Page 20 of Stick Work

Yeah, but her brother would kill me.

“Okay,” I manage, but my thoughts veer toward my grandmother. How the hell did she even know about Suzanne? She has this uncanny way of knowing everything that happens in this house, and the idea of her discovering the truth about Taylor and me twists my stomach. I’d never want to hurt or disappoint my grandmother.

“I guess I didn’t think we’d have to put on a show,” I add, running a hand through my hair, trying to smooth the chaos in my mind. “Are you upset about the kiss?” The second the words leave my mouth, I cringe. Way to go fishing, dude. “I know this whole thing was so last minute and we didn’t think it through.”

“Good thing I learned how to improvise in acting classes.” She crinkles her nose in thought. “You could use a few lessons though.”

I chuckle despite myself. “You are good at improvising.” And she is. Thinking back to dinner, I realize she wasn’t winging it with my family. She was honest, genuine, and that’s why they fell for her. Hell, that’s why I fell for her.

Oh, God, what am I even saying?

“But yeah,” I admit, “I might need a few lessons. Maybe you could help a guy out.”

Her gaze flickers to the bed, and my breath catches. What the fuck? What the hell is she thinking and if she is thinking I need lessons in bed, I’d like to show her that she’s mistaken—with my hands, my mouth and my cock.

“Taylor?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intended.

Her eyes snap back to mine. “Yeah,” she says, her voice soft as her lashes flash erratically. “I can help you out.”

For a long moment we just stand there staring at each other, heat arcing between us. I finally clear my throat, and jerk my thumb toward the door, desperate for a distraction. “We should probably hit the pool.”

“Okay,” she murmurs, but she doesn’t move.

“I need to cool off,” I add, regretting it the second it slips out. Great. Real smooth.

With a nod, I gesture toward the bathroom, needing her away from me before I take her to that bed and show her the one place I don’t need improvisation lessons. “Go get changed,” I order, my tone firmer, harder than intended, and I note the little intake of air, the heat in her cheeks. This woman hates to be bossed around, so what the hell was that all about?

I give my head a good hard shake to clear it and when the bathroom door clicks shut, I tear off my clothes and tug on my swim trunks. Before she comes from the bathroom, I hurry to the spare room, grab the extra pillows on the bed, and step back into my room, ready to make a pillow wall for later.

Except she walks from the bathroom in a bathing suit that showcases her gorgeous body and the pillows fall from my hands. “Oh, shit.” I bend to grab them, nearly snapping my thickening dick off, and when I groan in pain, she hurries to help me.

“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

“I’m good,” I assure her in a high-pitched voice that has her angling her head to assess me. “I grabbed some pillows for later.”

“Good plan.” She picks them up and tosses them onto the bed. I avert my gaze, and try not to stare at her body. “Do you think I could borrow one of your T-shirts? I don’t want to walk through the house in a bathing suit.”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, sure. I have some old ones in here. Smaller than what I brought from Boston.”

“You were smaller at some point?”

The teasing hint in her voice strokes my dick. “When I was like eight,” I joke in return and pull out an old Nickelback T-shirt. “Mom kept all my stuff.”

“Your room is like a shrine.”

“I’m a very special boy, Taylor. Just ask Grandma.”

She laughs out loud and the sound curls through me. “I don’t need to ask Grandma. I knew it the first time I met you.”

I eye her, not sure what she’s getting at, but my brain stops working when she lifts her arms and tugs on my shirt. It falls mid-thigh. “You were a Nickelback fan?”

“Chad doesn’t get enough credit,” I shoot back.

She holds her hands up. “Okay, your secret is safe with me.” Before I can catch myself, I throw my arm around her, and rub my knuckles on her head, having seen her brother do it numerous times. Although when she squirms, laughs and gut punches me, this wrestling feels nothing at all like sibling rivalry and more like foreplay.

Jesus, what am I doing now?

I let her go, and her face is flushed, her eyes bright with laughter as she smooths her hands over her hair. “Great, Grandma’s going to think we’ve been ‘working’ up here,” she says with an eye roll.

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