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From the Jump(77)

Author:Lacie Waldon

“They . . .” I trail off as my brain struggles to compute his implication. With a gentle tug, he pulls his shirt free of my grip.

“Every man,” I say, my voice coming out embarrassingly breathy, “except you.”

His eyes burn into mine, even as he eases back another step.

“I wanted to drag you under the stairs,” he says, his tone deceivingly casual, “and peel that leather off you with my teeth.”

My pulse speeds up, galloping like a wild horse, as the image explodes in my mind. His glorious mouth descending on my body. Rough stubble against soft skin. The silky slip of his tongue easing the sting. I feel every sensation like a tidal wave rolling through my belly.

“Why are you standing out here?” The words come from a distance behind us, jerking me from the fantasy like a splash of cold water. “Are we locked out?”

Deiss’s eyes have move past me. With a sharp inhale, I’m able to turn around, feigning the same indifference he’s so infuriatingly mastered. Our friends are coming down the sidewalk, Phoebe riding on Mac’s back with her arms slung around his neck. Simone is the one who’s asked the question, but Mac repeats it like a fact.

“You locked yourselves out?” He laughs, and Phoebe bites his ear. “Dibs on breaking a window!”

“But Liv lives with you now,” Simone says. “She’s the one who keeps us from doing stupid things like that.”

“We aren’t locked out,” Deiss says easily. “We just didn’t go inside yet because we were fighting.”

I gasp and widen my eyes, but he shrugs off my reproach.

“What did you do?” Phoebe and Mac ask the question in unison, only her accusation is directed at Deiss, while Mac’s clearly speaking to me. Simone, to my shock, has also turned to me in accusation.

My stomach tightens. People always take sides, even when they don’t have all the facts. Even when they’re supposed to be your friends.

“Liv is pissed at me,” Deiss says, “because I didn’t give that drummer her number when he asked me for it.”

“What is with those guys?” Mac asks before I can properly absorb Deiss’s words. His voice cracks with outrage. “That stupid surfer guitarist was all over Phoebe, too.”

“But Seth was smart enough to approach me directly,” Phoebe says smugly. She turns to me, leaning her cheek against Mac’s head. “We’re going out next week. Do you want to make it a double date with you and Brad?”

“You’re into that drummer?” Simone asks before I’ve answered Phoebe. “He was gorgeous.”

I don’t answer her, either. All I can do is stare at Deiss. “He really asked for my number? And you wouldn’t give it to him?”

“I believe that’s been established.” He doesn’t bother pretending to be apologetic.

I scowl but am unable to argue without giving us both away. “You had no right to make that decision for me.”

“What decision?” Deiss meets my eyes. “You can date whoever you want. I just don’t have to facilitate it.”

“But the real question is: Why didn’t you want to?” Phoebe says.

“Maybe Liv shouldn’t be dating someone she’s about to work with,” Simone says. “I could take her place on a double date with you, Phoebe.”

“Guys in bands are the worst,” Mac declares emphatically.

“They are not,” Phoebe says. “Musicians are sexy.”

Mac feigns vomiting, and Deiss uses the distraction to avoid answering for himself. Instead, he pulls out his keys and heads toward the door.

“Have you ever felt a guitar player’s fingers?” Mac asks as we follow Deiss inside. “They’re eighty percent callus. You make out with that guy, and you’re going to go home feeling like you’ve gotten it on with sandpaper.”

“All I know is that Seth earns a living off those fingers,” Phoebe says. “He must know how to use them.”

“Five minutes of nipple play,” Mac says, “and those nubs of yours will be dust. Nobody will ever be able to tell you’re cold again.”

“Never refer to my nipples as nubs again,” Phoebe says.

“Jujubes?” Mac asks.

Phoebe bites her lip, and I know she’s trying not to laugh. I wish I felt the same. I can barely concentrate. My mind is a whirlwind, but my body is hyper-honed in on the straight line of Deiss’s back. I can feel him like our skin is touching, as if there were invisible tentacles protruding off him, sparking electricity everywhere they land.

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