The Games We Play - Chapter 25: Chapter 25

While I fully believe one can microdose hell by going to bowling alleys, this one didn't seem too bad.
It wasn't the sticky-floored, outdated kind of place you went to for kids' birthday parties. No, this was a sleek, neon-drenched haven of modern fun.
LED lights pulsed in shades of purple, pink, and blue, casting a soft haze over everything. The lanes stretched out like runways under glowing lights, the smooth surfaces reflecting every flicker and flash.
Each lane had its own booth—sleek, black leather with neon trim lights that lit up faintly beneath the edges. Trays of food sat on polished tables, loaded with fries, nachos, and wings that smelled so good they could've been cooked by angels.
The air was a perfect blend of buttery popcorn, faint citrusy air freshener, and the buzz of energy that came with the sound of pins crashing in quick succession.
'Lavender Haze' by Taylor Swift hummed through the speakers, the steady beat syncing with the colorful lights overhead. It all felt surreal, like stepping into a dream that smelled like barbecue sauce.
Tonight, the Alley was damn packed. Screeching bachelorette parties, birthday celebrations, other students from UC, all coming to check it out.
And all had their eyes on Lane 8.
On the Charlotte Colts.
There were about 10 of them, all looking fresh as fuck in their normal civilian clothes—which didn't make them look like normal civilians at all.
Especially when Elroy Biggs' is basically hitting the ceiling with his head.
They had commanded the room the second they walked down onto the bowling floor but their easy smiles and laughter told me they didn't care—in fact, they were use to it.
Being in the lane next to them meant we could be as rowdy and loudy as hell because no one was even passing us a glance.
Jude had taken over the naming of everyone on the scoreboard, and it was exactly as chaotic as you'd imagine.
Scarlett is "Hot Bitch Supreme." Naturally.
Tasha is "Power Couple #1."
Which meant Liam is "Power Couple #2."
Jude himself is "Glitter Daddy," and I was "Sexiest Woman Alive."
Lane 8—the football guys' lane—was just as ridiculous. Rome had taken over their names with as much dedication as Jude had ours.
Clay is labeled "Reverse Cowgirl."
Wes, of course, is "Golden Boy."
And Rome had fittingly given himself the title of "King."
We're mid-game, pins are falling, and drinks are flowing. And I gotta admit—it's so much fucking fun.
Glitter Daddy just manages to knock down all but one pin, which led to him dramatically throwing himself into the booth like a lover upon their deceased soulmate's grave.
His head lands in Scarlett's lap.
He turns onto his back, his hand to his forehead. "Oh, the agony."
"Poor honey," Scarlett pouts sarcastically while patting the top of his head. "I'll try to go a little easier on you from now on."
His eyes narrow as he seethes, "Oh, you sexy bitch."
I laugh at the pair as I bring my elbow up onto the back of the sofa, getting a little more comfortable as I wait for my turn. Kiki's up at the moment, lining up a lime-green ball with the pins at the end of the lane.
Tasha and Liam were sharing a plate of fries, barely paying attention to the game except for the occasional cheer when one of us knocked down more than three pins. They were so entranced by the food, and it was adorable.
Kiki sends the ball down the lane and gets nothing but gutter.
"Whoo! Go, baby!" Yasmine cheers and claps from where she's kneeling on the leather bench on the other side of the sleek onyx table. Kiki turns back with a big, proud grin at her girlfriend. Too cute.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot someone carefully descending the small steps into our lane.
Hudson, ever the sweetheart, is anxiously balancing a tray full of drinks for everyone.
I couldn't help but grin as he approached, his earnestness almost painfully adorable.
"Drink delivery!" he announced, his tone cheerful but cautious as he set the tray down on the sleek black table in the middle of our booth.
"You're a godsend!" Jude declared from Scarlett's lap, sitting up just enough to grab his vodka soda. "The kind we don't deserve, but absolutely need."
