Hard Love (Trophy Boyfriends 3)

She straddles me, hands cupping either side of my head. “Are you okay? I didn’t want you to hit your head on the asphalt.”

“It’s concrete, not asphalt.”

She drops my head. “Yup. Still the same old you.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

Her hands rest on her waist now, but she hasn’t moved from her position above me.

Leans in closer—close enough that I can feel her warm breath.

“What are you doing?” I want to know since we’ve determined I’m fine and my brains are in fact not addled. “Why are you still standing there like that?”

I can’t move unless she does.

Yes you can.

It’s raining harder now, a mix between a mist and a torrent. A steady rhythm of precipitation—nothing that would stop a football game already in progress, but enough to drench us and leave me wiping the water from my eyes.

Do something, Wallace.

Either sit up, or tell her to move, or lift her off yo—

Chandler sits.

On top of me.

“What are you doing?” I ask again, hands lying flat on the wet ground, moving—for now they need a purpose.

“Stop talking,” she tells me. “It just makes me dislike you more.”

Dislike me more? This from the woman who’s seated on me like she’s riding a pony at the county fair? What the hell is even happening right now?

Chandler inclines forward, and before I fucking realize it, her lips and mouth are on mine and she’s kissing me, and my hands are bound for her ass. Waist. Thighs.

Wet rain. Wet mouth. Wet kiss.

I pull her down farther, arms going around her back in an embrace, palms running over her spine. Over her soaking wet silk shirt that’s now probably ruined.

Neither of us seems to care.

We roll so she’s on the bottom and I’m braced over her, Chandler’s fingers raking through my hair.

Briefly, I acknowledge that she is probably the only woman I’ve ever met who wouldn’t complain about kissing someone on the concrete ground in the rain, ruining their expensive shirt. Their hair. Their makeup smearing from precipitation.

My hand is on her thigh, squeezing it gently, kneading it…running my hand up and down the outside of her jeans, even though they’re soaked.

I can’t believe she kissed me.

I can’t believe we’re down on the ground making out and her tongue is actually in my freaking throat.

She tastes amazing, like dessert and wine and curiosity.

We kiss a little longer before she plants one final peck at the corner of my mouth to draw the session to a close and I pull back to look at her. It’s not easy to study her face in the dark, even with the street lamps, which do nothing for visibility—not with the weather—so I draw back more and rise to my knees.

Reach out to grab her hand and lift myself up, off the ground, helping her up, too.

She wipes the hair out of her face. Wipes the water from her forehead, eyebrows, and from beneath her eyes.

Her face isn’t as bad as one would expect, considering we were lying on the ground.

“You don’t look terrible,” I state, for lack of anything more clever to say post-make-out sesh. “It could be worse.”

Chandler runs a hand over her mouth. “Thanks.”

I can’t stuff my hands in my pockets because they’re soaked, but she goes to the stoop and climbs the stairs, presenting me with her back.

I wonder if she’s going to invite me in for like, a hot shower or something. A nightcap? Sex?

Yeah, sex would be good. It’s been ages and I like her well enough after tonight that I’d actually bang her.

I put one foot on the bottom step.

“Thanks for the drinks.” Her voice stops the next foot from advancing.

Thanks for the drinks? Sounds kind of final. Does that mean I don’t get an invitation inside?

“Are you serious? You don’t get to come inside because you bought me a few drinks—I’m not that tipsy.”

Shit, did I say that out loud? Now she’s going to think I’m a douche.

Oh wait…

“Cool. No big deal.” My dismissal is just as nonchalant as hers, my lips and body still buzzing. Or am I just really fucking cold? Hard to tell with the wind picking up and the rain still coming down.

Chandler laughs as she punches in the keypad for her front door, pushing it open and turning to face me when she’s inside.

“See you later.” She lifts a hand to give me a small wave.

The tiniest, barest of waves.

More of a Fuck you, bye now, and before I can retort with something witty, the door shuts and she’s gone.* * *ChandlerI kissed him.

Holy shit, I kissed him.

I flipped him, then I took advantage and planted one on him—and the look on his face when I did both was well worth it. His expression when I told him goodbye then shut the door on him was also well worth it.