Just Jelly Beans and Jealousy (3 page)

The crowd is silent, and all the participants
look to one another. But then I hear a thump, thump, thump, thump
as someone comes up the stairs onto the platform. I see the
baseball cap before I see the rest of him, and I hope to God that’s
Sean’s cap. But Sean didn’t even buy a ticket. Not a single
one.

Yet it’s his brown gaze that meets mine. It’s
his baseball cap, and they are his tattoos. They’re his broad
shoulders and his long strides that eat up the distance between
us.

He turns his hat backward and looks down at
me. He stops with less than an inch to spare between us.
“Congratulations,” I squeak out. “You didn’t even buy a ticket. How
did you…?”

“I bought one hundred and forty-two tickets,
dummy,” he says.

My heart trips a beat. “You did?” All he had
to buy was one. I put the winning number on the piece of paper I
gave him.

He nods, and he takes my face in his hands.
His thumbs draw little circles on my cheeks as his fingers thread
into the hair at my temples.

“You didn’t look at the paper I gave you….”
My heart is pounding like mad.

“What paper?” he asks. His smile is soft and
inviting, and I want to fall into him.

“The one you put in your pocket.”

His brow furrows.

“Never mind,” I say, breathless. He spent 142
dollars for a kiss he already owned in more ways than one. If I
loved this man any more, it would be dangerous.

He looks down into my eyes, not moving. He’s
going to kiss me, right? “What’s the plan here?”

“I’m going to kiss my girl,” he says, smiling
at me.

My breath hitches.

“But you have to say yes, first.” He hasn’t
let me go. He’s holding me tightly, forcing me to meet his eyes.
“This isn’t going to be a one-time thing.”

I can’t even think, and he wants me to
commit?

“It’s not,” I breathe.

“You promise?” His gaze searches mine like
he’s going to find the secrets to the universe there.

“I swear on your life,” I say.

He chuckles. “My life?”

I nod.

His eyebrows draw together. “Aren’t you
supposed to swear on your own life?”

“My life means nothing if you’re not in
it.”

His hands start to tremble against my face,
and he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Logan’s brothers start to chant, “Kiss, kiss,
kiss, kiss…,” and the crowd joins in.

“You better kiss me,” I say, “or they’re
going to get restless.” A tear rolls down my cheek, and he brushes
it back with his thumb, his gaze soft and warm.

His eyes open, and he leans closer to me. I
step onto my tiptoes to get to him because I can’t wait one more
second. He stops a breath away from me, just like he did in the
room. He waits. “You have to close the distance,” he says to me.
He’s making me choose.

I fall into him and press my lips to his. He
freezes. But then he starts to kiss me. And all the fireworks at
the state fair couldn’t compare to the ones that go off in my head.
His lips are gentle but urgent. They’re kind but insistent. They’re
soft but firm. His head tilts, and he licks across the seam of my
lips. I open for him, a whimper leaving my throat completely
unbidden. His tongue touches mine, and the velvet rasp of him
searching my mouth makes my knees begin to shake. I tangle my
tongue with his, and nothing ever felt so right as being with him.
God, this man can kiss. He steals my thoughts, taking me inside him
and refusing to let me go. I don’t want to let go. I want to kiss
him forever and never even come up for air.

Somewhere in the distance I hear the
announcer as he coughs into the microphone, but I don’t care. And
neither does Sean. He kisses me and keeps on kissing me until he
wipes the memory of every other kiss I have ever experienced from
my head. There will never be another kiss like this. Not for me.
He’s the one. He will always be the one.

“We’re going to have to get the hose, I
think,” the announcer says. I open my eyes, and Sean opens his at
exactly the same time. His withdraws his tongue from my mouth and
closes his lips, kissing me quickly, again and again, and then he
lets me go. I wobble on my feet, and he reaches out a hand to
steady me, chuckling as he does.

“You okay?” he asks. He holds onto my elbow
until he slings an arm around my shoulders.

I nod. I can’t speak. I can’t gather enough
wits.

The crowd goes wild. Sean takes my hand and
leads me to the edge of the stage. My wobbly knees will barely
carry me, but I follow. Logan and his brothers high five Sean as we
approach, and Emily and Friday just laugh.

“How was it?” Emily asks.

