Page 58 of Play Fake
“And you have a different one?”
“Maybe.”
“Care to share?”
“Maybe after ice cream.” He gives me a little grin and changes the subject again.
Just as we’regetting our ice cream, a crack of lightning and a peel of thunder breaks out of the sky. Fall thunderstorms are rare, and I hadn’t even thought to check the weather this evening.
“Shit,” I mutter as I look up and notice the evening sky is getting darker, that much more quickly than normal.
“Yeah, we better hurry,” Waylon concedes.
Once we’re back in the truck, I collapse in the seat breathing heavy and soaking wet.
“Oh my god,” I laugh at how pathetically soaked we both are.
“Fuckkkk,” Waylon lets out a growled laugh as he peels off his coat.
“And it is so cold!” I shiver once I have a moment to really take in the soaked to the bone feeling now I’m no longer running my heart out uphill through the rain.
“Yeah. Shit. Here, let me get the engine going and the heat. It starts pretty quick,” he fumbles to put the keys in the ignition and get it started, his own hands cold from the icy rain.
“And we thought ice cream was a good idea.” I laugh again at how stupid it sounds now.
“I think I’ve got a clean sweatshirt in the back.” He reaches back and rifles through a pile to get to his gym bag.
“Here.” He presents it to me, and I take it because my impress-the-mother outfit is not nearly warm enough, even if the heat does kick on.
“Thanks.” I say as I slide it over my arms and shoulders, grateful for the extra layer it brings.
“Yup.” He nods, but something changes in his face, and I can see he’s watching me now. Something unreadable in his expression.
I look back at him, and he looks so incredibly good. His blond hair wet and dripping, his shirt plastered to all the hard planes of his body. Half the girls on campus would probably die for the up-close view I have right now. I realize I’d better enjoy it while I have it because we’re quickly approaching the end of whatever this is we’ve been doing for the last few weeks. My heart pinches a little at the thought, and I have to look away from him. Think about something else. Make a joke. Change the subject.
I notice then the windows are fogged up from the rain and our heavy breathing after the run.
“You better turn the defroster on or we’re gonna have a cop banging on the door soon.” I turn back to give him a lighthearted smile, but when my eyes meet his, there’s not the same amusement reflected there.
“Or we can give them a reason to.” The corner of his lip turns up in a devious and irresistible grin.
Before I can think straight, he hauls me close to him, and his lips are on mine in a hard, pressing kiss that nearly sucks all the oxygen out of my body. And all I can think about is how I want more. How I want him to take everything I have and then some because I want the memories of this to last. To pretend this was something real, even if only for a few moments.
His tongue slips in my mouth, gliding over my own, and my hands go to his shoulders to try and keep from collapsing into him. His hands grab my ass, and he hauls me into his lap, helping me negotiate the narrow space between him and the steering wheel, where somehow by miracle or magic, I manage to fit perfectly there.
His fingers dig into the flesh of my cheeks, pressing me closer to him, and I spread my legs wider, so I can have more of him touching more of me. I hate that we’re clothed now. I want to feel his skin against mine the way it was standing in my bathroom—soft, smooth, hard. I want to run my hands over it and memorize it.
I grind my hips down absently, too senseless to think better of how desperate I probably seem, and a little whimper escapes me as I realize how hard he is beneath me.
His lips break from mine on a groan, and he releases me to scrub a hand over his face. “Holy fuck, Mac Truck.”
I frown. Despite how much I want him, the name still grates.
“I hate when you call me that,” I whisper softly, and his eyes pop open.
“What? Mac Truck?”
“Yes. I know I’m not—“ I sigh softly, hating this moment is going to be ruined by irritation and jealousy. “As thin as your usual type, but you don’t have to point it out. Especially when I’m sitting in your lap, yeah?”
