His Sexy Cheerleader (The Halloween Honeys) Read online

  But I’d blown my budget on my current decorations. Vampire Nixon and MAGA-hat wearing zombie guy hadn’t come cheap even if I had found a printer who had agreed to print up the custom decorations at half his regular price for the university discount.

  A soft knock at the door startled me. I turned to see Oz in the doorway.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked bluntly, too distracted by my current dilemma to worry with manners.

  “I was passing by and ran into Lexi. She’s not too happy with you right now, by the way.” He glanced around at my half-finished decorations, his brow lifting at the MAGA guy. “Nice. I like it. MAGA zombie. Appropriate.”

  Was I imagining things or had Oz totally got my joke? A smile tugged at my mouth. “Right? I thought it was pretty scary.”

  “Agreed but might it be a little—”

  My smile morphed into a scowl. “Yeah, I get it. I might not have thought my concept out clearly enough.”

  “No, don’t get me wrong, I think it’s pretty cool, very high-concept, but considering your audience, might be a little reaching.”

  I sighed, hating that he was right. I let my gaze wander the room, wondering how I was going to salvage the situation in time and with so little budget left. I couldn’t exactly return what I had created. “Well, I’ll just have to find a way to make the best of things, I guess,” I said with a heavy dose of misery. “Or find a new sorority.”

  “Ouch, is it that bad?”

  “I think I might’ve pushed the envelope a bit,” I admitted, biting my lip. “I’m not sure Stacy will find the humor.”

  “Is she a political science major?” he asked.

  “Um, no. I think she’s doing something with fashion design,” I answered. “I’ve never really paid much attention. We don’t run in the same circles.”

  To be fair, I didn’t run in the same circles as any of my sorority sisters. I was the odd girl out. It was safe to say that I wasn’t the same person today as I was when I started three years ago. If I were starting all over again, I doubt I’d be involved with a sorority. Not that it hadn’t been a fun experience, as it turned out, I didn’t have a lot in common with my sisters and that made for awkward conversations at times.

  The altercation with Lexi was just one of many that’d been happening as of late.

  “So, you have time, just trash the idea and start fresh,” Oz suggested with a shrug.

  “I don’t have the budget,” I growled. “Not everyone has a trust fund to dip into.”

  “No? Damn, you should get one. They come in handy.” When I didn’t laugh at his joke, he smothered his smile and said, “How about this, let me do you a solid and I’ll cover the cost for the new decorations. Whatever you want.”

  “That’s the last thing I need, you throwing your money around.”

  “Do you ever get tired lugging that pride around?” he teased.

  “Why would you want to buy me all new decorations?” I countered with suspicion. “Since when are you such a humanitarian?”

  “I didn’t know you knew me so well.”

  I had the grace to blush. “I guess I don’t.”

  “All right then. I don’t mind helping out for a good cause. It’s for kids, right? It’s not like I’m offering to pay to redecorate your sorority house. Don’t get it twisted. This seems like a small enough thing that I can do and it’ll be a big help. So, let me help you.”

  Damn, he was persuasive.

  He made a solid point. I was between a rock and a hard spot. By letting him pay for new decorations, I wasn’t agreeing to anything other than letting him rack some karma points and there was no harm in that, right?

  I really didn’t have any choice in the matter. Lexi was, no doubt, blabbering to Stacy about my decorations and Stacy was probably having a conniption, and I didn’t have time to field one of her epic bitch-fests so I had to chalk this situation up to a learning experience and just accept the help as it was given.

  I forced a smile and said, “All right, rich boy, get your credit card. It’s time to test that limit.”

  “Oh girl, you’re speaking my language,” he said, chuckling. “Lead the way.”

  Chapter 4

  Oz

  What I liked about Layla was she wasn’t shy — when she accepted my offer to buy new decorations for her room at the haunted house, she went balls-to-the-wall and went for it. My credit card got a work out. We went from store to store, bought more Halloween shit than I’ve bought in a lifetime and damn, if I didn’t have a blast doing it.

