by Charisse Moritz
GENRE: YA Romance, (mature)
One mistake and seventeen-year-old Shake LeCasse lost everything. Now there’s no going back and no way to move forward. The once-popular Varsity hockey captain is living in the basement of a grandmother he barely knows, ditching school, avoiding friends and working hard on self-destruction.
She’s the girl nobody sees.
Cleo Lee survives however she can. Lie, cheat, steal, whatever it takes, and saving Mr. Popular isn’t part of the plan. Telling him the truth about the night that destroyed his life is downright dangerous. She needs to keep quiet, be smart and let the guy she’s been half in love with since middle school throw away a future she’d do anything to have. Too bad she sucks at playing it safe.
I’ve had an epiphany:
My head whips forward. I slap my hands against the dash. The seatbelt grabs me, throws me back and something in my spine pops.
“Doing good,” I manage.
Cleo cuts a glare my way. Her hands sit precisely at ten and two. She can barely see over the wheel. If looks could maim, I’d be bleeding from every orifice.
“You’re getting the hang of it,” I tell her.
I’m teaching her to drive, checking off another item on her never-done-before list. She is slightly aggressive with the pedals. OK, I’m lying. She’s more aggressive than a street racer. She is a pint sized Vin Diesel. Pedestrians and squirrels should be very afraid.
My neck hurts from the starts and stops. That’s a minor problem compared to my pants, which are cinched tighter than a tourniquet. Cuz I’m horny. As hell. One way or another, Cleo Lee is going to kill me.
After sleeping, or rather surviving the torture of her warm body bumped up against mine in a narrow twin bed for five hours, I finally snuck upstairs and jerked off in the shower. Then we started the day with Cleo braless in a thin, clingy tank top. I spent our breakfast staring at my waffles, trying to avoid the sight of her perky little nips. I wasn’t entirely successful. So then, with half-a-hard-on, I ignored her as much as possible while we bought lace bras and panties in a rainbow of colors. Lace is my kryptonite and even worse, I’m pretty sure Cleo is wearing the red ones. At least, I’m picturing her in the red ones. I like red.
“I think I’ll do better going faster,” Cleo tells me. She’s a little breathless, and I bet that’s real close to what she’d sound like if I went down on her. Maybe not, but my imagination is running with it.
“Yup,” I croak, just to say something as she pilots the Twat in a jerky circle.
She answers back with either, “You’re the worcestershire on the plant,” or “You are the worst teacher on the planet.” I’m not sure. I’m not really listening. I’ve had an epiphany.
My hands are big. Her ass is not. I’ll need to test my theory, but I am suddenly convinced each ass cheek would fit nicely in my palms, and I could support her weight with her back against the wall and her legs wrapped around my waist.
Yes, I am a sick prick. After what she’s been through, the last thing she needs is me slobbering all over her. So I will be the friend she needs, do whatever she needs, but shit, I really want to toss her in the backseat and slobber. All. Over. Her.
I haven’t been laid in eight months. I’ve had girls crawling all over me, eager to help, yet somehow so needy, I felt like they might suck me dry. I could’ve picked any one of them. Easy. No effort. Instead, I’m panting after Cleo Lee. Might as well cuddle a cactus, step on a rusty nail, stick my dick in the blender because the girl is brutal.
“I like going faster,” she tells me in a soft voice.
Sweet Christ. At the end of this, we’ll be spooned into my twin mattress in the basement again, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure my balls might actually explode.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Emily Award Finalist and Melody Of Love Award Finalist, Charisse M Moritz divides her life between upstate NY and northern Florida. When not barricaded inside her writing cave or enjoying every possible minute with her husband and three kids, you’ll find her listening to 60’s music, singing offkey and looking for new reads.
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