Uncovering Officer Smith (The Discovering Trilogy #2) (17 page)

That twerp just left. Not sure why, but I don’t like him. I wasn’t aware the new dorms were co-ed. It’s as if he were checking on her. The way he said her name… I just don’t like it. The television switches to a commercial break. The beer is humming through my veins now.

I sneak out from behind Becca’s slight frame, desperate for a bathroom break. My feet take me back toward the bathroom and I swing open a door. The closet I find inside is lined with linens and board games; not the door I was looking for, but it grabs my attention. “You’ve got games.”

A giggle makes me glace back. “Yeah, but I’m not one for games,” she retorts, taking a sip of beer.

“What? Come on – Twister, Monopoly, Uno, Jenga! It’s an eleven-year-old’s dream.”

“Oh, come on. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were drunk.” She pauses before taking a gulp.

“Hold that thought.” My bladder finally takes precedent.

When I return, the closet door remains open. Becca’s still snuggled into the couch where I left her.

“So, what do you want to play first?”

“You’re actually serious?” She climbs to her feet, now meeting me in front of the games.

“Well…” She shifts on her feet from one foot to another. “We are drinking – how about a card game? Uno?”

“Uno, it is.” I pull it from the shelf.

We settle before the coffee table. Becca has the cards between her hands and I’m placing the box underneath the table, when I freeze. The noise of the cards shuffling causes me to glance up. She eyes me steadily. The cards once again filter across the gap between her hands, wider and wider now. The smirk on her face makes me wonder what else this girl is hiding. I’m not going to lie; watching her shuffle those cards is the hottest thing ever.

“Are you ready to get your ass beat?”

“Don’t tell me you’re as competitive as your brother?”

“Where do you think I get it from?”

She leans forward. “I’m worse.”

“Oh, this I’ve got to see.”

“Be careful what you wish for – this isn’t going to be pretty.”

She shuffles out seven cards, placing the deck between us. Flipping over the first card, a red seven, the game begins. “Do you want to play doubles?”

“Doubles?” I question.

“Yeah, you know when you have two or three of the same, you can put them all down – turning a ‘Draw Four’ into a ‘Draw Eight.’”

“Sounds good to me.” I push my fingers through my hair.

A sly smile plays across her lips. “You’re going down, sir.”

“We’ll see about that, nerd.”

The game starts quiet enough, and one after another, the cards are placed. Becca is the first to get two ‘Draw Twos’, making me draw four cards. Now I see what she meant. All bets are off.

The television is still playing a movie; we’re solely focused on the game at hand. Becca places her second to last card on the deck; a green three.

“Uno,” she calls, the smile playing on her lips teasing me in ways I’ve never felt before. I’ve been saving my play for just this occasion. Of the four cards in my hand, I pick the ‘Draw Four’ and place it on top of the deck.

“Draw four,” I announce.

“Ah, jerk!” She reaches over and picks up the cards one by one, counting aloud. “One, two, three, four.”

I glance down to my cards, trying to hide the smile playing across my lips. That was the most adorable quirk I’ve ever seen. “The color is blue.”

“Jerk,” she mutters again, reaching for a card from the deck, lacking all blue cards. The first card she picks up happens to work. “Draw Two.” I pick up two cards, trying to hide the fact that I had counted them inside my head.

Blue quickly returns to red, and before I know it, Becca is once again calling, “Uno.”

“Crap.” I glance down at the four cards. I have nothing of use. My only hope is that her card is not red.

I place down a red eight.

“Ugh,” she mutters, reaching for a card from the deck. So, it’s not red.

She places a red two down and it’s my turn. I call them out for emphasis. “Draw two, now draw another two.”

The two cards go down on top of the other. “And, Uno.”

She’s glaring at me now—Playful, but intense.

“One, two, three, four.” She picks them up and her expression changes. A toothy grin makes its way across her features. I don’t know if I like this look.

“Ready?” She nods to me. “I have three ‘Draw Four’s’, so that’s twelve cards. The color is green.”

“Slick,” I mutter, counting cards in my head as I pick them up.

I place a green card down, having plenty to choose from now. Her eyes meet mine. She places a green ‘Draw Two’ and then another, getting rid of her last card. “I win.”

Her arms fly up in victory before bringing them down and beginning what I can only describe as a weird dance. Her hands swirl in front of her, head bobbing to the opposite side of her fists.

“Winners get to put it back.” He tosses the box across the table. “And what happened to not being in the mood for games?”

She shrugs twisting her lips into a sly smirk that makes me anxious to be closer to her.

“I don’t know if I like this side of you.” I reach under the table and pull the box out again.

“I warned you. This is why I don’t play games.” She tosses the cards into the empty box.

“Your brother isn’t any fun, either. He takes things too seriously.” I climb back onto the couch.

“I know, board games were banned from our house when we were kids.” She mentions, taking the box back to the closet.

“Once during football, we lost in the finals. I swear I saw a tear in his eye.”

“I’m not that bad,” she calls over her shoulder from inside the closet. A rustling causes me to turn. Becca is dragging out what looks to be a mat. That is, until she flips it over.

“Twister?”

“Drunk Twister – even better.” Dropping the mat on the floor, she turns back to get the spinner.

She has my attention now.

With that wicked grin of hers, she tosses me the spinner with the circle of colors. “Oh no, ladies first.” She catches it when I toss it back. Immediately, she falls to the floor, placing it flat on the ground, and sends the arrow flying.

