My blank stare and lack of response seem to irritate him further. His nostrils flare. “Haynes grades on a curve.”
What exactly is he expecting me to do? Apologize? For being smarter than he is? Yeah, I don’t think so.
“I’m sorry?” It comes out as a question, my meek voice undermining the intended sarcasm. Something tells me he wouldn’t have gotten it anyway.
He drops his voice slightly. “How ’bout you pump the brakes for the rest of us next time?” He flashes me a flirtatious smile. The girl sitting next to him, who I’m assuming was the source of most of the infuriating giggles for the past hour, lets out an annoyed sigh while crossing her arms.
He’s either completely obtuse or doesn’t see my involuntary eye-roll, since he continues, “You know, if you ask nicely, I might let you give me a private biology lesson.” He rakes his eyes over my body in a way that makes me feel self-conscious and a little dirty. He licks his lips and my skin crawls.
“Pass,” is my one-word rejection as I grab my bag and walk out of class. The girl next to him exchanges her giggle for a snide cackle.
“Stuck-up bitch,” he mutters just loud enough for me to hear. I pick up my pace and scurry off to the library to study for physics.
After my classroom encounter with the King of the Douchebags, I’m happy to be back in the safety of the library. I pull out my notes and try to focus. It’s no use.
I look across the study hall and replay the first time I talked to Austin. When I propositioned him. My heart flutters. I was so scared. He was so sexy. I bite my bottom lip to keep the smile off my face.
Two hours and forty-five minutes until I see Austin.
Get a hold of yourself, Elizabeth!
I shake the images of Austin out of my head and focus on physics.
Two hours and forty-four minutes…
* * * *
Down to the last few minutes, and I try to steel myself for the moment. It’s pointless. My knees go weak when I hear him knock. My heart stops when I open the door and meet his smiling blue eyes.
“I’ve come prepared this time,” he says, holding up a shopping bag as he breezes into the apartment. I’m amazed how he always seems so self-assured.
Does he ever get rattled?
Is he ever scared?
Intimidated?
I must be staring, because he stops unpacking groceries. Our eyes lock.
“What’s up?” He looks me up and down, assessing me again. What I wouldn’t give to know what he sees.
“What’s for dinner?” I brush off his question, not feeling like confessing tonight.
“Nothing fancy. Just chicken and broccoli.”
“Sounds good.” I have no idea what to talk to him about.
Time to make awkward small talk with Austin Jacobs as he cooks dinner!
It’s surreal.
“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” he innocently inquires.
“What do you mean?” I know what he means, but I have no idea how to answer.
“I mean, what do you want to be tutored on tonight, Goose?”
I blush at the sound of my nickname.
“Well, Mav.” I’m trying to annoy him, but secretly I relish the idea that it’s something only I call him. Maverick. It suits him. “I made us a schedule, actually.” My voice has more uncertainty in it than I was hoping. I hand him the carefully thought-out schedule I crafted over the past few months.
“Of course you made a schedule,” he quips with a laugh. His smile only grows as he reads. “You made us a sex syllabus, a sex-abus.”
I groan. He continues undaunted.
“Four weeks, four topics. So, we round a base a week. This week’s kissing. Next week is touching, groping, fondling. Then oral. Giving and receiving. Last week we hit a few home runs,” he offers.
Sex with Austin.
I get lost in my thoughts of what these next four weeks might bring. My body flushes and I cross my legs, fighting the building warmth between my thighs. I’ve pictured all this before, but now I’m realizing it’s actually going to happen.
You are going to lose your virginity to Austin Jacobs!
“You seriously think we need a whole week dedicated to kissing?” he challenges.
“It’s important to build foundational knowledge in a new subject before advancing to more challenging material.”
Oh my God, you’re such a nerd.
“Come here.” He saunters around the kitchen island and I stand up to meet him. He steps right into my body. I lean back, but he grabs my hands and puts them around his neck. The gesture highlights our height difference. I can barely reach without him having to bend down.
