That sounds perfectly awful.
“Where do your parents live?” Okay fine I’m trying to find out information about him because I know next to nothing. And I’m just asking to be polite. That’s what good little sales associates do.
“East coast. Connecticut. In fact, I was wondering if your store ships?” He lifts his brows, his expression almost pleading.
I ignore his question. “You don’t have an accent.”
He lowers his brows into a frown. “Say what?”
“You’re from the east coast? I don’t detect an accent.”
“I went to boarding school for a few years. They beat any and all accents out of their students.”
Now it’s my turn to frown. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I moved around a lot. I’ve lived in Europe, Manhattan, Los Angeles, Miami…” His voice trails off. “My parents never like to stay in one place for too long.”
I grew up in the same house my entire life. The first time I moved is to come here for school. My hometown is two hours away and it still feels too far. I’m a total homebody, though I would never admit that to anyone. “We ship worldwide,” I tell him, choosing not to acknowledge what sounds like a glamorous—though lonely and unstable—childhood.
“Perfect.” The relief in his voice is unmistakable. “You do giftwrapping?”
“We have a nice gift box I can put it in but it’ll cost extra.” I lead him back to the sales counter where I start ringing him up. He flashes a black American Express card and I take it from him, our fingers grazing, causing a tingle to shoot up my arm.
“Cost doesn’t matter,” he says, acting like he wasn’t affected by our touching at all. Jerk. I wish I could be that nonchalant. But no, my fingers are shaking as I hit the buttons on the cash register, then have to punch in all the info on the credit card machine. All while Shep watches me, drumming those long, blunt-nailed fingers on the glass countertop. His scent wraps all around me, that citrusy, earthy smell I’m slowly becoming addicted to.
“Must be nice,” I murmur under my breath, reaching under the counter to pull out a few sheets of tissue paper. I carefully peel off the price tag on the bottom of the candle and then wrap it, securing it with a single piece of tape.
“It usually is. Unless I’m dealing with a stubborn female who refuses to pay back her debt.”
I lift my head, glaring at him. “I don’t owe you anything. I never agreed to that bet. Joel did.”
“And you’re his girlfriend,” he points out.
“Ex-girlfriend,” I stress, turning my back to him so I can grab the gift box I charged him five dollars extra for. Screw it. I padded his shipping charge too. Enid will be thrilled. Business has been slow lately and she’s thankful the weather has finally turned, bringing back the tourists. “I wish you would just leave this alone.” I start to put the box together.
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
“Clearly,” I say with a little snort.
“Maybe I want to see you even more.” He pauses. “Maybe you’re all I think about.”
My fingers fumble over the box, sending it flying off the counter onto the ground. I hear him come toward me, see his feet encased in very expensive looking Nikes appear next to me as he bends down at the same time I do, the both of us going for the slightly crumpled box. “There is no reason whatsoever for you to keep thinking about me.” My cheeks are on fire I’m so embarrassed. This is stupid. I shouldn’t let him get to me like this. He’s just saying these things to get under my skin and it’s working.
“Despite how much you hate me, I keep thinking about you.” He hands over the box and I take it from him with numb fingers. “A lot.”
“Like how you want to murder me with your bare hands?” I twist the box within my grip, mangling it further. I owe him a new one. Good thing I overcharged.
“I’d rather do something a lot more fun to you with my bare hands,” he whispers, his mouth curving into the slightest smile.
For once, I’ve got nothing. My throat is dry, my heart rate is going triple time and I’m feeling more than a little overwhelmed at his simple words. “You don’t mean it.”
“I definitely do.” His gaze drops to the box in my hands. “I think we’ll need a new one.”
We both come to a full stand together, my head just reaching his shoulder. Perfect height for me to tear off his shirt and run my mouth all over his hot, hard skin. “You’re right,” I say weakly. “Let me put together another one.”
He says nothing as I trash the first box and put together the second one with even shakier hands. But I succeed in getting it in place and I settle the candle inside, sealing it before I grab a label and take down his mother’s address.
I’m not acknowledging what he said. I’m not acknowledging what I’m thinking either. This is all a big mistake. If I even consider pursuing this…thing between us, I know he’ll just use me up and spit me out. I don’t want to risk it. I’m not a risky person. I hedge safe bets. Hell, I usually don’t bet at all. I test the waters, test them again, then test them yet again before I finally jump in.
Shep is a jump in without a thought type of guy. I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…
“Go out with me tonight.”
“Okay.”
I slap my hand over my mouth, which just makes him laugh. Jerk. Smug, gorgeous, hot as hell jerk.
“No taking it back,” he says once his laughter dies. Those dark eyes of his go even darker if that’s possible. “You’re mine tonight, Jade.”
“Wh-what exactly do you have planned?” I clear my throat, hating how nervous I sound. The man unnerves me like no other.
“Don’t know yet,” he answers, not sounding bothered by his lack of planning at all. “I’m sure it’ll be something amazing though.”
For once, I don’t plan on calling him out for his arrogance. I’m actually finding it attractive, which I would never admit to him. “Want to meet here? I get off work at five.”
“I am a true gentleman, Jade. I refuse to meet you anywhere.” He smiles. “I’ll come pick you up.”
