Page 18 of Kitty Season
“It’s Faith, remember? And as for your address, I just checked the school’s database. Easy peasy. Hungry?”
A grease-stained brown paper bag is waved in my face and the nausea that’s been brewing since my head slammed into the wall, is unleashed, coating the legs and the very expensive looking boots of my pretty professor.
“This is a bad idea Quinn. Trust me. I am the last person Skip will want to see right now.”
I tighten my grip on Troye’s wrist and drag him into the elevator. “That may be true, but I still think it’s the right thing to do. You hurt someone, you apologize. It’s basic human decency.”
“And since when have I claimed to be decent?”
My eye roll is automatic, and as unappreciated as my reappearance on Troye’s doorstep only a few hours after rolling from his bed.
Energized by the bulldog’s win, we’d spent a hot and heavy night between the sheets. The sex was hard, fast, on point, Troye’s tongue and that septum piercing wreaking havoc. Afterwards he was distracted, our usual comedown humor missing. Since he refused to tell me what was wrong, I came to my own conclusion. He was worried about his coach’s reaction, and felt guilty for his rough play on Brady.
Hence me facilitating an apology.
In truth, I have a teeny tiny secret agenda, too. Yes I think Troye should check in on the man he stone-cold knocked out, but I also need this stupid … whatever it is between them to end.
Hanging out with Brady the other day made me realize how much I miss the days of him, me, Lotte and Noah. Since the latter is away a good portion of the time, maybe Troye could bedragged out of his room, and into Beanz and Bookz to complete the circle of four.
I just need to convince Troye that he’s likable, then Brady that Troye’s likable, and then get them to the point of not concussing each other.
Simple.
“Look Troye, you can try to sell me on the bad boy deal all you like, but mister, I know you. I know you feel bad. I ain’t buying.”
Pulling me flush against him, breasts to chest, Troye slips his hand between us, sliding two fingers down the front of my sweats. “You brought up big last night, Kitty. Made multiple purchases I believe.”
My eyes roll again, but this time for a totally different reason.
Pure. Orgasmic. Bliss.
“You’re still wet for me, Quinny,” he mumbles into the crook of my neck. “Or is … is that fresh? Have you soaked your panties at the thought of having me and Brady together … alone … in the same room?”
These little games he plays. The fantasies he weaves of him and Brady and me together, are becoming addictive. There’s barely a time that we’re together now when Brady’s name is not brought up, and I can’t say it’s unwelcome. My attraction to the giant goalie is equal to that that I feel towards Troye, and that is beyond explosive.
Imagine them together.
The thought and Troye’s continued public ministrations of my clit, have me squeezing my thighs together and I’m so damn wet, I fear it will be visible.
After a final flourish that almost brings me to my knees, Troye withdraws his fingers, plunging them straight between his lips to lick them clean. “Damn, Kitty. You are sweet.”
“Uh huh,” is the only reply I can form.
Sometimes I’ll driveto my parents, or to Lotte’s old apartment, pull up, stop the car and realize I have no recollection of how I got there. Like, did I even stop at a single red light? That same, weird … weirdness is what I feel as Troye props me up against the wall outside Brady’s dorm. Did I float here? Did he carry me?
“Still feeling a bit giddy, Kitty?” Biting his lip, he looks me up and down, and yeah. He knows exactly how giddy I am.
“Nope. No. Not at all. No idea what you mean. I’m just eager to see my friend. You and your fingers had no effect on my body at all.”
Well played, dick. Well played.
Ignoring the smirk I can practically hear, I call Brady’s name and knock with excessive force. “Brady, it’s me, Kitty.” Shit. “I mean Quinn. Are you home?”
The door swings open, and reality, in the form of a tall, blonde, stunning woman, hits me like a puck to the head. “Yes he is but he’s taking a shower. Can I help you with something?”
“Professor Plum?” A flurry of nerves, or murderous intent flutters through me.
“Yes, that’s right. It’s Quinn, isn’t it?” Stepping forward she puts out her hand and smiles blandly.Fake, I think to myself. She’s utterly fake. And maybe not so stunning after all.