He slides his fingers over the delicate skin of my forearms and down my sides, causing an effervescent tingle across my whole body. He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into him. I’m so small in his embrace. It makes me feel dainty and weirdly feminine.
“Kiss me,” he demands.
“Now?” I swallow down my panic.
“Now would be good.”
I don’t do anything.
I just stand there.
Kiss him!
Just do it!
He’s right here and he is asking you to do it!
My heart races and my stomach flutters. My throat gets tight. My mouth goes dry. I spiral into panic. Those beautiful blue eyes are bearing down on me, burning into me. I close my eyes, count to three in my head and do it. I push forward on my tiptoes and peck him on the lips. Peck is a generous term for the limp-lipped travesty that is my first attempt at a kiss.
“There,” I declare in placid triumph.
“Damn, I must be a horrible teacher. Is that what I showed you last night?” he says in mock disappointment.
I stare at his chest and shake my head, feeling like a kid who got caught sneaking candy before dinner.
“How did I kiss you last night?” It isn’t a rhetorical question. He wants me to answer.
“Deep,” I say without thinking. “A-And long,” I add with a shaky breath and a blush. That’s the only way to describe his kiss. Other than being simply amazing.
“Hey.” He lifts my chin up so our eyes meet again. “I know you’re nervous, but you shouldn’t be. This isn’t a big deal. I know you can do this.” Great, now Austin’s giving me a pep talk. Hello, Self-esteem. Meet All Time Low.
Closing my eyes, I try to think back to his kiss last night. I take a deep breath and this time I pull him down to me. He leans down without resisting. I run through the checklist I made last night. I brush my lips across his as I tilt my head to the side. I place my lips on his, lightly teasing his bottom lip with my tongue.
“Open your lips,” I whisper against him.
“Yes, boss,” he quips. I stifle an annoyed sigh and slide my tongue into his mouth. He lets out a soft moan and eases his hands down to my butt.
Holy shit! You just made Austin Jacobs moan!
The sound fills me with a keen sense of womanly power. I relax into the kiss, sliding my fingers into his hair, grabbing a handful, and moaning myself. I flick my tongue around his mouth. I’m lost in our intertwined lips, our bodies pressed together and our hands exploring each other. If I had to try to name this feeling it would be bliss. I only pull away when I’m breathless.
“How was that?” The cockiness makes my own voice sound foreign.
“Damn, you’re a quick study,” he jokes. “But practice makes perfect,” he teases, placing a chaste kiss on my forehead and a light slap on my butt before returning to the kitchen and starting our dinner.
“Have you ever had an orgasm?” he blurts out, pulling me out of my daydream and giving me conversational whiplash.
This guy must be a riot at dinner parties.
“Yes.” I don’t balk at his intrusiveness. I’m riding high on my new sense of empowerment from that kiss.
“Toys or fingers?” Thankfully his back is turned, so he doesn’t see me blush with embarrassment.
So muc
h for sexual empowerment.
“Both.” My voice shakes, but I hope he doesn’t notice it.
“Watch porn?”
What is this, X-rated twenty questions?
He’s so blasé. He could be asking if I’ve seen the latest Marvel movie instead of categorizing my complete sexual history. I have never talked to anyone about this stuff. I’m so far outside of my comfort zone, I might as well be on Pluto!
Calm down. If you can’t talk about it, how are you going to actually do it in four weeks?
“Some. But I prefer books.”
“Books?” He startles at my response, as if the thought of an erotic book has never occurred to him.
“Yeah, romance novels…” I answer, embarrassed at my confession.
“Oh, I know what you mean. I had a foster mom who read some of the smutty stuff with jacked shirtless dudes on the cover.” He dismisses the idea.
“It’s better than porn. At least there is a plot and you’re invested in the story,” I retort.
He chuckles. I swear, that sound is connected to my stomach. And other parts.
“Hey, no judgment here. To each their own. Just don’t think I want to read two hundred pages about a pirate and a princess before I get to jerk off.”
