Page 100 of Hot Mess Express
“Sure. Let’s call it that.”
“Bridge …”
Something nearby buzzes. Bridger lifts his head, as startled by the noise as I am, then finds his phone on the arm of the couch. He grabs it and reads a text. “Pete,” he tells me. “Says Juniper’s fine. The two of them went back to her place for the night.”
I sigh. “Probably for the best.”
He makes a face. “Also told me to punch you in the arm for being a dick.” He sets his phone back down. “Too bad. I’d rather dick you in the butt for being in my arms.”
“Dick me in the—?” I pull away and turn around. “The hell?”
He chuckles. “What? Don’t want me to dick you in the butt?”
“Stop sayin’ it like that.”
“Dick. You. In. Your. Cute. Bubble.” He comes in close. “Butt.”
He flattens me to the ground and crawls over me, grinning. When I’m about to tell him to get off me, his fingers dig into my sides, and instead of shouting, I start laughing uncontrollably. He tickles me without mercy for ten excruciating seconds before his lips suddenly find mine, and everything goes from being chaotic to being totally fucking intimate and sweet.
I guess that’s a brain-resetting trick of his. It works. His lips dive into my neck next, and then there’s nothing I can do to fight off him—or the desire that’s now taking me over from head to toe.
“I got an idea,” I whisper in his ear. “Let’s go upstairs to the guestroom and fuck on Pete’s bed.”
His eyes go wide. “You crazy?”
But five seconds later, we’re tearing up the stairs. And on that guestroom bed, our clothes fly off—everywhere. Bridger learned his lesson and doesn’t fold a damned bit of it.
And after we screw our brains out, I’m left naked, gasping for breath in his arms, as the pair of us lie on that bed staring up at the ceiling, as happy as can be, our spirits floating across it like kites of a different kind.
“This feels so wrong,” he groans. “Sweating up Pete’s bed like this. So fucking wrong.”
“I know,” I answer, giddy.
He turns to me. “Hey, you wanna go on my jog with me in the morning? It’s my sacred time, so … it’s kind of a big deal that I’m inviting you. Just so you know.”
“Just so I know what?”
“How much I think of you.” He kisses my cheek, then pauses. “Is that too much? To say something like that? I can pull back with the cutesy sentimental shit … if we really are just two dudes who fuck around and nothing more.”
Every time he says that, echoing whatever nonsense I said just a day or two ago, I find myself cringing inside. Those stupid words cheapen whatever it is we have. We’re so much more than guys who just have sex. He knows it. And I sure as hell know it.
“Yeah,” I answer him. “I’ll go on that mornin’ jog with you.”
He lets out a breath of relief. “Thanks.”
“And don’t you dare pull back with thecutesysentimentalshit,” I go on. I put a kiss on his soft, chiseled cheek and, with a smirk, add: “Babe.”
His body goes rigid.
Did he even realize that’s what he called me in the hotel room before falling asleep? Does he remember it now?
I grin to myself, proud, then give him an energetic pat on the chest before sliding off the bed and get dressed. “C’mon, hot stuff. Let’s go downstairs and have a snack. Fuckin’ starved, andI don’t know about you, but I can’t sleep on an empty stomach.”
Bridger blinks, at a loss for words.
He’s so fuckin’ cute when he doesn’t know what to say for once.
It’s just as well that my snack of choice is Pop-Tarts, because while they’re toasting up, Cody and Trey come out of their room in a better mood, Cody exclaiming, “Hell yeah, I love Pop-Tarts!” After Bridger tells them that Pete and Juni left together—omitting the reason for them leaving—the four of us spend the next half hour hanging out in the kitchen. “I’m fine now, I promise,” Trey insists, pulling each bite off his Pop-Tart and blowing on it so he doesn’t burn his mouth. “I have made the conscious decision that, should my nightmare be realized and either my dad or Bethie pops the question, I’ll be fine with it. Let them marry. I will not stand in the way of their love.”