Hudson chuckled, his cheeks pink as he stood back and adjusted the waistband of his loose jeans. "Just trying to keep you distracted from the scoreboard."
I could understand why—Hudson was losing by a landslide.
"Hudson, you're a winner in my heart!" I exclaimed, reaching for my cocktail with a smile.
He then slumped down into the seat next to mine with a huff, clearly tired from the treacherous roads he had to take with our drinks.
"Do you think they still think I'm cool?"
I blinked, turning to him with a grin. "What?"
"The fellas," he said, gesturing toward Lane 8 with a slight tilt of his head. "I mean...I don't want to look like a little bitch next to the Colts."
A laugh bubbled out of me before I could stop it. "Oh my g—you're adorable."
He frowned, though his lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. "I'm serious!"
"Hudson, they don't care," I said, patting his arm gently. "They're too busy shit-talking each other to notice."
"Yeah, yeah, you're probably right," he said, sighing with mock relief. "Although if Rome calls me 'little guy' again, I might have to transfer colleges."
I giggled, giving his arm a playful squeeze before turning my head toward Lane 8.
The moment I did, my gaze collided with Wes's.
He's leaning back on their bench, legs spread wide in that maddeningly casual way of his. One hand rested on his knee and curled around a Coke, the other stretched along the back of the leather booth.
I'm rooted to the spot, caught in the snare of those blue eyes that have seen me in ways no one else ever has.
And then his gaze flicks to Hudson.
To Hudson's arm still resting casually on mine.
The change is subtle but immediate. His lips press into a line, and the relaxed grip on the bowling ball in his hands tightens just enough to make the tendons in his forearms flex.
I know that look. It's the same one he gets when someone throws a cheap shot on the field and he has to remind himself not to retaliate.
And it's the same look that makes my chest go tight in a way I don't even want to unpack right now.
"Cam?" Hudson's voice brought me back to reality.
"Huh?" I asked, glancing back at him quickly.
"You're up," he says, nodding toward the lane.
I throw back two gulps of my drink and wipe my mouth.
"Yay—hold this!" I squeal excitedly, handing him my drink as I quickly scramble off the bench and head over to the bowling ball dispenser.
My eyes land on the bright pink ball I've been using all night, which has subsequently been reserved as mine.
"Uh-oh," he says, tilting his head dramatically. "Still going with that one, Cameroonie?"
"Thanks for your concern, Booker, but I've been beating you just fine with it." I grin back at him—we've been neck and neck all night.
We're not winning in either lane, but that's because our little competition is between us.
I can hear those behind us chuckle at my comeback as I step up to the lane and begin to line myself up with the pins at the end.
The music thrums faintly in the background as I release the ball, watching it roll smooth and steady down the lane. It clips the pocket perfectly, taking out nine pins with a sharp crash.
"Alright, alright." Rome lets out a low whistle, shifting his ball in his hand. "Not bad. But let the King show you how it's done."
He sends his ball rolling with an easy flick of his wrist, but the curve is just a hair too sharp, leaving three pins standing. He stares at them for a moment, hands on his hips, before dragging a hand down his face with a loud groan.
"Want me to loan you my ball?" I ask, grinning as I grab my spare. "I think pink is in your color wheel."
Rome laughs, shaking his head. "Cute. Keep on yapping, Cole. I got you next round."
My second shot is quick and clean, knocking over the last pin. The booth behind us erupts into cheers, Jude practically leaping onto the bench to clap wildly.
Rome's spare shot? Close, but no cigar—one pin stays stubbornly upright.
As I walk back toward him, I give a slow shrug. "Tough break, Booker. Hate to see it."
Rome groans, but the grin never leaves his face. "You really enjoying yourself up there, ain't ya?"
I stop in front of him, holding my arms out. "Bow down."
He chuckles and pats both hands through the air. "Your Highness."
Everyone hollers and whistles as they watch Rome bow to me, the football boys laughing and claiming they're going to tell the rest of the guys at practice tomorrow.