  And that ain’t no lie.

  Serious, no joke, I had more fun trying out fake blood capsules and testing out the scare factors on various animatronics than I have in a long time. In addition to be hot as fuck, Layla was funny.

  I wasn’t expecting that.

  Hell, to be honest, I didn’t hang out with women for their brains. I’ll keep it real, I liked tits and ass. Nice, fat tits and even fatter asses. Layla had an impressive rack and banging hips but that brain of hers was scary smart.

  I liked it.

  We returned to the haunted mansion, passing Lexi and Stacy as we headed up the stairs. The pinched expression on Lexi’s face telling the story but Stacy looked relieved to see that we were hauling new decorations into the house as well as our take-out dinner because I couldn’t seem to get her to agree to an actual sit-down restaurant.

  “Thank God,” Stacy said, looking over the standard Halloween fare. “Lexi was saying something about politics? This looks pretty normal to me?”

  “She must’ve changed her mind,” Lexi said. “This isn’t what she had going on.”

  Layla didn’t try to hide. “It’s true. I was going with a political theme but after Lexi’s reaction I realized I might’ve taken a wrong turn. So, I’m going with something more traditional.”

  “Good idea,” Stacy said, approving but seemed irritated with Lexi. “Seriously? You dragged me down here for this? I’m so fucking busy. I don’t have time for this kind of crap. I swear to God, Lexi, get a fucking grip. This could’ve been done over text.”

  “I’m sorry, I just thought…”

  But Stacy was already walking away, leaving Lexi behind, stretching an awkward silence between them until Lexi made a small sound of exasperation and trailed after Stacy.

  “I don’t even want to know what the dynamic of that relationship is all about,” Oz said.

  “I couldn’t tell you,” Layla said. “I’m not close to any of my sisters. I’m kinda the black sheep of the house. I don’t even know why they haven’t kicked me out. I think the only reason is because I’m the captain of the cheer squad and appearances are everything.”

  “Why’d you join a sorority if it wasn’t your thing?” I asked, curious.

  “I wanted to belong,” she answered simply. “Seemed the best way to meet people and be a part of something.”

  “But then you realized you didn’t want to be a part of what you’d been accepted into?”

  She sighed, grabbing a box of decorations as she headed up the staircase to her designated room. Whether or not she meant to, she gave me an excellent view of her perfect ass, which made paying attention to her story difficult. “…I don’t know I guess I just changed.”

  I know I must’ve missed something crucial but I couldn’t exactly admit to that so I just nodded sagely as if I understood, which in my experience, was all women wanted anyway.

  “Were you staring at my ass?” she asked, settling the box on a table. Her question caught me off-guard.

  And suddenly, I knew this was a question meant to corner me into a trap. I smiled, placing my box next to hers. Leaning against the table, I regarded her a steady gaze, showing her that I knew her game. “If I say yes, I’m a pig, if I say no, I’m a liar. Which do you prefer? An ugly truth or a pretty lie?”

  “I always prefer an ugly truth over a pretty lie,” she answered.

  “Then, I was staring at your near perfect ass, watching the way your hip
s sway, imagining the way you might feel rolling this hips over my cock.” I waited for the flash of indignation, the heat of anger, maybe even the slap against my face. Instead, I got a cool smile. “Too much honesty?” I teased.

  She moved toward me with a bold seductive gaze that momentarily stunned me. I was used to being the one who called the shots. My stomach trembled as the heat between us grew.

  “That’s not honesty, that’s just part of your game,” she refuted with a murmur, reaching across me for the take-out bag. I released a breath as she smiled and grabbed her cheap burger. She relished her bite, knowing that I didn’t eat much junk food. “Sooo good.”

  “This stuff is going to kill you,” I said, laughing.

  “God willing. I don’t want to live to be a hundred,” she said. “Besides, better living through chemistry I say. Have you seen how many preservatives are in these things?”

  “How do you look so good and treat your body so bad?” I asked, amazed.

