Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Fate’s a cruel bitch. We’ve been here almost four years, and this is the first class we’ve had together. Lucky me.” There’s no heat in my words. Last night changed something for us, but I haven’t wanted to think about it. I saw a different side of him, something vast and deep, and my brain is still processing and rolling it around in my head.
The lecture hall has small chairs, and I can’t help but brush up against Blaze’s broad shoulders as he gets settled. Goose bumps pop up on my arm each time it brushes into his.
I nonchalantly ease away from him.
“You got a pen I can borrow?” he asks me, and I turn my head, which has been staring down at my notebook, looking intently at nothing.
I take him in up close. He looks hot AF today, his damp wavy hair brushed back off his face, still wet from a shower, probably.
“Seriously? Aren’t you prepared?”
He pulls a handful of pens out of his backpack. “Just messing with you. I’m uber prepared. I’ve got to ace this class.”
He fiddles with his notebook, getting it situated on his desk just so. He moves it forward and then back, then to the side, then—
“Can you ever sit still?” I laugh nervously. I’m not sure what to say after our convo last night. Have we called a truce? Do I want a truce? Maybe. Regardless of the fact that he hasn’t been with Dani—and why hasn’t he—he didn’t want to continue with me.
“Just, you know, I’m antsy. Always have been.” A pink blush rises on his face. “You never noticed before?”
I did, actually, but we happened so fast and then it was over so I never commented on it. On the football field, I’d noticed how he would always be on his feet, walking up and down the sidelines, slapping other players on the back when he isn’t playing. When I’d see him at Cadillac’s, I saw how he rarely sat down, preferring to pace the room and talk to people. I wonder if being busy keeps his head clear? I wonder…
Dang.
We really didn’t know each other.
“Why are you antsy?”
“Are we about to have a real conversation?” he asks.
“We did last night.”
“Indeed. Did you dream about me?”
And there he goes with the cockiness.
“Nope. I dreamed about cupcakes, lemon ones called Pucker Up. I shoved two in my mouth and may have had an orgasm.”
“Did you dream about golf-ball-headed aliens too?”
Oh, he went there, the first time we had sex. Memories bombard me of us in the library when we ended up in the Dead Zone, the deserted top floor of the library where no one went. We sat on the floor in the dark between two bookshelves and talked about dreams. Later, using our phones as lights we giggled and stared at drawings of sexual positions in a Kama Sutra book. We studied a particular one, both of us transfixed on the image of a long-haired woman bent over a dining table laden with grapes and fruit as a tall man took her from behind, ecstasy on both their faces as they had sex. “Let me do that to you, Charm,” he said to me in a low voice before he kissed my neck. I nearly levitated off the floor we were sitting on. Here was this guy, so freaking out of my league, but I didn’t hesitate. I whispered my rules to him, and he stared at me for a long time, his chest held so still, studying me as if I was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out. I knew his reputation as a player. I knew we were just friends because our friends were dating, but I held his gaze and unzipped his pants. His hand unbuttoned my shirt, unclasped my bra, and once he flicked his tongue over my nipple piercing, any leftover reservations flew out the window. We didn’t even make it to a table, not that there was one nearby. He put me on my knees, flipped my skirt up, rolled on a condom, and fucked me, my name a litany on his lips. His skilled fingers—Jesus, they knew how to play me. I came so hard I saw stars. I came so hard the second time, he laughed and put his hand over my mouth.
When it was over, we adjusted our clothes, stood up, and just looked at each other. We both wore stupefied, astonished expressions. His hair was mussed from where my hands had tugged. He’d yanked mine out of my ponytail and it was down, sticking to the sweat on my face. I hadn’t planned on having sex with him. I don’t think he had. He was the wrong kind of guy to hook up with. We just happened, like all delicious mistakes do. “We can do that whenever you want,” he finally said, eyes low and heavy, lust still swirling. “Your rules. Call me.” I gave him a jerky nod and bolted out of the Dead Zone, out of the library and into the coolness of the fall air. And shit, I did call him a week later. I got sucked in, knowing he was not my norm. Maybe that was part of the attraction—a guy I’d never give a second look except to admire him in a passing kind of way.