The Boy Next Door Read online

  “You guys tell each other you love each other all the time.”

  “But it’s...different.”

  “And how would you know?” she laughs. “Trust me on this, you two are idiots. You should have been screwing each other a long time ago.”

  “Okay, you aren’t giving me advice about what to do here with the sleazeball...”

  “Yeah, I am giving you sound advice. It was a virginity auction, right?” She shrugs a shoulder. “Just go fuck Evan. He won’t be mad at you anymore and you won’t be a virgin, so whatever contract you signed or promise you made is null and void. And the sleazeball can just get to walking. Problem solved.”

  The fact that Lindsey actually makes sense terrifies me. What am I going to do when Evan ends up dating someone? Marrying someone? That’s going to destroy me.

  The doorbell rings at Lindsey’s apartment. She glances over her shoulder. “Hey, I gotta go, babe, but I’ll call you tomorrow. Just get drunk and bang Evan, then tell the guy from the auction you’re damaged goods.” She waves before disconnecting the call.

  Chapter Seven

  Evan

  I hand my friend Corey the gallon of Aristocrat and he dumps it in the cooler. “Man, the chicks love pink panty pulldowns.”

  “That’s the dumbest name for a drink I’ve ever heard.”

  “It’s perfect. It’s pink and it makes girls pull down their panties.” He grins while mixing in a gallon of pink lemonade. “It’s why I wrote that article for the university paper recommending it as the staple drink at parties.”

  “I’m surprised they haven’t fired you from that job yet.”

  “I give the paper a youthful edge.” He shrugs and stares down at the cooler. “You think we need another gallon of vodka?”

  “Can’t hurt. The worse they taste, the better.” I reach for another gallon of vodka, and after I hand it off, my phone chimes with an email notification. I pull my cell from my pocket and, with a smile, I click on the email titled: Auction Information. Sure, Emma may be pissed at me, but she’ll appreciate it. Someday.

  I skim through the message and then—“Fucking shit, no!” I shout, and Corey jumps.

  “Fuck, man. Don’t do that shit.”

  “How the...” I drag my hand through my hair and pace Corey’s tiny kitchen, still staring at my phone. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck!”

  “Man, what’s wrong?”

  “Daisy Mueller.” I toss the phone onto the counter. “Who the fuck is she? I didn’t sign up for her and...” I grab the phone to look at the winning bid amount. This has to be a mistake. But there, at the bottom of the email is the closing bid of one thousand dollars, billed to my American Express. Just then, a Facebook message pops up. Daisy L. Mueller: Sooooooo excited. Can’t wait for our date. “Fuck!” I shout, tossing the phone across the room. It hits the wall. I’m sure the screen cracked, but at this point, a cracked phone screen is the least of my worries.

  “Okay, man, you gotta tell me what the hell is going on because you’re losing your shit right now.”

  Glancing up, I swipe my hand over my jaw. “I was trying to do a good thing and got fucked. How the hell...you tell me how the hell I bid on Emma—it was her picture. Her profile. I put my credit card information in with her lot number, Corey, so how the hell did I spend a thousand bucks and end up with fucking Daisy Mueller?”

  His brow wrinkles. “What are you talking about?”

  “There was this stupid virginity auction and—”

  “Wait, wait”—he grabs my shoulder—“wait! There was a virginity auction and you kept that shit to yourself?”

  My jaw tenses. “I swear to God, Corey, not now.”

  He holds up both hands in surrender before going back to mixing the pink panty pulldown. “Alright, so you won the wrong chick? Get a refund or something.”

  If only it were that easy.

  Chapter Eight

  Emma

  Ding.

  I give my reflection one last glance and tug at the hem of my skirt. I don’t know what I’m doing here—trying to seduce my best friend.

  Between the auction and Lindsey’s stellar advice, my mind is a jumbled mess. I sigh as I wipe at a smudge of lipstick before grabbing my phone.

  Evan: I’m waiting...

  I shove my phone in my purse and head into the hallway. As soon as I open the door, I jump. I’m face to face with CeeCee, her hand raised like she was about to knock.

