It was official. I was never going to look at a potato the same way ever again.ButI wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction he desired, nor the praise he thought he deserved.
“Wow,” I said, pausing to lick my lips. Slow satisfaction spread throughout my body when his attention shifted to my tongue. “That’s . . . okay.”
His eyes widened. “Okay?Just okay?!”
“Pretty good,” I said, bobbing my head. “A little salty.”
He tucked his hands into his pockets and stepped back. It took everything in me to keep my eyes on his upper half. Something told me that a quick glance below his waist would tell me that I wasn’t the only one affected by what would forever be known as “The Horny Potato Incident.”
I could feel the weight of my friends’ gazes on us, but the last thing I wanted was another public inquisition about my love life. It was time to end this—and him.
“But don’t worry,” I said, clapping Pink on the shoulder and nailing him with a pointed glare. “I’m sure, with some time and maybe a little coaching, you’ll eventually get them right.”
Without another word, I turned on my heels and headed toward the house. It wasn’t often I got the final word—especially when facing off with Jared Pink—so I was going to make the most of it. Besides, I was desperate to get away from prying eyes—and even more desperate to get inside and taste whatever Wes was cooking up. Hopefully, it would measure up to Pink’s fries.
Because that one bite of fried potatoes was by far the most delicious thing I had ever put in my mouth.
At least, so far.
Pink
Imight never wash my fingers again.
The two fingers that, not an hour ago, had been inside Nessa Gibbs’ mouth. My pitching fingers, no less.
Talk about a curveball.
When I’d offered her the fry, I hadn’t expected her to actually take it, let alone gobble it down whole with thatfuckingtongue of hers. The same tongue I had envisioned teasing my cock for hours on end.
“Dude, you’re drooling.”
A light shove to my shoulder had me tearing my attention away from the star of my X-rated fantasies and turning smack dab into a waft of barbecue smoke.
“Dude, you’re burning my burger,” I snapped.
Bennett looked down at the grill and frowned. “Fuck.”
“Here,” I said, snatching the stainless-steel spatula out of his hand. “Allow me.”
“Be my guest. I don’t know how I ended up manning the grill.” He popped the top off a fresh beer and stepped aside. “One minute, Soren was asking me to flip the burgers, and the next, he was disappearing into the back with Clarke to ‘grab more napkins.’”
I smirked. “I guess he needed an extra hand.”
“I bet.”
Clarke and Soren had outdone themselves, both with the house and the party, so they deserved a few minutes—or forty—to themselves. Besides, we had more than enough food and conversation (and napkins) to go around.
Our team—and that extended beyond the starting lineup, because Clarke and Soren had invited some of the coaching and office staff, too—knew how to bring the fun. Food, too, judging by the overflowing kitchen island. Between Nate’s soup dumplings, Wes’stostones, and Tuck’s build-your-own pasta bowl, we were all going to need to double-up on cardio for the next week. Starting this afternoon with Roman and Matty’s capture the flag game, as soon as they (finally) finished deciding who was shirts and who was skins.
“I get it, though.”
“What?” I asked Bennett.
“Why you’re so into her.” He nodded his head toward Nessa. Wes had been chatting her up for nearly twenty minutes over by the creek that ran through the property. I had already decided to give him ten more minutes before I came up with some arbitrary excuse to call him over.
No swooping, asshole.
I had repeated the mantra to myself over and over for a week now. Hopefully, one of these days, it would finally sink in.
