I take Holly’s advice though and avoid Matt until our next class. It’s not hard to do. Our paths rarely cross since he tends to stay inside his frat/sports circle and I’m outside all the circles. It’s still cold out and everyone’s talking about going somewhere warm for spring break. I’m staying on campus because home is so far and I expect it to be cold and quiet here. And lonely.
When I do see Matt in class I drink him in. Because his long lean body does something to me and his dark good looks make me shiver. He slips into the chair next to mine without a word, his muscles bunching under his shirt. I can feel his tension and I know what it’s about because I feel it too. Lust.
I close my eyes and inhale deeply because I’m barraged with memories of his hard body pressed against me, his mouth on mine, his hand between my legs…. My eyes fly open and he’s staring at me, his eyes hooded and hot. I want to pull him on top of me, but instead I lash out.
“You look awful!” (He looks amazing, but he does look tired.) “And you’re late! Again! How are we going to make progress on your problem if you don’t take this seriously?” (I actually don’t need my checklist to notice that he’s changed. He’s still a smoothie, but he bullshits less and seems more…real. More himself. IMHO.)
He gives me a lopsided smile. “It won’t work, Annika. Remember what happens when we fight—“
I feel my face heat and I duck to avoid his eyes. What am I supposed to do, then, to hold him off? I don’t know so I try the opposite approach.
“I owe you a compliment,” I say softly.
“Excuse me?” His confusion is real.
“You know, for your program for me. Step 2 is to pay someone a compliment.”
He shifts uncomfortably. “Someone. Not me.”
“You don’t want one?” I ask, amused. This awkward, humble Matt is oddly appealing. As much as I admire his poise and envy his popularity, it’s these awkward moments that make the rest of it real, I think.
“Don’t!” he mutters.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t flirt with me!” His voice is a low, urgent hiss and I’m taken aback by his vulnerability and my power over him.
I nod, thinking. “You’re right. I won’t. I’ll just say that I’ve decided you’re a nice guy who sometimes acts like a jerk instead of the other way around.”
“Gee, thanks!” he grumbles, casting me a dark look.
I burst out laughing and hold my hands up in surrender. “Okay! My complimenting definitely needs work! I’ll practice on someone else.”
He smiles a little then shifts restlessly before addressing me seriously. “Holly’s right. We should avoid seeing each other.”
I know he’s right. They’re both right. But my hackles go up anyway. “Okay,” I say, shrugging like it doesn’t matter to me.
“Because being seen together will set you back,” he adds with emphasis.
“I said okay!”
“And being together is risky,” he adds, ignoring me. We look at each other. I feel sad and he looks kind of sad. Or disappointed.
I sigh. “I know.”
We both know we’re a bad idea: too much history, too much anger, too much gossip, too much…passion. “We’re not good together.”
“No, we’re very good together. We’re not good for each other,” Matt corrects me, his eyes roaming over my face. His hands fidget as if he wants to reach for me.
I nod and change the subject to get us on firmer ground. Luckily Marjorie decides that today we’ll all change partners and work with other people. In the musical chairs that follows I join Holly and Lani, who I don’t really know but seems nice enough. By the end of the class the three of us are laughing easily and I feel better.
When I return to my chair to collect my stuff I’m relaxed enough to tell Matt, “Noah was right. Holly is a good friend!”
Shrugging on his coat, he smiles and I’m a little dazzled. “Let’s count that as your compliment for Step #2. And we can check off Step #3 too. You’ve made a friend!”
Holly is a good campaign manager too, it turns out. Her strategy seems to be working because not only do I have an actual friend, but the people in my classes seem nicer. Or maybe I’m nicer to them. I can’t tell. But now people talk to me instead of just staring or avoiding me. Not that that was all Matt’s fault, I see now. More and more I understand that we both made mistakes That Night and I never figured out how to bounce back from mine.
