This is War (Checkmate Duet 1)

Fuck me. Now I’m completely hard. Standing in the hallway. Thinking about Viola Fisher’s bare curves and how it would feel to palm those tits of hers.

Drew pops into my head, knowing he would fiercely disapprove. Not because I’m not a good guy—let’s face it, I’m a catch—but because he knows my history and he knows his sister. Nothing good would come of it. But I can’t help thinking about the possibility of shutting her smart mouth up once and for all.

Perhaps behind the textbooks and smart mouth, Viola Fisher has a secret wild side. A side I bring out in her, and I’m desperate to see it again. As I stand there, staring at her wet footprints down the hall, I think of my next move. If she wants to play, I’m all in.

I head to the kitchen and immediately reach for a shot glass in the cupboard. The images of her walking out of the bathroom, all gutsy and hot, are haunting me. She’s absolutely breathtaking and now she’s found a way to pay me back for all those crass remarks I’ve said to her—not that I can really blame her.

I take the bottle of tequila from the freezer and pour myself a shot. I tilt my head back, pour the liquid gold in, and choke the burning down my throat until it settles in my chest.

Knowing Viola and her hatred for me, I know this means war. But I wonder if I really know Viola at all anymore. When we were kids I knew everything about her, but now I clearly have a lot more to learn.

The Viola I grew up with loved daisies and putting peanut butter on everything. Her favorite season was fall so she could jump into the huge piles of leaves. Before all of her adult teeth came in, whenever she smiled, her top teeth would rest on top of her lower lip, which I, of course, teased her about.

I also know that certain things about her will never change. Whenever she really, wholeheartedly laughs, it’s so infectious that a whole room cracks up with her. I know she has freckles sprinkled across her shoulders and a mole on her left shoulder blade. Though she prides herself on being a know-it-all, sexual jokes tend to go right over her head. When we were younger, she used to throw punches like a boy and could run faster than Drew and me. But what about now? Who is Viola Fisher outside of her books and geeky Harry Potter references?

It drives me fucking insane that I genuinely want to know. I pour another shot because there’s nothing better than self-sabotage. I hear footsteps behind me and turn to see Viola in a tank top and black leggings. Her wet hair is pulled up into a messy bun, her cheeks flushed. I lean up against the counter and raise an eyebrow at her.

“Hardly recognize you with clothes on,” I quip.

“Shove it, asshole.” She walks past me and opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of water. She opens the top and takes a huge drink then places it on the counter. She goes quiet, but then after a moment, she stands on her tiptoes and reaches for a shot glass from the cabinet. Her body is so close to mine that I can smell her fresh, clean scent. She smells like strawberries and fresh rain. I watch her every move as she slides the tequila bottle closer to her, unscrews the top, and pours herself a shot.

“Shit, that burns.” She gasps for air, slamming the glass down on the counter.

“Have you ever been drunk before?” I find myself asking.

She shoots daggers at me, her fingers still wrapped around the glass. “Yes, I’ve had alcohol before.” She rolls her eyes.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Wait,” she says dramatically, her jaw dropping. “Is this stuff magically supposed to make my panties fly off while I trip and fall on your dick?” Her expression is completely serious, although I’m ninety percent sure she’s fucking with me.

“Well, I wouldn’t say fly off…” I tilt the corner of my lips up, enjoying this little battle we have going on. “But if you prefer being on top, I’m all about it,” I say, smugly, knowing it’s going to boil her blood.

She makes a gagging noise and steps away. “In your dreams, King. I don’t need to fake an orgasm to know you’re all talk.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” I go on the defense, catching up to her when she walks to the living room. “There is no way in hell a girl has ever faked it with me. I have a one-hundred percent satisfaction guarantee.” I know I sound like a tool, but Viola is making me stumble on my own thoughts.

She bursts out laughing, shaking her head at me as she grabs the TV remote.