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Colt
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EM HATES THIS PLACE, but she comes for me. If it wasn’t for her I’d never be able to sit here long enough. As it is, my head bobs to the beat of the music and my knee bounces uncontrollably earning me a glare from Benson.
Em reaches out and places her hand on my knee to stop me from shaking. Leaning over me to watch Benson work, her thumb rubs soothing circles above my knee. I relax back in the chair and close my eyes.
AddINKted is the best tattoo shop in town. It’s a little unknown gem. From the outside it appears nondescript. The dark windows and rundown-looking shopfront cause people to pass by it without so much as a glance. But the guys that work here are true artists.
“What if Austin is persistent? He seems like the type of guy to never give up.” Em chews on her lip.
“Huh?” I peel one eye open. What is she talking about? I’m too focused on the needle digging into my skin, the burning sensation slowly spreading as Benson drags the tattoo machine down my arm in small, careful strokes.
“The bet with Rome. You’re not at all worried Austin’s determination will pay off?”
I scoff. I’m not worried. I know Em better than she knows herself. I also know Austin. He’ll be all over her like a dog with a bone for about five minutes. But the second he catches sight of someone else he’ll drop the bone fast.
“I’m more concerned with Rome.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s not going to want to lose, so he’ll do his best to help Austin along the way.”
“Meaning?”
“Rome will stop at nothing to win. He’ll cock-block Austin every chance he gets so Austin stays focused on you. He’ll create situations where you’re left alone together. He’ll do whatever it takes. Starting tonight.”
“And you’re still confident I won’t give in.”
“You’ve lasted nineteen years without being dicked. You can go another six months.”
Benson lifts his head and quirks an eyebrow while Em slides her hand from my knee to the inside of my thigh and pinches the skin as hard as she can.
I jerk my leg away and Benson slaps me on the back of the head.
“What was that for?” I rub my head with one hand and the bruise Em leaves on my leg with the other.
“For being a dick,” both Emerson and Benson answer at the same time.
“Sorry?” I say, more of a question than an apology.
“Don’t give me a half-assed apology. You keep Austin and Rome away from me for six months.”
My eyes widen. “You’re kidding me, right?”
How the hell am I supposed to do that?
“No. You got me into this mess. You can deal with it. Or pay Rome two thousand dollars.” Em smiles. It’s a sweet smile, her green eyes twinkle. Not with happiness. No. She’s pissed. Her far-too-sweet smile is proof of that.
“Two thousand dollars? Dude, what the hell kind of wager did you make?”
“That I won’t sleep with a guy on his team,” Em answers.
“Why would you do that?” Benson asks as he wipes some excess ink from my skin.
“Easiest two grand I’ll ever make.” I pick at the lint on my shorts. The lint that’s not there.
“If I were you,” Benson flicks his eyes to Emerson, “I’d lose the bet on purpose. Teach this punk a lesson.”
Em’s mouth pulls up into a grin as she agrees with him.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn her.
“Don’t worry, you know I won’t.”
I give her a smile. It’s half apologetic, half pleading, but she rolls her eyes and holds out her hand, sensing what I need. I slip my hand in hers and squeeze it in thanks as I settle back into the chair, closing my eyes and letting Benson finish marking my skin.
***
“ICE-CREAM NOW?” I ASK Em once we’re back in the car, my arm wrapped in clear plastic to keep it protected.
She groans and hits her head on the head rest. “Yes, if you promise to get ice-cream and not run off somewhere else. My stomach can’t take the teasing.”
I laugh and hold out my fist for her to bump. “Deal.”
We’re late and should head straight to the party, but I have my priorities in order. Ice-cream comes first. I glance at my watch. We’re really fucking late. The tattoo didn’t take long, an hour because it was simple. Another date added to the list of dates already on my left bicep. They all mean something. Today’s date; the date we won the Championship. There are birthdays, too; mine, Dad’s, Em’s, Mom’s, and her death. The date we moved to college, getting Em as far from her parents as possible.
They’ve never called her, never asked my dad if he knew what happened to her.
They’re assholes.
And there’s a special place in hell for them.
There’s another date etched into my skin that Em has asked about multiple times, but I refuse to tell her what it means. It’s important, special, but it’s my special and the one secret I keep from her. She’ll figure it out, I’m sure. Until then, I enjoy keeping it to myself. It was a moment in time, although fleeting, it carved itself in me so deep, there’s no letting it go.
It was one of those defining moments. A moment that sets the course for your life.
Oh, there’s also the date Em let me touch her tits for the first time. Only time. But whatever. That was a momentous occasion and it deserves to be honored as much as anything. Em disagrees. But I’m a guy, and that was a fucking epic five minutes, the image seared into my brain.
