Page 62 of Winning Brynn

3.14159265359…

I'm not aware I'm mouthing the numbers until Brynn speaks. "Leo, what are you doing?"

"Reciting Pi." My words are strained, rasped through clenched teeth.

3.141592…

"Why?"

3.14…

Damn it.

Between us, my cock thickens, straining upward until it meets resistance. And by resistance, I mean Brynn’s ass.

Dropping my gaze, I stare shamefully down at the comforter. “That’s why.”

“Oh,” she gasps then readjusts herself in my lap.

On instinct, my hands clamp down on her thighs to stop her from squirming. “Please don’t do that.”

“Why?” she asks again.

My cock twitches against her, and I drop my forehead to her shoulder with a long, defeated groan. “That’s why,” I repeat.

“Maybe I should…”

“It would probably be for the best if you got off my lap, yes.”

Her brow tilts in amusement. “I was going to suggest I give you a helping hand, but fine, have it your way.”

The worst part is, I can’t tell if she’s joking. And if she’s serious, well then…

No.

Alex is your best friend,I remind myself.Alex trusts you. Alex will literally castrate you if you touch his sister, and then you’ll never be able to fuck anyone ever again.

Except, apparently, I don't have any interest in fucking someone else. The other night, I couldn't even get hard for porn. My dick has a one-track mind for a certain feisty—low-key unhinged—chestnut-haired hellion, otherwise known as Brynn Wolfe.

Regardless, the thought of betraying my closest friend is enough to shock me into gear. Picking her up, I drop Brynn onto the mattress beside me and shift my body away from her.

And just like that, the air turns cold. Confusion and annoyance radiate from her, my rejection stinging the both of us.

"Thanks for coming to check on me, I guess," she says dismissively, curling her knees into her chest and staring at the wall.

Even in the darkness, I can see the flush in her cheeks. The rosy burn of embarrassment. Self-consciousness isn't an expression I've seen her wear much, and it's disarming every time it happens. This occasion, though, is by far the worst.

"It's fine," I answer.

Her head tilts to one side. "Is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"You blow very hot and cold, Leo." It isn't an accusation, more an observation. Her tone isn't sharp or admonitory, but jarringly even. "You can see that, right? How your mixed messages can confuse a girl?"

Sighing, I move to sit beside her and drop my head back onto the headboard. "I'm just trying to do the right thing. But sometimes, it's really fucking hard."

I don't say that the "right thing" often feels like the opposite. That being close to her, touching her,tasting herskin, just as I did earlier this evening, never feels anything other than right. And that the only thing that ever feels wrong between us is the moment I have to drag myself away.

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