Shooter stops kissing me, resting his forehead on mine as he grumbles. “My sister is such a fucking cockblock.”
“Move!” I whisper-yell, shoving him in the chest, my heart pounding as I grab my jeans and somehow manage to slide them on without falling over. They’re just barely up my thighs when I can hear her climbing the stairs, Shooter stepping in front of me so I can finish buttoning them. My face is burning hot, and I know it’s beet red.
“Sterling, you in—Oh!”
“What do you need, Daisy?” Shooter asks, sounding like such a dick. Per usual.
Fumbling with the button on my jeans, I finally get myself righted, but it’s too late. It’s very clear what we were just doing.
“I was coming up here to grab Sterling, because his mom said she needed his help.”
Groaning, I drag a hand through the now-sweaty strands atop my head, wishing the ground would swallow me whole. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
As soon as she leaves, Shooter turns around, shit-eating grin on his face. “That was close.”
“Shut up.” I roll my eyes. “She totally knows what we were doing.”
“At least she didn’t catch us with my mouth around your dick and my finger plunged up your ass.” He shrugs, not a single care in the world.
Groaning, I scrub a hand over my mouth, my stomach clear in my throat, heart pounding a mile a minute. “I have to go find my mom. Is my face all red?”
“Oh yeah.” Shooter laughs, reaching down to adjust his hard-on.
He’s such an asshole.
25
Shooter Graham
Fuck,my head is throbbing. I drank way too much yesterday, and now I’m paying for it.
A bunch of us ended up crashing here at the ranch because the party went on well into the night, and the drinks never stopped flowing, so it just made the most sense. After Daisy caught Sterling and me up in his room, I didn’t see much of him for the rest of the night, and what I did see was him scowling across the yard at me like Daisy walking in was somehow my fault. I know he was embarrassed, but really, who gives a shit if she walked in on us. We were both dressed, and is it really the end of the world if she knows we hooked up?
It's early, the sun soft in the sky as I step onto the wraparound porch and sit down in one of the rocking chairs. I left my phone inside, so I don’t even know the exact time, but I know it’s early enough that I have no business being awake. Grabbing a cigarette and my BIC, I light up, letting the smoke fill my lungs.
I’ve got a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, my knees pulled up to my chest. I’m still so fucking tired, but I got too much on my mind. The lunch with my parents before the party here yesterday didn’t go well, but I figured as much. My dad laid into me about getting disqualified, said my performance this season is “laughable.” His word, not mine. I ended up leaving early and getting drunk at the bar.
The thought of skipping this party altogether crossed my mind, and I seriously considered it, but despite my shit mood, there was still a part of me that really wanted to see Sterling. Which is how I wound up riding here with Whit. I was clearly in no position to drive, and his clinic is just down the block from the bar.
The door opens, pulling my attention to the left. Daisy steps out onto the porch, eyes finding mine as she sits in the chair beside mine.
“Morning,” I offer her before taking another drag. She doesn’t smoke, so I’m willing to bet she’s out here specifically to talk to me. Probably about yesterday.
“Morning.” She’s got two mugs in her hand. She hands me one before taking a sip of her own. Coffee.
“Thanks.”
Daisy and I sit in silence for a few minutes as I finish my cigarette. The tension is thick between us, though, and I know she wants to say something. Whether it’s about our dad or about what she saw with Sterling, I’m not sure.
“Just say it,” I blurt out eventually.
Turning her head, she stares at the side of mine before letting out a sigh. “Sterling’s a nice guy. He doesn’t need you fucking him up and hurting him.”
“Yeah?” Dragging my gaze to her, I say, “You saying that because you’re jealous it’s not you he’s hooking up with instead, sis?”
“Fuck you, Shooter,” she spits out, her face screwed up. “I’m serious. I don’t know what your angle is with him, but knock it off.”
“Who says I have an angle?”
