Friends with Benefits: A Steamy College Romance (Beta Brothers #2) Read online

  She dropped her head in my direction. “Carter.”

  I smiled.

  She smiled back.

  “That was…” I inhaled, trying to find the right word.

  She laid a finger against my lips before I could speak. “Shhh.”

  So she was speechless, too. That was a relief.

  She looked back at the broken ceiling fan, and I did the same to give her a break from my tireless attention.

  “I don't usually do that sort of thing,” she said, smoothing my shirt down to cover herself.

  “Which thing?” I asked. “Come like a flood or make my day before I've even gotten out of bed?”

  She smacked my arm but didn't turn towards me. “Seriously, I don't.”

  “Seriously, I know.”

  Her head spun towards me. “You do?”

  “Maybe I don't know, but I figured.”

  “Because…?”

  “You wouldn't even give me your number, Nina.”

  She laughed. “Oh yeah.”

  “Besides, I'm not the only one with a reputation.”

  “What?” She shifted onto her side and propped herself up on her elbow.

  “Oh come on. That can't be news.”

  “Why don't you tell me what you've heard and I'll decide if it's news or not?”

  “Relax.”

  “You're the one making a big deal,” she said. “Why don't you just tell me what you've heard?”

  I sighed and folded my hands under my head.

  “Carter.”

  “Let it go.”

  “Let me guess,” she said. “You heard I'm an ice queen? A tease? A Southern bitch instead of a belle?”

  “Actually, I never heard that last one.”

  She groaned.

  “For what it's worth, I'd trade with you any day.”

  “I don't know,” she said, glancing at where the bedsheet cut across my hips. “Some of the rumors about you are true.”

  I grinned. “I hope that means we can do this again sometime.”

  Her lips twisted. “I'm not sure I want it getting around that I'll sleep with anyone who buys me Reese's.”

  “Is that all I am to you?” I asked, acting hurt. “A candy hook-up?”

  “Don't be silly,” she said. “You're also my ranch dealer.”

  “Oh right.”

  “And nobody quits ranch.”

  I couldn't tell if I was comforted or disturbed by the turn the conversation had taken. Had what just happened meant nothing to her? And why the hell did I care either way? That wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

  I was supposed to get her off, get me off, and then move the fuck on with my life. Whether or not a woman was more into me after we hooked up was supposed to be irrelevant. Hell, I usually preferred if she wasn't.

  But not this time. This time I gave a shit. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because I’d wanted to hook up with her for so long. Whatever it was, her jokes about ranch were kind of cheapening the whole thing for me.

  Then again, I knew she was different from other girls. It would be naïve to think she'd be sprung after one lazy Sunday fuck. That said, I still kind of wanted to know if she thought we might do it again sometime.

  Why was I being such a girl about this?!

  I needed to relax. Just because it wasn't a big deal to her didn't mean it couldn't become a big deal eventually, right? Shit. This girl. Why did I have a horrible feeling she was going to break my fucking heart?

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  I lifted my head enough to check the clock by my bed. “Eight thirty.”

  “I should go.”

  I could tell by the way she said it that she wasn't open to other ideas. “I'll give you a lift,” I said, searching the sheets for my boxers.

  “That's okay,” she said, swinging her feet to the floor. “I need to make sure I can still walk.”

  I furrowed my brow.

  “I meant I need some fresh air,” she said quickly, not turning around.

  Where were my goddamn boxers?

  “Actually, can I borrow this shirt?” she asked, pulling her skinny jeans on with an alluring wiggle of her hips.

  “You know it says my last name across the back?”

  She looked down at the shirt, which was from a charity basketball game I helped organize freshman year. “Oh.”

  To my surprise, I recalled the pride I felt at the money we raised before I remembered the sick dunk I landed in the third quarter. “I'm happy for you to wear it, but if-”

  “Maybe another one would be better?”

  “Sure.” I stood up to put my boxers on and could feel her eyes on my dick the whole time. When I lifted my face, her cheeks had gone pale.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Just that you're drooling a bit there.” I pointed to one side of her mouth.

  She lifted her hand instantly, and the color came back to her cheeks when she realized I was fucking with her. “You're a huge dick,” she said, her eyes popping open. “I mean ass. You're an asshole.”

  “Apparently,” I said, tossing her a fresh shirt. “I'm also your dirty little secret.”

  “It's not like that,” she said, turning around to change her top.

  “I can't believe I just went full frontal and you're giving me nothing but side boob.”

  “You better not be watching me change.”

  I laughed.

  “As I was saying-” She spun back around. “You're not a dirty secret. It's just that walks of shame are bad enough when you’re not branded.”

  “Oh please. Don't pretend this is going to be anything besides a walk of pride.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Or should I say waddle?”

  “That's not funny,” she said, pointing at me. “I could have internal bruising.”

  My face filled with fake concern. “Really? Do you want me to check?”

  “No, not really. I'm fine.”

  “Finally. Something we agree on.”

  She groaned and headed towards the door.

  “Are you sure I can't drive you home?”

