Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
But I can’t deny I feel a spark of jealousy knowing how close she and Lucas Ciprian are.
Not that there’s anything wrong with Lucas. He’s a good kid. Gabe had a soft spot for his younger brother, especially since their father constantly compared the two. Lucas definitely has a younger-brother-in-his-older-brother’s-shadow syndrome happening, and I know Gabe sensed the jealousy because he was always trying to boost the kid’s confidence.
“Apparently it’s gotten worse since Gabe got caught dealing,” Casey tells me. “Mr. Ciprian’s been extra hard on Lucas. He calls him pretty much every day to lecture him about ‘honest work’ and not following in his brother’s footsteps.”
“Maybe Lucas needs to fight, then,” I say lightly. “Release some of that frustration.”
“Hey, what if I came with you tonight?” she suggests, tipping the wine glass to her lips. “See what all the fuss is about.”
I wince at the thought. “Bad idea. Girls don’t go to the fights. Trust me, it’s not the sort of place you want to be.”
“Why?” She raises a combative eyebrow. “Because we’re too precious and frail?”
“Yeah, exactly.”
“Rude.”
I have to laugh at the little glimpse of her defiant streak. I’d pay to see what she thinks rebelling looks like.
“If you want to roll around in the mud a little, you can wrestle me.” I narrow my eyes in challenge.
Hers flash wide. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I take her glass and set it aside. “I totally would.”
Then I pounce. Before she can wiggle away, I grab her around the waist to lay her down. She squirms while I tickle her ribs and kiss her neck, beating my back and shoulders with soft jabs.
“You’re dead, Fennelly,” she threatens between hysterical laughter.
“Keep trying all you want, I’m not ticklish.”
I am a good sport, though, so I let Casey get some leverage to pin me down. She rolls on top of me with a triumphant smirk.
“Now you’re at my mercy,” she declares, quite proud of herself.
Holding her hips, I have to concentrate with significant effort to keep from poking her with an erection.
“All right, I surrender,” I say huskily. “Do your worst.”
She leans down to press her lips to mine. I’m at half wood and silently begging she doesn’t feel it. Not that I don’t want her riding my dick, but I’m not trying to force things with us. I wasn’t kidding when I told her I want to take it slow.
Fuck, though, she can kiss.
I don’t know what special magic she’s conjured, but tasting her makes me practically feral. Like throw her down beneath me and rip her clothes off kind of mental. So when she grabs my hands and pushes them up her ribs, I can’t help skimming my thumbs across her stiff nipples over her thin sweater. She makes the softest moan in my mouth, and I lose all but the last strands of my self-control. Palming her tits, I squeeze them until she starts moving her hips back and forth.
Groaning, I roll Casey over on our sides and pull away. Just far enough that our lower bodies aren’t touching while I kiss her neck. Because if she let me, I’d fuck her right here and it’d be amazing. It’d also be the quickest way to blow up everything we could have been.
“Don’t be in such a rush,” I say when her face falls. “We have time.”
It’s not what she wants to hear. I know even as she tilts her head to kiss me back, her soft hands combing through my hair, that she’s wondering if she’s done something wrong. She hasn’t, of course, and I wish I could explain it in a way she’d understand.
That the only person who’s bound to mess this up is me.
CHAPTER 6
CASEY
FAMILY DINNERS IN MY HOUSE ARE NONNEGOTIABLE. WEEKENDS included, no exceptions. If Sloane or I need to skip a dinner, it requires a written essay and a PowerPoint presentation highlighting all the reasons we must be excused. Okay, not quite, but pretty much. Dad takes this one tradition very seriously.
I’m still on a high from my date with Fenn as I help Sloane set the table. Dad’s puttering around in the kitchen, making the finishing touches on whatever dish he plans to force upon us tonight. The truth is, our father is a terrible cook. We all know it. But he insists on doing it. Sloane thinks he’s trying to play both roles, the stern breadwinner and the nurturing houseparent, but keeping house has never been his strong suit.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
I look up to find my sister’s suspicious gaze on me. “Oh. I didn’t even realize I was.”
She relaxes. “Apology accepted.”
A burst of laughter flies out. “I’m not apologizing for smiling! People smile, Sloane. Deal with it.”
I finish laying out the napkins and then dart into the kitchen for drinking glasses. A few minutes later, the three of us are seated at the dining room table. Bo and Penny sit near Dad’s chair, begging with forlorn faces while he serves a huge portion of lasagna on Sloane’s plate.