Second Chance Boyfriend

heart rate increasing. I hope she’s forgiven me. I’m dying to see her.
    Are you naked, Drew? Because I could totally get on board with that image.
    I burst out laughing at her text and quickly reply back.
    You want me naked? That can be arranged.
    I’m only in sweats, not even wearing any underwear. That I’m thinking like this almost makes me want to laugh.
    Also makes me want to suggest we indulge in some of that phone sex/sexting thing we talked about a few nights ago, which sort of blows my mind.
    But with Fable, I’m willing to do just about anything.
    Only if I’m naked with you.
    A few words typed on a screen and I’m hard as steel. Damn, this girl.
    My doorbell rings and I go completely still. Who the hell is that? I head toward the door and open it, shock rendering me frozen when I find Fable standing on my doorstep, her cell phone clutched in her hand. A wicked smile curves her lips and I let my gaze wander over her.
    She’s wearing bright pink cotton shorts and a black long-sleeve T-shirt that clings to her breasts and makes them look huge. Her hair is pulled back in a long braid, wild blonde strands brushing her cheeks. Her face is devoid of makeup with the exception of some gloss slicking her lips, making them extra shiny. Extra kissable.
    My girl is gorgeous. Those shorts should be criminal. They’re like a lethal weapon. I swear if I keep staring at her legs I’ll keel over from witnessing too much hotness.
    “I keep getting these crazy messages from some random guy.” She holds her phone up. I see the last message I sent her on the screen, along with her accompanying reply. She’s just as guilty. “He says he wants to get naked with me.”
    I lean against the door. If she wants to play this game, fine. I’m up for it. Might make things more interesting. “Hmm, weird. Why would anyone want to get naked with you?”
    She rests her hands on her hips. “I don’t know. Looks like you’re almost naked.”
    Glancing down at myself, I scratch my bare chest. I can feel her eyes on me and I look up, watching her as she blatantly checks me out. Just like I blatantly checked her out only moments ago. “I assume you’ve accepted my apology?”
    Her expression changes in an instant. Those pretty green eyes dim and her mouth softens. “I’m the one who should apologize. I feel like I’ve been picking fights all over the place.”
    I grab her hand and yank her inside, shutting the door behind her. Without giving her a chance to think, let alone escape, I pin her against the door and hold her there with my body, my hands on her waist. Her skin is warm, I can feel her heat through the thin barrier of her shirt and I want her.
    Beneath me, over me, with me. Always.
    “Who else are you fighting with?” I slip my fingers beneath the hem of her shirt so I can touch soft, pliant flesh.
    “My brother.” A shaky breath escapes her. “I’m sorry we argued last night, Drew.”
    I love how she always cuts through the bullshit. There are no lingering misunderstandings or grudges. We argue, we challenge each other, we apologize, we move on.
    “I’m sorry too.” I lean in closer to her and inhale the subtle scent of her shampoo. She smells so good. Everything about her smells amazing. She’s warm and fragrant and soft in my arms, her breasts nestled against my bare chest, her arms going loosely around my waist. “Wanna have makeup sex?”
    She giggles—and I don’t think I’ve ever heard Fable giggle—just before I rain kisses along her slender neck. The giggles turn instantly into a low moan and she slides her hands up my back, her nails skimming my skin. “I would love to have make-up sex.”
    Before she can say another word I lift my head, settle my mouth on hers. I’m hungry for her sweet lips, her tongue. I devour her, holding her in place as I cup her head with my hands, my fingers tangling in her hair, ruining her braid. She whimpers against my mouth, her hands diving beneath the loose waistband of my sweats, and I hear her murmur of pleasure when she discovers I have no underwear on.
    “You are so bad,” she whispers, her tongue darting out to lick my lower lip as she shoves my sweats down so they fall in a heap around my ankles. I step out of them, kick them out of the way, my tongue doing a slow search of the inside of her mouth.
    No one who knows me would ever consider me a bad boy. I left that image up to other guys, always happy to stay in my good-guy place. Girls preferred