"Thank you," I reply sweetly, tossing my hair as I turn and skip back to the booth.
I plop down next to Hudson, who's still clapping with wide brown eyes. "That was insane, Cam."
"That was me just not wanting to lose to Booker," I scoff as I cross one knee over the other and beam brightly at him. "But I won't stop you from complimenting me more."
He laughs, running a hand through his brown hair. "Thought you said you hated bowling?"
"Oh, I loathe it. Doesn't mean I'm not good at it." I giggle playfully as the corners of his lips pick up in a small smile of fondness. "It's basically just throwing the ball and letting gravity take over."
"I think I'm so bad that I would defy it," Hudson says as he glances up at the roof. "Think they have insurance for this place?"
That makes me laugh again, and my eyes flicker back over to Lane 8.
And—yep—he's still watching.
Still stretched out on the leather bench, a Coke bottle dangling loosely in one hand, his thighs spread out before him, and he's grinning at me.
Jace is talking to him now, leaning in to say something, but Wes isn't paying attention. His eyes haven't left me, and when he notices me glancing his way again, his grin deepens.
That stupid, cocky, hot grin.
It sends a rush through me—part thrill, part challenge—and before I can stop myself, I smile back.
That slight tilt of his head is a taunt, like he's throwing me a silent dare from across the room, the way his grip on his Coke bottle tightens when Hudson shifts closer to me.
And fuck me, but it makes me giddy.
So, maybe I lean in closer to Hudson than necessary. Maybe I smile a little wider, a little deeper. And maybe—just maybe—it's all for Wes.
I turn back to Hudson before he notices my distracted stare.
"Oh, sweetie," I say with mock sympathy, patting his arm. "You're doing amazing. Really. Almost getting a pin down is progress."
He groans, tilting his head back dramatically. "I'm never gonna live that gutter ball down, am I?"
"Not a chance," I tease, my grin widening. "But, hey, I could give you some pointers. You know, if you want to redeem yourself."
Hudson's brown eyes light up, a mix of amusement and gratitude flickering across his face. "Alright, Coach Cameron. Let's hear it. What's the secret?"
I lean in slightly, letting my voice drop like we're sharing some big conspiracy. "It's all in the follow-through. You've gotta keep your wrist loose and trust the ball to do the work. No panicking and jerking your arm around."
Hudson mimics the motion, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration. "Like this?"
"Almost," I laugh, reaching out to adjust the angle of his wrist. "More like this. Smooth and controlled. You're not fighting the ball—you're guiding it."
His gaze lingers on me for a beat too long, the corners of his lips twitching up into a small, soft smile. "Got it. Guide the ball. Be the ball."
"Exactly." I laugh, shaking my head. "You're a natural already."
Hudson grins, his confidence clearly boosted by my teasing, and he winks. "Don't worry, Coach. I won't let you down."
I laugh, but it's distracted, my mind already wandering back to Lane 7. I can still feel Wes's gaze on me, like a thread tugging at the edges of my attention.
His eyes meet mine, dark and intense under the glow of the neon lights, and he's got his elbow propped up on the back of the bench, the pad of his thumb rubbing against the bottom lip of his smirk.
I doubt he's even paying any attention to the game going on in the lanes.
He's too focused on this twisted little game between us.
It's always a game with Wes, and I'm fully aware of it, but for some reason, tonight it feels different.
Tonight, I don't mind playing.
☆☆☆☆
"You really like undressing me, huh?"
Wes pauses, crouched in front of me with his hands on my ankle, and the smirk that spreads across his face is devastating. Cocky. Infuriating. So fucking hot.
"As long as I'm the only one doing it."
I scoff. "You're still thinking about that?"
"Baby, I've been thinkin' 'bout it all night," Wes mumbles, focused on slipping my feet out of the bowling shoes. "Really messed up my game."
Bowling night is a fucking hit. I know for a fact that everyone is enjoying themselves, and so am I. It gets really competitive, which always adds more excitement and just takes regular ol' bowling to the next level.
