Childish of me to say, but that’s exactly what’s going on right now.
“Good,” he snaps. “I don’t want you anywhere near my team. They’re working hard and don’t need you distracting them.”
I’m not even going to waste my time asking how I would possibly do that. He may be oddly attractive—and by oddly, I just mean it’s odd for me to find him attractive—but man, he makes it hard to like him.
“Sure,” I say and brush past him to head down the stairs. Hopefullythisencounter will dissuade my mind from fixating on the kiss we shared.
Lemon stops me, gripping my sleeve tightly and spinning me around on the stairs. He’s slightly taller than me right now since I’m down two steps. I’m not entirely sure how to describehis eyes. They’re brown, but they’re… magnificent. There’s something unique about them, though I can’t put my finger on what.
“Does Jefferson know that you’re corrupting his players now?” he accuses, and my eyes drop to his mouth.
I frown. Jefferson is the girls’ lacrosse coach. Part of me doesn’t even want to engage. Answering his outrageous accusations is ridiculous. I have to wonder what his mind’s like. How does he even think of this stuff?
“Don’t you dare go near my kids, Bardot,” he sneers.
Again, I don’t bother answering him. “Are you through?”
He doesn’t let me go. We stand there for several beats, his beautiful eyes staring into mine. Is it just me or is the temperature rising in the stairwell all of the sudden? My gaze flits down to his lips again when his tongue pokes out to wet them. My heartbeat echoes in my ears. A constantwhooshwhirring inside my head.
I’m not sure who moves first but in the next minute, our mouths are molded together. His hands move into my hair, gripping it tightly on each side of my head as he kisses me hard.
For the first few seconds, I think I need to stop this. The thought is quickly drowned out as he steps closer, and my arms rise to his waist. Gripping his lean frame. His shirt is short so my fingers touch skin right away.
He’s smooth. Soft with a lean frame. I pull him to me as we lick into each other’s mouths, bringing his body against mine.
Lemon groans. One of his hands moves to the back of my head, the other moving down my chest, my stomach, his fingertips dipping beneath the elastic of my sports pants.
Then he’s suddenly off me, leaving me startled and staring. Lemon steps back so quickly that he nearly stumbles over his fallen hat. I grip his arm, keeping him upright. As soon as he regains his balance, he yanks free of me.
He’s breathless, staring at me with wide eyes. I can see the heat in them. I can feel the remnants of his body heat where it seeped into my skin.
As with last time he kissed me, Lemon takes off. He bends to grab his hat, giving me an unfiltered look at his ass in those spandex leggings, and then shoves through the door.
Meanwhile, I’m left with my head spinning, my body jittery, and my cock interested.
What the fuck is going on here?
CHAPTER 9
LEMON
Idrive to work with Sugar on the phone. It’s one of my favorite ways to wake up. I enjoy being close to my sister. One out of three siblings is better than none, right?
“Did you hear about Saff yet?” she asks.
“What now?”
“She’s set a date for her wedding. November 11th.” I hum. I will not be in attendance. “Which of course has Steak pissed off.”
“Why?” I ask.
“That’s the day after he and Becca were going to get married. He thinks Saff is being inconsiderate when he’s already going to be going through a hard time.”
Okay so, here’s the scoop. Sugar is the oldest. Then there’s me, our next sister Saffron, and then our baby brother, Basil, though we call him Steak. By the time he was born, me and Sugar thought our parents were fucking weird naming us after food. We teased that he should be a protein, but they went with an herb instead.
We refused to call him Basil, though. At first, we tried Salmon, but it made us giggle every single time. After a few more failed attempts, we landed on Steak.
I’d like to say my parents are hippies, and I do when I have to explain our names to people, but really, Sugar and I are the seventies kids. Our parents were born in the early fifties. Though I suppose they could definitely be hippies, since they were having us in the seventies. A little too much drugs, if you ask me.
