Page 7 of Just Playin'
The further we descend down the path separating Dalton’s four-car garage from his mega-mansion, the more my brow perks. There’s a female voice in the distance. From how one-sided her conversation is, I can only assume she’s talking on the phone. Her numerous apologies for “skipping the shit-fest” gains my attention, but the sexiest accent I’ve ever heard utterly seizes it. She’s either Australian or South African. I often get their accents confused.
A smile tugs on my lips when the voice in the distance snarls, “From the way you’re acting, anyone would think I instigated the incident.” Her friend clearly believes that when she barks out only two seconds later, “He assaulted a pregnant lady with a can of beer.”
I love the way she says “can of beer” like they’re a rarity.
“He should be grateful I didn’t shove it where the sun don’t shine.” She murmurs a throaty moan of agreement. “Oh it was, but I would have made it fit. Men with attitudes like his don’t have much dangling between their legs. Why do you think he was such a prick? Because he doesn’t have one!”
Hearing the chuckle I fail to stifle, the unnamed brunette spins around to face us.Holy fucking cupcakes!Wavy brown locks fanning a flawless heart-shaped face, eyes that are either really light blue or gray in color, and a rack a Viking could feast upon for a year and never go hungry.
What?You can’t see what I’m seeing. The fact her boobs were the third thing I noticed should award me some brownie points. I’ve never seen a more impressive pair of tits in my life. I’m not a religious man, but I’m praying to God now, hoping he’ll unknot the thin strip of material keeping his greatest creation contained. Her breasts are seconds from exploding from her top, and my tongue is hanging out of my mouth in anticipation.
Swallowing harshly, the brunette’s eyes widen. “I have to go,” she squeaks into her phone, her words breathless.
I want to pretend she’s struggling to breathe because she perused my body as readily as I did hers, but the fret in her eyes weakens my hypothesis. I’m confident she likes what she sees, but the daring glint in her eyes verifies she’s not the type of girl to let a chunk of man-meat steal her smarts.
As her eyes dance between Dalton and me, she murmurs into her phone, “No, Skylar, truly, I have to go. This isn’t a ploy to skip the celebration.” Her dated cell phone presses close to her fleshy, nude lips before she whispers, “The feds are here to arrest me.”
Her friend squawks down the line when she lowers her phone from her ear. After pushing the end button, she slips it into her jeans, which are struggling as hard to contain her sweltering curves as her shirt is.
I could imagine her hips being gripped during raunchy, explicit sex, and her mouthwatering thighs look capable of surviving a marathon fuck session. She’s got more curves than I’ve handled before, but her ripped jeans, chunky wedge shoes, and tight shirt embrace her voluptuous frame in a way that stimulates more than a bit of interest out of me. . .and my cock.
Wary of my prolonged gawk, she holds her hands into the air, then takes a step back, her skin growing pale . “It was an accident, I swear. I didn’t mean to knock him out; I just forgot instruments like cricket balls are dangerous weapons in the wrong hands.”
Cricket balls?
Her reply piques Dalton’s brow as much as it does his interest. “You’re the girl from the YouTube video?”
YouTube video?
As confused as me, the brunette replies, “Yes, I’m Willow—or Will, as my friends call me." It takes several swallows to dislodge the lump in her throat before she continues, "And I know I have a baby face, but I swear I was legal when that video was filmed.”
My heart thrums against my ribcage as Dalton does a double-take. “You have multiple videos uploaded to YouTube?”
Thank fuck Dalton jumped back into the conversation because I was two seconds from whipping out my phone, snapping Willow’s photo, and going on a Google hunt. These days, Willow is a common name, but that won’t dampen my eagerness in the slightest to discover what tape shethinkswe’re referencing. I’m not a dirty old man who trolls the web for naughty pics of college students, but if they're out there for the world to see, its fair game as far as I'm concerned.
Furthermore, I’m dying to discover if her tits are real. Her video may give me the answer I’m seeking without making me appear seedy. . .for the most part.
If only I could lift my jaw from the ground, then maybe she'd stop staring at me like I'm a contestant at a freaky Friday competition.
The hang of my jaw doubles when Willow asks, “That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? A. . .somewhatrisqué YouTube clip?”
Although panicked, she’s got a smart head on her shoulders. By keeping our interest on the footage, she’s hoping we’ll forget her confession about knocking someone out. I’m not as willing to let it slide. She’s young—so young I shouldn’t be looking at her as I am—but her youth has unlocked something inside of me I haven’t unleashed in years: my naturally engrained playfulness.
When Dalton attempts to relieve Willow’s worry, I stop him. He eyes me with suspicion but doesn’t break my cover when I say, “First-degree assault is a very serious charge, Ms. . .”
“Hart,” Willow fills in, her voice quivering.
My arched brow grows and grows until she succumbs to its pressure. “Fine. It’s Underwood. Willow Reed Underwood. U.N.D.E.R—Wood. As in the wood your pants struggled to contain when I spun around to face you.”
Spit flies out of Dalton’s mouth when he fails to smother his chuckle. I don’t know if he’s chuckling at Willow’s reply or the horrendous name her parents bestowed upon her. Whatever it is, I’m laughing right with him.
“You’re name is Willow Reed Underwood?”
When she nods, I laugh even louder. “Your parents aren’t environmentalists by any chance, are they? Tree huggers? Forrest lovers?” My voice crackles more with each word I speak. “Let me guess, your sister’s name is Aspen, Maple, or Birch. It’s Birch, isn’t it?”
Unimpressed, Willow folds her arms under her chest. I really wish she wouldn’t. One thrust of her boobs and my brain turns to dust.
“Alright, asshat, you’ve had your fun; now get on your bike.”