I don’t need to answer. They can see it on my
face. I look up at Sean, and he smiles down at me. He’s everything
I ever wanted. I can’t imagine my life without him.
“Earth-shattering,” I admit. He squeezes me, his face glowing. I
narrow my gaze and smack my lips. “But for some reason, he tastes
like pickles.”

“Oh my God,” Emily squeals. “So does Logan!”
She shoots them a quizzical glance.

Sean flushes scarlet. There’s a story there.
I just don’t know what it is. But he’ll tell me. I won’t let him
avoid it.

He reaches into his pocket and pops a handful
of jelly beans into his mouth. Logan does the same. Logan points to
Sean’s mouth. “Dude,” he says. “That color’s not great on you.”

I look at Sean again, and my lipstick is
smudged all over his lips. I laugh. I must look a sight if he looks
like that. He wipes at the corners of my lips with his thumbs.
“Next time, I’ll wear pink,” I whisper.

“I don’t care what you wear,” he says. His
gaze is hot, and my belly flips. “I’d like to see you wearing
nothing.” He looks into my eyes, his expression full of longing. He
presses his lips to mine briefly. “I can’t get used to the fact
that I can kiss you whenever I want.”

“Says who?” I taunt.

“That’s what boyfriends do, Lacey,” he says,
as if he needs to remind me. My stomach flutters again. I step onto
my tiptoes and pull his head down to mine. I kiss him, holding onto
the back of his neck, until we’re both breathless, and I’m
whimpering.

“Yea,” I agree. “That’s what boyfriends
do.”

If you haven’t read Tall, Tatted and
Tempting, Smart, Sexy and Secretive, or Calmly, Carefully,
Completely, you can keep reading for a sneak peek at each of the
books! They’re all part of The Reed Brothers series.

Tall, Tatted, and Tempting

Smart, Sexy, and Secretive

Calmly, Carefully, Completely

Finally Finding Faith

Tall, Tatted, and Tempting

Book 1 in The Reed Brothers Series

Logan

I don’t know her name, but she looks familiar
to me. She’s a tight package in a short skirt that makes me imagine
the curves under her plump little ass. That skirt is made to draw
attention, and she has all of mine. I’m so hard I can’t get up from
behind the table where I’m drawing a tat for a client on
paper.  I reach down and adjust my junk, the metallic scrape
of the zipper against my dick not nearly enough to calm my raging
hard on. I shouldn’t have gone commando today. I hope Paul did some
laundry this morning.

Her nipples are hard beneath the ribbed shirt
she’s wearing, and she pulls her sleeve back to show me something.
But I can’t take my eyes from her tits long enough to look at them.
She shoves her wrist toward my face, and I have to jerk my eyes
away. Shit. She caught me. I would tell her I’m a guy, I can’t help
it…or at least I would if I could talk.

I see her mouth move out of the corner of my
eye. She’s talking to me. Or at least she’s mouthing something at
me. No one really talks to me since I can’t hear. I haven’t heard a
word since I was thirteen years old. She’s talking again. When I
don’t answer, she looks at my oldest brother Paul, who rolls his
eyes and smacks the center of his head with his fist.

“Stop looking at her tits, dumbass.” He says
the words as he signs them, and her face flushes. But there’s a
grin tugging at the corners of her mouth at the same time.

I roll my eyes and sign back. Shut up. She’s
fucking beautiful.

He translates for her. I would groan aloud,
but I don’t. No sound has left my throat since I lost my hearing.
Well, I talked for a while after that. But not for long. Not after
a boy on the playground said I sounded like a frog. Now I don’t
talk at all. It’s better that way.

“He says you’re beautiful,” he tells her.
“That’s why he was ogling your tits like a twelve-year-old.”

I flip him off, and he laughs, holding out
his hands like he’s surrendering to the cops. “What?” he asks,
still signing. But she can hear him. “If you’re going to be rude
and sign around her, I’m going to tell her what you say.”

Like I have another choice besides signing.
You never heard of a secret code between brothers? I sign.

“You start whispering secrets in my ear,
dickhead, and I’ll knock your head off your shoulders.”

You can try, asswipe.

He laughs. “He’s talking all romantic to me,”
he tells her. “Something about kissing his ass.” She’s grinning
now. The smile hits me hard enough I’d be on my knees if I wasn’t
stuck behind that table.  She brushes a strand of jet-black
hair back from her face, tucking it—along with a lock of light
blue—behind her ear.

