More Than This
Page 41

   I take my cap off, run my hand over the back of my head, then put my cap back on backwards so she can see me better. “I, uh . . .” I blow out a breath.
   “What’s wrong, Jake? You’re all nervous and sweaty . . . What’s going on?”
   “So, my grandma,” I start to say. She leans back a bit, confused about where this is going. “She started a college fund for me when I was born.”
   She relaxes a little.
   “Anyway,” I continue, “Mom says Grandma came from a family with old money, whatever that means. The money was there for me when I finished high school, but I got a full scholarship, so obviously I don’t really need the money for college.”
   “Okay . . .” She looks so damn confused, it’s kind of adorable.
   “My parents said the money was mine for me to use however I want. They gave me a few options: put it in the bank, donate some, invest some . . . But they really thought I should buy a house near campus. That way I wouldn’t live on campus, distracted by the ‘college life,’ as they called it—no frat houses and stuff. They know that I want to focus on baseball and may get sidetracked like I did before, and they trust me enough to let me live on my own. Plus, after I graduate, I could rent it out and make a killing. But at the end of the day, they left it up to me what I did with the money. They would have been fine with my blowing it all in Vegas . . . Okay, maybe that’s taking it a little too far.”
   She still looks confused. “So . . . Are you saying that you bought a house?”
   “Dad looked at a couple of houses, and one weekend we toured them together. So yes, I ended up buying one, Kayla—I bought a house. It’s a cottage—not a condo or anything. It has three bedrooms, a porch, and a little backyard. It’s pretty decent.” I look at her and wait. “Say something,” I plead.
   “Um . . . Good job? I don’t know what you want me to say. That’s awesome, Jake.”
   “But you didn’t answer me.”
   “Did you ask a question?”
   Oh yeah. She has no idea where I’m going with this.
   “Will you move in with me?” I ask, looking straight at her.
   “What? I can’t do that, Jake. It’s your house, and you need to focus on baseball—that’s why you bought it, right?”
   “I bought it thinking that Cam and Logan would live with me. But they want to live the college life,” I say, rolling my eyes.
   “If you really want me to live with you, why are you asking me now?”
   “Because I don’t want you to be a stripper!” I blurt out.
   “What?” she says through a laugh.
   “Truth is, I wanted to ask you a long time ago, but I didn’t want you to think I was asking with, like, other intentions in mind.” I shrug. “I didn’t want you to feel like we had to be in a relationship. If I asked too soon, you’d think it was just my pity talking and say no. But your pride would later get in the way when you’d realize there were no other options and you’d flake out on college altogether and become a stripper, and I really don’t want that—”
   “Jake, stop!” she says, giggling.
   I’m rambling like an idiot. The thing is, I really want her to move in with me, even if we live in separate rooms. I just want to be around her all the time any way I can—forever.
   “Are you sure?” she asks cautiously.
   “More sure than anything, ever.”
   “Okay, then.” She smiles.
   “Okay? As in okay, you’re going to move in with me?” I’m so hopeful that a huge toothy grin spreads across my face.
   She nods a few times, smiling back.
   “You, Mikayla Jones, have just made me so happy.” I pull her closer to me. She’s straddling my waist now—in her bikini. I grab her ass once and kiss her forehead. I want to do more, but she pushes me away and stands up.
   “We have so much planning and decorating to do,” she says excitedly, walking backwards. “When can we go see it?”
   “We can take a trip tomorrow, if you want. But I can show you photos of it on my computer right now.”
   “Well, come on, then—show me.” She turns around and marches toward the house.
   “Sure,” I yell out. “I just need a minute,” I add, holding up a finger.
   She stops and looks at me quizzically. I point to my dick. She laughs out loud, shaking her head and walking through the sliding door.
   I got it bad.
 
 
THIRTY-ONE
JAKE
   After my dick settles, I head up to my room to get my MacBook and show her the pictures of my house—our house. When I get there, though, I see that she’s already sitting on the bed, still in her damn bikini. I don’t look at her too long, because I know I’m already hard again and I haven’t even touched her. Kayla—in that bikini, with so little between us, on my bed—kills me.
   I try to keep my breathing even and not trip over my own feet as I walk over to my desk. I sit down and open my MacBook then turn around to tell her a bit more about the house.
   But when I turn, she’s right in front of me, my eyes level with her tits and her nipples poking out through her bikini top. She sits on my lap and turns us so we’re facing my desk again. She’s wearing virtually nothing, and I’m in workout shorts, the material so thin I’m sure she can feel me. She makes a strangled moan as she makes herself comfortable—on my dick.
   I rest my chin on her shoulder and click around on my MacBook to bring up the photos. Her hair smells like roses. It always smells like roses. I run my nose along her jaw, breathing her in. She sighs and moves on me, moaning so quietly you’d miss it if it weren’t the only sound in the room.
   I have to clear my throat a few times before words even come out. “So, this is the house from the outside,” I start, trying so hard to keep my mind from going where it’s going.
   “Uh-huh,” she says, but her eyes are closed and she’s breathing heavily.
   My mouth goes dry. I click to the next picture. “And this is the kitchen . . .”
   “Mm-hm.” Her eyes are still closed, her lips parted. She’s almost panting, slowly moving on me.
   I open the next one. “And this is—”
   She grabs my hand, cutting me off, and lowers it to her stomach . . . lower and lower until it’s down her bikini bottom, and I’m touching her. “Fuck,” I grunt into her shoulder as she starts riding my fingers. My dick is so frickin’ hard, I could swing it and hit a home run. She starts moaning and moving, and I can feel her wetness on my palm. I start to kiss her neck, but she abruptly stands up. I look at her confused.