The Matchmaker's Replacement [Kindle in Motion] (Wingmen Inc. Book 2) (13 page)

Chapter
Twenty-One

Lex

T
he contact was brief, almost like a whisper as my lips brushed hers, and then I retreated. I wasn’t going to make out with her just after she got attacked. Vulnerability didn’t look good on her. I hated it. She was strong. And when that armor cracked, it wounded me probably just as much as it hurt her.

“Have you eaten?” I blurted the first thing that came to my mind because if I didn’t say something, I’d kiss her again and wouldn’t stop there. I knew I had no self-control where she was concerned.

Because in that moment . . .

When she was getting attacked . . .

All I could think was . . . I’ve been waiting for this girl for four years, I sure as hell am not going to let anyone else touch what’s mine.

Four years.

I was done waiting.

Gabi’s big green eyes blinked back at me. Damn it, she was so beautiful it hurt to stare at her. “Actually, no.”

“Great.” I gently placed her back in the passenger seat. “Buckle up, Sunshine, I’m about to rock your world.”

“Hmm . . . I wonder how many girls you’ve said that to?”

“That line? Too cheesy. I saved it for you.”

“Touched.” She smirked, then reached for my hand. “And Lex?”

“Yeah?” I was shaking, but I squeezed her hand back.

“Tonight.” She licked her pink lips. “You were my hero.”

I had never realized how badly I wanted her to see me in that light—until that moment.

“I should probably get a cape now.” I nodded seriously. “You know, just in case.”

“Red.”

She didn’t release my hand, so I put the car into drive with my left and took off. “You don’t think black?”

“Black is too badass.”

“Are you saying I’m not badass enough?”

“Eh.” She made a dismissive motion with her free hand. “It’s your major.”

“Why is everyone hating on my major tonight?” I wondered aloud. “Did I or did I not just kick some dude’s ass?”

“He probably had a weak heart and a fake hip,” Gabs said seriously.

I nearly swerved off the road. “The hell he did! He was maybe fifty!”

She raised her hands in the air. “Whatever you say, Rocky.”

“Did you know the
Rocky
script was written in three days?” I turned toward my house, completely passing Gabs’s.

“Um?” She pointed.

“And”—I turned down my road—“also, the infamous running scene? Over eight hundred school kids used as extras.” I stopped in front of my house and turned off the car.

“Fascinating,” Gabs said in a dry tone. “Also, we’re at your house?”

“Yup.” I unbuckled my seat belt and then hers, and when she opened her mouth again, I silenced her with my lips.

“O-o-okay,” she stuttered out when I released her.

“Okay,” I whispered back, letting out a heavy sigh as she slowly opened her car door.

I followed her closely, my hands brushing her hips every few seconds, unable to keep myself away. Damn it, I was supposed to be staying away, not pulling her close.

Gabs suddenly stopped and I collided with her ass, nearly sending her sailing into the sidewalk.

“You need a warning button or something,” I grumbled, placing my hands on her shoulders. “Suddenly scared of doorsteps, or what?”

“Yes.” Her body tensed. “More like I’m scared of what it means.”

“Nothing. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” I stepped around her and grabbed her hand, tugging her toward the door. “Or it could mean everything.” Scary, how much I ached for it to mean everything.

Gabi’s lips were swollen from my kisses even though I thought I’d been gentle; maybe it was a combination of her crying against me and my mouth pressed against hers. Regardless, she was gorgeous standing there blanketed in moonlight.

“Come on.” I held out my hand. “It’s just food.”

“At your house.” Gabs arched an eyebrow while the corner of her mouth twitched. “Don’t you guys have a ‘no girls allowed’ rule at night?”

“Why yes, yes we do.” I smiled wide. “But last I checked, you were a dude, so . . .”

“Ass.” Gabs smacked me in the shoulder, shoved me to the side, and walked in, giving me a sideways glance before tossing her shoes off and dumping them near the neat little basket we kept by the door. I was surprised and a little stunned at my own raw reaction to seeing her feet, like she’d just flashed me boob instead of toe.

“See? Easy,” I said behind her.

“Trickery,” she grumbled, then made her way into the kitchen and sat at the barstool. “Okay, feed me.”

I held up a finger and opened the fridge. “Okay, so I have . . . shit.”

“Oh I’ll take that, with a side of mayo, thanks.” She laughed.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“I would never.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Arguing. You can’t help yourself.”

“I like to have the last word.”

“Believe me.” I shut the fridge door. “I know.” I looked around the empty kitchen. “So, pizza?”

Gabs held up her hand for a high-five.

I slapped it, then sent a text to Domino’s. Whoever was in charge of their social media deserved free pizza for life.

Within fifteen minutes we had three extra-large pizzas with enough pineapple to hold a luau.

Gabs was facedown on the couch, groaning, while I put the leftovers away and searched for wine.

She’d eaten two pieces.

I counted.