  “I'm sure,” she said, her eyes sweeping my chest one last time. “You've done enough.”

  T H I R T E E N

  - Nina -

  My memory of the Reese’s Game had been coming back to me in pieces.

  I remembered that Carter was an econ and history double major, mainly to give his overbearing father hope that he might still take the bar exam. He confessed, however, that he'd been secretly auditing coding and business courses for the last three semesters. Like some sort of nerd in frat boy clothing.

  I remembered him being complimentary when I said I was interested in graphic and interior design, which I appreciated. Some people dismissed them as frivolous subjects, but he seemed to understand that good design was important and could have far-reaching effects.

  Or maybe he was just trying to bed me.

  Yet, try as I might, I couldn't remember him calling. Nope. Not one single call since our sleepover. Not even a text.

  I mean, he hadn't said he'd call, but after asking me how I wanted it (which no guy had ever done) and giving it to me soo good (which no guy had ever done), I was kind of disappointed that I hadn't heard from him.

  Then again, he hadn't kissed me either, which- in hindsight- seemed even more odd. Granted, I wasn’t exactly in a hurry to inflict my morning breath on him, but I couldn’t help but feel sort of prostitutey upon reflection.

  “Can you believe she said that?” Sadie asked, lifting her steaming latte. “Is that not the worst wedding etiquette you've ever heard?”

  “It is, yeah,” I said, hoping she would repeat herself so I’d know the exact transgression my cousin Rebecca was guilty of this time.

  “Either you give someone a plus one or you don't.”

  “So what exactly did she say?” I asked, acting incredulous to hide the fact that I was distracted by thoughts of Carte
r’s thick cock.

  “She said if I'm not going to bring a plus one, then she needs to know so she can put me at the singles table.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Not that I have beef with the singles table,” she said. “But I am worried that if I don’t bring a date, it will encourage my parents to be embarrassing.”

  “No shit.” Her parents were as bad as mine, still stuck in the dated view that a woman without a man was incomplete in a way that was depressing for anyone who laid eyes on her.

  “You're in the same boat, by the way.”

  “What?” My invitation probably went to my parents’ house, so this was news to me.

  “Yep.” She took a sip of her drink and licked the tan foam from her lips. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

  “Shit.” I could already feel the awkwardness of my dad polling the wedding party for eligible bachelors he might offer me up to. Ugh.

  “She needs to know by Valentine's day.”

  “That soon?”

  She nodded. “I know, right? If she's not pregnant, I'll eat my hat.”

  “I suppose things do feel a bit rushed.”

  “Literally, we have to wear hats.”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” she said, leaning back in her armchair, her black hoodie swallowing the little light there was in my favorite corner of Marple’s cafe. “And I already asked if we're allowed to wear comedy hats and was given a firm no on that.”

  I grabbed a piece of raspberry scone off my plate. “As if the difference between serious hats and comedy hats is in any way clear.”

  “That's what I said.”

  “What did you have in mind?” I asked.

  “I was thinking of making one myself, perhaps something tasteful inspired by the KKK.”

  I cocked my head. “Sadie. That's not funny.”

  “Wrong,” she said, deadpan. “It’s hilarious. What better way to make a bunch of racists feel self-concious than to show them how ridiculous their favorite mascot looks in polite company?”

  “You can't be serious.”

  “Of course I am. The KKK is an embarrassing blemish of an organization, and until it's exposed for the unwelcome and offensive joke it is, people will keep taking it seriously.”

  “I don't think Rebecca's wedding is the right occasion for your social commentary.”

  “Why not? It's not like there are going to be any black people there.”

  “Sadie!”

  “What? You know Uncle Rick is a bigot. He wouldn't even let Rebecca invite black kids to her birthday parties when we were children. You remember.”

  Her blood pressure was becoming contagious. “Yeah, I know, but even he'll be leaving his hood at home on the day.”

  “I suppose it is bad taste to wear white.”

  I put my face in my hands. I knew she meant well, and she had every right to be appalled by the archaic opinions held by some of our relatives, but sometimes she took things too far.

  “Okay.”

  I peeked through my fingers at her.

  She fanned her hands on her thighs and took a deep breath. “I feel better. Thanks for talking me down.”

  I dropped my hands.

  “I wouldn't really do it, anyway,” she said. “I'm just pissed at Rebecca for turning into such an uppity bitch after James put that ring on her finger. As if a sparkly accessory has anything to do with a person's value.”

  I sighed. “I know. But save your anger for a march or something where it will actually be appreciated.”

  She scoffed. “Yeah, God forbid I become the black sheep of the family.”

  “You're not the black sheep of the family.”

  “That wasn't a complaint,” she said. “I consider it a badge of honor.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case, you're right. Everyone's really worried about you.”

  She squinted. “About me or about my eternal soul?”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “I guess not. Either way, their prayers aren’t working.”

  “Maybe I should pray for you,” I said. “On the way here, I prayed this place would have oven-fresh raspberry scones today, and ta da.” I extended a palm towards the crumb-covered plate between us.