After my last flame-out I go into my new social life more cautiously—no vodka shots, no frat parties, no impulsive make-out sessions with a guy-who-shall-not-be-named. I chat. I smile. I laugh. And I feel a little let down. It’s nice, yes, but it’s tame too. Spring break is long and dull but luckily Matt and I only vetoed seeing each other, not texting. So I still get a small steady dose of him even though he went home to Connecticut.
Remember the poli sci paper I was writing that night? This pops up on my phone one morning.
What night?
THAT night
Oh. Yeah. Duh!
Rewrote it the next day. Got an A!
Yay you! Told you you’d do better without bullshitting!
Nope. You never said that.
??
You said I’d be a better person, not that I’d get better grades. Might have been more persuasive if you had—
You’re so full of it!
So you’ve said ;0
A few days later I check in again. Halfway point: how’s your break?
OK. Should love it but I’m bored. Yours?
Me 2! Just sleeping and eating like a hibernating bear…
LOL. That an Estonian thing?
Bears, yes. Hey, got the DC internship!
Yay you! (note I’m quoting you here! Would never say something so girly!)
Yeah yeah. Blame me for everything!
I do!
Before I know it the break is over and I’m actually looking forward to school. When I mention that to my parents in one of our late night phone calls there’s a knowing silence. Like they’re saying See! She’s adjusting! It’s annoying, but it might just be true.
9
Matt
I’m psyched to get back to school because it’s almost spring, which means good weather and playing soccer outside again and school’s almost out for the year and…just because. The Sunday I arrive is one of those days after winter when you just have to be outside again, liberated after months of being confined in coats and small airless rooms. I change and grab my cleats and I’m out the door, breathing deep. I jog over to the soccer field and join a bunch of guys for a pick up game. It feels good to be playing hard, to be focused again.
“Ten o’clock!” I hear some guy yell and every head swivels to watch a hot girl jog by.
I almost trip over my feet when I realize it’s Annika. In shorts. I’m already out of breath but my pulse gives a little jump anyway and I track her as I move down field. Her long blond hair swings in a ponytail and her long, long legs eat up the path that runs past the field. When did she get back and why haven’t I heard from her? Then I remember we’re supposed to be avoiding each other. I drag my attention back to the field to avoid slamming into someone and when I look back she’s gone.
I play the rest of the game on autopilot, blocking, stealing, and passing with only half my brain as I process this sudden strong urge to go after Annika. She’s back and I haven’t seen her in a week and all I want to do is hang out with her and catch up and…. Was it like this before the break? I don’t think so. We aren’t even friends. We’re just partners. What’s the matter with me?
But I want to tell her about my week at home, how my sister moped about something and my parents hardly noticed, how I want to look into the Public Policy track within my Poli Sci major, how I heard from Noah and how hung up he is on Holly, even though he won’t admit it….
A bit of motion catches the corner of my eye and I zero in on Annika again, but this time she’s on her way back. I freeze and our e
yes meet across the field. Then as she turns away she stumbles, landing hard on the ground. Already I’m in motion.
“Hey, Troubridge! Get your ass back here!”
I hold up a hand to wave the guys off and speed up because even from here I can see blood running down Annika’s leg. She stands awkwardly, wrapping her arms around her chest and shivering. Her face is pale.
“You okay?” I say, dropping to a crouch to look at her leg.
“Hi Matt, how was your break?” she says lightly. I don’t bother to answer that so she sighs, biting her lip.
“I’m fine, but it’s hard not to feel stupid when you fall on your face.”
I stand up and put a hand on her chin to look at her face, which is even lovelier than I remembered, if that’s possible.
“Did you fall on your face?” I murmur. “It doesn’t look like it.” She’s trembling and I move closer to rub her arms. She smiles a little and ducks her head, then shakes it. When she raises her eyes they look wet.
“It doesn’t even hurt much! It’s just… I don’t know. Falling is a shock. One minute you’re upright and the next you’re on the ground. It makes you feel stupid.” The last bit comes out quiet and hesitant and I lean in some more.
