More Than a Memory by Marie James Read Free Book Online Page B

phone to let Liam know I’m giving her a ride.
    It takes three times as long to get her back to my truck than it took for Liam and me to get to the house. It’s to be expected, I guess. I’d pick her up and carry her, but I’m not going to be the guy seen carrying some drunk chick away from a party.
    And it takes almost as long to get her into my truck. High heels and being overserved do not mix. Eventually, we’re both secured inside the cab and heading toward her place.
    “Is this it?” I ask as the GPS tells me I’ve arrived at the address she gave me.
    I peer up at the two-story house and let out a low whistle.
    “Yours?” I ask as Simone unbuckles her seatbelt.
    “My parents,” she says, sliding closer and straddling my lap. “They’re not home. You could come up.”
    “Not tonight, beautiful.” Reaching over, I grab her phone from beside us on the seat and enter in my number. “If you remember me tomorrow, give me a call.”
    Desperate lips crash against mine, and I let it happen. I know my limitations, and Simone is nowhere near them. She begins to rock on my dick and I grip her ass, allowing her tongue to sweep against mine. Her soft mewls turn into loud moans, and I wince in pain as she grinds too hard. Mistaking my wince for pleasure, she continues her assault, forcing me to pull her off my lap. The last thing I need is her breaking my cock before I get to fuck her with it.
    Lying back on the seat of my truck, she attempts seduction by spreading her legs, forcing her tight dress to inch higher up her smooth thighs. My mind flashes back to Olivia’s gorgeous legs as she stood from the couch the other day and I thicken even further in my jeans.
    I kiss Simone with renewed fervor, forcing her to moan into my mouth. Knowing that sound is now going to get me in trouble, I pull my lips from hers.
    “Fuck, you tempt me.”
    “That’s the point.”
    “Not tonight.” I pull her to a sitting position and climb out of the truck.
    When I make it to her side to help her down, she’s beyond excited. “Coming in?”
    I shake my head. “Just making sure you make it in safe.”
    Ten minutes later, I’m driving back to the apartment, a deep ache in my nuts. I’m either chivalrous or an idiot. Simone had a lot to drink, but she seemed more buzzed than inebriated when I left her house. Normally, I wouldn’t turn down a buzzed chick. Hell, you couldn’t really go to a college party and find a girl who hadn’t been drinking a little bit, but after the thought of Olivia crept into my mind, I wanted to be anywhere but there.

    * * *
    T he ding of a text message forces me to push the blankets away from my head. I’ve been lying here awake for a while, but refuse to get up. I grab my phone off the bedside table, several texts lighting up the screen—Liam, Emerson, and multiple from Simone.
    Liam’s texts are bragging about the chick he bagged last night and how I missed the best strip tease ever. Apparently, some chicks climbed onto the dining room table and went wild, Coyote Ugly style. I frown, hating that I missed it.
    Emerson texts about random stuff, including how much she despises the Ubers in Pullman, rude jocks, and an insanely itchy spot on the back of her calf, which she insists is necrotizing fasciitis. A trip to the emergency room the last time she thought she had it resulted in the doctor pretty much calling her an idiot and giving her an itch stick for her mosquito bite. I blame binge watching Grey’s Anatomy and the news pertaining to what’s going on in Texas as her reasoning behind the self-diagnosis.
    Simone’s texts are a combination of apologies and requests to meet up later. I don’t think she has anything to apologize for, but the gesture is nice.
    Ignoring Liam and my wacko sister, I text Simone back with plans to meet up later this evening.
    After a quick shower, and no sign of Olivia, I head out to get breakfast.
    Once back at the apartment, I linger in the kitchen, making as much