“Right hand, blue,” she announces, extending her right hand to the blue circle in the middle from her crouched position. If it’s competition she wants, she’s going to get one. I lean down besides her, ignoring her eyes as I flick the spinner.

“Left foot, blue.” I place my foot on the circle beside her.

Becca twists so that her other hand reaches the spin.

“Right foot, red.” And the game begins.

We are deep into Twister now. Legs and arms mismatched and twisted. Becca has her legs contorted across from her body, underneath mine. Her hands are on either side of the mat, one on red, and the other on green. Her mouth is pouty as she faces upward, struggling to hold herself upright. My arms mimic hers on the same sides and my legs have long since gone numb.

My face is millimeters from her stomach. Becca swivels, reaching a hand towards the spinner. “How am I supposed to reach this darn thing?” She settles back with a huff.

My eyes catch her gaze. The smell of her skin is on my nose.

“I think that’s the point,” I murmur as I lean in, placing a kiss just below her belly button. A smile appears. Her stomach rises and falls as her breathing deepens and the heat radiating off her doubles. “You don’t play fair.” The sweet sound of her giggle envelops me.

I continue to kiss up the center of her ribs.

“You’re cheating.” Her legs wiggle underneath me. I place a kiss directly between her breasts.

“Ah, always competitive,” I murmur against her warm skin. The beat of her heart is thumping against the softness of my lips. “Well… I forfeit.”

I watch as her body visibly relaxes. Her legs fall. She leans into me. My nose trails its way up to finally meeting her mouth.

“I definitely don’t like this new competitive side of yours.”

“Mm, shut up,” she whispers softly against my lips. “Should I put my left foot on red?” she asks, spreading her legs wider.

“How about backside rainbow?” In one swift motion I have my arm behind her, slowly lowering her flat onto the game board.

She giggles once again, her hands on either sides of my face. I need to have her. Taking her hands off my face, I link our fingers. Slowly bringing them down, I brace them at either side of her face.

“You’re going to keep your hands on red and green.” I nod with my head to each spot respectively, then swivel her hips underneath me. “And keep this ass on yellow and don’t move.”

“Isn’t that going to be kind of hard?”

“I said don’t move.” The authority in my voice captures her blue eyes in my gaze.

She continues to hold it until I slide inside of her. Then they close, and she releases a slight gasp. That’s when the real game begins.

About twenty minutes later, I’m standing stark naked over the crumped Twister tarp. I have to admit Becca did pretty well at keeping her hands on red and green as instructed. But now, the two corners are completely crumpled up. I think one side might even have a hole poked through it.

“Well, I guess I’m going to have to throw out this game.” Becca hovers beside me before she bends over and rolls the crumpled mess into a ball between her hands. Collecting the spinner and the box on her way, she tosses them into the trashcan.

She turns back to me, the curves of her skin gleaming even with only the light from the television. Meeting my eye she continues, “So, I guess this means I won.” She proceeds to twirl her hips and pump those closed fists together, in that silly dance again. “That makes three times tonight.”

“Oh, no.” Barreling toward her, I throw her over my shoulder and take her to the bedroom.

“Let’s see who wins this time.”

She drifted off in my arms. Her bare shoulder rises and falls in her sleep. I don’t know how long I’ve stayed here studying her in the warm glow of the alarm clock. Becca Swanson is everything I’ve told myself I didn’t need, didn’t deserve.

She is driven, and she’s lazy.

She’s creative, and she’s nerdy.

She’s competitive, and she’s laid back.

She’s messy, yet she’s neat.

She is complicated.

Becca is a beautiful, twisted anomaly – and she is asleep in
my
arms. Even in her sleep, I can’t pull my eyes away. My hard officer façade crumbles. She has melted through all my defenses. The worst part: I can do nothing to stop it.

I roll over the next day. John’s bicep is in my face.
Oh
, I forgot he was here. The sun is blazing through my window.

“Mm,” I murmur, rolling back to my other side, avoiding the light. Then it hits me. It’s Thursday. “Shit.”

John groans in protest as he rubs his eyes. “What?”

“I’m late for class.”

“So?” He rolls away from the light.

“I’m never late.” I call over my shoulder as I wiggle from his arms and slip out of bed. I trip over someone’s clothes from the night before and wander to the closet. I change faster than I have ever changed before and dash into the living room. My notebook is on the coffee table. I pick up a stray pen off the floor and make my way into the kitchen for something quick to eat. There’s nothing worse than having your stomach growl super loud in the middle of class.

I’m pouring coffee in a thermos when John comes up behind me. His warm hands wrap themselves around me, pulling me close to him. His nose is in the nape of my neck, gliding its way up from my collarbone to behind my ear, sending a shiver. There is something about this man. I don’t think I will ever be able to get enough of him.

“Mm,” I moan. “No. I can’t. I have to get to class.” I wiggle in his grasp, unconvincingly.

He holds me tight. “Cut class.” His breath is hot on my ear.

Desire pulses through me.
Oh my God
. “I can’t.”

He spins me around to face him, my back pressed hard against the counter as his fingers slip into my hair. He brings my face closer to his, kissing me deep and tugging on my hair slightly, fully waking up every part of me. “Are you sure about that?”

One of his hands is sliding down the side of my body. He kisses me again. Grabbing my ass, he hoists me up onto the counter and carefully slips his finger around my leg and inside me. I moan embarrassing loud.