I mean, they’re huge.
“You see them, right?” I ask Easton.
“See what?”
“Her boobs. I’d die for boobs that size,” I grumble and look down at my own. “Maybe I should get a boob job.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” E snaps.
I turn around and enjoy the feel of Easton’s other hand as it slips to my ass.
“First, why would you think you’d get a say in what I do to my body? And second—”
He moves his hand slightly so it’s cupping a cheek. Like actually grabbing a big old handful of my ass, which, by the way, is significantly better than my tits. I have a great ass. “Wait . . . what was I saying?”
Easton’s smile softens. “You were promising me you’d never change your body because it’s fucking perfect exactly the way it is.” I can practically taste the whiskey on his breath as he leans in closer, and the grip he has on the back of my neck tightens, sending uncontrollable goosebumps spreading out all over my skin. “You are fucking exquisite, princess.”
I open my mouth for a snarky comeback, but there’s nothing to say. Nobody has ever called me exquisite before. Instead, I settle for, “Your hand is on my ass, hockey boy.”
“It is,” he agrees. “Do you want me to move it?”
The bus pulls to a stop in front of a gorgeous casino with a pretty fountain light display, and everyone starts filing off but us.
Easton and I don’t move.
Bryn and Kenz stop in front of us and stare, like we’re animals at the zoo. “You guys coming?”
Easton shakes his head. “You okay if we catch up?”
Kenzie shrugs, and Brynlee looks at her phone, then back at me. “Yeah, we’re good. Her tracker app is on. Text if you need anything.”
Once they’re off the bus, I stand up and stretch, then reach my hands out for Easton. “Come watch the lights with me. I love this display.”
He takes my hand in his and walks me over to the bridge. “What was that about a tracker app?”
“We all have tracker apps on our phones, so we can find each other. They came in handy at parties during college.”
E takes my phone out of my pocket, holds it up to my face to unlock it, then does something with it and then his before giving mine back to me.
And I just stand there, slightly confused, and let him.
“What the hell did you just do, Easton Hayes?”
“I added myself to your app and downloaded it on my phone,” he says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“Why would you do that?” I ask, even though I kinda love the fact that he did.
Without skipping a beat, he cups my face in his hands and brings his lips to mine.
So close but not actually touching. “So I can always know you’re safe.”
I could blame the alcohol or the Las Vegas energy thrumming between us for what I do next. But either one would be a lie. In reality, I just want to do it.
I raise up on my toes, closing the distance between us, and press my lips to his, and . . .
Oh. My. Goodness.
They’re perfect. Firm and soft and unbelievably delicious.
The electricity between us sparks and fires and lights up every nerve-ending like a Las Vegas light show.
Easton takes control, angling my head and deepening the kiss, and I think time and space cease to exist.
I run my hands through his hair as I press myself up against him, wanting to feel him, more of him, every inch of him. His erection presses against me, and I moan.
He licks into my mouth and, I swear to God, growls as he leans me back against the railing. Growls. Like his reaction is visceral. Primal.
“Easton,” I whisper against his lips, dragging myself out of this lust-filled haze. “What . . . what are we doing?”
E takes a step back and looks at me for a charged fucking minute, then grabs my face again and crushes his lips to mine. “What I’ve wanted to do for-fucking-ever.”
Good enough for me.
I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and cling to him, like I’m scared if I let go, this daydream will end and reality will come crashing down on us like the water in that fountain.
“I’m so fucking tired of acting like I’m just your friend, princess.” He takes my mouth in a desperate kiss.
“Tired of acting like you’re not my girl.” One strong arm slides around the center of my back and presses us impossibly closer together.
“Like I don’t want you. Like I haven’t always fucking wanted you.”