Brianna hadn’t uttered a single word since we stepped into the truck. Tension radiated off her entire body as she faced as far away from me as possible. I knew she was avoiding me. Our near kiss was too much for her to handle right now. I should’ve backed off and let her have her space, and I did for a few days. All we were doing was delaying the inevitable—whether she chose to admit it or not.
“I’m sorry we had to leave so soon. I would have liked to meet more of your friends.” I glanced her way, and Brianna nodded in response, still not looking at me.
“I saw Christal corner you at the bar.” Her voice was aloof but the ticking in her jaw said otherwise as she drew back into the seat.
Sick, my ass. I noticed her glaring at me and Christal tonight. She stared daggers into Christal’s back every time she touched me. She could act as aloof as she wanted. I knew she fucking hated it. My cupcake was in a losing battle with herself. She was going to make herself really get sick if she didn’t surrender soon.
“Yeah,” I chuckled. “Chatty little thing.”
Brianna nodded but wouldn’t look my way.
“She is. I’m surprised she didn’t slip you her number,” she scoffed.
“Oh, she did. In fact, she opened with that.” I fought a smile, picturing the wheels turning in her adorable little head.
Brianna’s head whipped to mine. “She did?”
“What’s wrong?” I asked with as much innocence as I could get away with. “You don’t like her?”
“No,” she offered a bit too abruptly. “I mean, she’s fine, I guess. You can talk to whomever you want.”
“So, if I take her out . . . you’d be okay with that?” I let Christal down easy and right away, but Brianna didn’t need to know that. The prick in me wanted to see how this played out.
“Sure.” She shrugged as she turned away from me again. “Do what you want.” Her jaw clenched so hard, I thought she was going to chip a tooth as she focused on the Hudson River whizzing passed the car window.
Since we were kids, she had the worst poker face. I always knew the second she was pissed off, and judging by how her chest heaved, she was about ready to blow.
Traffic always bottlenecked around the same exit. We inched until we came to a full stop. I slid my arm around her and leaned in. She stiffened, but unless she jumped out of the car onto the side of the highway, she had nowhere to go.
I nuzzled her cheek. Fuck it, I was going for broke.
“And if I . . . take her home. You’d be . . .”
“Fine,” she breathed out, her voice a mix of fury and lust. “Like I just said, do what you want.”
I laughed, victorious. “Cupcake,” I whispered as my lips grazed her cheek, “you are so full of shit.”
Stephanie Rose grew up loving words and making up stories. Being able to share them with readers is her dream come true. This lifelong Bronx girl loves Starbucks, wine and 80s rock. Her voice often gets mistaken for a Mob Wives trailer.
She married her prom date and has a seven-year-old LEGO obsessed son. She believes there is nothing sexier than a good guy who loves with all his heart, and has made it her mission to bring as many as she can to the page.