Page 48 of My Brother's Roommate (Frisky Business 2)
I can’t help my gaze from straying over to Wolfie every so often. He looks like all kinds of naughty fun with his serious expression, dark eyes, and the way his long-sleeved T-shirt hugs his muscular arms and stretches across his chest—a chest that I love burrowing into.
Wait, is burrowing the right word?
I don’t know, but I do know I love the feel of being in his arms. It’s safe and comfortable. A few times during the evening I feel his eyes on me too, and it sends a little thrill zipping through me to think about our secret tryst that no one knows about but us.
There are so many things to like about Wolfie. I like the way he looks at me. The way he listens when I talk, with utter and complete interest in what I have to say. I like that he wanted to take things slow between us rather than rush into bed like a lot of guys would have at my offer. He’s thoughtful in everything he does, even if that thing is hooking up.
Being with Wolfie, overcoming the obstacles holding him back, watching him open up to me . . . it makes me feel all warm and flushed inside. I know this was only supposed to be about sex, about scratching an itch, but it’s not anymore. I’m not sure when things changed, but it’s obvious they have.
I might have told him that I didn’t have time for a relationship, that I only wanted to exchange an orgasm or two with someone other than my vibrator, but it’s already become so much more. And I have no idea what to do with that information.
Does Wolfie want more too? Is he even capable of that right now? And what will we do if and when Connor finds out? Will it ruin everything?
When the rest of the group filters into the living room to encourage this impromptu karaoke, Wolfie grabs my hand, pulling me into the kitchen for our first moments away from prying eyes all evening.
“Is everything okay with Connor?” Wolfie asks, brushing my hair behind my ear and sending a trail of goose bumps racing down my neck.
“It’s . . . complicated,” I say, lacing my fingers tight into his and pulling him closer. “But it has nothing to do with what’s happening between you and me.”
“So he doesn’t know?” Wolfie lifts one dark brow. “About us?”
I shake my head, trying to ignore how much I love the sound of him referring to us as . . . us. “Doesn’t seem like it. He’s got bigger things on his mind.”
More like smaller things. Tiny little third-trimester things. But it’s not my secret to share. And to think I was worried my brother’s sour mood was about me and Wolfie. We’re the least of his worries.
But we’d still be a worry, if he knew.
Wolfie grips my hand a little tighter, letting the other float to the nape of my neck, guiding my mouth to his in a quick, sweet kiss that makes my toes curl in my wool socks.
“Good,” he murmurs, his lips buzzing against mine. “That means we can have a repeat of last night sometime soon.”
My skin heats beneath his touch at just the mention of last night. I want a repeat. I need a repeat. If last night were a song, I’d let it play and play until I’d memorized every note.
“Soon,” I say, touching his scruffy jaw with my palm. “Please.”
“Wolfie, get in here!” Connor’s sharp voice cuts through the air, and we stumble back from each other in a panic. “Come do a duet with me!”
Our wide, startled eyes meet for a moment before we break into full-on laughter.
“Can’t say no to the birthday boy,” I remind Wolfie with a waggle of my finger.
He shrugs, a coy smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he rakes his fingers through his dark hair. “Seems like I also can’t say no to his sister.”19* * *WOLFIE“We need to talk.”
Never in my life did I think those words would be directed at me from another man. But when I emerge from my bedroom early Sunday morning, that’s the first thing out of Connor’s mouth. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter with a stern frown on his face, already dressed for the day, despite the hour.
I reach inside my athletic shorts to scratch my balls and make my way toward him. I’d say the early-bird routine is out of character for him, but lately, acting strange seems to be my roommate’s new normal.
“Are we breaking up?” I smirk at my own joke, stalking past him to flip on the coffee maker.
But Connor doesn’t so much as crack a smile. “Knock it off, dude. I’m serious.”
Damn. Normally he’s the funny guy, not me. Whatever this role-reversal shit is, I don’t like it.
