Page 26 of Home Game

“It’s just a kiss,” I said against his mouth, biting his lower lip to see if that would get a reaction. “Do I seem weirded out?”

“You seem like you’re out of your mind,” he said in a low growl.

Who knew the pretty little rich guy was even capable of sounding like that? This was my reward for taking things too far—for going somewhere most people would never usually go.

“Tell me to stop and I will at any moment,” I said.

And I meant it. If I’d had any inkling that Emmett wasn’t comfortable, I’d have stopped in a second.

But when my lips had first touched his, he hadn’t pulled away. Hadn’t even stiffened up. I swore he’d leaned in, like something inside him was asking for more, even though he couldn’t do it himself.

I nipped a kiss at the corner of his lips. He moaned again.

“Keep going, Storm,” he said. “Maybe I want to see how far you’ll go before you freak about kissing a guy and I win.”

Check, check, and check.

I groaned, claiming his mouth again and taking his wrist in my hand.

God, Emmett was fun. He really thought he could win? He didn’t know me well enough yet to know the most important thing about me: that I wasn’t afraid of anything. I’d spent my whole life doing whatever the hell I wanted to do, so why wouldn’t I kiss a guy? Emmett wanted to push me just as much as I wanted to push him. To lick the taste of whiskey right from his tongue.

And show him that nothing he could say or do would ever get to me. I couldn’t be bought. Couldn’t be messed with. Couldn’t be weirded out.

“Kissed you,” I told him, my voice dropping lower now. “Doesn’t mean I want to fuck you.”

“Where’s Señor Stormy Eyes?” a very drunk-sounding voice came from around the corner.

I broke off from Emmett, turning around just as my friend Mack came around the corner, beer in hand.

The electric thrill shot through me as Mack looked over at us, squinting in the low light.

There it is again. Ready to back down yet, Emmett?

My hand was still gripped around Emmett’s wrist. Mack took one look at it and then looked up at me, his gaze hardening.

“Who’s this fucker?” Mack said, drunk and clearly looking for a fight. “What did he say? If this is another homophobic piece of shit, I’m going to sock him in the face myself, Stormy—”

“Chill, Mack,” I said, letting go of Emmett’s arm. “He isn’t a homophobe.”

“Storm was just showing me where a good place for my first tattoo might be,” Emmett said.

Interesting. Emmett telling a little white lie even though he didn’t need to.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Mack said, his face brightening in an instant. “Inner wrist will hurt you, though, bud, if it’s your first tat. Storm told me he cried like a baby just from his latest shoulder tattoo.”

“I didn’t cry,” I clarified. “But it did hurt like a bitch, and I’m not afraid to say it.”

“Load ‘er up, boys!” an unmistakable voice came from the direction of my patio.

“Fuck,” I said. “Mom is about to do a brain blast. I need to go prevent that from happening.”

“Do I even want to know what a brain blast is?” Emmett asked.

“When you mix a tiny bit of every liquor at the bar and take it like a shot.”

“A really, really big shot,” Mack said with a wicked grin.

“Hallelujah, motherfucker!” I heard Mom saying, followed by a peal of laughter. “I might be old, but I’m never going to slow down.”

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