The Hierarchy of Needs (The Portland Rebels #2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

father bought it five years ago with a hefty bank loan and a plan to let Dean rent out the second floor, using the space on the first as storage for the family business.
    All that was in there now was junk covered in more junk. Dean avoided going down there as much as possible. He avoided his dad’s place too.
    He flinched when Mikey snapped on the light fixture in the kitchen. The wide-open space echoed with the painfully loud noise of Dean’s keys being slapped down on a kitchen counter. The brick walls, high ceilings and exposed pipes didn’t do much to absorb the sound of Mikey clomping toward the fridge either.
    “Do you have anything to eat other than PB and J?”
    It was a given his friend would be crashing here—there was a permanent ass print on his couch from the number of times Mikey needed to get away from his folks after a blowout—but that didn’t mean Dean had to play the host. He needed a shower, some painkillers and his bed, stat.
    Dean leaned against a wall. “There’s some cereal in the cabinet.”
    “That’s it?”
    “There might be some milk left too. I don’t know, I think I finished it this morning.”
    “Your diet frightens me.”
    Dean pushed off the wall. “G’night, Mikey.”
    Trudging toward the bathroom, Dean pried off his clothes and stepped into the shower. He scraped shampoo over his scalp and rinsed it through, trying to wash out the salt water along with the images playing on repeat in his mind: firelight and Jamie’s smile. Her slim hips and firm ass. The soft spill of curls inching down the slope of her neck.
    He was a shit. A real grade-A fuckup, because he remembered what happened six years ago, and he’d wanted it to happen again.
    He couldn’t help himself, not with the way she looked tonight, as fresh-faced as she’d been in high school with a grin that lit up the whole fucking block. She’d been an enigma to him since she showed up in detention, a ray of sunshine trapped between drab walls and fluorescent lighting.
    She’d asked if he remembered her on Halloween. As if he could fucking forget.
    A white, long-sleeved sweater that set off the olive tone of her skin. Matching leggings that showed off every curve. Shimmering wings, and a halo sticking up out of her headband. There was something in her eyes too—big and brown and sparkling, like she had a secret she wasn’t sharing. Combined with those cherubic curls, she’d looked like some kind of deviant angel: innocent, but with a body that had him sporting wood the rest of the afternoon. He couldn’t help imagining what that angel would look like with her hand between her legs. A fallen star burning up with pleasure.
    Dean’s body reacted instantly. It was a fantasy that still woke up his dick nearly every morning.
    His brain fast-forwarded to two years later. A ride home after dark had them parked at the shoreline, a six-pack between them in the back of his truck. Tugging her hair had been a whim, something he’d done to tease her. He’d never expected her spine to go rigid, shoulders hiking up to her ears, a shiver rolling through her like a wave crashing on the shore.
    Dean rubbed his hands over his face, trying to block out the memory of the moment everything changed between them, but it was too vivid, too clear. He’d wanted to coax that reaction out of her again. To find out how to make a stronger tremor rock through her. To make her eyes grow heavy-lidded with lust.
    He found it by pushing that tug in her hair a step further and making a fist. She’d moaned. Lifted her hips. Whispered the word yes.
    Shit, he’d tried to stop himself, but it was too late. He needed to get off. Now.
    Dean groaned and gave in—one slow-fisted pump that sent sparks of pleasure through him. Bracing his other arm against the tile and resting his forehead against it, he let the memories wash over him. Her mouth, hot and eager. Breasts a perfect handful, nipples rising to a rosy pucker under his thumbs. Her head falling