Page 112 of Gorgeous

I glare at his offending thumb, wedged deep between perfect white teeth. A terse chin jerk is all the communication I need after ten years of friendship to relay my revulsion. He doesn’t give a shit though. He moves to the second finger while raising the third in a salute, just for me. Fucker.

I pick at the lace of my shorts as an uncomfortable silence descends around us. I’m trying desperately to think of how I can convince him, but the cute little frown he’s sporting nearly reaches that one dimple that’s damn near lickable…My fingers freeze. I could pin him down, plunge my tongue deep into that dent, make him moan in approval.

What the hell? Get ahold of yourself. Focus! You want him to agree to this proposition, not scare him off by licking his dimple like some kind of weirdo.

I get back to picking at my raggedy shorts, ashamed to be fantasizing about my bestie. Damn him. And damn these shorts I’ve washed so many times the lace resembles a snarled Q-tip. I should buy new ones, but I’m cheap about clothes. I spend most of my time in a sports bra and shorts, and I refuse to pay sixty bucks for something I am going to freaking sleep in. Hello! Who would see that shit? I’ll tell you. Me! Just me. No one curls up behind me, spoons my freshly shaven legs and slips my tacky sleep shorts down my thighs.

Well, unless Theo gets shit-faced. Then he’s terrified a clown is lurking under his bed ready to grab his ankles and pull him under for a little freaky-deaky. Okay, I might have hidden under the bed once or twice as a joke.

What are friends for anyway?

Long story short, I look like shit run over by the shit train, and booted off at the Shit Station. But here I sit, asking my closest friend since sixth grade to deflower me before this weekend.

Obviously, I haven’t thought this through. If I had, I would have at least brushed the tangles out of my hair instead of twisting it into a messy bun, which fell to the side of my head about two hours ago due to Theo’s immaturity. That badass tore his need-to-win ego to shreds in a wrestling match for the remote—I won.

The silence is maddening as I prepare to pull out all the stops. He doesn’t needthislong to think it through. I conjure visions of sad puppies to moisten my eyes. On cue, my lip trembles into a well-practiced pout. I blink, slowly drawing attention to the almost-tears and let my naturally long eyelashes take over.

With as much seduction as I can muster for my longtime friend, I lift my gaze to meet his pinched one. He’s considering it. He justneeds a little push in the right direction.

“Please, Teddy.” My plea is dripping in sweet southern charm.

When he springs from the couch, tugging at his dark wavy locks in agitation, I know I have him. “Fuck me, Ans.”

“Yes, Theo, that’s the plan. It won’t take long. We can squeeze it in between your workout and dinner with the team.” I shrug like it’s no big deal. Like it’s a game of Twister. My fake confidence betrays me as my hand twitches with nerves. Before he can see it, I tuck it under my leg,controlling my breaths to keep my fear contained. If he knows I’m afraid, he will back out, no questions asked.

“Be serious, Anniston.” His face turns red; his expression would scald a less determined woman.

“I am.” I’ll take him any way I can get him. I know that makes me seem like a loser, but if you could see the abs on this boy, you would beg him, too.

All jokes aside, Theo is moving to Washington, D.C. tomorrow. Drafted to the Nationals major league baseball team his freshman year of college, he waited to finish his degree before he signed. Now that he has, he’s scheduled to leave for the eastern side of the country at five a.m.

This is my only chance to keep a piece of him.

Once millions of fans get a peek at that cocky smile and chiseled arms, they won’t even care about his charming southern accent, the thick chestnut waves that I find most alluring about him. No, when fans get their hands on Theo Von Bremen, our special friendship will be over.Judge me all you want, but I’m getting a piece of him come hell or high water.

“I’m serious. You’re the only one I trust to do it.” My voice is resigned as I take one more shot at convincing him.

Stopping mid-pace, his finger slips from his mouth in shock. He’s hesitant in his steps back to the couch, almost as if he’s afraid to get close to me. “Are you sure?” That damn finger goes back to his mouth.

I reach up and swat it down because… fuck! It’s throwing me off my game. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve given it a lot of thought and I want it to be with you.”

His eyes squeeze shut as if it causes him physical pain to even discuss this. It’s not helping my confidence level.

Sucking in a choppy breath, his eyes open, set with resolution. “Fine. I’ll do it, but I want to go on record now and say that I think this is a very bad idea.”

I leap toward him as glee shoots through me, catching him off guard with a tackle that nearly topples us over the side of the sofa. With way too much excitement for a friend, I acknowledge his concern with a firm squeeze of one of his delicious butt cheeks. “Noted!”

“So, Von Bremen, how’s it feel to be a big leaguer now?”

I hate Toby. He is so sweet, but dammit, he rakes on my last nerve with his ass-kissing.

We’ve been at Mae’s, a little hole-in-the-wall diner, for the last hour enduring ass-kiss after ass-kiss. Everyone wants to get in good with Theo before he goes off to the big leagues this weekend.

“It feels kinda scary, actually.”

Toby leans forward, his elbows propped on the table like he’s dying to reach out and grab Theo’s hand. Maybe I’m exaggerating, but he looks super invested in the conversation at the moment. “Why’s that? Seems like you would be pumped to get out there and show those punks how it’s done.”

Callum, Theo’s third baseman, rolls his eyes, “Toby, have you seen the Nationals’ lineup? They went to the playoffs for fuck’s sake!”

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