More Than This by McLean, Jay (free ebook reader .TXT) 📕

I get down from Jake's back to give her a hug, trying to hide that I’m buzzed, or wasted. Probably closer to wasted.

“Hi Mrs. Jennings, what a lovely ceremony.”

“Oh yes, dear, it was. Now, Lisa told me what happened, I’m so sorry. I would have been at the funeral but unfortunately we can’t leave Albert alone anymore.”

“That’s fine, I understand.” I smile at her.

“It’s so good to see you can still smile and laugh, dear. Your parents would be happy.” She looks to Jake. “Who’s your boyfriend?”

“Oh, he’s not-"

What is he? I look up at him, he’s eyeing me, waiting for my reaction, goofy look on his face. I laugh a little, and take his hand.

“This is my Jake,” I say proudly.

Jake eyes me sideways, a smirk on his lips, then shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” He holds up the ice bucket. “I’ll get the ice and meet you back in the room,” he states, before walking away.

When I get back in the room, the ice bucket is filled and sitting near the bottle of champagne on the little dining table.

I can hear the shower running. Wierd.

I sit on the edge of the bed and wait for him to get out.

When he does, my jaw drops. He’s shirtless, with just sweatpants on. They ride low on his hips, so low you can see the band of his boxer briefs peeking out. He has a towel in one hand and he’s drying his still wet chest. The steam from the bathroom pours out through the open doorway and he shakes his head to rid some of the water. My mouth goes dry.

My fingers itch to reach out and run them over his stomach. I sit on them so I don’t get too tempted. My eyes are roaming his body and he has to know what I’m doing because he hasn’t moved since he walked out and noticed me. I must be wasted, because I’m positive that time definitely stops. Like, the second hand of a clock just decided I deserved some goddamn luck and let me just stare at this masterpiece of boy.

I’m rubbing my legs together, trying to ease some of the tension down there.

Then he moves and sits next to me on the bed.

So fucking close to me that his bare arm is rubbing on mine. I can feel his heat against my side, and it’s not the only place I feel heat.

I’m a sick and twisted hornbag.

I’m too ashamed to look at his face, I don’t know what his reaction to my stare-athon is.

In my mind, this is what I look like: A giant St. Bernard, huffing and panting with sloppy drool falling out of my mouth, whimpering, like I need to lick and taste a giant bone inches from my face.

He can be my giant bone. Oh. My. God. Bone.

I should lick him.

Just his chest.

NO! I’m not that wasted.

Is he? Maybe he won’t remember if I just have one lick.

I start to turn to my side and face him, my eyes on his chest.

Do it…

“Kayla?”

“Mmm?” I’m literally eye licking him.

“If you keep staring at me like that, I’m gonna have to ask you to take your shirt off so we’re even.”

Chapter 21

*Mikayla*

I snap back to reality at that comment and jump back a bit.

I was legit 2 seconds away from licking him.

I laugh to myself and haul ass to the bathroom so I can steady my breathing and get some space.

I look in the mirror, but in my mind all I see is that St. Bernard.

I laugh out loud this time.

“What’s so funny in there?” he asks, yelling, so I can hear him through the bathroom door.

“I was totally going to lick you!”

“WHAT?!” he yells.

What the fuck? Why did I say that?

“Nothing…”

***

When I finally get out of the bathroom, he’s half lying on the bed, legs on the floor, like he just flung himself backwards from that sitting position, one arm over his eyes. He hears me coming out but doesn’t move to look.

“I’m like, in a euphoric state of buzzed right now,” he mumbles. “How are you holding up?”

“Me too, I think I’m a little worse off though.” I sit on the bed. “Hey, Jake?”

“mmm?”

“You need to put a shirt on.”

He doesn’t say anything, just gets up, goes to his bag and throws on a shirt.

He then walks over and pours two glasses of champagne, with ice, and hands one to me.

Half an hour later we’re on the floor, laughing again.

“We should play truth or dare!” I yell, like it’s the greatest idea in the world.

“Orrrrr…” he says, finger up in the air like he has a better idea, “I could braid your hair and we can watch Hannah Montana, that would be swell.”

“I’m serious.”

We’re both back to being past buzzed.

“I’m serious too, Kayla. You don’t need to pretend to play games, if you want to fool around, just say it,” he jokes, while reaching out to grab a boob.

I swat it away with my hand and giggle. He feigns disappointment. “Seriously, Kayla. Ask me anything, I’ll tell you the truth. Same goes for you though, okay?”

“Done,” I nod. “Me first, though. How many girls have you slept with?”

He moans and rolls his eyes. He pours himself another glass of champagne as he says, “Shit, I’ve gotta hit the gym tomorrow.”

“All right, ‘Caption Deflect-O’, answer the question.”

He sighs. “I can’t give you a number, Kayla.”

I look at him, eyes wide, asking him to continue. “I dunno,” he shrugs, “between like 30-50, I guess.”

My nose scrunches when I give him a disgusted look.

“Don’t look at me like that, and don’t judge me. I was a different person then,” he says.

“A different person? As in maybe there were 5 or 6 physically different persons? That would make it less pig-ish then.”

He chuckles. “My turn, I dare you…” he pauses for dramatic effect, “to let me touch your boobs.”

“Errrr, I’ll take truth thanks,” I say through a chuckle.

“Dammit!”