“And let you see where I live? I don’t think so.” I shake my head.
Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Really? You’re still on the Shep is a stalker kick? Because I can reassure you, I am definitely not.”
“Fine.” I blow out an exasperated breath. He’s relentless. Or I just easily give in when it comes to him. “Hand me your phone.”
He does so, purposely touching me again. And there’s that spark again, too. Yikes. I start to add my name and phone number to his contacts but hesitate. Should I give him my number?
You so want to. Give it up girl.
I enter my phone number then my address and hand the phone back to him. He takes it, frowning at my entry before he lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine. “You live in the dorms?”
I shrug. “I’m a freshman. Kelli and I are roommates.”
“Your friend at the party last night?”
“Yeah.”
“Your friend you were sitting with at the poker game?”
I nod.
“How old are you anyway?”
“Nineteen.” I cross my arms in front of my chest, my go-to defensive pose. He does the same thing, mirroring me right down to the way I’m standing, one foot sort of cocked out. “Do you have a problem with that?” I ask coolly.
He smiles and shakes his head, dropping his arms back to his sides. “None whatsoever. I don’t discriminate. Age is nothing but a number.”
I roll my eyes. “What time will you pick me up?” I ask.
“I’ll text you later and let you know.” He starts toward the front door and I stare, unabashedly admiring that long legged stride of his, the easy way he moves. It’s almost overwhelming, how hot he is.
And he’s definitely, outrageously hot.
“You didn’t give me your number,” I shout at him as he opens the door, his broad back still to me.
“I’ll give it to you in a minute,” he answers from over his shoulder before he leaves, the door slamming shut behind him.
I plop down into the chair behind the counter and let out a harsh breath, resting my hand over my chest. My heart is racing and I swear I’m lightheaded, all from our little encounter.
So crazy. He shouldn’t affect me this way. I shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t matter. But somehow, someway, he does. He’s wormed himself into my brain and I can’t stop thinking about him. Apparently he feels the same way.
Weird.
My phone beeps and I pull it out of my pocket, unable to stop the smile that curves my lips.
Here’s your text. And my number.
I decide to answer him.
Promise you won’t stalk me?
Promise.
A pause.
But I can’t promise I won’t become obsessed with you…
Another pause. Another message.
Because I think that might be already happening.
“You mean to tell me he’s coming here to pick you up and take you out? On an actual date?” Kelli curls her lip into an undeniable smirk. “Wow. Shep Prescott doesn’t date, you know. Ever.”
I roll my eyes, trying to tell my overactive stomach to calm down. It’s like there are a million little baby tap dancers inside of me, kicking the shit out of my guts and making me hopelessly, horribly nervous. “What do you mean?”
Of course, he dates. He’s known to go through girls, one after the other. He has a man-whore reputation. Pretty much every girl on campus wants to drop her panties for him or one of his equally gorgeous friends. It’s sort of irritating, how easily I fell under his spell. Because he definitely knows how to cast one. I was so incredibly irritated when I saw him in the shop. Irritated and intrigued.
My irritation quickly turned to pleasure. Awareness. So much damnable awareness and chemistry and whatever else you call it that brewed between us. I could feel it. Did he feel it? He had to. He’s the one who asked me to go out with him.
Though maybe he’s doing it because supposedly he won me in a bet and he thinks I’m easy prey. Or more like an easy lay.
Nope. Not going to fall for that. I will not end up naked with him tonight. No. No. No.
And now I can’t help but wonder what he looks like naked.
“He hooks up but doesn’t steadily date any of them. Sounds like you might be an exception.” Kelli sounds surprised.
Hmm. So am I. I shouldn’t read too much into what she’s saying. This is probably just a hookup. “He claims I owe him a date. All because of that stupid bet. I could kill Joel.”
“Right. Kill your now ex-boyfriend for getting you the opportunity to date Shep? That bet might be the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“Please.” I wave a hand. “I’m pissed that I have to go out with him. Trust me.”
A skeptical eyebrow is raised, one that tells me Kelli’s about to call me out on my shit. “Seriously? Do you really think I’m going to believe that?”
I’m trying my best to believe it, so I hope she does too. “I may as well get this over with.” I go to my tiny closet and start thumbing through the clothes, pushing through the hangers, one after another. I have nothing good to wear. Nothing pretty and new or flirty and sexy. Not that I want to flirt or look sexy.
You so do.
Okay, fine I do. I want to knock stupid sexy Shep on his ass when he takes one look at me but how? “I have nothing to wear,” I moan.
Kelli magically appears at my side, pushing me out of the way so she can have a go at the pitiful offerings in my closet. “Too bad you wore that cute shirt last night. I’d suggest you wear it again but it’s too soon.”
No way would I wear it. I’d felt too exposed last night in it. I remember the way Shep looked at me. His eyes hot, seeming to see everything, all of me and making me shivery…
“How about this?” Kelli interrupts my thoughts, holding out a cute little black dress I wore to a holiday party last Christmas.
I wrinkle my nose. “That’s way too much. I’m not going to prom.”