After our lanes finish, the large group splits between the arcade room and the chill velvet sofas near the bar, overlooking the alley. I go there with Scar, Clay, Kiki, and about three other football guys, our group not all that interested in the arcade games.
Of course, Wes follows, wedging himself between my body and the arm of the sofa, forcing me to kind of lean into his chest as his arm rests along the back.
We eventually decide to call it a night and head back to the counter to return our shoes.
"You're gonna blame Hudson for your poor technique?"
"Fuck no—Hudson has no control over me," Wes says as he begins to slip my sneakers back on, his long fingers caressing the inside of my ankle. His gaze flickers up to me. "But you do."
That stupid, cocky grin spreads wider when he sees the way I tighten my grip on the counter's edge. My heart thrums under his attention, and I force a small smirk, refusing to let him see how much his words affect me.
I curl my fingers around the edge of the countertop and grin down at him. "Sounds like an excuse to me. No harm in admitting I'm better than you, Wes."
Wes stands up, having tightened the laces on my last shoe, and his hands fall to the countertop on either side of my hips. My breath catches in my throat as his face hovers inches from mine, blue eyes flickering to my lips as a smirk spreads across his.
"I'll admit it when you admit you were trying to make me jealous."
The heat in Wes's voice sends a shiver down my spine, but before I can even muster up a comeback—or lie through my teeth—the sound of familiar voices approaching cuts through the moment.
I glance over Wes' shoulder just as Scarlett and Clay make their way toward the counter, and I take the opportunity to push at his chest with both hands.
I plaster a big ol' grin on my face. "You two lovebirds ready to go?"
Wes doesn't exactly move—he's far too stubborn for that—but he does turn his body, leaning back against the counter, his hip brushing my thigh.
Scarlett quirks an eyebrow, handing her bowling shoes over to the rental clerk. "Calm down there, Nicholas Sparks."
"Am I wrong, though?" I say, gesturing between the two of them. "Pretty sure I saw Clay feeding you French fries earlier."
Wes slides his arm between my parted thighs, his hand casually dropping to rest on my calf. His thumb begins that same infuriating, lazy stroking motion as if the interruption never even happened.
"Because Jude's fat ass kept stealing mine," Scarlett scoffs, folding her arms across her chest.
"Was just tryna avoid another world war," Clay chuckles, pulling her back against him.
He's leaning back against the counter, and Scar slips between his legs, her back to his chest, as Clay wraps his arms around her shoulders. He presses a kiss to the side of her head, the most adorable smile on his face as he does so.
The two of them look completely at ease, like they've been doing this forever.
Tasha and Liam walk past us toward the doors, the two of them wrapped up in each other's arms and looking so in love.
"Adieu, mon bébés!" Liam calls, giving an exaggerated salute.
"Don't miss us too much!" Tasha adds, twirling before throwing up a peace sign.
We laugh at them, waving back and sending them off into the parking lot.
Everyone is slowly trickling out of the alley, but most people are still inside the arcade area.
And, as if on cue, Hudson comes strolling out of the neon-lit room just across the carpeted platform.
His big brown eyes search from behind his glasses. He spots us by the counter, and a small, relieved smile spreads across his face.
I give a short little wave, my gaze dropping to the purple stuffed bear he's holding in one hand.
Wes scoffs under his breath. "Oh, looky there, your boy got himself a girlfriend."
I roll my eyes while putting a hand on his shoulder to steady myself as I jump down onto the ground.
"Cam—" I feel his hands on my hips, but they slip off as I step forward, Hudson already heading over to us.
"Hudson—hey."
"Well, I may not be great at bowling, but it would appear I'm undefeated at Groundhog Smash." Hudson shrugs as he lifts up the bear. "Here."
I blink as he stops in front of me, holding the bear out. "You won this? For me?"
"Of course," he says, his grin widening. "A little thank you for inviting me tonight."
