Here I am.
Whisking her away on herfirstavailable day.
Just as I prepare to press the bell, the door flies open revealing to me a sight worthy of more than the homemade summer beverage I’m grasping.
Gardinergivemestrengthnot to completely embarrass myself in front of the boys today.
“Jukes,” coos the woman I can’t wait to have my name.
Number.
Mini.
“Gillybean,” I breathlessly croon back while cupping her cheek to smash our mouths together.
Now, properly kissing your woman?
It’sa good examplefor Bronny to have.
The tip of her tongue temptingly rolls across mine leaving me with no choice but to chase after it in desperation to prove how much I’ve missed the powerful wet muscle.
This.
Her.
Us.
One feverish lash manages to become two and then three and a fourth alongside a hungry tug closer to match the deeper diving before Bronny is grumbling, “I canlegitsee your tongue in her mouth.”
At that, Gilly pushes me backwards and giggles. “Sorry!”
“Don’t be,” my younger brother insists after I swipe away the tiny bit of spit, I left behind in the corner of her mouth. “If you were mine, I’d likely do the same.”
Her small swoon is accompanied by a soft grin. “Well, aren’t you sweet.”
“And wayunderaged,” I gruffly reprimand him.
“For now,” Bronny cheekily pokes.
“Forever.” My attention drops down to him. “Knock that shit off. She’s not only off-limits but way too old for you.”
“Same can be said for you, Jukes.”
Her comment cockily curls my head back to her. “Not accordin’ to Simon & Garfunkel.”
“Calling me Mrs. Robinson is sonotthe compliment you think it is.”
“Fair enough,” leaves me on a small chortle. “What about ‘Diana’ by Paul Anka?”
“Not familiar with it.”
“’Desirée’ by Neil Diamond?”
“More familiar.”
“Broooooo,” the teen beside me whistles, “you’re like a human Spotify app.”
“And that’s why I call him Jukes,” Gilly states with pride prior to extending her hand out for him to shake. “Gillian.”
