Page 94 of Small Town Firsts

Hurriedly, I type out an email to him asking him to come here tonight instead of the library. I include my address as well as my phone number and hope for the best.

CHAPTER 8

BROCK

While I wishI could say Abby Jane’s bullshit, snotty attitude didn’t ruin my day but I can’t, because it did. I mean, why’s she gotta act like that? Why’s she gotta act like I’m less than her because I need a tutor? Fuck. I don’t evenneeda tutor so much as I need to make sure I set aside the time to do the work, and getting on someone else’s time was the easiest way to do so.

You’d think someone who looks like her—more like a criminal than a scholar—would be a little less judgy. But, then again, given her silver-spoon upbringing, maybe some habits are hard to shake.

The sound of an incoming email breaks me from thoughts of Abby Jane, only the email isfromher, so my mind circles right back.I swear to God, if she’s canceling…

I click open her message, and my eyes almost pop out of their sockets. She’s not canceling…not at all. She’s inviting me to her house and giving me her number? I drop my phone onto my center console and pinch my arm, you know, just to make sure I haven’t somehow been transported to the fucking twilight zone.

“Ouch, dammit!” Nope. Still here, in reality. Quickly I add her number to my contacts and fire off a text to her.

Brock

Headed your way, Abby Jane.

The messagequickly moves from sent to delivered to read, but the little reply bubbles never pop up. As long as she knows I’m coming—God only knows how bitchy she’d be if I just showed up.

I glance back at the address she sent me and realize it’s the apartment building she and Stacia walked to last weekend. So, sans GPS, I crank my truck and head her way.

Rain is pouring down in sheets by the time I guide my truck into a roadside parking spot about half a block down from Abby Jane’s building. It’s times like these I wish our small-ass town had parking garages. But, we don’t, so hoofing in this damn tsunami is my only option.Thanks, Mother Nature.

From the second I open my door, rain is pelting me in the face like I’ve got a target on it. By the time I make it into the lobby, I’m sopping wet. I’m talking to-the-bone-wet. I sure as shit hope Abby Jane’s found a more pleasant disposition, because if I listen to her bitch while I’m soaking wet…nah. Shit won’t end well.

A short but miserable elevator ride later, I’m knocking on Abby Jane’s door, slightly nervous for what may greet me on the other side. She flings the door open and stops short, her brown eyes flare wide, taking in the way my wet clothes cling to my body. It takes everything in me not to smirk when her gaze gets hung up on the way my T-shirt is molded to my abs like a second skin.

Finally, I clear my throat, and she rips her gaze away from my body and steps back to let me in. Once inside, the scent of lemonand garlic lingers in the air, and I turn to face her. “Abby Jane, did you cook for me?”

She ducksher head and nods. Well, I’ll be damned.

From the aroma alone, I know it’s going to be delicious, but I can’t help but to push her buttons just a little. “And it’s edible?”

“Yes, Jockstrap, it’s edible.” She rolls her eyes and smacks me on the chest, and once again her stare goes wide. “Oh my God! You’re soaked!” She bites down on her juicy bottom lip, and without permission, visions of me sucking and nibbling on it invade my mind.

Stuck in a lusty haze, my words fail me. I nod and she steps a little closer, almost as if it’s a subconscious kind of thing. “You must be freezing too. Fuck. Okay. Why don’t you hop in the shower and warm up, and I’ll toss your clothes in the dryer?”

“That’d be awesome.” Abby Jane leads me through her apartment to her master bath, which surprises me. I was for sure expecting to use the guest bath.

Still nibbling on her lip, her gaze darts around the room. “Uh. I guess you can go ahead and get undressed”—I start to pull my shirt over my head—“Whoa! I didn’t mean right this very second. Jesus! What I was trying to say is you can get undressedafter I step out,and if you leave your clothes near the door, I’ll grab them and leave a towel for you to use.”

Her nervousness makes me grin. I really like her a little nervous, and with that in mind, I finish removing my shirt, loving the way her hungry gaze feasts on all I’ve got going on: solid pecs, cut abs, and that vee around my hips that all the girls seem to love.

Not wanting to test my luck, or Abby Jane’s hospitality, I amble over to her walk-in shower and turn on the water, fiddling with the temperature until I hear the door close. With her gone,I finish stripping and leave my wet clothes in a heap on her shiny concrete floor.

Stepping into the warm spray, I pull the glass door closed behind me. Nosiness gets the better of me, and I start flipping the tops of the various bottles lining up the little built-in shelf. So far, standard girl stuff, but the third bottle…some shit called Love Spell.Fuuuuck.It gives me pause. And by pause, I mean it gets me hard as a rock. Unable to help myself, I squeeze a dollop of the purple shower gel into my palm.

Rubbing my hands together, I lather it up and grip myself, guiding my hand up and down my hard length, imagining Abby Jane’s hot mouth all the while.I know this shit is wrong but damn. Maybe I’m okay with being wrong, because it sure as hell feels right.

AJ

Flushed from Brock’s peep show, I dash out of the bathroom the minute he turns his back toward me. In the safety of my kitchen, I fan my face, desperate to cool down.Get a grip, girl. It’s just a set of abs.Apparently my traitorous body doesn’t care that they belong to one of my least favorite people alive, because my God, I want to lick them. Go figure.

Once I’ve regained my composure, I check on the food. The sauce needs to be stirred and removed from the burner and the pasta strained. When all that is taken care of, I snag a fresh towel from the hall closet and crack the door to my bathroom open to exchange the towel for his clothes.

The bathroom’s filled with steam, and it seeps out into my bedroom, along with a deep, throaty groan, followed by an “Oh,fuck,” that sounds so dirty I worry I’ve stumbled onto a porno set.

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