Scarlett's hands slide over Clay's forearms, which are wrapped high across her chest, holding her securely against him. She dips her head just enough to use his forearm to shield the faint smile tugging at her lips.
Clay leans back against the counter, his expression unreadable but definitely entertained.
And Wes stands there silently, eerily silent.
"Ah! This is so cute," I say, trying to inject some lightness into my voice as I clutch the purple fluffball to my chest.
"They didn't have a pink one—I know you like pink." Hudson grins as he gestures to me. "It would've looked cute with your top."
I grin. "It's the thought that counts."
"Hey, Huddy, bro, you're making the rest of us fellas all look bad," Wes scoffs from behind, his tone light but sharp enough to prick.
I glance over my shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow as he leans casually against the counter.
There's nothing outwardly hostile in his expression—just that easy, cocky grin that always makes me suspicious. But the way his arms are folded across his chest, muscles taut beneath his white tee and jacket, tells me everything I need to know.
Hudson laughs, scratching the back of his neck. "Just tryna make up for the fucking dog bowling."
Clay scoffs. "That was your ball that came onto our lane?"
"You had spirit, honey," Scarlett smiles while slapping a chuckling Clay on the forearm.
"And now I know who I'm going to the fall fair with." I beam down at the bear as I turn back to Hudson.
"Funny you say that," Hudson replies, his tone softening slightly. "I was actually meaning to talk to you about it—"
Wes sucks in air between his teeth, and I feel his hand on my lower back, his body coming to a close stop at my side.
"Aren't we going together, baby?" Wes interrupts, his voice smooth and deliberate as I glance up at him.
I narrow my eyes. "When did I—"
Wes cuts me off, his smirk sharp as he crosses his arms. "Said you wanted me to win you one of those giant turkey plushies?"
Hudson's brows furrow slightly as he glances between us. "Well...the fair's three days, right?"
"We're going every day," Wes adds, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I groan, shoving the bear into Wes' chest, making him catch it with a grunt.
"Hold this," I mutter before turning back to Hudson. "Did you drive here? I'll walk you to your car."
Hudson nods, still looking a little confused at Wes' smug face. "Yeah, it's parked just out front."
"Great," I say, grabbing my bag from the counter and sliding it over my shoulder. "Let's go."
As we walk toward the exit, the cool night air bites at my cheeks, and I wrap my arms around myself and my soft pink slouchy one-shoulder sweater.
We walk down the smooth concrete steps out front, the gold LED under-stair lighting showing the way, and onto the dark tarmac of the parking lot.
I glance at Hudson apologetically. "Shit, I'm sorry about that. Wes can be...a total ass sometimes."
Hudson chuckles lightly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Don't worry about it, Cam. I get it."
I arch a brow. "Get what?"
He hesitates, his smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he looks out toward the dark parking lot. "Let's just say...I don't think he's used to sharing the spotlight."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I blink at him, his words sinking in like a slow drip.
Hudson turns his head toward me, his expression unreadable but still soft.
"Nothing," he says with a slight shrug. "Just...he's just competitive. You know how quarterbacks can be."
"Right," I reply slowly, not entirely convinced by his nonchalance. But he doesn't elaborate, and I don't push.
"Anyway," Hudson says, pulling out his keys and unlocking his car. "I hope that doesn't mean I'm off the invite list for the fair. I was really looking forward to that."
Relief floods through me, and I laugh, shaking my head. "Of course not. You're still coming. I'd be pissed if you didn't."
"Good," he says, his grin softening as he glances down at me.
There's a beat of silence—not awkward, but not entirely comfortable either. Hudson takes a small step forward, his hands twitching at his sides like he's debating something.
"I feel like...I should hug you," he says finally, his tone light and teasing but his gaze warm. "Unless you think that's too much?"
I laugh lightly. "It's fine, Hudson."
His arms wrap around me briefly, the hug a little awkward but still sweet. When he pulls back, his smile is wide and easy again.
I smile softly. "Drive safe, yeah?"
