Cara laughs, then she gestures to the theater. “Are you two clowns heading to see Fake Play?”

  Patrick nods. “We are.” Then, with a lingering glance Cara’s way, he says, “Would you like to sit together? That way, if there are clowns or anything in the flick, we can support each other through it.”

  She sets a hand on her chest. “That’d be great.” Cara turns to Brooke, raising her eyebrows in question. “Does that work for you?”

  “Works for me,” Brooke says.

  Patrick goes to the counter, picks up the cost of the air-popped popcorn Brooke was buying as well as one for himself, and then hands her the bucket. Patrick and Cara chit-chat the whole time.

  Brooke and I are quiet, but our eyebrow arches and knowing looks are their own language, saying well, those two hit it off quickly.

  As we enter the movie theater, I drop back, letting Patrick and Cara walk in front of us. “That was fast,” I say, nodding to them.

  “It was. Tell me he’s a good guy,” she says, her tone deadly serious, her jaw tight.

  I hold up my hand as if taking an oath. “He’s like a brother. I trust him with my life.”

  “I will hurt anyone who hurts my sister. I don’t care if those two just met. If he does her wrong…”

  I squeeze her shoulder in reassurance. “I swear. Also, he’s petrified of clowns, so he definitely needs the protection.”

  She seems to relax under my touch and from my words. I lean into Brooke, drawing a quick inhale of her sexy, sunshine scent. “By the way, you look amazing,” I whisper, low, just for her. No harm in a little compliment.

  “So do you,” she whispers.

  “What were the chances we’d run into each other here?” I ask as we head down the aisle.

  “Pretty good, technically. Considering we talked about this being our favorite movie, and it’s only playing tonight.”

  “Okay, then. So those are damn good odds,” I say with a smile. “But I swear, I wasn’t stalking you. It was…serendipity.”

  Her smile is magical. “Let’s go with that.”

  Patrick stops at a middle row and heads in first. Cara follows, then Brooke, then me. What a fantastic impromptu seating chart.

  Brooke offers me some of her popcorn. “I know you like food. Want to share?”

  “I’m always hungry.” I take her up on her offer and grab a handful. But before I crunch into the kernels, I ask, “Any idea where I could get a great risotto?”

  “My kitchen,” she whispers.

  I flash back to that night with her, kissing her while she was cooking. Damn. I wish we’d had that second date. Glancing across at Patrick, I confirm he’s busy then lean closer to Brooke, stealing a moment. “In our parallel universe, I’m back in your kitchen.”

  “Wow. You are hungry,” she teases.

  “I sure am.”

  She adopts a thoughtful look. “Am I making…eggplant parmesan?”

  “You’re doing something with an eggplant,” I say. “As far as I’m concerned, you hold eggplant power over me. Zucchini too.”

  “Ooh, I love zucchini in a pasta primavera.”

  I breathe an over-the-top sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you didn’t say zucchini muffins.”

  “Muffins should be abolished.”

  “Right? What’s the point of muffins? They don’t know if they want to be bread or dessert.” I’d planned on dirty-talking her with a scenario of kissing her in her kitchen, and now we’re harshing on muffins.

  But I’m a happy camper.

  “If I want a cupcake,” she says, “I’ll have a cupcake and I’ll frost it, thank you very much.”

  “Just pick a side, muffins,” I say.

  Brooke peeks over at Patrick and Cara, who look like they might be wearing sandwich boards for insta-love, then leans a little closer to me, her hair swishing over my shoulder. “You’re back in my kitchen too. I’m up on the counter,” she whispers.

  Yes. Let’s do this. “I’m lifting your skirt.”

  “I’ve got my hands on your shoulders.”

  “You’re pushing me down,” I say.

  A small gasp falls from her mouth. “So you can work on your deal.”

  “I will work very hard on my deal.”

  Brooke closes her eyes and inhales sharply. When she opens them, those brown irises glimmer with heat.

  “We should have cupcakes later,” I suggest.

  She nibbles on her lower lip, then smiles wickedly as the opening credits begin.

