Slow Burn by K. Bromberg Read Free Book Online Page B

I feel like a chick thinking about it again, about her again, but shit, the sex was incredible. Not to mention that it’s such a damn turn-on when a woman is confident and not afraid to speak her mind in the sack.
    “What’s your deal, dude?”
    “Huh?” I glance at Walker.
    “Who is she?” he asks with a smirk.
    “Who is who?” I aim for classic avoidance. Walker doesn’t need to know zip about Haddie because it was just a one-night stand. And if he thinks any differently—Mr. I love to be in a relationship—he’ll run blabbing to Mom, and then she’ll start in on me about grandbabies. And of course, then I’ll get the phone call from Dad telling me she’s driving him crazy with all of this baby nonsense, but can I hurry it up some so that he can have some peace and quiet? Shit, I’m okay with having kids someday, just not now.
    I’ve still got oats to sow, places to see, and people to do before I take a chance and bareback.
    “Becks … you’re sitting over there with your eyes closed, a stupid-ass smirk on your face, and you’re adjusting your dick every five fucking seconds.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “So either you’re remembering getting lucky—and it seems like it was a damn good lucky—or else you’re having some kind of pornographic wet daydream, and if that’s the case, you’re a sick fuck since you’re doing it while I’m sitting right here.”
    I stare at him and see amusement in my pestering little brother’s eyes. “Shut up.” It’s not a very good comeback, but it’s all I’ve got, because he caught me red-handed.
    “Ha! I knew it!” he says, turning in his lounge chair toface me. “What poor woman was subjected to your lack of skill last night?”
    And so his screwing with me begins. I love my brother to death, but he needs some new fucking comebacks. I swear to God he hangs out too much with his girlfriend, Aubrey, because he couldn’t be sporting more estrogen if he were wearing some lipstick and heels.
    I start to respond to his dim-witted comment when I hear a cell phone ring. I drop my head to the side and stare at him. Yep. Way too fucking much estrogen. “Please, tell me that is not your ringtone?” I beg of my brother as a Katy Perry song plays on.
    He looks at me like I’m crazy. “Dude, my cell is right here,” he says, holding it up for proof. “That’s yours.”
    What the …? I rise from the chair and head toward the sliding-glass doors, where I set my phone on the counter inside. Katy keeps singing about California girls and melting Popsicles, and I swear to God, this has to be one of Colton’s fucking pranks. A final parting gift before he left for his honeymoon. The last time he did this my ringtone was “I Touch Myself,” and it went off in the middle of a pit crew meeting. He’s such an asshole sometimes.
    I reach for my black iPhone, the screen announcing Rylee’s name. He had better not have fucked with my contacts too.
    “Hello?” I answer the phone cautiously.
    “Becks? Why do you have Haddie’s phone?” Rylee’s voice comes through loud and clear, and all of a sudden, it hits me. Haddie picked up the wrong phone this morning when I dropped her off. But what female has a plain black cell phone case? Haddie’s anything but plain. “Becks, you there?”
    This is fucking stellar. I might as well post on social media that I had sex with Haddie because me answering her cell phone did just as well. For fuck’s sake. Deflection is my only choice. “I’m here…. Shouldn’t you be doing somethingelse on the first day of your honeymoon instead of calling me?”
    “We’re delayed at the airport,” she says at the same time I hear a flight number being called in the background.
    I laugh. “Like that’s gonna stop Colton from getting busy—”
    “Are you with Haddie?” she says, cutting me off, and I can hear the curiosity in her voice. I don’t want to deal with this, especially because Walker is standing in the doorway,