Page 35 of The Score We Never Settled

“You don’t mean that,” I retort, needing to hear him say it again.

“I definitely do.” His lips press lightly into mine when he whispers, “Fuck, I love the sound of that. Mrs. Kerrigan. I’m gonna keep sayin’ it until it’s true.”

“You’re insane.”

“And you need to come.” His fingers suddenly show up on my upper thigh and trail underneath the fabric of my dress. “Now,be a good girl for me and tell me how much you think of me when it’s him that people call your boyfriend.”

His touch feels like fire licking up my skin, and he wastes no time running the tips of his digits across my panties with one ruthless swipe to my clit.

“I bet you taste so good, Layla Jean,” he mutters through this deep and needy tone that has goosebumps littering my skin. “You’ve been good for me, haven’t you?”

I move my head with a frenzied bob because I have. I wish Briggs were my boyfriend, open and honest, who was walking me to classes, sitting with me at lunch, and kissing me because he wants to.

We steal everything we have.

Looks, moments, brushing of hands, and hidden minutes like these. Uncle Ben has been on this kick lately with colleges and plans. Of all the things I can do and accomplish, I’m on the right track.

His approved track.

The one with a golden boy boyfriend—who really is a dick—and a good head on my shoulders. If he knew Briggs was the boy I wanted to be with, he’d have a heart attack.

“I can only take this for so long, Short Stop, before I lose my mind,” he confesses, dipping two fingers underneath my panties, but he doesn’t give me what I want—yet. “You don’t know how hard it is for me to watch you walk around with this prick instead of me.”

“It…” I moan when he teases my clit. “Isn’t forever.”

“Feels like it.”

“You need to stop givin’ my uncle things to complain about, then.”

“I volunteered at the Thanksgiving feast.”

“You ate half the food, Briggs.”

He doesn’t respond right away, but then mumbles, “Shit was good.” I smack his chest lightly, and he chuckles a little. “Alright, moregolden boyand less me.”

“I don’t want you to do that.”

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“Less painting taunts on the water tower and more…calm things.”

Briggs kisses my neck and licks up my flesh in one slow, torturous movement. “I don’t know how to be calm.”

“You have to be playin’ shortstop.”

“Yes, but I like focusin’ on you better. You’re short, and you definitely got me to stop in my tracks when you were wearing that pink dress that one day.”

Short stop.

The position that he plays, but he gave me another version to link us.

And I really love it.

Cruzloathesit.

“I’ve had it for years.”

“Then it was the way you filled it out this time. I’m hooked.”