  13

  Just a Troublemaker

  Drew

  * * *

  When the movie ends, Patrick and Cara walk ahead, gabbing the whole way out. Once we’re on Ocean Avenue, I’m not surprised at all when my friend suggests, “Want to grab a beer? Shave ice? Smoothie?”

  The question’s directed at the group but I know who it’s really for. He’s a goner already. Maybe Cara is too, because she chimes in with an enthused, “Definitely.”

  But Brooke yawns rather than answers.

  “It’s past your bedtime,” Cara teases. “It’s already nine.”

  “Yes, someone has been working early and late,” Brooke says, with another yawn. “But I don’t mind if you want to stay.”

  “I’ll drive you home,” Cara says brightly. Maybe she feels guilty that she wanted to stay since they’re sharing a car.

  “I’ll drive you, Brooke,” I offer. “My car’s nearby.”

  Cara’s big eyes widen more. “You don’t mind?”

  “I don’t mind at all,” I say, my poker face tight.

  Brooke turns away from me, but she’s smiling. “Thanks. That’s sweet of you.”

  Venice is about four miles away. But in Los Angeles, that trip could take fifteen minutes or an hour.

  Good thing I like the company.

  “So, are you really tired?” I ask as I open the passenger side door to my car in the parking garage.

  Brooke shoots me a coy look. “What do you think?”

  With a lopsided grin, I walk around to the driver’s side. “You little enabler,” I tease as I start the car and back out.

  “Well, have you ever seen two people hit it off so fast?”

  “It was pretty instant. Just add clown phobia and popcorn.”

  She laughs. “Cara hasn’t dated anyone in a long time. She’s been so focused on school and classes. But those two had that bam! chemistry.”

  “I think I know what that’s like,” I say.

  “Me too,” she says as I exit the garage and pull onto the street.

  And right into traffic.

  Of course there’s traffic at nine-fifteen on a Wednesday night.

  “Sorry, Drew,” she says. “I should have taken a Lyft.”

  I slice that notion off at the knees. “Do I look like I don’t want to spend time with you?”

  She smiles, apologetic. “But this is bad,” she says, gesturing to the long slog of cars ahead of us.

  “I did offer,” I say as I slow even more at a light. “And I know what this town is like. Besides, I figure we need to do our movie review for Fake Play.”

  That earns me a grin. Nothing apologetic in it at all. “Well, a fake romance between the quarterback and the girl next door is hard to resist,” she says with a wistful sigh. “It only works because he’s so enchanted with her but takes forever to realize it.”

  I let that sink in for a moment. “Huh. I never saw it that way.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I think he knows from the start that she revs his engine, and that’s why he suggests her when his agent says he needs a fake date.”

  Brooke holds up a finger to make a point. “But he only realizes he’s attracted to her. He’s sort of delightfully clueless that he’s falling for her.”

  She has a point, but I still think the hero was into her for a long time. “I think it just took him an age to say it out loud. It’s funny how two people can see the same film and take away different things from it.”

  “It is. I also notice different aspects of the story now that I’m older.”

  “For sure. When I first saw it as a middle schooler, I just loved the football scenes. The romance part was way over my head,” I admit, then furrow my brow. “Maybe my younger self was protecting me. I did see it with my mom.”

  “Is she a movie fan too?”

  I tap the gas lightly, scooting a car length ahead. “Sure is. Movies were our guilty pleasure growing up. It was just the two of us, and we tried to hit all the big releases. The superhero flicks, the talking dog movies, the PG romances, the adventure tales. She made air-popped popcorn and tucked a Ziploc bag of it in her purse.”

  Brooke laughs. “I love her already. Smart woman with her big-purse life hack.”

  “I used to tease her that she could carry a tent in her purse, and she’d say, You think I don’t have one in there already?”

  “Do you still go with her to the movies?”

  “Sometimes. I try to take the twins too, when I go, though it’s tough during the season. I took them a lot during the off-season. I can pretty much sing any song from any animated princess flick.”