I back the car out of our drive and head toward the center of town and the funky little ice-cream shoppe. After my tattoo was finished, we’d gone home to get ready for the party at the team’s house.
According to the athletics department and school regulations, I should live with the guys; eating, training, studying, breathing with them, too, but when I accepted the scholarship, I applied for special consideration and requested permission to live off campus. There was no way they’d have let Em live with me and a bunch of guys in one big house. Em and I were a package deal. If they wanted me on the team, they needed to give in to my request.
Dad said I was pushing my luck and blowing my chance at making something of my life. He didn’t believe they’d allow it, but they did. So, we share a shitty little apartment. They listed it as a one-bedroom, but it’s more like a one-room, one-bath apartment. Pretty sure they call them studios or something because it makes them sound so much cooler than saying ‘I’m renting a kitchen with a bed’, and a screen. Can’t forget the screen. The screen makes all the difference. Three panels of flimsy material held together by splintered wood divide the room in half. The sofa sits on one side facing the television, the bed is on the opposite side.
Privacy.
Good thing Em and I don’t mind the lack of it. At least the bathroom door closes.
I pull the car over to the side in front of the ice-cream shoppe and turn off the ignition. Em raises an eyebrow at me.
“What?” I ask as I climb out of the car, shutting the door behind me. I jog around the car, lowering my face against the rain falling in light drops as Em follows.
Ducking under the low-hanging blue and white striped awning, I push open the door, the bell jingling above my head and hold it open for Em to walk through.
The shop is like some sort of time portal and once you step through the front door you’re transported back to the fifties. It’s like a gelato has exploded in there. All pastel colors; pink, blue, green, yellow, purple. There are frills and chrome details, and neon lights on the wall. Blue and white checked tiles, green-covered stools at the counter, a jukebox in the corner playing Elvis. It’s sickening, like the ice-cream, and I kind of love it.
“Surprised is all. I counted at least eight things on the way here that should have grabbed your attention,” Em answers my question once we’re out of the rain.
I frown and tilt my head in confusion, stomping my feet on the mat to dry them so I don’t drag wet footsteps over the sparkling floor.
I saw nothing on the drive that was distracting.
“Annie, Remi, Sophia,” Emerson counts off using her fingers. “And Delia.”
“And you wonder why I got the scholarship and you didn’t. How did you graduate high school if you can’t count? That’s four, not eight.”
“Oh no, it was eight.” She smirks and then cups her breasts with her hands and winks.
“You sure you’re not a dude?” I ask and she scoffs. I’m messing with her, because sometimes her mind is dirtier than mine. She always surprises me.
She leans in close and I’m prepared for what she’s about to say next. I press my lips together to hide my smile and give my head a slight shake wondering whether I should mess with her more. What sort of friend would I be if I didn’t?
Em lifts on her toes. Her tits brush my chest and the blood rushes straight to my dick. “Why don’t you kiss me and find out?”
“Sure. I’ll kiss you.” I lower my face to hers. Her breath halts and her eyes widen.
“You wi—?” Pressing a finger to her lips, I cut her off. She gasps, her lips part and her eyes lock on mine.
My lips quirk up in a smirk as I nod my head and drag my finger down her lips, over her chin, and trace the column of her throat. Heat floods my body as she swallows, her throat moving under my touch. I skate my finger down her chest, between her breasts, biting back a groan as she arches back, chest heaving, and continue dragging my finger down the bare skin of her stomach, flicking the waistband of her sweats.
I press my lips to her ears. “I’ll kiss you.” I pause, almost stopping because we’re pushing the friendship line. But I can’t resist, so I drag my finger lower, gliding over the front of her sweats, tracing her hip bone. “Right.” Until my finger hits the center of her thighs. “Here.”
Em’s breath quivers and she leans into me.
“What do you think?” I whisper. I’m toying with her, proving my point. She won’t let Austin in her pants. Yet, burying my face between her legs has merit. Could be fun.
I wouldn’t turn her down if she said yes.
Her hands come up to my chest, clutching my shirt for a split second, then she pulls back and rams the heels of both hands into my chest. “No.”
I chuckle.
“You’re an ass, Colt.”
“Worth a shot.”
I move to the counter and eye Em for longer than normal as she contemplates which ice-cream flavors she wants, imagining what she’d taste like, feel like on my tongue.
Shit. Messing with her messed with me.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath but all I’m aware of is the heat in Em’s eyes when I dragged my finger down her body, the way her tongue came out to wet her lips, the way she leaned into my touch, the goosebumps on her skin.
I gulp and reach down to adjust my shorts. Months at FU, multiple dates, so many ball bitches and nothing. Nothing. Not so much as a flicker of desire.
But here I am, hard-as-fuck in an ice-cream shoppe standing next to my best friend.
I’m so screwed.