Page 119 of Chasing Headlines

“You have concussion symptoms.” A cool hand slid over my forehead, like I might have a fever instead.

She blurred then came back into focus. I found her hand with mine. “I promise I won’t feel taken advantage of. I like having your hands on me.”

“What?” She pulled away. “What are you talking about?”

I blinked. Tried to get two images of a pacing, frowning blond chick with amazingly long legs to—Wait.Where am I?Oh, there was only one hot girl who needed to sit in my lap. Not a . . . kaleidoscope of them.

“Coop!”

My head snapped up, but getting my eyes to open, again, was taking extra effort. “What coop? Are there chickens? Am I back on the farm?”

“Oh God. Breslin Cooper?”

I frowned up at her. “Don’t know him.”

“And we’re in deep shit. If coach finds out, I’ll get in trouble for not taking you straight to the ER. You and Antonio could be suspended.”

Sounded bad. Maybe I said it out loud. All I know is she finally sat back down beside me. Not exactly where she should be, but closer. Light colored eyes met my gaze.

Those lips glinted. I leaned toward them. Toward her. God, I needed a taste. My head pounded, but everything clicked into focus. “I want you.”

Her breath puffed against my jaw . . .

(Olivia)

The hottest contestant for “idiot of the week” stared at me from inches away. I swallowed as my heart jumped into my throat, only to figure out it was too big to fit there. It pounded and ached. My whole body ran hotter, somehow, with my heart in the wrong place.

“Coop. This isn't?—”

Bleary blue eyes held my gaze. Skin crinkled near his temples as his mouth turned up into a smile. This was wrong. I couldnotdo this. Ishouldnot do this.

Thisbeing the one secret dream I'd had for at least two years. Since the first time I saw him play on tv. I was a stupid teenaged girl with a crush on a not-quite a celebrity high school ballplayer I'd never met. One I'd probably never meet, but I would kiss my teddy bear at night and pretend . . .

His lips, his real ones tasted so much better than cloth and fake fur.

They were sweet and salty with the tang of bitter hops. I didn't like beer, but I didn't mind it when it was on his tongue. Sweetening the rapid puffs of his breath. Thick and whisper-soft, his lips caressed mine.

I couldn't move. Something nagged in the back of my brain that this wasn't right. Breslin in possession of all his Storm Cooper-ness would never stand for it. Because he couldn't standme.Right? Right. So, this was bad and I needed to put a stop to it.

Yes. No. Definitely a stop . . .

Our kiss broke. My mouth opened to say words. Something that would deter him, or at least myself. “Ah, that is . . .” I tried. I did.

And then my whole body betrayed me as I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him like I would drown and die without his mouth on mine. He didn't fight it. His lips thinned and opened. I clutched the back of his head and pulled him closer. His tongue darted into my mouth, stroking mine as he deepened our kiss.

A torrential heat welled inside me. It surged through my limbs as I clutched him tighter. His shirt bunched beneath my fingertips. And the hidden dark part of my brain wanted to know what it would be like to feel every inch of his skin against mine.

His fingers tightened against my ribs. I felt myself slipping, sliding to the floor. His knee caressed the inside of my thigh. His lips biting against my chin, scruff scraping at my throat. He groaned—like he wanted me just the same as I'dalwayswanted him.

My head spun in circles as he moved lower, his hands traveled higher, sliding across the cup of my bra. His other leg fit between mine, his hand guiding my knee up to curl around his waist. He settled into me, the me that was selfish and needy, wanton and desperate. His mouth claimed mine, again. So insistent. So warm and lush, I wanted his lips on every part of my skin.

His bulge pressed into my stomach. “God, you're sexy,” he hissed against my ear. His breath puffed oxygen into a starving fire, and I burned. I closed my eyes, whimpering as my body arched, pleading and aching for him.

Only him.

His hand found my breast beneath my bra. I tightened my legs and rose up to meet his lips. Our mouths reckless, biting, heated. His shirt on the floor, my back against the couch. I found his belt with my fingers and pulled. He paused and sat back, that smirky grin of his in place beneath dazed eyes. He tugged my shirt over my head. My bra fell away, and he surged forward, pressing me up and into the couch as his legs fit beneath my rear.

Skin to skin, our mouths met again. Softer, sweeter. His large hand fit over my thigh, thumb drawing tingly circles into the soft, so-sensitive skin. “Breslin . . .” I moaned. I tried to pull him closer, my hand slipping behind his head as I kissed him with everything I had . . .