Page 49 of The Playmaker
“We didn’t have a chance today,” he says as he makes a long stroke for the stem, the green paint easily gliding across the canvas. He has a nice, even stroke with steady hands. Probably from hockey, or maybe even sex. “We won’t have a chance tonight, either.”
“Why not?”
He leans into me and puts his mouth near my ear. “Because I’ve been sitting here with a boner all night.”
“Cole,” I say, and whack him.
He laughs. “Come on, Nina. You can’t dress like that in front of me and expect me not to get hard.”
“What are you talking about?” I look at my T-shirt and jeans.
“Do you have any idea how your ass looks in those jeans?”
“They’re just jeans, Cole,” I say, but secretly like the way I get to him, the way he makes me feel special. “And I thought you were a boob man.”
“I’m every kind of man when it comes to you, and as soon as we get home, all these clothes are coming off. Now hurry up and finish your damn daisy so we can go.”
Feeling giddy and juvenile for reasons I can’t even understand, I take my paintbrush from the water, dab it on my paper towel and flick it at him. Paint splatters his face and his mouth drops open.
Oops! I really didn’t think there was any paint left on the brush.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he says, his eyes darkening, but I think it’s from lust and not anger.
“Red looks good on you,” I say, and stifle a laugh as I look at the speckles.
“You know what looks good on you?” he asks, and loads his brush with blue.
“Don’t you dare,” I say, unable to hold my laugh back any longer.
He flicks paint at me, and it gets all over my face and in my hair. At least he spared my clothes.
“Cole!” I squeal, and all eyes turn to me. “You’re going to pay for that,” I say under my breath, but I love this side of him. He’s not being The Playmaker. He’s just being playful.
“You think you’re not going to pay, too?” He grabs a piece of paper towel and wipes his face, but all he manages to do is smudge the paint. “You’re the one who started it, like usual.”
“Lies…all lies. You’re the one who was always bothering me and picking fights. It was like it was your favorite pastime. Or your job.”
His grin is cocky and arrogant. “It was. That’s the job of the older brother’s best friend, you know.”
I huff out an exaggerated breath. “We really do have a lot of anger issues to work through.”
“Can’t wait.”
“You’re going to need a shower first,” I say.
“You too.” He captures my wrist, runs his thumb over my flesh and the room closes in on me. Heat flashes through me, crawls up my neck, and I have no doubt my cheeks are flaming pink.
“Since you got me dirty, you’re going to be responsible for getting me clean.”
“Oh, and what about me?” I shoot back.
“Don’t worry, I plan to lather you up, too.” He leans into me, puts his mouth to my ear. “Every single inch of you,” he says, his hot breath sending ripples of delight down my spine. “Now finish up so we can get the hell out of here.”
The hunger in his eyes prompts me into action, and I increase my brush strokes, because yeah, I want to get home and get in the shower with him.
Less than twenty minutes later, we stand and have our picture taken with our paintings so they can upload them to the website. I think about my brother seeing the two of us together, not that I think he checks out the Paint Nite website. Still, what would he think if he knew that Cole and I were secretly seeing each other—for sex only, of course? I never really dated in high school, and he didn’t seem to care one way or another, so I can’t imagine he’d think this was too much of a big deal. On the other hand, I’m his sister and this is his best friend, so he might not like the idea of us together at all.
Then again, Scott had said Cason decked him for looking at me the wrong way. Could that be true? Probably, considering Cole thinks the guy’s a douche bag.