It just feels wrong to share someone else’s bed if I’m sleeping in Mickey’s..
And, yeah, we’re just sleeping, but still. Sometimes we cuddle when one of us can’t turn our brain off and get to sleep. But it’s the same way I’d cuddle Maggie.
I mean, I guess it’s not quite the same. Maggie doesn’t have a colossal dick. Maggie’s never made me come so hard I squirted.
Mickey does, and Mickey has.
Of course, he doesn’t remember any of it. But I do. I remember everything.
5
Viv
ONE YEAR AGO
I’m collecting what I hope is the last of the beer and soda cans when I hear footsteps on the stairs. There’s no doubt it’s Josie coming to see if I need a hand with clean up. I’m not going to take what she’s offering, though. She was sweet enough to let us use her basement for Maggie and JT’s baby shower, so she shouldn’t have to tidy up after our messy friends.
“I’m almost finished, so you can take your cute little ass upstairs, find your hot boyfriend, and go to bed,” I call over my shoulder as I bed down to pick up a plate I missed earlier.
“You think my ass is cute?”
I turn at the sound of the deep voice because it’s not Josie’s, but it is one I recognize.
Brannon Mikalski is infamous on this campus, and not just because he accidentally lit a couch on fire last semester and nearly burned the hockey house to the ground. The man is legendary for multiple reasons. Sure, he plays hockey, and that gets him a fair amount of attention. But the, uh…biggest reason of all is what hangs between his legs. Rumor has it that Big Dick Mick knows exactly how to use what the good Lord blessed him with.
I don’t know that from personal experience, though. I haven’t spent much time with Mickey, but that will change soon enough. When Maggie and JT have their baby, I have no doubt Mickey and I will race each other to the hospital to get the first peek. I haven’t decided yet if we’re going to be allies or enemies. It all depends on whether or not he accepts the inevitable fact that I will be this baby’s favorite relative.
“You never answered my question.”
I look up—way up—into handsome green eyes and realize that I must’ve spaced out for a bit. It only takes me a second to get my bearings and slide into sassy mode, since it is my natural state. “To be honest, I thought you were Josie at first. But since we’re talking about your ass, I don’t think cute is quite the right word for it. If I weren’t so full from the cake I ate, I just might take a bite out of it.”
I watch as Mickey’s eyes get a little darker. “Josie and Van are upstairs sleeping. They told me to lock up before I leave. Oh, and if you want seconds on the cake, all you have to do is ask,” he tells me, grabbing a fresh trash bag from the box and shaking it out.
A man with a fine backside, a good sense of humor, and the ability to clean up a mess? I just might end up liking Brannon Mikalski after all.
He stills his movements, and then frowns. “And I didn’t mean cake like the bakery treat, just so we’re clear. I was still talking about my ass. But the cake was really good. Did you make it? I had two pieces, but I didn’t eat the icing on the second one. Too much sugar makes me a little nuts.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. The man is bouncing on the balls of his feet while telling me he has a bad reaction to too much sugar. No shit. I’m afraid he’s going to be offended by my giggling, but he starts cracking up, too, and I’m immediately relieved.
“Sorry. You probably knew exactly what I meant. I’m not really used to flirting, so I guess I’m rusty.” He’s blushing, and it’s freaking adorable.
“Nobody makes you work for it, huh?” I ask, stepping past him and bending down to scoop up an errant napkin. And yes, I’m showing off my own ass. Fair’s fair, and if this is a contest, I’m either going to win or get a taste of his cake. I guess that makes me a winner, either way. Am I possibly playing a dangerous game? Always. And a little play never hurt, anyway. If all I get is a little banter, that’s fine. If I get more, though, I’m not going to turn it down. For fuck’s sake, the man is beautiful.
“Nah, turns out, girls only want one thing from me,” he says, responding to my question as I stand up straight. Without shoes, I’m only five feet tall, but I pack a whole lot of personality into sixty inches.
“Oh yeah? And what’s that one thing? Is it lifting heavy stuff? Because there are some boxes that need to go out to the garage.”
The smile he gives me is enough to make my heart beat a little faster. “The muscles don’t hurt, but that’s not what they’re after. Are these the ones that go upstairs?” He’s pointing to the pile of gifts that JT will need to pick up tomorrow, and all I can do is nod in response. I'm usually much more composed than this. As a cheerleader, I spend my days around hot bodies. I won’t say I’m immune to them, but I definitely don’t lust after my teammates. But Mickey? Well, when the view is this good, what else am I supposed to do?
It takes him six or seven trips to haul all the loot upstairs, and I’m realizing now that I probably should have stepped in to help, but it’s way more fun to watch him work.
But when Mickey returns from his final trips, tugs his shirt off, wipes his face with the fabric, and tosses it on the back of an empty chair, I’m kind of glad I made him do all the heavy lifting.
“Is it hot in here or is it just me?” he asks, a sheen of perspiration glimmering off his chest.
“Yes,” I say, because both things are true: it’s warm down here and Brannon Mikalski is hot as hell.
He nods and then smiles, as if my meaning just clicked in his brain. That devastating smile stays in place as he walks toward me, stopping just a foot away from where I’m standing.
