Page 32 of Waiting for Her

But Kennedy never treated me the way other girls on campus did. Sure, she made it clear she wanted more from me than just friendship. That was obvious in the way she pursued me instead of the other way around.

I know a part of her liked the idea that I was an athlete. She knew who she was clicking on when she contacted me through Babble.

But Kennedy never let it influence how she treated me. While other girls would shamelessly flirt, wear shirts that made their tits pop out of the top, those around them fearing for (or hoping for, depending on who it was) a nipple slip, she treated me like the only thing that made me special was… me.

And finally, when push came to shove—when I told her I wasn’t interested in something deeper—she didn’t fight me on it, saying our friendship was more important.

There are still a few times where her gaze will linger. Her touch is sometimes a little too flirty and part of me still wonders, if I told her I was interested in more, would she throw our friendship to the wind?

I had moments of guilt that I had responded to her, knowing Bri still owned my heart. For leading her on. She always said she understood and never asked for much of an explanation. Eventually, I did admit I’d been hurt and that hurt was deep. I told her I wasn’t sure I’d ever be over my first love and she smiled, told me she understood and just like that, a friendship I never expected was formed.

She was there for me after the accident.

Encouraged me when the pain of rehab was almost too much to bear.

Cheered me on and was there for me to lean on when I was so fed up with feeling like I was losing every last bit of me.

For that, I’ll love her forever. The same way I love all my friends.

Now, with Bri in my arms, even not having a clue what it could possibly mean for us, there’s no doubt in my mind why nothing else ever felt right.

I squeeze my hand around her thigh, willing myself to not slide it farther up her leg. Not until she and I talk more. Get shit sorted out.

But right now, I can’t stop kissing her, even though I know I should.

Our tongues wage a war with one another. A soft whimper escapes her throat when I take control, and I angle her head by a simple tug of her ponytail, causing a tightening of my shorts I know without a doubt she can feel.

I rise out of the chair slightly so she’s straddling me before I lean her back against the edge of my desk, her body arching into me and her hand mimicking mine, threading her fingers into my hair, flexing and holding me to her.

The thin barrier of her underwear isn’t enough. I can feel the heat between her legs, causing me to swell against the zipper of my shorts. She squirms on my lap, her breaths coming heavier when I tilt her head, my tongue trailing along her jawline. I nibble the spot below her ear then down to the crook of her neck, a place I have never forgotten makes her body respond to mine almost immediately.

My own body is on autopilot, not conversing with my head for our next steps. Simply rolling with the same I’ve always felt for her.

My dick is hardening with each swipe of her tongue, each caress of her slender fingers.

“Holy shit, Grady,” she gasps.

Her hand slides down my chest…

“Hey, why is the… oh shit. Sorry!” Drew’s voice cuts through the haze of lust and we both separate breathing heavily. Her chest is rising and falling like she’s just run a marathon.

Drew closes the door quickly and I expect Bri to be embarrassed, to jump off my lap and smooth her hair that now looks like the head of medusa thanks to my wandering hands. She surprises me, though, and stays right where she’s at. She looks at me under her dark lashes and swallows thickly.

The door creeks back open and his head pops in. “I told ya you had some explaining to do,” he jokes as I throw a pen at him. He cackles as his head jerks back, the pen missing its target. The door slams once again, my office becoming loud with its silence.

“That was… whoa.”

“I…” Suddenly at a loss, my words are swallowed by the heat of the moment we just shared.

“Yeah,” she agrees. To what, I have no clue.

“Now that, I’m not sorry for,” she grins, and I chuckle, shaking my head.

“If you’d have apologized, I would have known it was a bald-faced lie.”

Her dimples both pop and she stands up, but not before leaning forward and kissing me on the neck.

“Sorry I missed that spot earlier,” she says cheekily.

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