Page 48 of The Assist
He looks guilty at my reaction. “The one who makes the bracelets?”
I nod. “She was in a car accident senior year. That is how she got the scars.”
“I'm sorry.”
I can hear the sincerity in his voice. “Thank you. She’s actually why I want to rule the world. It was her dream for us to be lady bosses.”
“She here at Valley?”
“Sort of. She takes online classes and lives back in our hometown.”
He places a kiss on my forehead and takes the bag I dropped onto the floor. “Ready?”
“Yep.”
“Bless is out,” he says and winks.
There are those tingles again. I secretly love that he uses our ridiculous couple name. Bless is out. Bless ready to get it on.
18
Blair
The White Houseis empty when we return. Wes tells me we have the place to ourselves for the night, and we settle into the theater room, legs and bodies intertwined. The television is on, but I have no idea what we’re watching. I’m lost to him. His kisses, his hands, his words.
“Why’d you start playing basketball?” I ask as his calloused palms caress my calves and move up, higher and higher but never quite reach the apex of my desire before moving back down. My hands have taken on a mind of their own, tracing the lines of his stomach and arms. If he doesn’t tear off my clothes soon, I’m going to combust. I can feel how much he wants me—it’s pressing against my stomach, but he makes no move to take off my clothes. I thought sleep over was code for sex.
“Girls, obviously.”
I swat at him. “Seriously.”
“I don’t know. I can’t really remember a time I didn’t play. My parents worked a lot, so they overcompensated by putting me in every extra-curricular activity possible from rock climbing to piano to origami . . . you name it, I tried it.”
“Origami?”
He nods, a big proud smile on his face. “Yep, but basketball was the first thing I was really good at. I guess it sounds lame, but basketball was something that got me attention. My dad was always working long hours, coming home about the time I was getting ready for bed at night, and then all of a sudden, he was around more, getting home in time to shoot hoops outside and coming to practices. He was proud of me, and I wanted to keep that feeling. I loved it, don’t get me wrong, but I loved it more because of the way people treated me. The attention didn’t last, of course, I mean not from my parents, but the way other people praised me filled that void.”
“I don’t think I was ever that good at anything,” I admit with a small laugh. “I was okay at sports, got decent grades, but it must be really incredible to have a true talent for something.”
“I have other talents.” His fingers trace up and down my sides in slow movements that leave me equal parts wanting more and wanting just this. “These origami fingers can do magical things.”
“I may have already noticed how good you are with your hands.” My voice is filled with want and desire even to my own ears.
He dips his head, his lips finding my collarbone. “It isn’t just my hands that are talented.”
I respond with something witty and sexy, I’m sure, but the words don’t register above our combined sighs.
His phone vibrates in his pocket, and I’m so keyed up I nearly groan at the hum of pleasure against my hip. “Let me just make sure it isn’t one of the guys needing a ride or something.”
I pry myself off him reluctantly, and Wes fishes out his phone. “Fucking Joel,” he mutters and stands before he adjusts himself—no shame. Wes lets out an audible sigh. “Give me five?”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just need to take care of something.”
Wes leaves me, and I sit, tapping my toes and impatiently waiting for him to return. I do a swipe under my eyes in case any eye makeup has smudged, run my fingers through my hair, check the bra and panty situation to make sure they aren’t all twisted. I’ve been wearing my best lingerie for weeks now just in case.
Minutes pass, and I listen for any indication of what he’s up to. What in the world could he possibly be doing?
