Page 60 of Hard to Handle

No one does.

And when I go to pick up the hammer to finish punishment number one, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.

I look over to where Terry Fischer plays with the ties of the bottom of what could be called a T-shirt if it had more fabric to it as she walks toward me. Her shorts are short, her legs are sinfully long, and her sandals high. When she rocks back on her heels as she licks her lips and bats her eyelashes, every damn ounce of blood in my body heads south and my mouth goes dry.

“Hey. I thought you were going out to Rick’s house for some beers before we meet up for pictures and then head to the dance.”

I stare at her—I mean how can I not—eyes blinking and lips parting, before I realize she thinks I’m Jonah.

There’s a split second where I hesitate and she continues—her hips swaying, her fingers accidentally twisting her shirt tighter over her boobs—and I keep thinking about my brother.

How much he thinks he loves her.

How he’s already lost his virginity to her. (Hasn’t everyone at Hillman High?)

How he has fucking everything without trying, while I have to work so damn hard at everything . . . but for what?

“Jonah,” she croons as she stops within a foot of me, laces her fingers with mine, and swings our arms. “What’s wrong?” Pouty lips. Cleavage right there. Perfume. “Your daddy make you finish this since I distracted you the other day from finishing?”

Her giggle fills the air and her tits jiggle when she does. I’m mesmerized.

“Yeah.” I smile and emit a nervous laugh. No wonder Jonah keeps volunteering to come over here and work on Watson’s property.

“You gonna answer that phone?” she asks. I didn’t even hear my cell ringing again.

“It’s probably Hunter.” I roll my eyes. “You know how he is.”

She laughs again and twirls a lock of hair on the finger of her free hand. “So . . . you’re not out with the guys?”

“I had to finish this. I’m meeting up with them in a bit.” I wrack my brain to remember what was supposed to happen this afternoon. “I—uh—thought you were getting your hair or nails or whatever done,” I fumble.

“Why?” She leans up against me. “You don’t think I’m pretty just like this?”

Jesus. Hell. Fuck. Nerves vibrate through me just as fast as the adrenaline does, and I swear I can smell it coming from my pores.

I’ve dated girls. Lots of them. I’ve been to second base a few times, while the guys think I’ve all but slid home.

But this is Terry Fischer, innocent sweetheart to parents and blowjob queen to the boys of Hillman and the almost-men at the local junior college.

“Pretty?” I lick my lips, my mouth dry as cotton, my dick harder than it’s ever been before and my balls ache. “You’re so much more than pretty.”

“Jonah,” she says in a singsong voice as her lips meet mine. The hammer drops to the ground with a thud right beside the cellphone that starts to ring again as her fingers slide around my neck and thread through my hair.

Terry Fischer is kissing me.

Our tongues touch, and she moans loudly as she presses her body against mine.

My thoughts are frantic. What am I supposed to do now? I’m going to hell.

Oh my God, this feels so fucking good.

She thinks I’m Jonah.

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

The kiss grows greedy, if that’s even a thing. Like I can’t get enough of it or her, and it’s easier to get lost in her kiss than to acknowledge the tinge of guilt over how I’m kissing my brother’s girlfriend.