Then his tongue swept against mine.
Hot.
Slow.
Certain.
And my body folded like it had been waiting all night for permission.
A sound slipped out of me before I could stop it.
Soft. Embarrassing. Honest.
Drew heard it.
His grip tightened.
He tasted like peppermint and sin, like beer and victory and bad decisions made in the dark. The second his mouth opened over mine, that other night came crashing back. The one I still refused to think about too clearly. Me with tears in my eyes over Vale. Drew making me feel wanted when I had been humiliated. Drew’s hands, Drew’s mouth, Drew looking at me like there was nothing almost about the way he wanted me.
This kiss was worse.
Because I was not crying now.
I was not using him to survive someone else.
I was kissing him because I wanted to.
Because I was mad at him.
Because he was mine in public and impossible in private and I had no idea where the performance ended anymore.
His hands moved from my face, down my sides, over the oversized jersey with his name across my back. His palms found my hips.
Then lower.
He cupped my ass and pulled me into him.
Hard.
I gasped against his mouth.
He was already there.
Thick and unmistakable against my stomach, and the knowledge shot heat straight through me so fast my knees nearly forgot their job. Drew made a rough sound low in his throat, like he felt me feel it, like the little hitch in my breath had done something vicious to his self-control.
His mouth left mine only to drag across my jaw.
“Still mad?” he murmured against my skin.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
His teeth grazed the side of my throat.
My fingers fisted in his shirt.
Down the beach, somebody whistled.
