The Score (Off-Campus #3)(5)
I seem to remember Hannah telling me Allie is a drama major. Yeah. Sounds about right.
“Please?”
Her pleading expression doesn’t let up. And I’ve always been a sucker for big blue eyes. Especially when they belong to cute blondes with great racks.
“You win,” I relent. “I’ll keep you company, okay?”
She lights up. “What movie should we watch?”
A groan lodges in my throat. My Friday night went from hot threesome sex to babysitting my best friend’s girlfriend’s best friend.
Oh, and I’m still rock-hard thanks to Kelly and Michelle’s goodbye kisses.
Fucking wonderful.
2
Allie
My self-control rests in the hands of Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis, a man known for zero self-control. Ergo, I’m in trouble. Big f*cking trouble.
I won’t do it, though. I won’t call Sean. Doesn’t matter that twenty minutes ago he sent me a picture of the two of us from our Mexico trip last year. He’d used one of those framing apps to draw a big red heart around our faces.
It had been a really good trip…
I push the memory aside and grab the remote control off the coffee table. “Do you have Netflix linked to your TV?” I glance back at Dean, who still looks aggravated by my presence.
And either I’m imagining it or he has an erection. But I’m nice enough not to tease him about it, because in his defense, he was five seconds away from having sex with two girls before I showed up.
My gaze travels over his bare chest. I cannot tell a lie—his chest is absolutely spectacular. The guy’s ripped. Tall and lean, with perfectly sculpted muscles. And he’s rocking some scruff—sexy blond bristles that shadow his perfectly chiseled jaw. It really is a shame. Someone this douchey shouldn’t be allowed to look this good.
“Yeah. Go ahead and pick something to watch,” he answers. “I’m just popping upstairs to jerk it and then I’ll join you.”
“Okay, I think I’m in the mood for—wait, what?”
But he’s already gone, leaving me gaping at the empty doorway. He’s popping upstairs to do what? He was joking, right?
Despite my better judgment, I picture it. Dean up in his room. One hand wrapped around his dick, the other hand…cupping his balls? Clutching the sheets? Or maybe he’s standing up and gripping the side of his desk, his features drawn as he bites his bottom lip…
And why am I trying to solve the mystery of how this guy masturbates?
Shaking myself out of it, I click the remote until I find Netflix, then start browsing the latest movie titles.
Less than five minutes later, Dean saunters back into the room. Thankfully he put on some pants. Except he ditched his boxers in the process, which I know because his sweatpants are riding so low on his hips I can almost see…places I have no interest in seeing.
His chest is still bare, and there’s a slight flush to his cheeks.
“Did you seriously jerk off just now?” I demand.
He nods as if it’s no biggie. “What, you think I can sit through a whole movie with blue balls?”
I gawk at him. “So you can’t have sex with anyone while I’m in the house, but you can go upstairs and do that?”
A wolfish grin stretches his mouth. “I could’ve done it down here, but then you would’ve been too tempted to take over for me. I was trying to be nice.”
It’s hard not to roll my eyes. So I don’t bother fighting the urge. “Trust me, I would have kept my hands to myself.”
“With my cock right there in the open? No way. You wouldn’t be able to help yourself.” He arches a brow. “I have a great cock.”
“Uh-huh. I’m sure you do.”
“You don’t believe me? I can show you a picture.” He reaches for the phone on the coffee table. Then he stops and grabs the waistband of his sweatpants instead. “Actually, I can show you the real thing if you want.”
“I don’t want. In the slightest.” I gesture to the TV. “I picked that one. Have you seen it?”
Dean grimaces at the movie poster on the screen. “For chrissake, that’s what you chose? There’re like three new horror movies we could watch. Or Jason Statham’s entire filmography.”
“No horror movies,” I say firmly. “I don’t like to be scared.”
“Fine. So let’s do an action movie.”
“I don’t like violence.”
His cheeks hollow in frustration. “Baby doll, I am not watching a movie about—” He squints at the screen “‘a woman’s life-changing journey after being diagnosed with a terminal illness.’ No f*cking way.”
“It’s supposed to be really good,” I protest. “It won an Oscar!”
“You know what else won an Oscar? Silence of the Lambs. Jaws. The Exorcist.” He sounds smug. “And they’re all horror movies.”
“We can argue about this all night, but I’m not watching anything with blood or sharks or explosions. Deal with it.”
Dean’s teeth are visibly clenched. Then his jaw relaxes and he releases a heavy breath. “Fine. If I have to suffer through this crap movie, I’m smoking a joint first.”