  “Genetics, I guess. I’m sure at some point it will catch up to me but I’m totally ready to embrace my inner fat girl when it does.”

  “Hey, nothing wrong with curves in my book,” I said, already imagining Layla with more flesh on her hips and tits. “The softer the peach, the sweeter the juice.”

  “Aren’t you the Renaissance man,” Layla teased, finishing her burger. “You know, doesn’t matter if you treat your body like a temple, you’re going to die at some point.”

  “Yeah, but I’d rather not tempt fate by regularly feeding it carcinogens,” I replied.

  “Fair enough.” She balled up her trash and tossed it in the trash. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “This does not qualify as a date,” I told her.

  “We went someplace, bought some things and ate food. Qualifies in my book. What else is missing?”

  “The opportunity to round first base?” I suggested and she barked a laugh.

  “Like that was going to happen.”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  “You know, you’re good,” she said, eyeing me with amusement. “If I wasn’t onto your style, I’d almost fall for your game.”

  I frowned. “Who said I’m playing games?”

  “Oh, you’re totally playing a game.”

  I folded my arms across my chest, interested to hear her theory. “Please, enlighten me. I’m dying to hear what you think I’m doing.”

  Layla chuckled, surprising me when she came toward me. “How about I show you?”

  “Okay? I didn’t know you were into improv theater.”

  “So, basically, first you make a girl feel, oh, so special,” she said, curling her arm up around my neck, molding her body to mine. I automatically closed my arms around her waist. She fit perfectly against me. “You say the right things, make her laugh, get her to drop her guard, make her think, ‘maybe he’s not a bad guy, after all’.”

  “I’m not a bad guy,” I said, agreeing, though my hands slid down to cup her ass, squeezing and pressing her against my erection. I wanted her so badly. I was suddenly resentful of the layers of clothing between us. “Go on, I like your theory so far.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you do,” she chuckled, rubbing her free hand down my chest to land at my hardened cock. I sucked in a tight breath as she rubbed at the length behind my jeans. “But that’s part of the game.”

  “I told you, I don’t play games.”

  “I beg to differ. You’re playing games right now.”

  “If I’m playing games…what are you doing?” I asked, my breath harsh. “Jesus, girl, you’re killing me…”

  Layla smiled, slow and sexy. “You came here, offered to play the hero, played the gentleman, and now, you’re plying the charm, because the thrill of the chase is what you’re all about. You’re in it to win it, never to keep. You lose interest once you’ve tasted the conquest. You’re the quintessential playboy.” She brushed a lingering kiss across my lips, leaving a tingling mark behind and a raging hunger for more but when I reached for her, she pulled away, stepping out of my grasp.

  Her gaze narrowed as if with pity and disdain at the same time. “You only want what you don’t have. You use people. I’m not about to let you do that to me, Oz. You’re not going to get in my pants. Ever. Although, it’s too bad you’re such an asshole,” her gaze dropped to my now-painful erection “because you look like you’re packing an attraction worth riding.”

  And just like that, any inroads I’d thought I was making with Layla, went up in smoke like a fucking vampire in the midday sun.

  Chapter 5

  Layla

  That kiss was supposed to be just making a point but damn, if I hadn’t turned myself on in the process.

  Yeah, like wow, Oz had a pretty big cock hiding behind those jean zippers. Okay, I might’ve already known that. Not that it would’ve mattered, I’m not a cock-chaser. In my experience, guys with big cocks were notoriously bad lovers because if they were swinging big dicks, they thought they didn’t have to do anything else.

  I’d much rather take a guy with an average-sized dick but a superb skillset with his tongue and fingers than a guy slinging a baby’s arm who didn’t know how to use it.

  But something told me Oz knew what he was doing.

  If I were being honest, I’d caught a little gossip about Oz once from one of my cheer sisters.

  I remembered it very clearly.

  Junior year.

  Jazelle Manriquez had “dated” Oz for about a month, if you could call it that, and all she could talk about was how he fucked like a God.