  “Shit,” I huff. “You scared me.”

  “Sorry. I uh...” She glances at the floor. “So, Evan...”

  I close my door and adjust my purse on my shoulder. “Oh God, what is he doing?” I peek around CeeCee and through the large floor to ceiling window in the living room to see if he’s popping wheelies in front of the house or if he’s leaning against his bike with his shirt off again. But he’s just sitting at the curb, staring into space.

  “Well, he uh... I mean, I know you two are just friends and all, but I always figured that—” An uncomfortable grimace works over her face. “Well, he bid on Daisy.”

  He did what? My chest goes tight. My jaw tenses, but I force a smile. “Huh, well... I didn’t know about that.” This hurts.

  “Yeah... I figured.”

  We stand in the hallway in awkward silence. What am I supposed to say? I’m pissed. Destroyed, even, but I shouldn’t be. “Alright, well...tell her congrats, I guess?” I shrug a shoulder and walk toward the front of the house. “He’s a great guy.” Okay, Emma, that touch may have been too much.

  “So, you’re okay?” she calls just as I open the door and step onto the porch.

  “Yeah. Fine.” The door slams behind me a little louder than I anticipated, and I take a deep breath, glaring at Evan straddling his stupid bike with his stupid T-shirt squeezing his massive muscles. After giving me shit about the auction, he went and bid on one of my sisters. What a bastard! The least he could have done was bid on me if he thought it was such a bad idea. Save me from Winston.

  Anger bubbles in my chest, desperate to erupt. With each step I take toward his bike, I hate him a little more. By the time I snatch the helmet from his outstretched hand and shove it on my head, my face is on fire.

  “Hey, Em,” he says, and I just glare. “Alright...don’t talk to me.”

  I sling my leg over the seat.

  “You gonna hold on to me or what?”

  “I’m good,” I say in a clipped tone.

  Shaking his head, he throttles the engine. He pulls onto the street, weaving in and out of traffic, going faster and faster. I grip the seat and squeeze my thighs, attempting to keep my balance. God, he’s such a bastard. He takes a sharp turn and, out of instinct, I grab on to him. I can just make out his laughter over the rumble of the engine. The fact that I’m now forced to be plastered against him is only making the tension mount.

  By the time we reach the red light, the tension between us is a living, breathing thing. I want nothing more than to say something to him, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing I care. I don’t even know why I got on this bike or why I’m going to this party with him—I guess because I was caught off guard. God, I hate him—

  “I got you some vodka,” he says. Just the sound of his voice pushes me over the precipice.

  “Gee, thanks,” I snap. “You going to get Daisy some vodka too?”

  His grip on the handle bars tightens, the tattoos on his forearms tensing over the muscle. He exhales, tapping a finger over the handle. “So, you already heard, huh?”

  “Yep. Give me shit for signing up for it and then you go and bid on one of the girls. I guess the idea of bagging one more virgin was irresistible, huh? Daisy...” I mumble, letting go of his waist.

  “Em, God. This is so messed up.” The stoplight turns green and he floors the accelerator, speeding through the
intersection. I bet he’s glad that light turned when it did, forcing that conversation to a grinding halt.

  Two blocks down, another red light catches us. “Look, I didn’t bid on her,” he says.

  “Oh,” I snort-laugh. “Okay. So now you’re just gonna lie to me?”

  “I didn’t bid on her!”

  “Let me guess. Your credit card information just magically entered itself?” I shake my head. “This is just like that time you tried to glue the ballerina figurine my grandad gave me back together. After you broke it and lied about it!” The arms were put back in the wrong pose and his explanation to how that happened was that the devil must have possessed the figurine.

  We were ten, and that scared the hell out of me.

  “Look, why are you pissed?” he asks.

  Is he serious? My pulse hammers in my ears as my blood pressure ratchets up. “Because...” Because you didn’t save me. “Because you...” I groan out of frustration. “You’re an ass.”

  Again, the light turns green and we speed off, taking a hard right through the entrance of Letterman apartments. He pulls the bike onto the sidewalk in front of his apartment building and cuts the engine.