“It’s okay. You want to go to the Health Center? Can you walk on it?”
She shakes her head again, then nods and lets me wrap an arm around her shoulder. “Let me help you get home then. We’ll clean out the dirt and wrap it up and you’ll be fine.”
“You shouldn’t.” Her voice is still low but she doesn’t move away. Our eyes meet again and I swear we can hold entire conversations without words. This one seemed to go like this:
Damn, I missed you!
It’s a bad idea but….
I know!
Finally she nods and shifts closer, sniffling. I’m feeling way too mushy so I try to think of things to brace us both up.
“You ski, right? So you’re used to falling.” I already know her passion for winter sports. Most sports, actually. It’s one of the things we share—a love of sports, politics, spicy food…. We’re moving at a snail’s pace, but that’s okay with me right now.
“Matthew.” She stops to give me a severe look. “I don’t fall when I ski.”
I nudge her forward again, amused. “No? When’s the last time you skinned that beautiful knee then?”
I’m rewarded with another tiny smile. “Mmm. Cycling, I think. Two years ago.” She frowns. “On a school holiday in the Netherlands.”
“Your school holidays sound very different from mine…and how did you fall off your bike in a flat country, huh?” My teasing seems to be working because she jabs an elbow into me. I’m relieved—and I realize how much I missed sparring with her.
She recounts her cycling adventures as we walk home and again I’m struck by her foreignness. Yeah, Estonia is small, but Annika’s world seems much bigger than mine. It’s all of Europe. It’s multilingual. It’s cosmopolitan in ways my so-called sophisticated friends could never imagine. It’s humbling.
We get to her dorm and I raise an eyebrow at the stairwell. “No elevator? Tell me you’re on the second floor—”
Her lips press together. “Nope. Fourth.”
I groan. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t offer to carry you then.” I wrap an arm around her waist and help her up the stairs, our hips bumping.
She giggles. “Yeah, good thing. I’m skinny but I’m not light, you know. Too tall.”
I know better than to comment on any girl’s weight, but privately I tighten my hold on her and think that she’s perfect. Tall and slim, but curvy and strong too.
When we get to her room she digs a key out of her waistband and lets herself in. I glance around but there’s no roommate in sight so I leave Annika on the sofa and collect supplies. I’ve been captain of more soccer teams than I can count so I know a thing or two about DIY sports medicine. With Annika’s direction I find everything I need and return to find her lying back on the sofa with her wounded leg outstretched and propped up on a coffee table. I sink into the sofa near her and she sighs, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.
“Thank you, Matt,” she says quietly.
I swallow and nod even though she can’t see me. I’m suddenly all too conscious of her nearness and our aloneness. Wasn’t this the kind of situation we were supposed to avoid? I can’t help running my eyes over her greedily because it’s been so long since I’ve seen her and I feel so starved. Her hair is coming out of the ponytail in silky strands. Her face is pale, with slight shadows under her eyes and hollows under her cheekbones. Her running top is long sleeved but clings to her skin and I can clearly see the outline of her sports bra. Even wounded and tired and sweaty she’s gorgeous, and I haven’t even turned my attention to her bare legs yet. I swallow again, then clear my throat.
“Just do it,” Annika urges, waving a hand vaguely over her extended leg. It’s a very tempting invitation and I take advantage, hoping I’m not actually taking advantage of her too.
I carefully wipe the blood off her shapely calf, sliding my hand down the underside of her leg and marveling at the smoothness of her skin. I let myself explore the delicate bones of her ankle.
“Does this hurt?” I murmur.
I can tell she shakes her head but I can’t look at her or she’ll see how turned on I’m getting. Which is a little horrifying even to me because she’s injured. Still, I’ve got her leg practically in my lap as I swab her cut with hydrogen peroxide. There’s no way I can’t notice all this enticing bare skin. I swirl a cotton ball in circles over and over her poor knee until I feel her tremble. I shift to continue my ministrations underneath, probing gently at the tendons around her kneecap and stroking her skin with my thumb.
