Rather than capitulate, Gabby takes a step nearer to me and rises on tiptoes. “Tough shit. Cancel your plans. You’re hanging out with your friends tonight.”
“I am not—” I start to say, but she runs right over me.
“We missed you, haven’t seen you in months.”
“I get that but—”
“And on top of that,” she says while poking me in the chest, “Gavin and Savannah are leaving day after next to spend a few weeks in England visiting his parents. This is the only time they can go out.”
I take in a breath to argue with her, but then I feel Andrea’s hand press into my back. She takes a step around me, and Gabby’s gaze goes over to her.
“We’d love to come,” Andrea says. Then turning to look at me, she gives me a steely look… daring me to argue with her. “Wouldn’t we?”
Grimacing, I huff out an offended breath and lean down until I’m nose to nose with Andrea.
“You’re not as cute as I used to think you were,” I grumble, but she just smirks at me before turning back toward Gabby.
“What time should we be there?” she asks.
“Around 9 PM,” Gabby says and then leans over and spontaneously hugs Andrea. “Yay. This is going to be so much fun.”
“Not so much,” I mutter, but Gabby pays me no mind.
“See you two later,” she calls out as she opens my door, and then she’s gone.
Andrea and I stand side by side for a moment, silently staring at the door. I faintly hear Gabby’s car start up outside.
Slowly turning my head toward Andrea, I growl at her. “You are in so much trouble.”
Her own head turns toward me, and her eyes widen in surprise. Our gazes lock… bodies tense.
I lunge at her, dropping my shoulder down low and catching her right below her sternum. She half-shrieks, half-laughs as my arms wrap around the backs of her legs and I haul her up and over my shoulder.
“Put me down,” she cries out as her hands slap at my lower back.
“Quiet,” I bark at her as I walk back toward my bedroom. I raise a palm up and bring it down with a sharp crack on her naked ass—because my shirt has fortuitously bunched up nicely around her waist.
She yelps, then starts laughing at me, and I’m grinning big by the time I toss her on the bed. She immediately rolls to the side and starts to scramble off, but I jump on her, easily grabbing her wrists and forcing her on her back. I straddle her at her waist and then pull her arms down, pinning them under my shins.
Andrea struggles, her face red from laughing and the effort to get away from me, so I decide to really make her suffer. Fingers to her ribs, I start tickling her.
A piercing shriek comes out of her mouth, and she bucks up hard against me, laughing hysterically. “Don’t, Wyatt. I can’t stand to be tickled.”
“Should have thought about that before you committed us to going out tonight,” I growl at her and double up my efforts on her ribs.
“Stop,” she yells while gasping for breath and trying to wriggle away. “I’m going to pee.”
Laughing, I slow my fingers and then lift my legs up to free her arms. Sitting back on my haunches, I look down at her. “Okay, that’s a level of kink I’m not into.”
She giggles and takes a few deep breaths. We grin at each other a moment, but then her eyes turn a bit serious.
Reaching one hand out, she grasps the elastic waistband of my pajama bottoms between her forefinger and thumb, pulling it away from my skin. Releasing it just as quickly, it snaps back.
Raising her eyes to mine, she asks, “So… you were kind of stuck on me, huh? Thinking about coming to visit me?”
My face flushes, but I don’t look away. Staring down at her, I reach out and take the edges of my shirt she’s wearing and peel it back, exposing her breasts.
“Just a little,” I tell her quietly, dropping my gaze to her chest. I place my palms over the swells and rub my thumbs in circles over her nipples. Her breath catches, and she arches her back.
“Do you think you would have ever come to see me in Pittsburgh?” she asks.
My eyes rise back up to hers. I consider her question, and I’m not sure if my answer is based on what I’m feeling here and now, or what I was feeling then, but it’s completely honest when I say, “Yeah… I would have.”
“I’m glad,” she says with a soft look.
“Me too,” I tell her. “Same page and all.”
“Same page,” she agrees, but I do have to wonder what page we’ll be on when it’s time for her to return home.
Chapter 18
Andrea
Wyatt turns off the ignition to his Suburban, and I stare through the window at Last Call. It’s a one-story, moderately sized building with gray siding that sits oceanside on the Atlantic. From our angle, I can see a large deck on the back strung with white lights and loaded with people. A large, wooden sign that says, “Last Call” hangs over the tinted-glass door at the front. Based on the amount of cars in the parking lot, I’d say this place does quite well for itself.
We both exit his vehicle, and Wyatt meets me at the front where he takes my hand. He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans, a gray V-necked t-shirt that’s semi-tucked into his pants, which is paired with a brown, leather belt. As I’ve discovered most people on the beach wear flip-flops, I’m not surprised that’s what Wyatt decided to wear on his feet.