3:AM Kisses (5 page)

“Shit,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.” I wrap my arm over her shoulders. “Look, if you’d rather do something else tonight I totally understand. It’s your first night, and, if punching a time clock isn’t you’re idea of a good time, I get it.”

“No, it’s okay.” She glances at the entrance with the overgrown bear looking ready to sexually assault the next patron and shudders. “Besides, I’m all for lining my pockets.” She pinches at her barely-there shorts, and my dick weeps for her to touch it. “My clothes haven’t quite arrived, so I may have raided Jeanie’s closet without telling her.” She twists her heels into the ground, and her cleavage bounces unexpectedly. “And shoes.”

Baya sparkles under this dim light both inside and out. Her perfect lips are calling to me, red as rubies, hell, raspberries that I’d like to bite into. But she’s not just some chick from Briggs I’m looking to bag, not some barfly ready and willing to drop in front of my Levi’s, she’s sweet—special—somebody’s little sister. And if I keep saying it I might actually be able to defuse the bomb ticking in my boxers, but a part of me knows better. I’ll be slicking one off in the shower later in her honor whether or not Cole approves.

I warm her arm with my hand and lead her up the walk.

“Let’s go make some money,” I sigh.

Deep down I know I have to have Baya. I need her to want me too, and I can’t figure out why the hell I feel this way after knowing her for less than a few hours.

Baya Brighton has cast her spell whether she’s aware of it or not, and, now, the only thing left to do is to figure out how the hell to break it.

I don’t think I can.

I don’t think I want to.

There’s a trifecta of universities in the area that have turned the Black Bear into a hub of social civilization—although technically most nights are anything but civil. Having a central outlet like this has expanded the dating pool by three campuses and is half the reason there are so many damn tally marks on my wall to begin with.

Inside the bar, the mountain motif fits the area, unlike the upscale Sky Lab with its sci-fi feel or the Ice Bar with its literal frozen tundra. I can’t wait to show Baya both of those places. What the hell am I saying? I glance down and give a polite smile, but my gut twists like a schoolboy at the sight of her. I need to stay the hell away from Baya, not drag her around to each of my family’s establishments in hopes that a blowjob waits for me on the other end of the factory tour. I’m a moron for even looking at her. She’s like crack, the more I’m near her, the more I need to have her.

“This is really nice.” She looks around taking it all in, the mountain-themed tapestry lining the booths, the barstools carved out of gnarl wood. “So what do I do?”

“Start here.” I pluck a small white apron from behind the counter and hand it to her. It’s frilly and looks more like lingerie, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Baya ties it low on her waist and with her micro-shorts it looks like that’s all she’s wearing.

Hot damn. I ride my gaze up her body, nice and slow, and my dick perks to attention.

“Who’s this?” A woman’s voice grumps from behind, and for a second I think I might find Aubree with her disgruntled lady boner, but it’s not. It’s Laney, one of the girls from school who works part time as a waitress. Her dark hair is pulled tight in a bun, and she’s sporting her signature ultra-tight Black Bear T-shirt. Laney is hot in her own right, but she’s not for me. Besides, she dated one of my good friends for a while last year. That sort of took her permanently off the roster.

“Laney.” I pull her in. “This is Baya—Cole Brighton’s little sister.” Maybe if I keep reminding myself, out loud, many fucking times, that she’s Cole’s little sister my dick will back off.

Baya gives a disapproving smile in my direction before moving her glowing eyes to Laney.

“Cool name.” She shakes her hand “And for the record”—she drags her eyes over to me again and shoots venom—“I don’t care to be addressed as anybody’s little sister. I’m just Baya.” Her brows peak. For a moment she looks like she’s about to invert my balls, but then she takes a breath and shows off every one of her perfect teeth with that killer smile. “Now teach me how to make some money.”

“Food and soda only.” I nod into Laney. The last thing I need is having our liquor license revoked within the hour.

Laney shuttles her off to the main floor as I make my way behind the counter.

“Well, look who decided to show?” Holt glances up from his martini shaker, and the gleam of stainless steel catches the light.

“Of course, I showed.” I slap him on the back as I snap up a towel and wipe down the bar. “I wasn’t about to let my big brother have all the
f-u-n
.”

“Who’s the hot chick? And why do I smell jail bait?”

“Relax, she’s nineteen. And, yes, I told Laney she’s only allowed to serve food and sodas. We’re covered.”

“Sweet.” He frowns into her as she heads in our direction.

“This is great!” She beams, flaunting a bill in her hand before burying it in her pocket. “Some guy just gave me a twenty for wiggling my hips at him.”

“
No
.” I shake my head. “No private dancing.” Shit. Forget Cole, I’ll have my own balls on a spit by the end of the night if she accidentally turns this into some kind of a stripping gig. The only one she’s allowed to strip for is me. I give a dull smile because I know the only way I’ll let that happen is in my fantasies, and I happen to have a couple lining up in the queue.

She wrinkles her nose and looks cute as hell in the process. “Okay, but the tips would be outrageous if I did.”

“You know what else would be outrageous? Your brother’s temper. Speaking of brothers—Baya, this is my big bro Holt—Holt, Baya.”

“Nice to meet you.” She gives an impish grin, and my dick whimpers like a sad puppy to come out and play.

“Ba
ya
,” Holt eases her name out like a song. “You should see me mix a dirty martini.” He leans in like he’s diving for a kiss, and I slice my hand through the narrow gap between them.

