Page 29 of The C*ck Down the Block

“The kiss or how good it was?” I hadn’t meant to blurt that out. But my brain and my mouth were not coordinating at the moment. And man, did my cock want in on the decision making going forward.

“Yes,” She whispered. The kiss cam had done its job, but it was clear that something real was happening between us.

The game started back up, and I figured we had about thirty seconds before every Mustangs fan on the middle deck swamped us. But being seen in public was on the game plan to show up her mean girl bullies, right? And my agent’s PR team would be delighted and have this all over the internet.

I glanced at my brothers, who were grinning like idiots, their thumbs up in approval. Trixie followed my line of sight and spotted two of them just a few rows away.

“What are you guys doing here?” She quirked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow at them.

“Wouldn’t miss the game for anything,” Everett replied, a twinkle in his eye.

Hayes gave her a little salute. “We’re your get away plan.”

They both stood up and went to either end of the aisle, blocking them off like they were my offensive linemen.

“Shit. We gotta go, chickadee.” There was already a stream of fans moving in. I spun my hat back around and slapped the paper peanut bag I’d surreptitiously signed a couple of innings ago and handed it to the mom sitting nearest us. “Thanks, ma’am. You all have a good day.”

They stood and let us pass by again, this time, the dad staring up at me slack jawed. I gave him a little nod and hauled ass up the steps, Trixie in tow. Declan stood at the top of the stairs, completely blocking anyone from even looking at us with his big growly presence. Never in my life was I happier that he was a grumpy bastard than right now.

“I owe you one, man.” I slapped him on the back and pulled Trixie toward the elevator. Less chance of getting mobbed in there than on the next set of steps down to the ground level. Because we were mid inning and mid game, the elevator popped open right away and I pushed the button to close the doors at least twelve hundred times.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” Trixie slugged me in the arm, but she didn’t look mad.

Visions of me pushing her up against the back of the elevator and kissing her again, pulling her up to wrap her arms around my waist, and doing a whole lot more in this moment of privacy flitted through my mind. “Yeah. I thought we needed a little incentive to—”

“Practice kissing?” She touched her lips as if remembering mine in exactly that same place.

If the door to the elevator hadn’t opened right that second, I would have practiced kissing her again, then and there.

RIDE OR DIE

TRIXIE

I insisted on blasting Taylor Swift the entire car ride home and singing along just so I could avoid talking about that kiss. Because whenever anxiety hit me in the head, heart, or anywhere else... like say my lips, the cure was always my girl, Tay. I kept the playlist to the upbeat songs, because I didn’t need a love song making this whole situation more confusing.

We’d shared a lot of rides before, and plenty of playlists to sing along to too, but none that came after a kiss.

A kiss that had been preceded by hand holding, snack flirting, and a protective detail so I didn’t have to deal with paparazzi-style fans and photos again. All seemingly carefully planned out by my now fake boyfriend.

That seemed like a lot of work for a fake date and a little bit of practice pretending to be a couple.

“Thanks for the, uh, practice date,” I said a bit too loudly, seeing as the music came to an abrupt halt as I disconnected the aux cord and climbed out of his car.

“Right,” Chris replied, and I could feel his gaze stick to me like invisible gobs of double-sided tape and school glue.

I fumbled with my keys, dropped them on the driveway, and about plowed into Chris, who’d somehow The-Flashed himself to my side while I was bent over to grab them.

“Let me be a gentleman and walk you to your door.” He shut the car door, put a hand on my back, and it was a good thing too, because my knees were all wobbly. Probably from all those stairs at the ballpark and totally not because his hand was in that spot at the base of my spine that sent tingles up and down my legs and into my belly.

At the front door, I apparently forgot which key out of the three on my keychain unlocked the door, because I got it wrong, twice. Not because I was keenly aware of how close he stood, or the way he filled up the doorframe with all those muscles that were so clearly defined through his t-shirt, or the way he smelled like baseball, fresh air, and man. A manly man’s man. The kind of man who could—

Oh god. What was wrong with me? This was Chris, my neighbor, my friend, my fake boyfriend. Who’d given me a fake kiss. Fake. We were faking. F. A. K... I could still taste him on my lips. What was I saying?

I looked up from the keys that must not be mine and had to tilt my head back just a bit to meet his eyes. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arm up all casual and sexy like, waiting for me to open the door so he could pin me against it and...

Gulp.

His eyes met mine, and the world held its breath. Was he going to kiss me? Again? My thoughts swirled, a sharknado of doubt and longing. Was I reading too much into this? Did he feel it too—the electric something that snapped, crackled, and popped between us? Or was he just practicing some more?

---