  “See, it's bullshit prayers like that that are clogging up the lines,” she said. “That's probably why the prayers for my black soul can't get through.”

  I laughed. “I guess I'll see you in hell.”

  “Speaking of which,” she said, standing, “I have a two-hour lecture coming up, so I'm going to grab a muffin for the road. You want anything?”

  “Just for you to promise that you won't wear a hat to Rebecca's wedding that could in any way be construed as part of a social justice campaign.”

  “Fine,” she said. “But I’ll still probably wear black.”

  “I'm sure everyone's expecting you to.”

  I watched her get in line beside the pastry display case and silently wished she wasn't so brash. Personally, I found it amusing, but I worried the people who most stood to benefit from having their views challenged would never be receptive to her combative approach.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket a second later, and I pulled it out to check the text. I smiled as soon as I saw that it was a picture of an orange Reese's piece. The caption read: I dare you to send me a picture of side boob.

  Not going to happen, I typed, embarrassed at how pleased I was to know he was thinking about my body, especially since his had been dominating my thoughts for days.

  A moment later, a picture of a yellow Reese's popped up: At least admit you want me to lick your side boob.

  I bit my lip, grateful that I didn't have a picture of a brown one or I might have to admit that I did.

  You're thinking about it, aren't you? he asked. “About my tongue on your incredible everything?

  Yes, I typed as I blushed. I'm thinking about it.

  F O U R T E E N

  - Carter -

  I don't know what I was thinking. Oh wait- yes I do.

  I was thinking there was a gorgeous woman in my bed, a woman I'd wanted since the moment I laid eyes on her, and she was finally pressing her ass against my dick.

  And after that I wasn’t thinking at all. I was just doing, and as good as it felt, I'd done everything in the completely wrong order.

  I shifted my feet on the salt-covered sidewalk and kept my eyes on the entrance to Van Damin Hall, ruminating on the same thought that had been looping through my thick skull all week.

  I should've kissed her first.

  Did she think it was weird that I hadn’t? Did she wish I’d looked in her eyes as I filled her?

  It wasn’t that I didn't want to. I did, of course. I just got the feeling that if she wanted to turn around she would've, and I didn't want to force my stale ranch breath on her.

  But maybe she wouldn’t even have noticed. After all, it was almost like she was somewhere else entirely… Whereas I knew exactly where I was: balls deep in the most magnetic woman I'd ever met.

  Unfortunately, that didn’t change the fact that the sex we had was a lazy, familiar kind, the kind people who've already been in a relationship for some time might have, and I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  I also didn’t know if she was avoiding me.

  Flirtatious texts aside, I needed to look in her green eyes and make sure she was okay. Okay with me. With what happened.

  I pulled my beanie down and stepped back towards the edge of the curb as the doors at the top of the stairs flew open, freeing a flood of students who poured down the steps and scattered. I clocked a few guys from the house and lifted my chin to acknowledge them, but otherwise I kept a focused expression on my face so no one would engage me.

  Finally, she came through the doors.

  I couldn't help but smile when she lowered some bright green earmuffs onto her head before slipping on some matching gloves. She was halfway down the steps when she looked up and saw me.
r />   To my surprise, she looked around as if to double check that I was really looking at her, so I lifted a hand. She smiled and waved back, instantly thawing my nerves.

  “Hey, you,” she said, walking up to me.

  My eyes fell to her red-orange lipstick before I found her eyes again. “Cute earmuffs.”

  “Thanks,” she said, reaching up to touch one. “Santa got them for me.”

  “What a guy.”

  She squinted at me. “Are you stalking me?” she asked, looking around again like she still wasn't convinced I was only there for her.

  “Stalking has such a negative connotation.”

  “Carter.”

  “Relax. I just dropped by to give you something.”

  I could feel her eyes boring into my hands as I reached in my drawstring gym bag and pulled out a sandwich bag full of brownies.

  She raised her thin brows.

  I held them out to her.

  “How did you know I would be here?” she asked, glancing between me and my offering.

  “You mentioned you took this class.”

  She cocked her head.

  “And that you're always starving in your next one because you never have time to grab something…?” Why was she looking at me like I was a psychopath? It was fucking brownies, not a bag of kitchen knives. And I thought I had trust issues.

  “I didn't say where the class was.”

  “It's always been in this building. And every freshman takes it so…I guess I got lucky? Or rather, you did,” I said, extending the brownies towards her again.

  She took them and lowered her voice. “Are they…special brownies?”

  “Only ’cause my mom made them.”

  Her shoulders relaxed, and she snapped the Ziploc open.

  “So there might be a rogue splash of white wine in them, but no pot. I'm sure of it.”

  She broke a corner off one and paused. “Are there rules I need to be aware of, or can I just eat ’em?”

  “You can just eat ’em.”

  Her eyes lit up, and she pushed a small bite past her bright lips.

  The lips I hadn't kissed yet. Because I was an idiot. “Though if there's anything you feel compelled to confess, I'm all ears.”

  She swallowed the bite. “There is, actually.”

  I leaned an ear towards her.