“Sometimes things are better when they’re hard,” I quip, feeling philosophical.
Austin laughs. I bite my lip and resist the urge to rip his clothes off. Yep, I definitely have a thing for his laugh.
You’re such a weirdo.
“Yeah, yeah. Ha ha. What are you, five? I mean some things are better when you have to wait for it, work for it. Then you know how badly you want it. The buildup, the anticipation—that’s half the pleasure.”
I’m lost in my thoughts, rambling more to myself than to him at this point. My monologue isn’t unusual, it’s just usually internal. For whatever reason, I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut around Austin.
“That’s pretty deep. I’m just talking about getting off, and believe me when I say I always know how badly I want it,” he teases.
Blushing and ready to change the subject, I ask, “Foster mom?”
“Caught that, did you?” He only half turns toward me before focusing back on the chicken. “I spent a couple years in foster homes before ending up in a group home in high school.”
I can’t stop myself from asking, “What happened to your parents?”
“Never knew my dad, and my mom died when I was eleven,” he answers.
“I’m sorry.”
Why the hell did you ask? This is none of your business.
“Why? You didn’t put me there.”
“Yeah, but it must’ve been hard.”
“It was what it was. I’m here now.” He doesn’t turn around. The muscles in his back are tense. I take the hint and happily drop it.
In the quiet I think about eleven-year-old Austin, alone and scared. I never would’ve guessed his past. He never seems to have a care in the world, to let anything bother him. Unflappable. I guess he’s had to be. I want to reach out to him, but I don’t know how.
I snap back to reality, racking my brain to think of something safe to ask Austin. What could we possibly have in common?
“How long have you been playing football?” I decide on a topic I know he must be interested in.
“Since high school.” He doesn’t seem very chatty. I can’t blame him after my last catastrophic attempt at small talk, but I keep going anyway because I’m a glutton for punishment.
“Must be nice, to be part of something. A team.”
“Depends on the team, I guess.” He shrugs. “Don’t confuse teammates with friends. Some of the guys are pricks, some are decent. But we’re definitely not all tight.”
“Oh.” That’s a surprise. From the outside, they’re one big family. “Have you always been a…a…” I know his position, but I’m struggling to remember the name of it.
“I’m a cornerback.” He fills in the blank. “And yes, I’ve had the same position since high school. I’ve got great hands and legendary stamina.” He turns to show me his giant hands, wiggling his fingers with a glint in his eyes and a smile on his lips. I drag my mind out of the gutter, where it would’ve been happy to dream up activities for Austin’s fingers all night.
Trying hard to ignore his sexual innuendo despite my blushing, I ask, “You must be good to get a scholarship. Is your family proud?”
“Orphan, remember?” he says with zero emotion.
“Shit! I’m such an ass.” I facepalm, shaking my head in disbelief at my own utter stupidity. “You said…literally a minute ago!” I throw my hands up in the air in disgust. “I was listening, I swear. I’m just an idiot.” I bury my face in my hands, hiding the shameful blush on my checks. “I’m sorry. I’m such an ass.” It’s a surprising amount of word vomit I manage to get out considering I’ve got both feet crammed in my mouth.
“Don’t worry about it.” He seems oddly indifferent. “It was a long time ago.”
“My mother died six years ago,” I confess as a penance. I know the pain in my heart is painted across my face. In some ways, it feels like I just lost her yesterday. In others, I never had a mother at all.
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes sincerely, making sure his eyes meet mine before turning back to the stove.
“Thanks.” I try to shake off the emotion in my voice. “We weren’t close. But, you know, she was my mother.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
I can see his head nodding, though his back is to me.
I’m too happy to move on to a less dramatic topic, but nothing new comes to mind. I’m almost willing to go back to the awkward questions about my porn preferences. We’re both quiet until the food is done.