  Music booms from the apartment above Evan’s. There’s already a crowd of people on the balcony, and Corey’s doing a keg stand, everyone cheering him on.

  “Look”—Evan turns around on the bike—“be pissed all you want. It’s not what it looks like, I—”

  “Well, Evan, I don’t know how it can be anything but what it looks like, and you know what? I don’t care. You want to fuck Daisy, go ahead, just don’t give me grief about doing something for charity when you’re just doing it to get your dick wet!” With that, I gracelessly climb off the bike, and storm toward the stairwell. Maybe I’m acting immature, but I’m pissed and emotional, and I don’t even care.

  “Jesus...” he swears when I reach the second landing. “You are un-fucking-believable!”

  “Go fuck yourself!” I shout before shoving past a few smokers standing in the doorway of Corey’s apartment. I head straight to the cooler in the kitchen and fill a cup with the disgusting pink concoction.

  * * *

  An hour later, I’m staring at the red Solo cup placed in the middle of the card table. I glare at Evan when I pick up the quarter. Every time I ring the cup, I make him drink, and every time he rings it, he makes me drink. So here we sit, buzzed and mad with this tension between us that’s about to do my head in.

  I bounce the quarter over the tabletop, smirking when I ring it. “Go ahead, Ev. Drink up.” The group of people at the table cheer Evan on as he chugs the last of his beers. He crushes the can in his hand and drops it to the table with a dimpled grin. “That the best you can do, Em?”

  My gaze veers from those dimples to his lips. As much as I hate him right now, I still have the urge to kiss them, bite them, have them between my thighs. “I hope you throw up...” I shoot a smart-ass smile in his direction before I push up from the table and make my way through the random partygoers.

  A couple stands, lip-locked against the door to the breezeway. I clear my throat, but they’re too busy with each other to notice anything else, so I tap the guy’s shoulder. Their lips don’t even part, he just moves the girl to the side so I can open the door.

  The cold autumn air stings my cheeks and my body tenses against the unexpected cold. Closing my eyes, I take a cleansing breath, and then I feel arms wrap around me from behind just before the familiar scent of Evan’s cologne surrounds me. “Stop it,” he whispers, the heat of his breath fanning over my throat. “I can’t stand when you’re like this.” His voice is a low rumble beside my ear, and my treacherous body reacts to it by melting into him. I hate being like this with him, but sometimes you have to settle for just enough instead of having it all.

  “Don’t be mad.” He kisses my neck. As much as I want to hate him, I can’t deny how good it feels to have him hold me like this. As much as I want to bitch at him, right now, I just can’t.

  “I’m not.”

  “Lies...” His lip rolls over my neck, and I bite back a groan. “You’re mad at me, I can tell.”

  “I’m not mad at you.” I attempt to shrug out of his hold.

  “Nope.” His arms tighten across my chest. “I’m not letting you go.”

  Our bodies are flush together, and all I can focus on is his dick against my ass. My cheeks heat, and before I realize what I’m doing, I find myself pushing back against him. A quiet chuckle works free from his chest. “If only...”

  With that, he moves to my side and grabs my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. “We need to talk.”

  He pulls on my arm, and I stumble after him, both of us swaying a little from the alcohol. His apartment is only one floor below, but it’s just enough time for my imagination to run wild. I imagine stepping inside his apartment and having him shove me against the door, kissing me and tearing my clothes off. I imagine what he’d look like with his face between my thighs, what it would feel like to let him take me. Then I imagine him doing all those things with Daisy and my body tenses.

  The hinges creak when he opens his door, and I flinch against the harsh fluorescent lights. He laughs before closing the door. “You’re cute drunk.”

  “Cute is an insult, asshole. And I’m not drunk, I’m buzzed.”

  “Oh.” He pinches me when he walks past me to the hallway. “Feisty tonight, huh?”

  “Shut up.” I take a few steps before there’s a loud clap and a sharp sting on my ass.

  “Ohhh, I bet that hurt.”

  My nostrils flare when I spin around and glare at him.

