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“I kissed you last night.” He started to tug me closer, meeting me halfway until we were so close, I could feel the heat from his body.
Why was my throat so dry? Why did I feel like I wanted to throw up? What was happening right now?
“Er... You did.” Brilliant, Holt. “But you were drunk, so it wasn‘t a big deal. It‘s not like I think you‘re into me or anything, so don’t go—”
“Stop talking, Holt,” Watson growled. “Did you like it?”
I stared at him. “Did I like it?” What kind of a stupid question was that?
“Yes, Holt. Did you like it when I kissed you? You didn’t fight me, so I’m assuming you did. In fact...”
Oh, dear Lord, he was touching my face now. The hand that wasn’t holding my wrist suddenly reached up and stroked my cheek.
“I think that I remember you kissing me back.”
My eyes widened. “Well, um, you’re not exactly an ugly man, Watson; so of course I kissed you back.” Fuck me sideways. How had I gotten into this situation? Wait, don’t answer that.
“Would you want to do it again?”
“Now you’re just messing with me.”
A slow smirk spread over Watson’s face before he released my hand to cup my face with both his large ones. Then he leaned forward. “Don’t mind my morning breath,” he whispered, and then his mouth was on mine.
His tongue swept over my bottom lip, and I felt myself start to melt into the mattress. The sound of someone knocking at the front door had us both jumping apart as if we were caught red-handed.
“Cockblocker.” Watson laughed as he sat up and dragged a hand through his messy hair. “I better get that.” He stood up, and I couldn’t help but notice the obvious way he adjusted the bulge in his pants as he walked to the front of the RV.
I probably shouldn’t be in his room, but he had insisted I stay with him when we got home. Even though I loved how it smelled like Watson—the cologne he wore engulfed me like a cocoon—I climbed from the bed and slinked out, hoping that whoever was here didn’t see me.
“What’s up, Pelletier?” Watson asked.
Oh, yes. Mason Pelletier. Watson had been a rookie when Mason showed him the ropes. They had shared more than a few girls, but now Mason was married with a couple of kids. His wife, London, was a singer/songwriter, and I liked her. She didn’t come around much—I don’t think racing was her thing—but when she did, she seemed to find me more often than not.
“Came to say congrats since I missed your party last night. Heard you got pretty wasted. Hey, man.” Mason jutted his chin at me, and when Watson turned around, he flashed me a grin before turning back to his friend. “We should hang out this week since there’s no race. Unless you have plans.”
Watson shrugged. “Holt and I are busy.”
Wait, we were? Since when?
“Hey, I don’t want to interrupt your bro time.” Mason nodded.
“You could hang out with us,” I blurted out. The look Watson gave me over his shoulder was murderous.
Watson turned back to Mason. “Sure, you could hang out with us,” he mimicked. “Bring the wife. Hell, bring the kids, too, if you want. Make it a damn party.” I could tell by the sound of his voice he wasn’t happy.
“Are you sure? Because you might be saying one thing, but your body language is saying something completely different.” Mason tilted his head. “I don’t want to interrupt whatever the hell the two of you have going on.”
Please interrupt. Please, please, please.
Watson waved his hand in the air. “It’s fine. No worries. Text me during the week,” he assured Mason, and I slipped back into my room before I could hear anything else they were talking about.
I wasn’t sure what was going on with Watson, but it was weird. Weird and not like him. He had never kissed me before. Acted like he was interested in me like that. And even though Watson had starred in plenty of my fantasies over the years, I wasn’t sure this was a good idea. I didn’t want to end up with a broken heart.
“I’m starting to think you don’t like me, Holt.”
I spun around to find Watson gripping the doorway above him, putting his entire torso on display for me. I tried not to look, but it was hard not to. His toned and flat stomach; the light hair that disappeared beneath his sweatpants as they hung from his hips. Those muscles, God... Don’t stare, Holt. Why was he torturing me like this?
“Uh... not true.” I barked. “I like you. We hang out. We share an RV. We’re besties.” I grimaced when his eyes darkened.