Kelli huffs out a breath. “But what if he’s taking you to some fancy dinner? He might, considering he’s filthy rich and can afford just about anything he wants. Did he tell you what you’re doing tonight? Where you’re going? And who goes out on a Sunday night anyway? Don’t you have class in the morning?” Kelli asks as she shoves the dress back into my closet.
“What are you, my mother? And no, he didn’t tell me where we’re going.” He didn’t tell me much of anything beyond saying that he might become obsessed with me.
Talk about crazy. Is that some sort of line he’s trying to use so he can get in my panties? Maybe, because come on. Shep Prescott obsessed with me?
Please.
I shouldn’t trust him. I shouldn’t believe anything he says, especially when he’s in flirt mode, which is all the time. But I can’t deny the little thrill that shot through me at his admission. The admission I still have on my phone, that I stare at every once in a while, when Kelli’s not looking.
Clearly I’ve lost my mind.
“Do you have his number?” When I nod she continues, a respective spark in her eye. “Nice. Text him. Ask him what the plan is.”
“But isn’t that kind of…rude?” I’m not big on dating protocol. My first serious boyfriend I had my senior year in high school, we started seeing each other within a giant group of friends. We always just hung out. And every time we all hung out, David and I naturally gravitated toward each other, until finally we mutually decided to become boyfriend and girlfriend. We broke up before we left for different colleges, deciding that a long distance relationship wouldn’t work.
I met Joel because we had a class together. We sat next to each other and we talked and flirted. We saw each other at parties. One thing led to another and then we were going out. Again, we tended to hang with a group. Or Kelli and Dane once those two got together.
Looked like that scenario was dead and gone. Thank God Joel and I had that class together last semester. If we had to see each other three times a week…talk about awkward.
“It’s not rude, especially when you’re in the dark about what to wear. Guys don’t get this.” She waves a hand at me. “Go. Text him. Ask him how you should dress for your date.”
I grab my phone and settle on the edge of my bed, my fingers poised over the keyboard. What exactly should I say? I feel stupid. Like I shouldn’t ask any questions. Like I should already know the answers.
Here I go again, failing the test. I hate this.
“Do it,” Kelli practically growls when she sees my hesitation. “Come on. What’s the big deal?”
Blowing out an irritated breath, I type out a quick message and hit send before I can second guess myself.
Kelli’s making me ask you how I should dress for tonight.
A couple of minutes pass and there’s no reply. Of course. Maybe he’s going to cancel. Oh my God, maybe he’s never going to answer and that’ll be it. I’ll never hear from him again. It’s over before it’s even begun.
What, exactly, is over? Why do you even care? Don’t you hate this guy?
Yes. Yes. I do.
No you don’t.
“Has he answered yet?” Kelli asks from where she’s sprawled out on her tiny twin bed. Guess she gave up on looking for something for me to wear.
“No.” I toss my phone away from me so I can’t stare at it. But I still do. I look at my iPhone like it’s a bug and it’s making its creepy way toward me. “I should’ve never texted him.”
“You big baby,” Kelli mutters just as my phone dings.
I lunge for it and read his message. It’s one word that leaves me a little confused.
Scantily
Frowning, I send him another text.
Say what?
You asked how you should dress. I suggest scantily. As in, wear as little clothing as possible.
Oh. My. God.
My cheeks burn and I can feel Kelli watching me, her curiosity growing like a living, breathing thing. She sits up, perched on the edge of her mattress like she’s going to take flight.
“What did he say to you?” she demands.
I shake my head. “Nothing,” I mumble as I send him a reply.
You’re a pervert.
And you’re only just now realizing this? I figured you’d already been warned.
I want to laugh, but don’t. I should be mad. He’s sort of awful. In a sort of sexy way.
Seriously, should I wear something casual or maybe a dress…
Dresses = easy access
I bite my lip to keep from smiling. I should find that totally offensive, right?
“What’s he saying now?” Kelli asks again like the nosy bee she is. She leaps to her feet and starts pacing.
“Nothing important.” I furiously type my answer, telling myself I absolutely do not want to wear a skirt or a dress tonight. No way.
Like how you tried to slip your hand beneath my skirt last night?
I didn’t TRY anything. I DID slip my hand up your skirt.
And made me mad because I didn’t even notice. Because I was too enraptured with his lips.
Ugh.
I’ll definitely wear jeans then.
“I’m wearing jeans,” I tell Kelli, who immediately heads back to my closet and starts looking through my shirts.
“This calls for a sexy shirt to show off your boobs,” she calls from over her shoulder.
Just the idea of Shep looking at my boobs, let alone touching them, sends a warm, tingly sensation through my blood, making me shiver. My phone dings again and I glance down.
Jeans. An unfortunate choice.
Frowning, I continue texting him, dodging the shirt Kelli just tossed in my direction.
Unfortunate for you since you can’t slip your hand up my skirt.
I think you liked it when I slipped my hand up your skirt.
No, I really didn’t.
Stop denying your true feelings.
My frown deepens. He’s a total pain in the ass.
“I’m not wearing jeans,” I tell Kelli, who turns to glare at me. “Do you have a skirt I can borrow? The shorter the better?”
Fair Game (The Rules #1) Page 6