Page 43 of A Quarterback for Christmas

“But I can’t do it.”

I shake my head, laughing sarcastically. “Wow, do you really hate me that much that you’d let me have bad luck for the rest of the year?” I’m pushing his buttons on purpose now because I want to get a reaction out of him.

“That’s not it.” He’s clenching his fists and his jaw in almost perfect tandem. I’m getting to him. Riling him up, and I like it.

“Then what’s the problem? Just one little kiss to take away my bad luck.”

“Bella,” he warns. “You know it’s not just one kiss.”

“Then what is it?”

He runs a hand through his hair, and I hold back laughing as I watch this six-foot guy pacing the smallest laundry room known to man. Why is he so angsty about this? A kiss is a kiss.

“Oh, I get it. It’s because I repulse you.”

“No.”

I wave my hand flippantly. “It’s fine. It’s understandable. We aren’t all as beautiful and perfect as Brianna.” I turn away, ready to hobble down the hall. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I’m not going to force the guy to kiss me. “I try my hardest to look as good as I can, but if that’s not what you’re into, it’s not what you’re into.”

“Will you shut up for just one minute of your life.” He growls, and I can hear him making his way to me. Something about his voice makes me still, and like a deer caught in headlights, I wait for the collision.

With each step, my heart beats faster and in any other circumstance, I would think I was having a heart attack, but I’m not. It’s just my desperate anticipation, waiting for the tiniest of pecks from him.

Pathetic.

Face to chest, Drew’s right up against me, and I stare at the little crease in his white t-shirt. My brain acts like one of those naughty pens, and it’s like I’m tipping it upside down eagerly, waiting for his clothes to come off. Only, I have to imagine it, since I already know he’s not going to do it.

Drew breathes roughly and cups my cheeks in his hands, forcing my gaze up. His warm breath fans over me, and just as I think he’s going to ask permission to kiss me, he doesn’t.

He just does it.

His lips are on mine, passionately kissing me before I really have time to process it.

Fire.

That’s all this is. A burning desire to know what he feels like and my body is thumping with every move his lips make because I finally know what Drew tastes like, and it’s better than I’ve ever imagined.

With my eyes closed, I can feel his fingers twitching and his body pulling back, and I whine because this can’t be it. Drew wants this to end before it’s started.

That can’t happen. I need more.

So I take it.

I wrap my hands around his neck, forcing him in place, and kiss him harder. It’s just as I always suspected. Drew is a fantastic kisser. With little teasing nibbles before his tongue licks at my lips, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted. My body arches into his, meeting his chest, and it’s like we’re molded together, becoming one in this embrace. When I curl my fingers, digging into the back of his neck, I feel him relax. He moves one of his hands to the small of my back and tilts my cheek to get a better angle. We haven’t French kissed yet, but when I feel his pinkie finger dip a little to the top of my shorts, I take it as an invitation to open my mouth.

My tongue clashes with his, and he quivers at the move. I grab his bottom lip with my teeth, giving it a little bite before kissing it better.

This feels good.

So, so, so good.

“Ouch,” I cry, involuntarily pulling away from him and dropping to my toes. In my haste, I accidently whacked my bad leg against the door frame, making me lose my balance, and Drew’s lips all at once.

The heat of the moment is gone, and although Drew’s breathing heavy, I know that’s the end of it. My damn neon cast cockblocked me.

“Are you okay?” Drew braces me. His lips are puffy and red from our kiss, but there’s no heat behind his eyes. He wasn’t thinking about laundry room sex or eating me out on top of the machine. He was trying to make sure I didn’t have bad luck because I coerced him into being a nice guy like that.

That fact slides down my spine, settling in my stomach, where it marinates for a few seconds until I can process it.

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