Page 35 of Wild Card (Advantage Play 1)

How he’s that talented, I’ll never know, but I sure as hell won’t question it, either.

“I’m close,” I whisper, my tone laced with disbelief.

“Let go, Ace.” Diving in for another kiss, I pull his tongue into my mouth, sucking on it for dear life as I finally fall over the edge with a few more thrusts.

My mouth is opened wide, desperate for oxygen when Kingston stops grinding and slowly puts me back on solid ground. Resting his forehead against mine, he stares into my eyes. The intimacy in his gaze is enough to keep me on cloud nine for a few more seconds before reality brings me crashing down.

“You a virgin, Ace?” Kingston asks, watching every tiny movement to see my reaction.

With my face on fire, my mouth opens then closes like a fish out of water, but I don’t know how to respond.

“Answer the question.”

Squeezing my eyes closed, I pray to all that is holy that I’ll disappear into the wall behind me, but it doesn’t work.

Rule #6: Don’t get personal feels like a freaking joke right now. This is as personal as it gets, and I know that Kingston won’t let me out of answering his question no matter how hard I try.

“Do you want me to be?” I return.

A low growl reverberates through his chest, and the sound hits me in all the right places. Mainly my lower gut. “Hell, yes.”

Truth.

Chapter Twenty

Ace

Kingston left a few minutes after my little moment––as I like to call it––when he received a call on his cell from someone named D. I didn’t hear the details, but it didn’t really matter. With a soft kiss against my forehead and a muttered, “Talk soon,” he was out the window, and all I was left with was the memory of my first big O. With another person, anyway.

I slept like the dead in my lonely twin-sized bed, only to wake up with a giant grin on my face before doing some quick grocery shopping, then searching the internet for a Macey Johnson.

When I see a fake Facebook profile pop up, along with a fake family, fake friends, and a few fake status updates, I catch myself nodding in approval. Not too shabby, Kingston. Not too shabby at all.

Closing my laptop in satisfaction, I peek through my window that Kingston escaped through. The sun is starting to set in the sky, and my stomach rumbles.

Dottie’s, here I come.

* * *

“You look chipper,” Gigi quips while sipping her coffee. Her piercing green eyes are narrowed as she assesses me before pushing a plate of fresh eggs toward me. “Here. Mama Gigi ordered your eggs. You’re welcome.”

With a grin, I reach for the plate and dig in. “Thanks,” I say through a mouthful of food. “And what kind of a word is chipper anyway?”

She waves me off. “I grew up in a weird family. We use words like chipper and darlin’ and sip Old Fashioneds on the weekend. So, sue me.”

With a grin, I ask, “Now, Gigi, it almost sounds like you’re describing a rich family who vacations in the Hamptons. What are you not telling me?”

“Trust me, you couldn’t be further off,” she corrects me before rolling her eyes. “But we do say, ‘chipper.’ So what’s with the smile and the pep in your step?”

“Pep in my step?”

“Yes. There is a definite pep in your step.”

“And, how does one step with pep?” I razz.

“Oh, shut up and spill it.”

Rule #6 makes an appearance before I shove it away, pretending I’m a normal girl who’s allowed to have normal gossip with one of her normal best friends.

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