I watch her open her mouth to start to speak.
But she looks over at my brother instead. “He can read lips?” she
asks.

“Depends on how much he likes you,” my
brother says with a shrug. “Or how ornery he’s feeling that day.”
He raises his eyebrows at me, and then his gaze travels toward the
tabletop. Shit. He saw me adjust my junk. “I’d say he likes you a
lot.”

This time, she closes her eyes tightly,
wincing as she smiles. She doesn’t say anything. But then she looks
directly at me and says, “I want a tattoo.” She points toward the
front of the store. She’s still talking, but I can’t see her lips
move if she’s not looking at me. I want to follow her face, to jump
up so I can watch those cherry-red lips move as she speaks to me.
To me. God knows she’s speaking to me. But I don’t. I force myself
to keep my seat. She looks back at me as she finishes talking and
her lips form an O. 

“Sorry,” she says. “You didn’t catch any of
that, did you?” She heaves a sigh and says, “The girl up front said
to see you for a tattoo.”

I look over at my brother who just finished a
tat and isn’t working on anything at the moment. Friday—really,
that’s her name—laughs and signs, “You’re welcome.”

I scratch my head and grin. Friday set me up.
She does it all the time. And sometimes it works out well. She
sends all the hot girls to me. And the not-so-hot girls. And the
girls who want to sleep with the deaf guy because they heard he’s
amazing in the sack. I’m the guy they don’t have to talk to. I’m
the guy they don’t have to pretend with because I wouldn’t know
what they’re saying regardless.

If this girl is just there to sleep with me,
we can skip all the tattoo nonsense.

“Don’t even think about it,” my brother says.
“She wants a tat. That’s all.”

How do you know what she wants?

I just know, he signs.  This time he
doesn’t speak the words. Don’t try to lay this one.

I hold my hands up in question asking him
why. “She’s not from around here,” he says, but he signs, Not our
kind.

Oh, I get it. She’s from the other side of
the tracks. I don’t mind. She might be rich, but she would still
love what I can do for her. I reach for her hand and squeeze it
gently so she’ll look at me. I flip her hand over and point to her
wrist. My fingers play across the iridescent blue veins beneath her
tender skin, and I draw a circle with the tip of my finger asking
her, Here?

Her mouth falls open. Goose bumps rise along
her arm. Hell, yeah, I’m good at this.

I stand up and touch the side of her neck,
and she brushes my hand away, shaking her head. Her lips are
pressed tightly together.

I look directly at her boobs and lick my
lips. Then I reach out and drag one finger down the slope of her
breast. Here? I mouth.

I don’t even see it coming. Her tiny fist
slams into my nose. I’ve had girls slap me before, but I’ve never
had one punch me in the face. Fuck, that hurt. The wet, coppery
taste of blood slides over my lips, and I reach up to wipe it away.
My nose is gushing. Paul thrusts a towel in my hands and tilts my
head back.

Fuck, that hurts. He presses the bridge of my
nose, and I can’t see his mouth or his hands over the bunched-up
towel, so I have no idea if he’s talking to me. Or if he’s just
laughing his ass off. He lifts the towel, but blood trickles down
over my lips again. I see her standing there for a brief second,
her fists clenched at her sides as she watches me suffer.

Shit, that hurts.

Then she turns on the heels of her black
boots and walks away. I want to call out to her to get her to stay.
I would say I’m sorry, but I can’t. I can’t call her back to me. I
start to rise, but Paul shoves me back into the chair. Sit down, he
signs. I think it might be broken.

I see a piece of paper on the floor and it’s
crumpled. I take the towel from Paul and press it to my nose,
pointing to the piece of paper.  He picks it up and looks at
it. “Did she drop this?” he asks.

I nod. It’s damp from her sweaty palms. I
unfold it and look down. It’s an intricate design, and you have to
look hard to find the hidden pictures. I see a guitar, the strings
broken and sticking out at odd angles. At the end of the strings
are small blossoms. I turn the picture, looking over the towel I’m
still holding to my nose with one hand. Paul replaces it with a
clean one. My nose is still bleeding. Son of a bitch. I look closer
at the blossoms. They’re not blossoms at all. They’re teeny, tiny
shackles. Like handcuffs but more medieval. Most people would see
the beauty of that drawing. But I see pain. I see things she
probably wouldn’t want anyone to see.