Eva pulled the heavy curtain to the side. “Get in.”
The curtain was faded red, fraying at the edges. The seat inside looked barely big enough for one person. The curtain fell back into place. The cramped little space was dim and warm, the buzz of the overhead light barely audible above the music outside.
I smirked. “Don’t have enough pictures of yourself, cover girl?”
She shook her head. “No. I want to make out with my girlfriend.”
Her hands found my jaw, and she kissed me without ceremony—no preamble, no lead-in, just mouth to mouth, like she’d been waiting all day.
Her lips moved against mine slowly enough to make me ache. Every little shift of her weight sent a jolt down my spine. Her thumb traced the edge of my cheek, then the corner of my mouth, and she kissed me again, deeper this time. Hungrier.
I let my hands roam—over her waist, up her ribs, under the edge of her tank top. She breathed in sharply when my fingers grazed her sides, and I felt her smile against my mouth.
The privacy inside the booth gave her boldness. Her tongue swept into my mouth as her other hand slid under the hem of my tank top, fingertips skimming the barest line of my stomach. My breath hitched—sharp and immediate—and I moved closer until our legs tangled and I could feel the line of her thigh press firmly between mine.
We were a mess of mouths and breathing and low moans. Every time she shifted, her thigh pressed between mine a little harder. And every time I gasped into her mouth, she smiled like she’d won something bigger than pool or pinball.
“Best hooky day ever?” she posed.
I couldn’t argue with that.
Chapter
Twenty
The next morning, I woke to the slow drag of fingertips across my stomach.
Not urgent. Not insistent. Just present. A gentle awareness that someone was touching me, holding me close, keeping me tethered to the warmth of the bed even as daylight filtered through the bedroom’s sheer curtains.
Eva’s leg was slung over mine. She must have shifted in the night—her thigh now pressed firmly between mine, her chest against my back, her breath warm at the nape of my neck.
I didn’t open my eyes just yet. Didn’t move. But she knew I was awake. I could feel her smile against my skin before she spoke.
“The alarm’s going off soon,” she murmured. Her fingers traced a lazy pattern just beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts.
I hummed, noncommittal. “Pretty sure I’m still dreaming.”
She kissed my shoulder—a soft press of lips followed by a long, slow exhale that stirred the fine hairs along my neck. Her hand stilled, resting flat over my stomach.
I finally rolled toward her, our legs tangling instinctively. Her face was close to mine, her eyes still sleep-heavy, her cheekcreased faintly from the pillow. A braid had slipped loose from her bonnet overnight. I reached up and tucked it behind her ear, letting my fingers linger along her jaw.
“This beats morning shoot-around,” I husked.
“Don’t tempt me,” she said. “I’ll make us late.”
I let my thumb drift over her full, bottom lip. She gently took the tip into her mouth and kissed it, slow and soft.
“We have to get up,” I murmured, although that was the last thing I wanted to do.
“I know,” she whispered back. “But not just yet.”
She eased me onto my back and settled half on top of me, her head pillowed against my chest. I held her, stroking a hand up and down her back in time with our breathing.
Her fingers returned to my abdomen and crept up the bottom hem of my tank top. Her touch wasn’t teasing. It was patient. Confident. The kind of touch that said she knew exactly where this was going and exactly how to get me there.
Her palm slid up my stomach and between my braless breasts. Her fingertips skimmed first over my clavicle and then across the top swell of my breasts. I breathed out a noisy sigh when her short nails flicked against my nipples, coaxing them to life. She firmly pinched my right nipple, pulling another sound from my mouth.
The morning alarm chimed faintly from the bedside table, but neither of us reached for it.