  His eyes flicker with dirty promises that makes me wish for things I shouldn’t. I wonder how many girls he’s gotten on their knees from that look alone.

  The second I turn back around, he smacks his hand over my ass again. And as much as I enjoy it, I hate his arrogance. When I turn around this time, he grabs my wrists, leaning in so close—so threateningly close—I feel like I can’t breathe without dragging him into my lungs. I take a timid step back, but he just moves closer again and places his lips inches from mine. My heart hammers against my ribs. If I were a better person I would wriggle out of his grasp and sleep on his couch—but I’m not.

  “Get off me, you dick,” I say, but instead of fighting him, I find my chest pressed to his, our eyes locked. He inches his lips closer, his hardening cock evident against my stomach.

  “Are you mad because it wasn’t you?” He pushes me harder against the wall, and I feel myself becoming wet. “Tell me that’s why you’re mad, Em.”

  “Evan, I swear to God, if you don’t get off of me.” I say it only to save face, because honestly, I’m about to come just from having him pin me against the wall like this.

  “If I don’t get off of you, what?”

  He releases one of my hands only to grab my chin, tilting my head back. His gaze drifts from my eyes to my mouth.

  He places his lips centimeters from mine. I can taste his breath. I can feel how hard he is for me, and it’s winding me up so tight, I know I’m about to break.

  “If I don’t get off you, what?” he says, practically breathing the words into my mouth.

  I want him to kiss me. I want him to shred my clothes off my body and fuck me. Everything is a mess. Winston. The auction. And Lindsey is right, I’m eventually going to lose Evan to some other girl.

  “Because”—his fingers twitch over my wrists—“I don’t want to get off you just yet,” he says.

  “Evan.” I swallow, my pulse hammering in my ears. “Save it for Daisy...” I whisper, threading my fingers through his thick, dark hair.

  His thumb sweeps over my lip. He’s so close, God, he’s so close. “No, Em, I’ve been saving it for you.”

  With that, his mouth covers mine in a brutal kiss. He parts my lips with his ton
gue, deepening the kiss as his hands roam over my body, grabbing and groping desperately.

  The second he fists my hair, I moan. I shove away thoughts about the auction and Daisy and Winston, because for years, Evan is all I’ve thought about. About how brutal his lips would feel, about how he’d taste. About him fisting my hair just like this.

  I’m so wet, so turned on, it’s borderline painful. I rock against him, begging for the slightest friction. But it’s not enough.

  He reaches for my jeans, clumsily fumbling with the button. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” he says between hard kisses.

  “Maybe as long as I’ve wanted to.”

  He yanks my jeans down, and I’m lost. Lost to the way his hands feel like fire on my skin, to how labored his breaths sound, as though he’s struggling to restrain himself. And the thought of what lay ahead making me frantic with lust.

  I greedily reach for his fly, tugging and pulling until it’s loose and his pants are on the floor. We’re like two addicts chasing a high, desperate for just one thing.

  He drops his hands to my ass, gripping my skin so hard it hurts. His hands move to my thighs, and he lifts me. My legs wrap around his waist, our skin only separated by my thin panties. I can’t possibly get close enough to him.

  “Just don’t hate me tomorrow,” he says before pulling me away from the wall and carrying me to his room.

  He roughly throws me on the bed—just like I’ve always imagined—then crawls toward me on his knees. My pulse bangs in my chest, the anticipation of what it will feel like when I finally have him inside me is nearly unbearable.

  He gathers my shirt in his hands, slowly pulling the material up and over my head. Biting at his lip, his eyes lock with mine as he slides the straps of my bra, one by one, from my shoulders, yanking and tugging until my breasts are exposed. I like the way it feels being almost naked this close to him. Skin to skin. It’s so wrong and right at the same time.

  His chest rises on ragged swells. There’s a long moment where he doesn’t touch me, where I worry maybe he’s rethinking this, but then he sweeps a finger between my breasts, circling his finger around hard nipples that are begging for the heat of his mouth. Like he knows exactly what I need, he lowers his head, sucking one of my nipples into his mouth.