Page 68 of False Start

And it was too fucking late to run. Whatever unmarked road we’d turned on, that fucker was one lane with grass growing up in the center and all we could do was see where it ended up.

With those rules in place.

He spotted me then. Straightening, his hands went to his hips as he coasted along the straightaway toward where I stood.

His chest heaving, sweat powering down his face, he glided to a clean stop.

“Your sister loves me.”

His lips twitched and I had to remind myself that it didn’t matter that I knew how his mouth tasted now. Too much was at stake.

For both of us.

“I’m sure,” he said with a snort.

“We’re going to be best friends.” I shrugged like I didn’t care what she thought of me, but I did. More than I wanted to. But only because of him. “I’m thinking we need matching bracelets.”

“She’ll warm up. She’s—cautious.”

“Seems to run in the family.”

“You’re early,” he said before chugging back half a bottle of water I hadn’t noticed perched on the rail.

“We need to go over the rules.”

He crouched down and eyed me from the bank. “We will, when everyone gets here.”

“Not those rules—our rules.”

“Our rules, huh?” he said with an amused chuckle. “And what rules would those be?”

“About kissing—”

His eyes flashed.

I forgot to breathe. “And stuff like that,” I croaked.

With a shake of his head, he wrapped his fingers round the handrails and swung out onto the concrete barn floor, his skates landing with an echoing click.

“I’m all ears, Mayhem.” He rolled toward me as he said it—seductively—only inches at a time.

I started backing up. “We shouldn’t do that anymore.”

He lifted his t-shirt and ran it over the beads of sweat running down his face and temples.

And holy fucking abs. Not bare abs either. He had grown-ass man abs. Sprinkled with hair, and in this case a damp trail shooting straight into the elastic waste of athletic shorts hanging low on his hips.

My sprinkler system was a finicky man. I tried not to squirm and failed miserably as I squeezed my thighs together.

“You sure? You don’t sound so sure,” he said quietly. His shoulders bunched and flexed as he continued to stalk me like prey.

“Yes—” My back hit the wall, giving me nowhere else to go, but he kept on coming, that deep dimple in his cheek I wanted to run my thumb over flirting with me the whole time. “It was great and all, but since we’re starting to train…”

“No kissing once training starts. Got it.” But he moved in even closer, his hands pressing flat against the wall on either side of my head.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my words thick and tight. His heat rolled over me and I fought the urge to rub up against him. Damp hair in spikes, skin still damp with sweat, I didn’t care. I wanted to lick him from head to toe like a fucking ice cream cone dripping in the ninety-degree heat. Lick, lick, lick, lick—and then bite into that creamy mass of deliciousness.

“Training hasn’t started yet,” he hummed, his voice low and hot.

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