  “‘Let My Hair Down,’” Brooke says, firing off the signature tune from a Rapunzel remake.

  I scoff, then sing the opening lines.

  Brooke claps in approval. “Well done.”

  “Why, thank you very much,” I say.

  “Now, speaking of your mom, I have to know—does she call you Andrew a lot?” Brooke asks as we cruise along another block. “You said she was the only one who called you that, but only when you were in trouble.”

  “I was a troublemaker growing up, Brooke. Don’t let this sweet face fool you.” I give her a smoldering grin that’s not at all sweet.

  “Maybe you still are?” she asks with an arch in her brow and a hint of sultry in her voice.

  “Maybe I am,” I say, sensing an invitation in the air between us. It crackles with the same energy as when we met.

  The same energy that’s damn hard to resist.

  The car in front of me slows. I try to peer around the cars ahead to get a read on the situation. But it’s kind of pointless in this city.

  I turn to Brooke, and she’s nibbling on her lip again. Dirty thoughts seem to flicker across her brown eyes as she says, “How are you a troublemaker these days?”

  Fuck holding back. “I want to get into all kinds of trouble with you,” I say as I turn my gaze fully to her, my eyes roaming up and down her sexy frame. When our eyes lock, heat flares between us and I’m rumbling her name. “Brooke.”

  “Drew,” she whispers, her voice threaded with desire.

  “Do you like trouble?”

  Her breath seems to catch, then she nods shakily. “A lot. Especially right now.”

  “Same here.”

  I lift my hand, reach for her face, and cup her cheek. She gasps, and before either one of us can say another word—before I can evaluate or analyze—I dip my mouth to hers and kiss those delicious lips. Her tongue darts out, and she nips me back, running her teeth along my bottom lip, and out of nowhere a quick kiss turns into a hot, dirty one.

  A car horn honks behind us, and we pull apart. But the white sedan in front of me has only moved ten feet. I drive slowly, running one hand along Brooke’s leg, down to the edge of her dress. My fingers play at the hem, and she murmurs as we slink along at a snail’s pace. My eyes drift to her legs, so toned and strong. The whole look she’s working tonight is killing me.

  Maybe one touch will satisfy me.

  Or maybe I’m just a troublemaker.

  I inch my finger under her skirt. She lets her knees fall open the slightest bit.

  It’s an RSVP to trouble and I take it. “I’m not feeling friendly toward you whatsoever,” I rasp.

  She’s quiet for a beat, then she whispers, “Don’t be friendly.”

  And I run with it.

  My fingers travel up the soft flesh of her thighs. Then, higher still.

  She tugs her skirt up farther, then spreads her legs.

  14

  The Good Kind of Trouble

  Brooke

  * * *

  Surrounded by cars but totally alone behind tinted windows, this is trouble, but the good kind.

  I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve had a hard enough time coming with a guy in bed, so I’ve never tried to steal an O out of the boudoir. But when Drew touches me, I feel daring.

  The man is focused on me, on helping me finally get out of my head.

  His fingers slide along the damp panel of my panties, then he flashes a wicked grin as he slips one under, rubbing against my wetness. I arch into him.

  “Oh, honey, I’ve missed this,” he says in a dirty purr.

  “Me too,” I admit, my breath coming fast.

  “Traffic rocks,” he says, as he paints dizzying strokes up and down my center.

  My hips seek out his hand.

  I spread my legs wider.

  A rumble escapes his lips. “Yeah, do that. Love seeing you get so turned on you spread your legs for me.”

  His dirty words are a charge, as if someone plugged me in, and I’m now electrified. The pleasure builds, rippling across my skin.

  He drags a finger down me slowly, then brings it to his lips and sucks off the taste. “Fucking delicious,” he murmurs as he returns to me.

  I whimper as he strokes.

  “If we weren’t stuck in traffic, I’d go down on you.” His voice husky. “Bury my face between those pretty legs.”

  “I’d grab your hair, pull you close,” I say, getting into the scene.