When I yelled at her to eat more, she threw a pineapple at my face and said that her stomach still felt weak.

I prayed it wasn’t because of me.

But because of what happened in the parking lot.

Whatever. I needed to get over myself.

“I should get going,” Gabs moaned from the couch, unmoving. “But for some reason my head is in love with this position.”

I grunted. “You’ve probably just made that cushion’s year.”

She raised her hand above the couch and gave me the finger.

Laughing, I finally located two glasses and the wine I’d been hunting for and poured her a hefty glass.

She sat up when I turned down the lights and came around the couch. “What’s this?”

“Peace treaty?” I handed her the glass, then clinked mine against it. “No insults until the morning, and then we’re back to suiting up.”

“Cover your man parts.” Gabs took a long swig, and her throat moved as liquid poured down it. For some reason I found the entire movement erotic.

“Aw, but I thought you liked it when my man parts were all . . . exposed.”

“Ew.” Gabs took another drink and put the glass down. “Don’t say ‘exposed’ ever again. Not alone, not in a sentence, not ever.”

I rolled my eyes and reached for the remote, but Gabs suddenly shoved me out of the way, nearly spilling wine all over the floor in an attempt to beat me to the punch.

“Shit!” I yelled. “Are you four?”

“No!” Gabs yelled. “No ID channel!”

“Gabs”—I set my wine down and calmly tried to wrestle the remote from her hand—“it’s educational.”

“It’s horrifying!”

“Only if you fall asleep with it on.”

“Twice! Twice I thought I was getting murdered.”

I tugged the remote harder. “Not my fault you have an overactive imagination.”

She glared, then released the remote and stood. “I should be getting home anyway.”

I smiled and leaned back against the couch. “Sure thing.”

“Lex?”

“Sunshine?”

“Aren’t you going to drive me home?”

“I’ve got a bike out back.” I snapped my fingers. “Oh, wait . . .”

Her eyes narrowed. “Low blow.”

“Mmmm.” I put my hands behind my head and closed my eyes. “Say ‘blow’ again.”

“Swear on Ian’s life I will shove this remote control up your nose and cause more brain damage than you already have.”

“That sounds really erotic. Fun fact: did you know the nose has more nerve endings than—”

With a shriek Gabs launched herself onto me, straddling my body with her short little legs and shoving a pillow across my face.

Laughter exploded from me. Did she really think she could suffocate me? She was a quarter of my body weight . . . Okay, not really, but pretty damn close.

“A little to the left,” I instructed as she kept smothering. “Ah, right there, yes, yes, yes.”

The pillow suddenly dropped, and Gabs huffed out a breath. “I give up. You’re impossible to kill.”

I shook my head. “If I had a penny . . .”

Gabs looked down at her hands, the hands she had placed against my chest. I was afraid to move.

I think she was too.

We’d crossed a line, but this time we both were very well aware that there was no net, no going back, nothing.

And the nothing was scary.

Even for sluts like myself.

Possibly scarier, because it was uncharted territory.

“Lex,” she exhaled my name, sending shivers along my spine. “I—”

“Stay,” I whispered.

“What?” She blinked as if she didn’t quite hear me correctly. “Did you just ask me to—”

I pressed a finger to her mouth. “I believe I said ‘stay,’ the same command you give a dog—not that I’m making that comparison, just giving you the word in a sentence, sort of like, ‘Spot, stay.’ Doesn’t mean the owner’s going to take advantage of Spot or that Spot has to perform sexual duties in order to stay in the doghouse. Sometimes, Gabs, a word is just a word.”

With a rough exhale, she crawled off me. “Only you could make something so asinine sound somewhat sweet. Okay, point me to the Fortress of Solitude, and I’ll try not to sweat estrogen everywhere.”

“Upstairs. And Gabs, I really mean it when I say . . . If you ever leave a tampon in my room, I will cut you.”

“Aw . . .” Gabs placed her hands against her heart. “That’s just so”—she wiped a fake tear—“thoughtful.”

“I’m a thoughtful guy.”

“Room?”

“Up.”

“No . . .” Her word dripped with sarcasm.

“Gabs, my patience? Kinda thin right now, and even though you did just get attacked, I’ve tasted you—three times. I want to taste you again. Actually, I want to slam you against the nearest sturdy object and make you scream. So either get your cute ass upstairs or take me up on my offer and start stripping.”

She ran.

Smart girl.

I, however, apologized to the lower half of my body . . . because it was going to be a long, cold, blue night.

Chapter
Twenty-Two

Gabi

I
almost went back downstairs to ask which room was Lex’s, but then I remembered that Ian had a label maker and on one drunken night had labeled everything he could, including their rooms.

Sure enough, once I was at the top of the stairs I was able to locate Lex’s room in no time. It also had a giant
L
on it while Ian’s had a Superman symbol, proving yet again that boys never truly grew out of those Spider-Man sheets.

I pushed open his door and gasped.

What the hell kind of tech psycho was he?

