Page 53 of Wicked Serve

I run my hand over my jaw. I peel off my jacket and toss it onto the desk chair. I wish I could see inside her head, figure out what she’s thinking. All I know is that I feel off-kilter. I didn’t intend to hang out with Cooper at her house, but he asked, and I couldn’t say no, after our conversation with Coach. Yet the look on her face when she saw me with her brother...

I didn’t really think she was going out with someone else, but for half a second I considered it, and I hated it so much, I wanted to march out the door after her and stop her from getting in her car.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how my date’s going?” she asks.

“If this is about your brother, he’s the one who invited me over.”

She keeps reading.

“Isabelle. Look at me.”

A tight white dress. Seashell-pink lipstick. Her long, strong legs, swinging back and forth like she’s having a goddamn picnic, not camping out on my bed. Everything about her is so sexy, it makes me dizzy. My dick ached the entire Uber here—I declined Cooper’s invitation to drive me home, and I was too impatient to walk—and she has to know it. She didn’t put on that dress and those fuck-me pumps without wanting to make it so.

It’s calculated. Measured.

Thank fucking God she’s not on a date with someone else.

She’s not really reading. She’s waiting. She took out the game board and set up the pieces, and she wants me to roll first. I lean against my closet door, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Looks like your date ditched you.”

“He’s a little late.” She finally looks at me, marking her place in the book with her finger. “Between you and me, I think he’s hanging out with my brother instead.”

“If it’s for the good of the team,” I say lightly.

She sits up, arranging her body with delicate preciseness. She looks like a princess, hair cascading down her back, legs pressed together and angled to the side. Her eyes, however, are stormy.

“I thought the last date I had with him went well,” she says, picking an invisible bit of lint off her skirt. “I’d give it a seven out of ten.”

My jaw twitches. “Only a seven?”

“We hit a wall. And I’m sorry about that. But then he doesn’t text—you know how I hate when guys don’t text.”

“I can imagine.”

She sighs, sounding put-upon. “As if that’s not bad enough, I find out that he’s hanging out with my brother. Acting like he doesn’t know me at all.”

I’m itching to break character, but I just shake my head. “You have to know it’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” She presses her lips together. “I spent all this time getting ready, and he’s late.”

I take a step closer. Just one, as careful as she’s being. This is a dance. Her game.

“Maybe I can help.”

She snaps her gaze upward. “He’ll be upset if he sees me with someone else.”

Another step, and another. I cup her chin in my hand, brushing my thumb over her lips. Her eyes flutter shut, body relaxing into my touch.

“Take it out on me,” I whisper.

Slowly, slowly, she slips to her knees. My breath hitches.

She drags her fingernail down the hard bulge in my jeans. I curl my fingers in her hair, just lightly, wanting her to guide the moment. She undoes my pants, taking out my already-hard cock.

She reaches between her legs. Heat pools in my stomach and lower, making my body tighten with anticipation. Her hand shines with her own slick as she grips me, mouthing at the tip with the tiniest, most perfect sigh.

“Atta girl,” I say hoarsely.

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