Page 34 of Hard to Score

“Let’s go, Bowman. Don’t be a pussy.”

I lift a middle finger in the air, roll my eyes as the guys laugh, and hate that as I rise from my seat in the sand, I know what every guy here is thinking about and wanting to do with her.

But it’s Bratty Brex, and I’m struggling to figure out why all of a sudden I’m nervous to kiss her, when I’m never nervous for shit like that.

“Hi,” she whispers when I step up to her. “I’m sorry it’s me.”

“Don’t be. It’s just . . .” But there’s something about the way she looks at me that stops the words on my lips. It’s the flames from the fire reflected in her hair. The quick intake of her breath. The way her eyelashes flutter when she looks at me.

Jesus, when did she become so pretty?

“Just what?”

When did she go from being Bratty Brex to Beautiful Brex? How did I not notice?

“Let’s go, man. Time’s a-wasting. Or,” he says with a dramatic pause, “are you two too chicken to follow through?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say and then step forward to stop my overthinking and press my lips to hers.

Holy shit.

I’ve kissed a lot of girls—pecks on the lips, tongue action, you name it—but there’s something about when my lips meet hers, when our tongues touch, when her fingers tense against my chest, that makes every part of me feel like I just touched a live wire.

I jolt back, electrified with a desire I don’t quite understand yet that’s edged with anger, and stare at her.

“What?” she whispers as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, confusion in her eyes.

I just stare at her. At the reflection of the fire on her lip gloss. At the doe-eyed look she’s giving me. At how her mouth parts and her breath seems a little faster—kind of like how mine is—and I wonder why I feel so lightheaded all of a sudden, why my stomach suddenly feels like it’s tied in knots.

“Holy crap, everyone,” Hank shouts, stopping the hooting and hollering I didn’t even hear. I snap my head his way, suddenly aware of everyone around us. “I do believe that Drew and Brexton here already have something going on. Do you two sneak into each other’s beds at night when your mommies and daddies fall asleep? Do you—”

“Cut the crap, Hank.” It has to be the beer I’ve drank. “I assure you, we are only friends,” I say with as much conviction as possible.

Definitely the beer.

“Friends with benefits,” he shouts and everyone starts laughing. I glance at Brexton, who steps back into the shadows away from the fire.

If I look at her, he’ll think I’m lying, but that wounded expression on her face tells me she’s upset.

“Not in the least, dude.”

“So then why aren’t you taking your five minutes behind the Coconut Shack with her?” he taunts.

“No thanks. We’re friends with a capital F. Believe me.”

“I’m just fucking with you,” Hank says as he slaps me on the back and cracks another beer. “I’ll give you a do-over. Who you kissing next, since obviously you need to wash that friend taste out of your mouth?”

I laugh and go along with the guys but when I look back over my shoulder, Brexton is gone, and I’m left wondering what the hell just happened.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

BREXTON

Drew: So about last night . . .

I BREATHE A SIGH OF relief at the sight of it. The sad fact is it’s been a day since Jules and Archer’s wedding and I’m stuck in a state of limbo. The kind where you wonder how much time you should let pass before you call back the guy who just left you a message for the first time.

To know if he remembers what happened or regrets what happened or anywhere in between.