"Yeah, I will," he replies, stepping toward his car. "Bye, Cam."
"Bye."
I step out of the way, folding my arms around my body for warmth, as Hudson gets into the driver's seat. The engine roars to life, and I stand there, watching as he pulls out of the lot and disappears into the night.
I watch the taillights of his small gray BMW for a while, and when I turn back toward the bowling alley entrance, I spot them immediately.
Scarlett, Clay, and Wes—all standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching me.
Scar has her arms crossed loosely, her lips twitching with poorly hidden amusement, holding the purple bear Wes must've given her.
Clay's at her side, leaning casually against the railing, a brow raised as he exchanges a knowing glance with her.
But it's Wes who steals my focus.
His blue eyes are locked on me, sharp and unreadable, though the slight clench of his jaw gives him away. His hands are shoved into his jeans pockets, but there's nothing relaxed about his stance. The tension radiates off him in waves, so thick I could reach out and touch it.
I sigh as I walk toward them, pretending not to notice the way Wes' gaze flicks from my face to the street behind me, where Hudson just drove off.
His expression shifts, softening into something smugly casual—but his eyes, those bright, piercing blues, are anything but.
The second I'm close enough, Wes steps forward, circling an arm around my waist and sliding behind me, pulling me back against his front.
"I think I'll drive Cam home," he announces, his voice light, casual, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
I blink at Scar and Clay, caught off guard by the declaration. "What? Since when?"
Wes doesn't even look at me, his eyes still on Scarlett and Clay as he takes a slow, deliberate step backward, taking me with him. I stumble slightly, my back pressing into his chest as his grip tightens.
"Since now," he says smoothly, his tone laced with that infuriating cockiness he knows drives me crazy. "She's had a long night, haven't you, baby?"
"Wes," I say, laughing nervously as I try to twist out of his hold. "I'm fine—Clay and Scar can take me."
"And what about the rest of the guys that you're dropping home?" Clay scoffs, nodding his head toward the steps just as a few of the other football guys come laughing out of the glass sliding doors.
Wes shrugs, not missing a beat.
"You got us, Captain," he says smoothly, the grin tugging at his lips far too casual for how utterly ridiculous his excuse is.
Clay blinks, his expression blank for all of two seconds before he snorts, shaking his head. "That's your plan? Just dump 'em all on me?"
"Pretty much." Wes doesn't even bother hiding his grin, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief at his best friend. "You're the responsible one, yeah? I trust you."
Scarlett snorts, her arms crossed as she leans into Clay.
"You're not even trying to bullshit us," she deadpans.
"Wouldn't change a damn thing, Raleigh—she's still coming with me." Wes beams, cocky as ever, as his arms tighten around my stomach, my back slowly matching his as he drags us away.
Scarlett and Clay exchange a look, the kind of resigned amusement that comes from knowing there's absolutely no point in arguing.
Clay just shakes his head, muttering something under his breath, while Scarlett sighs dramatically, her arms crossed as she leans further into him.
Scar nods. "Just get her home safe, Reed."
"Always do," Wes mumbles as I roll my eyes—the grin on my face is visible from the fucking moon—and he turns us toward the parking lot, his grip steady and sure on my waist.
By the time we reach his truck, Wes has already opened the passenger door for me, gesturing with a flourish that would've been charming if it weren't so damn smug.
He, of course, picks me up and plants me down on the buttery leather, and for a second, I think he's going to kiss me—no, I want him to kiss me.
But he doesn't. He just buckles me in and closes the door, rounding the back of the blue Ram and sliding into the driver's seat.
The cab is quiet for a few minutes as we pull out of the parking lot, the hum of the engine and the faint buzz of the radio filling the silence. I lean back against the seat, letting out a slow exhale.
The tension in my shoulders starts to ease. Maybe he'll behave. Maybe this whole night won't devolve into whatever chaos Wes is clearly itching to stir up.
But then, about five minutes into the drive, Wes is pulling over onto the side of an empty road, barely lit by streetlamps, the gravel crunching under the tires.
