KRYSTAL’S FRESHMAN YEAR OF COLLEGE was supposed to be the best year of her life, so far. She has a great best friend, great roommate, and great boyfriend. Eh, maybe that last one isn’t quite right. She finds this out the hard way when they break up and he revenge posts steamy pictures of her on social media. What’s a girl to do, besides go confront him?
Except she ends up finding his frat brother instead.
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I don’t volunteer for round three of inflatable Twister. I’m voluntold—by Abby. Apparently, she doesn’t want RJ playing for my team because she thinks he will purposely try to distract her into losing. It isn’t until I’m standing next to the game board that Krystal steps up to my left for the other team. Inwardly, I groan. I was really hoping to avoid having her gorgeous ass in my face for the next twenty minutes.
But I plaster on a smile and say, “Just couldn’t stay away from me, huh?”
Her cheeks pinken, and she looks away, but not before grumbling, “You wish.”
The first few minutes of the game are easy enough. I end up with each of my hands on neighboring colors, yellow and blue, and my feet still on the living room floor.
Four moves later, though, I’m struggling to find a green circle to put my right hand on. They’re all taken, and my only choice to stay in the game is to wrap my body around Krystal’s, lean down over her, and share her green circle, placing my hand on hers.
She sucks in a breath, but doesn’t say anything, and I do my best to hold my body away from hers. I try not to focus on the coconut smell of her shampoo, or the warmth radiating off her.
On the next move, Abby falls out.
I don’t get any reprieve from my weird, and entirely too intimate, position over Krystal. The only move we make is to shift slightly over to place a foot on yellow. I move first and find a place that I hope will allow me some distance. But as Krystal makes her move, I realize there was a fatal flaw in my plan. She has to back up a bit to get her knee under her. The second her leggings-covered ass touches the front of my sweats, my dick springs to life. The material between us is entirely too thin for me to not have felt the brush of our bodies, and suddenly, I’m sporting full wood. Hell is a game of drunk inflatable twister with a hot girl you can’t have sex with pressed against your body and not being able to hide your erection from your friends.
Maybe I will get lucky, and no one will notice. I am bent over, after all. Maybe it looks like a fold in my pants, not a tent I’m pitching. I don’t dare to draw attention to it by looking. And Krystal is still shifting around in front of me, trying to get her footing.
Finally, she has her foot centered under her, but all that’s managed to do is thrust her ass in the air in some quasi-yoga pose. Downward doggie style. I inwardly curse and shake the thought away. I do not need to be picturing myself thrusting into Krystal from behind right now. I need to think about baseball, statistics class, a lecture given by my World Lit professor with the monotone voice. But my dick is pointing right at her, and if she moves even a few inches in my direction, I will poke her with it.
I resolve to accidentally on purpose fall on the next move, but Camden beats me to it. He topples off the board and rolls across the floor before righting himself and climbing to his feet. He goes for a shot and takes two. “Since I don’t need to play anymore,” he says as he raises his second shot into the air. Then he downs it and goes to claim the empty stool next to Jules, wraps his arm around her shoulders.
Nessa Page is the author of steamy new adult and adult contemporary romance novels featuring sexy heroes and the women who love them. When she's not writing about too-hot-to-handle firefighters or too-cool-for-school undergrads, she's mostly likely to be found in her hammock by the lake, dreaming up new story lines.