Fearless by Abby Brooks (best books for 8th graders .txt) 📗

She leaned in closer. Lips parting. Eyes hooded. Head tilted. This woman, my future employee, was coming in for a kiss and I didn’t hate the idea. In fact, I was a massive fan of the idea. I wanted to taste her, to touch her, to skate my fingers under her shirt and acquaint myself with the breasts I’d seen under her silk robe.

But, as the sober one in the situation, I needed to do the critical thinking for both of us.

“You, my friend, are very drunk.” I helped Evie back on balance and let her go.

She blinked her eyes open and frowned, surprised to find me so far away. “I am drunk.” She cradled our burgers and fries, smashing them to her chest as one finger absently ran along her bottom lip. As much as I wanted my midnight snack—Mike’s was next level grub—I mentally surrendered them to her, then reminded myself to kill Austin and Jude the next time I saw them. If they hadn’t gotten her drunk, I wouldn’t be standing on her porch dodging drunken advances from my hot new employee.

The last thing I needed was chemistry.

And holy shit, was there chemistry.

“I should probably get to bed.” She leaned against her door, one arm tossed carelessly above her head. “Unless you’d like to join me for a nightcap.”

“Careful now,” I said with a laugh. “One could almost call this sexual harassment.”

“That’s okay.” She played with the ends of her hair. “I don’t feel harassed at all.”

“I wasn’t talking about you…”

“You’re so funny, Alex.” She pushed off the door and started playing with the ends of mine. “I can call you Alex, right?”

My body rioted, but I deliberately put more space between us. “It’s better than sexy neighbor man.”

Her pretty lips formed a pout. “Hey…I thought we had a deal. No mentioning that.”

“Now, now. You had a deal.” I took another step back, my gaze running along her mussed hair. The makeup smeared under her eyes. The cheesy grin, complete with french fry dust in the corner of her mouth. I closed the distance between us to swipe it away. As my thumb grazed her bottom lip, Evie’s eyes met mine. She grabbed my coat and pulled me closer, kissing me deeply. Sensuously. A groan worked its way up her throat and I threaded my hands into her hair, my body working on instinct, ready to set the chemistry between us ablaze.

And then my brain caught up to what was happening. Not only was I too selfish for a relationship—and something told me whatever happened between Evie and me couldn’t stay casual—but I’d hired the woman so I could have access to her house. The last thing I needed was to complicate things with sex.

I dropped my hands and stepped away. “You should get in your house, eat your snack, and go to bed. I hear your boss is big into punctuality.”

Evie nodded, her smile brightening her face. “Goodnight, Alex.”

I raised a hand. “Goodnight.”

As I climbed into my car to make the short trip into my own driveway, I realized it had been a very good night indeed.

Chapter Eleven

Evie

Still clutching the greasy bag of food to my chest, I closed my front door. My entire being glowed with happiness as I leaned against the thing, imagining Alex lingering on the porch, his hand pressed to the red paint, as if he couldn’t bear to break the connection between us. One inch of wood, fiberglass, and whatever else went into a door separated his fingers from my back. I could still feel his lips on mine. His hands in my hair. The roughness of his touch that had my nipples pebbled and my lower muscles throbbing.

What a night.

What a glorious, wonderful, perfectly fearless night.

Alex Prescott drove me home. He bought me hamburgers and fries. Took care of me when I was too drunk to do it myself, then sexually harassed me on my front porch, before kissing me like I’d never been kissed before.

“I freaking love tequila.” I sighed dreamily, then pushed off the door and climbed upstairs to eat french fries in bed.

“I freaking hate tequila.”

I threw an arm over my head and rolled away from the sun shrieking through my window. Something crushed against my cheek. A fry.

A fry?

What in the world happened that ended up with a french fry stuck to my cheek?

I blinked, groaned, then blinked again. Maybe Izzy drove me home and we stopped for snacks...

That didn’t quite seem right. Someone had driven me home, but it wasn’t Izzy.

As I stared at my feet in the middle of a bed designed for royalty, I tried to stitch the night back together. We’d shared a table with Alex and his friends, who suggested we play a drinking game…and then things got blurry. Really blurry. I’d either vastly underestimated the curiosity of the residents of Wildrose Landing or overestimated my ability to handle tequila.

My clothes traced a drunken trail from the bathroom to the bed. Jeans near the door. Shirt a few steps later. Bra dangling half off the bed—leaving me in underwear and a crooked tank top. A greasy bag sat on the floor….

Wait…

Did Alex drive me home last night?

A memory surfaced. Me with my back pressed against the front door. My arm flung over my head like I thought I was a pinup model seducing the world with my sex-kitten gaze.

Oh, no, no, no, no, no…

Alex did drive me home last night.

And how did my drunk brain think to repay him? By flirting mercilessly, then stealing his burger and fries to devour in a fourposter bed like a deranged chipmunk beefing up for winter.

The words sexual harassment danced through the memory…words he’d spoken.

He’d been joking. I was sure of it. He had to be.

Please, please, please tell me he was joking.

Oh, shit. I kissed him, didn’t I? He’d been a perfect gentleman and I kissed him.

What kind of idiot threw herself at her boss before she officially started