I try to downplay the way my excited heart is bouncing around the walls of my chest. “Hey, I was sleeping innocently until a big bear came in and decided that my bed was just right.”
He tugs on my hair. “I think you got the wrong fairytale here.”
“What would be the right one? Aladdin because you plan to take me on a magical carpet ride?” I waggle my eyebrows.
Reed bursts out laughing. “Is that what you think of my dick? That it’s magical?” I blush so furiously that he laughs even harder. “Damn, you really are a virgin, aren’t you?”
Cheeks still flaming, I flip up my middle finger. “That’s what I think of you and your magical, uh…”
“Dick,” he supplies between laughs. “Come on, virgin, just say it—dick.”
“Oh, you’re a dick, all right.” I glare at him all the way to the car.
Reed manages to gain control of himself as he buckles up. He leans over to kiss me, and that’s all it takes for my irritation to fade.
I’m practically floating on air during my morning shift at the French Twist, and my good mood stays with me throughout the school day. I run into Reed in the hall a few times, but other than a few secretive looks and a wink from him, we don’t speak. I don’t mind, because I’m not sure I’m ready to advertise to everyone at Astor Park that I’m kinda sorta involved with my kinda sorta stepbrother.
At lunch, Valerie and I are shocked when Savannah gestures for us to sit with her and her friends. I guess Operation Take-Down-Daniel-Delacorte was a success in more ways than one, though Savannah still doesn’t seem entirely comfortable around me.
After school, I lie on the south lawn doing my homework until Reed and Easton are done with their team meeting, and then Reed drives me back to the mansion, keeping his arm around me during the whole ride.
When we get home, we discover that Callum has gone on a business trip to Nevada, which means we’ll have the house to ourselves until Saturday. Hell yeah.
* * *
That evening, Reed waltzes into my bedroom while I’m reading.
“Sure, come on in. I don’t mind,” I say sarcastically. I roll over on my back and watch as he sets a huge bowl of popcorn on my nightstand.
“Thanks. Don’t mind if I do. Want something to drink?” He peers into my mini fridge. “Don’t you have anything without the word diet in here?”
He walks over and leans out in the hall. “Bring the beer. Ella just has diet shit.”
I hear a faint, “Got it,” echo from the end of the hall.
I scoot up against the headboard. “I’m afraid to ask what’s going on.”
“We’re watching the game.”
“We?”
“You, me, and Easton. We,” he explains and then climbs on the bed. I move over so he doesn’t sit on top of me.
I look around dubiously. The bed is big enough to hold Reed and me, but Reed, Easton and me? “I don’t think we’ll fit.”
“Sure we will.” Smirking, Reed lifts me up and drops me between his legs, pulling me snug against his chest.
Easton arrives moments later, taking my abandoned spot. He doesn’t even blink at the cozy position he finds us in. Reed places the popcorn bowl between us and flicks on the television.
“Where are the twins?” I ask. My bed feels crowded with two giant Royals on it, but add the twins and it would be like stuffing double D’s into an A-cup bra.
“They’re going over to Lauren’s house,” Easton answers before shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth.
“Both of them?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to,” Reed hints and I promptly shut up.
Even if I had more questions, I don’t think I’d be able to get any answers. Once the game is on, it’s like I’m not even there. Reed and Easton cheer, groan and high-five each other. I spend my time admiring all the tight asses on the screen and smirking at all the innuendo-laden commentary, like how the one guy with the ball really needs to jam the hole and how the other team isn’t getting enough penetration in the backfield.
Neither of the guys appreciate my observations. I settle in between Reed’s legs and just enjoy the company. Occasionally, Reed reaches over and rubs my back or runs his hands through my hair. They’re careless, offhand gestures as if we’ve been a couple for years, and I drink it up like a thirsty kitten. There are way worse ways to spend my night, I muse.
The score is pretty lopsided and somewhere along the line I doze off, full of popcorn and bored by the game. I wake up to the sound of Easton’s phone blowing up. He leaves to answer it and Reed stretches out beside me like my own personal heater.
“Who was that?” I mumble, feeling groggy.
“Who knows. Were you sleeping?”
“No, just resting my eyes. What’s going on with the game?”
“The Lions are killing the Titans.”
“Are those real team names or are you just making stuff up?”
“Those are real team names.” He sounds amused. A warm finger skims across the waistband of my shorts. I stretch, feeling a newly familiar heat seep into my bones.
“Are we done watching football?” It’s more of a suggestion than a question.