I stare at him, confused and a little stunned. "Why are we stopping?"
His hand curls over the wheel as he leans back in his seat, head tilting toward me with that maddeningly cocky grin. "Get in the backseat, Cam."
I laugh, a short, disbelieving sound, leaning away to get a better look at his face. "Why the hell would I do that?"
"Because I'm five fucking seconds away from spinning this truck around and driving back the other way—right up Hudson's damn bumper," he says, his voice low and steady, but there's an edge to it—an edge that sends a shiver down my spine.
I gape at him, my jaw dropping. "You can't be serious."
Wes flicks me a quick glance, his blue eyes dark and dead serious. "As a heart attack, baby."
My mouth opens, but no words come out. I stare at him, utterly stunned, as the weight of his words sinks in. He's not bluffing. He would absolutely do it.
He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Why are you so shocked, huh? Don't act like you didn't want this to happen."
"Want what to happen?" I manage to sputter, my voice high and defensive.
Wes leans back in his seat, his arm draped casually over the headrest, but there's nothing relaxed about the way he's watching me. His gaze flicks over my face, down my body, and back up again, like he's piecing together a puzzle only he can see.
"The laughing," he starts, his tone maddeningly calm. "The touching. That fucking hug."
I cross my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the way my skin heats under his gaze. "I was just being nice."
"Nice," he echoes, the word dripping with disbelief. "You liked it, Cam."
I scoff, rolling my eyes, but the way my thighs press together betrays me.
Wes notices. Of course, he notices.
A slow, dangerous smirk spreads across his face, and he shifts in his seat, leaning closer until his knee bumps against mine. "Don't lie to me, baby. You liked the way it got to me. How it made me crazy."
I open my mouth to deny it, but the words catch in my throat when his hand reaches out, settling high on my thigh. His thumb brushes over the fabric of my jeans, lazy and deliberate, and my breath stutters.
"You think I didn't see the way you kept looking at me after every little thing he did?" he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. "You liked it, knowing I was watching. Knowing I was losing my goddamn mind."
"Wes—"
"And if I reached into your jeans right now," he cuts me off, his hand sliding just a fraction higher, his thumb grazing the seam where my thighs meet. "If I touched that sweet, dripping pussy of yours, you know what I'd find?"
I can't breathe.
His fingers press along the warm, damp seam of my jeans, right over my pulsing pussy.
His lips curve into a wicked grin as his fingers tighten slightly on my thigh. "I'd find out I'm right."
My heart pounds so loudly I'm sure he can hear it, and my nails dig into the edge of my seat as I try to summon some semblance of composure.
"Get in the backseat," Wes says suddenly, his voice firm and commanding.
"What?" I blink at him, my brain struggling to catch up.
"You heard me." His hand leaves my thigh, and he nods toward the back. "Get in the backseat."
I should say no. I should roll my eyes, laugh in his face, tell him to take his ridiculous ego and shove it up his—
But then Wes' tongue darts out to swipe over his bottom lip, and my resistance crumbles like wet sand.
Without a word, I unbuckle my seatbelt and shift up onto my knees. I brace one hand on the console as I climb between the seats, spinning around and resting my back up against the door.
Wes doesn't take his eyes off me the entire time, his gaze heavy and heated, and when I finally settle into the back, he slips out of the driver's seat and rounds the truck.
The back door opposite opens, and there he is, leaning against the frame like he has all the time in the world.
"That's my girl," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, and the way he says it makes my stomach flip.
He climbs in, the door swinging shut behind him, and my jeans and panties are off before I can even blink.
He's diving in between my thighs, knees hooked over his shoulders, mumbling something about being right as he noisily sucks my lips into his mouth.
My hands come up, fingers sliding down the steadily fogging-up window glass, as my other hand sinks into his hair, holding him against me as he feasts on me.
It's always a game with Wes, and once again, he's won.
i'm still here i promise!!!