other, and that made it hard to hold grudges.

I had a secret, and I was afraid Xan would go off the rails when he found out I was going on a date with Hayes. I should have just said no. But he was so stinking cute trying to ask me out that I couldn't resist. Besides, it wasn't like anything could come of it, I was only here for a few more days.

It wasn't even enough time for a fling, really. Did it count as a one-night stand if it was a few nights in a row and you were likely to run into your one-night stand every summer?

Ooh. Could we be one of those couples that only saw each other once a year and fucked like bunny rabbits for those few days, trying to get as much of each other as possible to hold us over until the next year?

Or... uh, had I been reading too many romance novels and was creating a ridiculous rom-com scenario in my head? Probably. Because never once in my life had I even considered a one-night stand or had a fuck-like-bunnies boy toy. I had the bare minimum of sexual experience, and most of that had been with a French guy who didn't speak a lick of English.

It might be nice to kiss, and touch, and suck, and be sucked by someone who could actually understand when I said, “No, no, not that hole.”

“Well, he'd better not become a regular.” Xan took another swig. “There are a hundred other places he could get a cup of coffee. He doesn't need to take up space at my spot.”

I curled my toes and gritted my teeth not to roll my eyes. Xan was allowed to have feelings. But I think we were now on the fifty-seventh stage of grief that he didn't get drafted. Fifty of those steps had been anger directed at Hayes, who did.

Liam picked up his tray and headed back to the living room. “I think I hear your mother actively dying of thirst. I'd better get these drinks out there.”

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