“Does this hurt?” I ask again.
She shakes her head vigorously and I take the risk of glancing at her face. Her eyes are half closed and her lips are half open, her face flushed. She looks turned on. We’re both turned on. Again. Shit.
I pick up the ice bag I’ve prepared and run that over her bruised knee, pressing gently. Her skin tenses against the cold and little droplets of water run down her calf. I run my fingers up the inside of her leg, then hesitate.
“Annika?” I sound hoarse.
Her eyelids flicker and she makes a sound more like a breathy moan than a word. It’s not helping and I can’t seem to make my hands stop stroking up and down her leg.
“You’ll tell me if something hurts, right? You’d tell me to stop?”
She nods and moans, “Don’t stop—“
And that’s when my control snaps because this is Annika and I’ve got my hands on her body and it’s been a week and I already know how hot and fast we burn. My hands slide up both her legs now, parting them so I can shift between them. My fingers tease the tops of her thighs, curling under her shorts. She gasps and arches her hips and I start to pull off her shorts, but she flings herself at me, wrapping her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck in a tight embrace.
Then our mouths connect and we’re frantic. Again. Her mouth is hot and soft and she’s panting against me. I’m trying to watch out for her injured leg but her hands have crept under my tee shirt, exploring and stroking, and I’m losing my mind.
“Shower,” she gasps. Oh right, we’re both still sweaty with exercise and the vision of Annika wet and naked is too much to resist. I stand quickly, holding her curvy ass to keep her wrapped around me, and stagger toward the bathroom.
“Roommate?” I pant as I set her down as gently as I can and start the water running. She leans a hip against the sink for support and looks up at me, eyes soft and dazed.
“Not back yet.” She’s pulling on my clothes, eating me up with her eyes as my sweaty top comes off.
“The best kind of roommate,” I manage as I strip off her top and bra. She kicks off her own shorts and I freeze because I thought her body was perfect but it’s different to know that because said body is naked before your eyes. I run a
hand reverently down her side from one high pink-tipped breast to one slim hip.
“Annika!” I groan because it’s the only word I can remember. She smiles and steps closer, pushing down my shorts then pressing our bare skin together. We both moan and my mouth dips to suck on her neck while my hands grip her ass. I can’t help flexing my hips to rub my hard on against her.
“Water,” she gasps, swaying as she turns. I steady her with a hand on one elbow as she steps into the shower but I’m seriously distracted by the view.
“I want to come against your ass,” I say as I get in after her. Because my filter is just gone.
Annika stands under the shower spray looking me up and down like she can’t figure out where to start. Her wet hair hangs over one shoulder like a rope, dripping water over a perky breast. With a tiny wicked smile she turns around and says, “Go for it.”
And that, I think in my stupid-lust-brain, is when she blows away every sexual fantasy I’ve ever had.
10
Annika
I close my eyes and tilt my face into the hot water as Matt’s arms close around me. This has got to be the best feeling in the world, I think. His hard body surrounding me, his mouth licking and sucking on my neck, my skin sizzling with want. There’s a twinge from my knee but even that just helps to ground me, to put the rest of the pleasure in perspective.
I reach my arms over my head to wrap them around Matt’s neck and he groans into my skin, watching my breasts lift. Then his soapy hands start wandering leisurely over my body, pinching and soothing, rubbing and probing, all while he feasts on my neck and watches me. And I was wrong. This is the best feeling in the world. When he presses a finger inside me I moan and wriggle against him until his breath hitches and he presses the other hand against my hip to still me.
“Slow down,” he gasps, though his hips flex against me.
“I can’t. Too much. No. More.” I keep babbling, incoherent with wanting, arching my back against him and riding his hand. I’m not sure what I’m moaning but I want more, now.
The Do-Over (Extra Credit Book 2) Page 6