Crazy Stupid Love (Dirty Dicks 3)

Pissed off that he called himself a washed-up bull rider and a little embarrassed that he made of fun of me, I stomp out of the bathroom and into his bedroom.

Lincoln doesn’t let me get far. Once I’m in his room, he grabs my wrist and spins me around. “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m frustrated.”

Lincoln rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s a compliment, and I shouldn’t have laughed. But I’m still trying to see myself the way you see me.”

“Well, try harder.”

“Can I make it up to you?” he asks, unwinding the towel from my head.

“What’d you have in mind?”

My stomach growls again, and Lincoln laughs. “How about we start with food.”

“And then?”

“And then I’ll go to work, and you’ll have the house all to yourself. It’ll be quiet, and you can study your little heart out.”

“Oh my gosh.” My eyes widen, and I look at the alarm clock sitting on Lincoln’s nightstand. “It’s Monday. You have to work today. Are you going to be late?”

I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before I attacked him in the kitchen earlier. I’m so used to being in school and not working that I forget other people have actual jobs.

“It’s okay. I don’t have to be at The Barn until noon.”

That makes me feel a little better. “How about you get ready for work and let me make breakfast. Or maybe I should make lunch. Which would you rather have?”

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll let you cook breakfast. But today, I’m doing it. You didn’t get to study at all this weekend because I took up too much of your time, so go get your books and get comfy.”

Grabbing the knot of his towel, I tug him forward. “You could never take up too much of my time.”

“You undo that knot and you might change your mind about that.”

That’s tempting. He could have me flat on my back and be buried balls deep in my body within seconds.

“I’m trying to be good here, Adley, but that look in your eyes is making it difficult.”

I blink through the haze and look up.

“Tonight,” he promises. “We’ve got all night.”

13

Adley

There’s a delicious ache between my legs, a handsome, naked man sprawled out beside me, and I’m convinced this is the only way to wake up. This must be why Mo and Claire are always so damn happy in the mornings.

I stare down at Lincoln. His leg is draped over mine, a thick arm rests low across my hips, and his head is nestled between my bare breasts. He’s zonked out cold.

As he should be.

We went at it hard last night. He came home from The Barn at six o’clock with a cheese pizza and a two-liter of soda. We ate at the coffee table while he quizzed me on endocrinology, and then he carried me to bed where we made love not once, but twice before falling asleep in each other’s arms.

He did mention that he had to get up a little earlier this morning because he needs to make a stop by his dad’s, so I set an alarm. It’s not due to go off for another thirty minutes, but there’s no way I’m going to fall back asleep now—not with his warm breath blowing against my nipple and his hard-on pressed against my hip—so I reach an arm out and shut it off.