Computer equipment filled the entire right half of the room. Three screens formed a little cave around one giant keyboard. Stickers covered most of the desk. His leather chair was more throne than anything, and I had to wonder, would this be where Lex sat when he finally overthrew the government?

A bathroom was attached to his room. I quickly went in and tossed some water on my face and stared at my reflection.

My normally honeyed skin appeared pale and lifeless, while my lips were swollen and pink. The memory of his kiss was enough to have me gripping the sink like a lifeline.

What the heck was I doing?

I was in his sanctum!

And I
knew
how nerdy that sounded, but I was in his most private secret place, and he had invited me there, and what did that mean?

I needed Ian.

I needed my best friend.

Hah, I’m sure that conversation would go just great: “Um, Ian, I’m totally in Lex’s bedroom, he kissed me twice!
Eeek!
I know, right? So should I crawl into his bed naked? Short-sheet the bed and say ‘gotcha’? You know, start off with a prank?” Ian would laugh, and then I’d hear a gunshot, and no more Lex.

“Get a grip.” I pointed a finger at myself. “Stop being a girl.”

“Damn it,” Lex said from somewhere in the room. “Has the transformation already taken place? Am I too late?”

I slammed the bathroom door to his laughter.

While at the same time appreciating the fact that he was treating me like he always did.

Which meant . . .

My shoulders slumped. Nothing. It meant nothing. It meant he was extending an olive branch.

It meant he felt sorry for me.

And he was sharing his bed.

With his friend.

My replacement Ian. That’s what Lex was turning into, and I hated him for it. I’d rather he treat me like crap again.

Than give me hope that sharing his room actually meant something.

“Ga-a-absssss.” Lex strung out my name. “Hurry up. I’m exhausted, and I want to do a body-cavity check before you get in bed. I don’t wanna get shanked.”

I rolled my eyes and jerked open the door just in time for Lex to toss a large black T-shirt in my direction. “Cover yourself.”

Normally I’d argue, but I was disgusting and I wanted to burn my uniform. The longer I stared at the short black dress with the club’s insignia on it, the sicker I felt, until I thought I was going to puke.

With jerky movements I pulled the dress over my head and threw it on the floor, then, in a fit of anger, stomped on it. Unsatisfied, I started jumping up and down on top of it, until warm arms scooped me up into the air and carried me to the bed.

“I think it’s dead, Gabs.”

I didn’t know I was crying until Lex wiped away the tears streaming down my face. He still had clothes on.

Meanwhile, I was in nothing but my bra and boy-short underwear.

But he wasn’t looking at my
boobs
or anything else; he was staring at my face, which I imagined took extreme concentration on his part. I’d always known Lex to be a boob guy. Heck, he checked out a sixty-year-old grandma once.

To reference him yet again: tits were tits.

“You’re not staring at my boobs.”

“Nope.” Lex’s eyes didn’t leave mine.

“Why?”

Eyes crinkling, he answered, “Gabs, if you want me to stare at your boobs, I will . . . But I’m not one of those guys. Never been.”

“Huh?”

He leaned down until our mouths nearly collided, then pulled back. “Do I really seem capable of looking and not touching?”

“No,” I breathed out in one whoosh. “You’re handsy.”

“Nothing wrong with a firm hand . . .” He slowly pulled away, then stood, padded over to the light switch, and flipped it off. He kept his gaze locked with mine as he made his way back over to the bed.

I leaned on my elbows and watched while he peeled off his cotton shirt and tugged down his jeans, leaving him clad in nothing but tight Nike boxer briefs.

My eyes widened.

He smirked, making his way back to the bed. Taking one look at me, he grabbed every last blanket he had and started piling them on top of me.

“Lex!” I yelled, already overheating as blanket number two was tossed in my direction. “What are you doing?”

His answer?

“Being a hero.”

More blankets piled, until he was left with one sheet and I was cocooned. He proceeded to build a type of pillow fort between us, then yawned and mumbled out, “Good night.”

“Lex,” I hissed. “Are you drunk?”

“Nope.” Another yawn. “Shh, Gabs, it’s sleeping time.”

“I. Can’t. Breathe.”

He pulled one blanket away. “There. Better?”

“How is suffocating me heroic?”

“I’m saving your innocence while protecting my own life. Ian walks in, sees you bundled up, doesn’t kill me. You wake up, innocence intact, and don’t shank me with one of your spiky heels.”

“We aren’t in prison. There is no shanking in bed.”

“I could make shanking hot.”

“You
would
say that.”

“Gabs?”

“What?”

The tense silence crackled with awareness, like we both knew an inch of movement was the only encouragement one or both of us needed.

“Thanks for staying.”

“Lex?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for not calling me a dude again.”

He flopped over, his hand coming into contact with boob and about five layers of blankets. With an arrogant smile he whispered, “I always knew you were a C cup.”

I shoved him off and pretended to be offended.

When really . . . I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

In my enemy’s bed.