Page 63 of Puck Block

This is bad.

I flop onto my back and grab the blanket to cover my face. “Five what?”

“I was just counting how many glucose tablets I could throw at you before you woke up.” I hate that I want to smile. “Five, in case you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” I say matter-of factly.

I’m on high alert, all senses hypervigilant. My ears perk when I hear his footsteps against the floor, and my pulse thrums. He’sas quiet as a mouse, but I feel how close he is to me. “Finger,” he says.

Surprisingly, my glucose monitor hasn’t gone off, but I know that I’m going to have to explain to him what’s going on, and I really don’t want to.

It’s a consequence I was willing to pay last night, though.

Damn you, Taytum.

I pop an arm out of the blanket while still hiding under the covers. Ford chuckles and gently takes my hand in his and flips it palm up.

“Why are you taking my sugar like this when I have an automatic glucose monitor on my arm?” I mumble from beneath the blankets.

I hear the click and flinch when the needle pokes my sore finger, but then it’s over and done with. “Sorry,” he mutters.

The monitor beeps a few seconds later, and he sighs. “I’m making sure that the one on your arm matches this one because your levels are concerning.”

I pull on my hand, but Ford doesn’t let go. Silence fills the room, and sweat starts to prick at my hairline. I tug on my hand harder, but then he does something that shocks me so much I pull the blanket off my head.

My sore finger is in his mouth, and he’s sucking on it.

We make eye contact, and the rush of last night flies through my head.

He drops my hand and grins. “I knew that would get you to come out of the little blanket fort you’ve got going on there.”

I move to cover myself again, but I catch the quick flick of Ford’s eyebrow, and then the blanket flies across the room. His eyes immediately move to my legs, and his neck bobs with a swallow.

He turns abruptly, stomps across the floor, and then I’m pelted in the face with my balled-up pair of jeans. I stare at hisback, tightly covered by a gray BU t-shirt, and count the tensing muscles flicking underneath it.

“What?” I tease him while pulling on my jeans. “No panties? Oh wait! You destroyed them!”

Ford spins, and every time we make eye contact, my heart beats harder. Before, it would beat out of anger or irritation, but now, it’s something else entirely, and it scares the hell out of me.

“If I remember correctly, you weren’t complaining last night when I tore the delicate piece of scrap off of you.” I stare at his hot smirk until he snaps his fingers and pulls me back to reality.

Our eyes catch, and he shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. Don’t do that.”

I swoop down and pick up my torn panties. “Don’t do what?”

“Look at my mouth like that.”

My stomach flips. “I didn’t realize I was looking at it in a particular way.”

He steps closer to me, but I stand my ground. My chin tips with defiance, but I think he likes that, because his eyes brighten with something enticing. “You were looking at it like you want it between your legs, and if I let myself taste you again, there’s no hiding this from Emory.”

My mouth runs dry. I have a brief–insane–thought that it wouldn’t be that big of a deal if my brother knew, but I blink away the idea because it would absolutely be a big deal.

I admit that I don't know much about dating, but I’m not naive enough to think that just because Ford and I crossed the line, that we could be anything more. Friends with benefits, relationships, or even fake relationships aren’t unequivocal by any means. One little misstep, stolen kiss, or lingering stare can turn things south—real quick.

Ford is a staple in my life.

He’s Emory’s best friend, and my parents consider him one of their own.

---