“And, much like your big brother, mine is mostly full of himself.”

She gives a quiet laugh. Her eyes sparkle like cut emeralds, and my heart races like it expects something from the exchange.

“On second thought”—I revert my attention back to Holt before I lose it looking at her—“he’s more like an annoying little brother.”

“
Hey
.” Holt taps his chest. “I’m older by fifteen minutes, and, much like tonight, your boyfriend here was late on arrival.”

Her cheeks darken a shade at the thought of being called my anything. She probably considers it an insult, and who could blame her? It would be.

“So you’re twins?” She tilts into me, and the tiny dimple in her cheek inverts.

“Fraternal,” I say. “Or as I like to refer to him, the ultimate tagalong.”

“Technically”—Holt wags a finger—“I came first, so you would be the tagalong.”

“I
existed
first, instinctually I know this.” I toss the dishtowel over my shoulder. “I’m also the smarter one, so don’t believe half the bull he slings your way.”

“Got it. Well, you look almost identical.” She offers him a sly smile, and for a second I think she’s flirting with him. “I’d better go.” Her eyes linger over his before making her way back to the floor.

“Dude.” I smack him in the arm until he comes to. “Don’t even think of laying your paws on her.”

“Sounds like someone’s desperate to get laid.” He folds his arms across his chest. “Wouldn’t it be funny if this is the one that finally turns you down?”

I look over at her smiling at the customers, laughing while she takes their order.

“I don’t have to worry about her turning me down. We won’t be heading on that path.” At least not anytime soon.

I don’t deserve someone like Baya.

Steph can attest to that.

Baya

Two weeks crawl by, and I’ve yet to officially “meet” my roommate.

Jeanie Waters is an enigma, or an enema, take your pick. But, perhaps more to the point, she’s a budding porn star. I’ve seen more female anatomy the last fourteen days than I have in a lifetime of showers and baths. I swear I could work as a police sketch artist, detailing out vulvas and penises in microscopic detail when necessary.

Silly me. I always thought my first glance at the male anatomy would have some stamp of romance to it, and I guess if you count the fleshy offensive Jeanie partakes in as “romantic” then I would have been right.

I wake to the sound of grunting and dread to open my eyes. I give a groggy glance over in her direction only to find her overgrown pink nipples bouncing at a dizzying pace. I withhold the urge to wave at Thing One and Thing Two. Sadly, they’re more friendly with me than she is. The polite girl in me wants to say good morning to the twins, but I resist the urge.

I groan as I swing my legs out of bed.

“Sheesh. Don’t you ever take a break?” I slip into my flip-flops as some dark-haired boy smiles from behind her.
Gah
! He’s waving and penetrating, and I’m fifty shades of creeped out. “That’s it,” I hiss, throwing crap into my Whitney Briggs duffle bag at random. My luggage finally managed to arrive, but this time I’m only taking the basics. I doubt Jeanie or her steady line of boy-toys will bother to pilfer through my father’s extensive collection of Hardy Boys novels, so I’ll pick those up later. It’s Friday, and I don’t have any classes, but, unlike the rest of the student population, I won’t be soaking in the Z’s until late afternoon, I’ll be hitting the road, homeless for the rest of the semester. It takes less than five minutes to clear most of my crap and snap up my backpack before hightailing it out of there.

I don’t bother waiting for the elevator. Instead, I bolt down the stairwell and head straight for the outdoors. The weather has already turned for the worst since the day I arrived. The air is crisp as an apple, and there’s a bite of fall all around us even though technically it’s the tail end of summer. Back in Texas the ground is still baking,
sizzling
under my mother’s feet, but here it’s cool as an iceberg, and you can take in large lungfuls of air without choking on the desert dust.

The Briggs Apartment building comes up on me quick, and before I know it I’m riding the elevator up. Bryson let me work alongside him at the Black Bear last weekend, and I’m sort of hoping he’ll rekindle the offer tonight. I’m more interested in Bryson than I am in brushing up on my waitressing skills, but I made over two hundred bucks last Friday and Saturday combined, so I’m not complaining about the income boost either. Technically it’s not a boost since anything is more than nothing.

I give a gentle knock over their door and wait a moment. It’s still pretty early, so I doubt either one of them is awake. I turn the knob, and, sure enough, it’s unlocked, so I let myself in and land my stuff behind the couch. Back at my place, the OCD in me makes sure I check that the door is bolted shut at least twelve times before I go to bed, and, here Cole and Bryson all but leave an invitation for the ax murderers in the neighborhood. On second thought, my brother probably has an open door policy with the surrounding sororities. He’s probably blanketed the neighborhood with flyers that read,
Need an orgasm to take the edge off that next exam? Head to Cole’s!
Bring a friend to double your pleasure. Summa cum loud. Summa cum quiet. Come one, come all!
What a moron my brother is turning out to be.

I head over to the wall of shame and start counting tally marks, the one’s on Bryson’s wall first. I’m halfway through the first row when a soft click emits from the hall, and a pretty blonde with a skintight tank top ambles out of the back bedroom. Her rear is hanging out, and I force my eyes to pop back up to hers in the event I’m tempted to see if the carpet matches the drapes.

“Hi,” I say it stunned, suddenly regretting ever coming because I know for a fact the last time I checked that wasn’t Cole’s bedroom. It’s Bryson’s. Just the thought has my heart turning to stone and crashing to my feet.