  “You’d fuck my face hard—wrap your heels nice and tight around me, and I’d devour you,” he says in a low, dirty growl.

  I’m lost. I’m absolutely lost as he touches me, faster and impossibly faster still. Every muscle tenses blissfully as an orgasm charges through me.

  I cry out as I come undone in his car.

  When the release subsides, I blink my eyes open, and wow.

  Suddenly, the cars are moving. Traffic is unstuck.

  Drew licks his fingers once more then grips the wheel, navigating through moving traffic like a pro. “Maybe you have superpowers. One orgasm and you broke through the traffic jam.”

  “Just call me Miss O,” I say, breathless.

  A satisfied smile lights his handsome face. “By the way,” he says, his tone full of pride and happiness, “I still owe you.”

  “You do,” I say with a dopey grin. Only, I’m not thinking about my pleasure. I’m thinking about his. “But I owe you too.”

  “I can think of a few ways you can repay me.”

  In less than ten minutes, we’re at my house.

  He’s right behind me as I close the door to the world, taking our brand of trouble inside.

  We collide in my living room. His hands grab my face. His mouth hunts mine ruthlessly. My hands are busy too. I grip his hard-on over his jeans, then quickly unbutton and unzip the denim.

  I free his cock.

  “Ahhh, yes,” he mutters the second I clasp my hand around his dick.

  I shudder at the feel of his hot, pulsing length, at how turned on he is. I play with him, relishing each tight stroke of my fist along his shaft. I’m dying to wrap my lips around him.

  I indulge, dropping to my knees, pushing his jeans down his thighs as I go.

  I kiss the head. The sound he makes is animalistic.

  “Fuck, Brooke, that feels good,” he says, all throaty and deep.

  His words spur me on. With him I feel daring, and that’s new for me. All day, I’m the cautious one, the woman who reads on the beach rather than riding the waves. But Drew unlocks the gambler in me. My thumb slides over the head of his dick, and I swipe off a drop of his arousal, then spread it over my top lip.

  He growls. “Yes, you look so goddamn sexy,” he praises, then wraps his hand tighter around my head. “Now suck my dick. You know you fucking want to.”

  His mouth is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to my sex life. When he unfurls filthy phrases from his lips, I let go of the racing loop of thoughts about my day, about work, about bills. I want to say the dirty words too—such a contrast to the legal ones I write and speak all day.

  “You taste so good,” I say as I return to his cock.

  “And you look so hot on your knees.”

  As I draw him deeper, I cup his balls, squeezing gently.

  “Yeah, do that again,” he hisses.

  I obey, fondling his balls, then stroking the base of his cock. He pulses in my mouth, and I savor him, sucking and delighting in his dick. Because his dick is an absolute delight. Thick and hard and eager.

  Have I ever enjoyed giving head so much? No. I don’t think so. This is new too, and my core aches as I lick him. My mind crackles as I suck his shaft.

  “Now, lick the head. Tease me with that wicked tongue,” he commands, and I follow his orders, flicking my tongue over his crown.

  I grow wetter with everything he says, and soon, I’m rocking my hips as I go to town on his cock.

  “Been wanting to fuck that sweet mouth of yours since the day I met you,” he murmurs, and pleasure pulses hot in my center.

  For a second, I let him fall from my lips. “So do it.”

  Shaking his head, he reaches for my shoulders, pulls me up, and kisses my lips. “Need to fuck you right now. Get on your hands and knees.”

  God. Yes. Now.

  Spinning around, I stumble over to the couch and get on the cushions, lifting my skirt.

  He grabs a condom from his wallet, sheaths his cock, then kneels behind me, positioning himself at my entrance.

  “Please, fuck me hard,” I say, my temperature spiking as I talk too. I think I’m discovering my kink with Drew.

  He shoves deep inside me with a long, possessive growl.

  “Yesssss,” he murmurs.

  My kink is words.

  Dirty, delicious words said to me. Said by me.

  That first night he unlocked something inside my body. Now, my mind is getting in on it too. I’m connecting all the dots to discover the way I crave him in bed.