Page 170 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

Like a bull, Troy’s chest is puffed out and he’s searching the premises.

For me.

Good.

Let’s see if he likes the taste of his own medicine.

Jake’s hand snakes around my waist, bringing me back to my current position, while pulling me closer as his mouth finally melds with mine. With a soft sigh, I almost melt into him, grateful that he’s actually kissing me back.

And holy shit. He’s a good kisser.

His tongue flicks against my lips, daring me to let him inside. So I do. Not for Troy. Not for the stupid act I’m roping Jake into. But for me and my own curiosity. Because it’s Jake freaking Jensen. And he’s kissing me. He smiles against my lips as I open a little wider before he slips his tongue into my mouth, tasting me. Not devouring. Buttasting. Like a fine wine or that first bite of too-hot pizza after a long day of no food. And it feels incredible. Exciting. Tempting. Forbidden. His fingers dig into my hips, as an unfamiliar heat begins to build in my core. I shift my hips to get closer.

“What the hell are you doing, Eve?” Troy grits out beside us.

I tear my lips from Jake’s and peek up at my brother’s best friend.

“Troy?” I breathe out, my eyes wide with surprise, while hoping he can’t see how phony it is. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw you come in. Who’s this?” He motions to Jake like he’s a dirty peasant or something, which only pisses me off more. As if I’m the one betraying him, when he did it first.

“This is Jake,” I answer. “My boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Milo, Jake’s friend, interjects.

Crap. I’d almost forgotten he was here.

The guy looks plastered, his eyes glazed and his focus blurry as he sways on his barstool beside us. Since, ya know, I’m still in Jake’s freaking lap.

“He didn’t tell you?” I ask before turning back to Jake and running my fingers through his mussed hair. With a pointed look, I silently beg Jake to play along, praying he catches my drift before adding, “I mean, I guess it is kind of new. Jake, this is Troy.” I point to my ex who looks like he’s two seconds from having an aneurysm. Which is perfect. As long as Jake doesn’t ruin it by blurting out the truth. “And this is Henry, my brother,” I add, giving him a tight smile as a pool of dread floods my lower gut.

He’s going to tell Mom and Dad. And I’m going to be screwed because of it.

Like a damn mind reader, Jake clears his throat and offers his hand for them to shake as I stay straddling his lap.

Classy, Evelyn.

But I guess it’s working. Troy looks pissed.

“Hey, man,” Jake offers. “Heard a lot about you.”

“That’s funny. I haven’t heard a thing about you,” Troy grits out, his upper lip curling as he stares at Jake’s hand. The seconds tick by slowly as Jake waits for him to shake it, but Troy doesn’t give in.

Why hello, pissing match.

This feels promising.

With a pointed glance directed at my brother, Henry snaps out of his surprise and leans forward, taking Jake’s offered hand, while saving us both from any more humility.

“Hey, man. Nice to meet you. Like my little sister said, I’m Henry.”

Troy lets out a huff, then saunters toward the empty stage at the back of the bar, probably pouting that my brother has enough decency to treat Jake with respect instead of being a whiny baby like he is.

My chest pinches as he walks away, but I shove the feeling aside, and pull up an image of him with his arm around Tabatha Landry’s waist last night.

Yeah. I’m not the monster here.

He is.

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