  It was kinda nauseating.

  “…he does this thing with his fingers and his mouth on your clit…OH MY GOD, I think I saw stars,” Jazelle had exclaimed, moaning as if reenacting the scene for everyone. If I hadn’t been mildly envious I would’ve vomited. I kinda hoped she got herpes. “And then I came not once but three times. I kinda couldn’t stop. I had to push his head away or else he just would’ve kept going!”

  “Why’d you make him stop?” another girl asked, confused. “If it were me, I’d have kept him down there until I passed out.”

  Jazelle giggled, saying, “Because I wanted to hop on that dick. Have you seen Oz’s dick? Jesus, girl, he’s built like a horse. We had to use extra lube just to get it in all the way in. Well, I mean, I am extra small, too, there’s that.”

  I rolled my eyes but kept my comments to myself. If a woman’s vagina could accommodate a human baby, it could handle whatever Oz was packing. However, I was more curious about what he was doing to make Jazelle come multiple times. That was some skill. I’d give him that.

  So, after that day, I had to confess, I may have masturbated a few times thinking about Oz.

  May have.

  Okay, twist my arm, I’ve come pretty hard thinking about Oz but there was no way in hell I’d ever make that fantasy come true because my dignity wasn’t worth the pleasure.

  Oz was fucking hot, no sense in lying about it and I liked fantasizing about fucking him but he was a dickhead.

  He used women and tossed them aside. I hated everything he stood for. I hated that he had a trust fund and never had to work a day in his life.

  I hated that he seemed to have a natural talent for making women’s clothing drip off and an even deeper talent for making them come.

  He was already blessed in the genetic department, richer than an oil baron, it didn’t seem right that he should know how to turn a woman inside out, too.

  Life wasn’t fair.

  Ugh. I sounded like a bitter whore.

  A hypocritical, bitter whore.

  I jacked myself off to thoughts of Oz fucking me raw but I wouldn’t actually let him fuck me because I had principles.

  Human beings were complicated idiots.

  Speaking of…I grabbed my vibrator. Time to get to business.

  My favorite fantasy — a guilty pleasure — was so exquisitely embarrassing that it made me squirm whenever I thought about it but my toes cur
led when I was in the mood.

  Me, in my uniform, Oz, sweaty from the field, lifts my skirt and finds no spankies. Just bare pussy, wet and ready. He drops me to the fifty-yard line and buries his face between my thighs, drinking in my juices, my fingers threading through his wet hair as he drives me closer and closer to that moment where I fall into a shuddering mess of moaning cries.

  I always come quickly when I think of Oz going down on me.

  Hell, I’d even let him stick his finger up my ass if he wanted. In my fantasy, anything was fair game.

  I don’t know if it was Jazelle’s story that influenced my fantasy or what but it seemed to work pretty well. It also made me insanely curious to know if the real deal would work as well as my fantasy did.

  Just as I started to get going, my cell buzzed.

  Unknown number.

  I frowned, ready to send it to voicemail but I answered it anyway.

  “Hello?”

  “All I gotta say is, well-played.”

  It was Oz.

  My breath caught. I was holding my vibrator in my hand. Oz was in my ear. My heart rate kicked up a notch. After the way I’d left him, why was he calling? And why was I smiling that he had?

  Nooooo, this was terrible. I didn’t want him in my ear when I was touching myself. This was all bad. And yet, sooo good at the same time. Tiny bubbles of arousal began to tickle my belly, warming my insides and encouraging me to do and say things I’d never contemplate in the light of day.

  But God, he was front and center in all my dirtiest of fantasies and had been for a long time. He was my deepest, darkest secret. Not even Chrissie knew how often I touched myself with Oz in my mind.

  How pathetic was I?

  And now he was in my ear. So deliciously wrong and I was practically squirming with the urge to masturbate.

  “You shouldn’t have called.”

  “I do lots of things I shouldn’t,” he said. “Never seems to stop me.”