“Dinner is served,” he announces and we eat quietly sitting next to each other at the kitchen counter. He eats fast and finishes before me again. This guy has an insatiable appetite and now he turns his hungry eyes on me. It’s making me self-conscious.
“Why do you dress like that?” he questions.
“Because I’m comfortable. Why do you dress like that?” I retort defensively, gesturing to his standard attire, gym shorts and a plain T-shirt. It happens to be sexy as hell on him, T-shirt snug on his broad shoulders and shorts low around his hips, but I don’t mention that part.
When my mother was alive, I used to dress conservative and feminine for her. Pearls, pencil skirts and cardigans. I hated it, it wasn’t me, but for some reason she thought it was important.
‘You never know who you are going to meet in life. It’s important to always be put together,’ she would say. I never saw the point. Why should I be uncomfortable all day just to give someone the right impression?
“The same reason, I guess. It’s comfortable.” He laughs, ignoring the snark in my question. I’ve never felt so comfortable being confrontational with someone. Is this what intimacy is?
“So, what do you wear to feel sexy and confident?”
“I don’t know.” I have no idea how to answer his question. I’ve never thought of myself as sexy. And I’m sure as hell not confident. Nothing I’ve worn has ever changed that.
His eyes are full of lust and I’m taken aback. I’ve never had anyone look at me the way he is now. And I can’t get enough. “No lingerie? Nothing black and lacy in the closet?”
“Nope.”
“That’s a shame.”
“And why is that?”
“You should have something around that makes you feel sexy. The sexiest asset any woman can have is confidence,” is his honest reply.
“So you’re saying I’m screwed?” I deadpan. He laughs, his shoulders shaking with the deep, sweet sound. I can’t help but smile back at him. I’ll never get sick of that sound. Making him laugh makes me feel good.
“Well, confidence and a great rack. One out of two ain’t half bad.” His voice is sultry as he lowers his eyes down my body to my chest.
I let out a small gasp and instinctivel
y cover myself with my arms. I wear large T-shirts to make sure they aren’t pulled tight across my chest. My mother used to lecture me on how unladylike it was to be busting out of my tops. As if it were my fault that my genetics resulted in being comically well-endowed compared to the rest of my tiny frame. I’ve had a complex about my large chest most of my life, constantly doing what I can to downplay it.
Judging by Austin’s face, it hasn’t gone unnoticed.
“I have an idea,” he exclaims, jumping up. “Wait here,” he calls back to me as he walks out of the front door. He’s gone long enough for me to finish my dinner and move on to cleaning up. He saunters back in, without knocking, carrying a white button-down dress shirt on a hanger. He holds it out to me.
“Here, put this on.” He has a huge smile on his face.
“Is that even clean?” I wrinkle my nose and don’t take it from him.
“Mostly.” He smirks. I have no defense against that smirk. “We dress up for away games. It’s been hanging in my truck since our last one.”
I don’t take it from him. I stand there, staring.
“Come on. Trust me. You’re going to look sexy as hell.”
“Seriously?” With some hesitation, I take the stupid shirt.
“Seriously. Go.” He takes me by the shoulders, spins me around and gives me a gentle shove toward my bedroom.
“Fine. No need to push,” I snap back at him as I reluctantly head to the bedroom.
“All I do with you is push!” he shouts as I close my bedroom door.
I hold Austin’s button-down in front of me and picture him in it, smart and sexy. It smells like him, a mix of his spicy sweet cologne and his salty skin. I bury my face in the shirt and breathe him in deeply.
Weirdo.
I pull off my T-shirt and toss it on the bed. Sliding into the oversized shirt, I make sure to do up each and every button for maximum coverage. I stare at myself in my bedroom mirror. I’m sexy. I look like a kid playing dress-up. With my arms at my sides, the sleeves come down well past my fingertips. The breast pocket is halfway to my belly button. I’m wearing a circus tent. I’m a clown. A joke. A mistake.
So, That Got Weird: A Painfully Awkward Love Story (So Far, So Good Book 1) Page 6