Page 37 of Hating On Riot

Riot

Knowing how to win Arie over, I reach across her chest for the seatbelt and buckle her in. I don’t miss the slight tremor running through her or the hitch in her breathing when my hand brushes across her chest and lingers on her hip.

I hold back my smile.

My Tiptoe is turned the fuck on.

Drawing in a breath, squaring her shoulders, she scoots back until her sneakers dangle off the bench seat, then clasps her hands in her lap. Miss Prim and Proper. Finding her primness sexy as hell but not wanting to give her a complex, I don’t draw attention to it by teasing her.

But I will take advantage of having her to myself.

Needing more of her, of how her body reacts to my every move, I crowd her space, reach over, and stick the key in the ignition, flexing my hard-earned muscles in the gym and on my brothers’ construction sites. I also give her a whiff of my scent—sweat and my natural musk. I remember how much she loved rubbing her nose in my sweat-dampened hair and shirt after rugby practice.

She sticks out her arm and touches the spot behind my ear before caressing down the heated, sweat-slickened skin of my neck, and lingering in the crook of my shoulder.

Fuck me, the pressure of her fingers on my flesh, her soft sigh as she presses her face into my hair and inhales deeply, the way her other arm wraps around me, pressing me fully against her, her palm on my back . . . I groan, and it’s fucking loud.

“Riot.”

She’s out of breath. I’m holding mine. What should I do? Yes, we’re alone, and she’s mine when we’re alone, but we’re also in public.

There are cameras around campus for safety. Kids come and go from the library and the nearby gym. They’ll have their cell phones and can take a picture, blowing Cooper and Arie’s cover. Then Coop won’t make the girl of his dreams, the one he’s been stuck on since high school—which was four freaking years ago—jealous, and his plan goes out the window.

Wincing in pain as my boner strains against my shorts, I edge away from Arie. “We can’t. It’s too public.”

She takes a deep breath, drops her hand from my neck, and toys with the seatbelt across her lap with her other hand. I get it. If I had something to tug at to distract myself from my boner, I’d do the same.

The emptiness left behind when she removes her hand from my back is palpable. I don’t know which hurts more, my boner or the emptiness she’s left behind.

I cradle her face in my palm and rest my forehead against hers. She has the most beautiful dark-brown eyes. “I’m up for another game tonight after we practice maneuvers if you’re in.”

“What kind of game?” she asks timidly, getting my cock harder, if that’s possible.

Jesus H. Christ, mix timid with prim and proper, and I am falling for Arie all over again.

But did I ever fall out of love with her?

“Never Have I Ever, but removing pieces of clothing instead of taking a drink.”

She opens her mouth.

I stop her with my finger on her luscious lips, knowing what she’s about to say, given the mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Five pieces of clothing each, Arie. You cannot hide this fine body of yours,” I run my gaze from her eyebrows down to her sneakers, “from me behind layers upon layers of clothing.”

“Darn, you got me there.” She bites back a smile, looking too sexy and adorable for her own good as she peers at me from under the baseball cap. My cap, by the way, which I loaned her and will not get back.

The black cap looks better on her than it does on me.

“Ready for grub?”

“Yes,” she says with a firm nod and a determined set to her jaw.

“Then Mexican it is.”

Her face softens. “My favorite.”

Her arms wrap around me before I can say, “I know, baby.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “For deciding.”