As we walk past Colton and his entourage, I can’t resist throwing one last look in his direction. After all, who knows when I’ll see him next. Electricity sizzles through my veins as our gazes collide. It takes everything I have to propel myself forward. Once I’m past him, the air rushes from my lungs.
That’s the moment I realize that moving on from Colton won’t be possible until another guy is able to rouse the same kind of feelings inside me.
And that, my friends, is all sorts of depressing.
Chapter Three
Colton
Late spring of freshman year...
The soft strains of stringed instruments fill the theatre as I crack open one of the double doors and carefully slip inside the darkened space. A few people seated in the back turn and stare as I settle gingerly on a seat in the last row.
I’ve arrived in the middle of someone’s performance. The ballerina leaps across the stage before halting. With her arms stretched out in front of her, she strikes a pose before gradually folding in half and sweeping her arms across the floor. The spotlight dims as the music fades into nothingness. There’s a moment of hushed silence before applause breaks out in the packed auditorium.
Did I miss it?
Is the show over?
I’d planned on getting here earlier, but Coach kept us an extra thirty minutes. We might not be in season, but practice and lifting start up again in late winter and go through the summer. When you play Division I college sports, there’s no downtime. It’s more like a job. I wish I’d known that when I signed my NCAA paperwork senior year of high school. Some of these guys, like Beck, plan on turning pro after college. So, for them, they need to be constantly working out and improving their game.
After much thought, I decided not to continue playing football after graduation. The plan is to work for my father, which probably means attending business school. We’ll see. That’s yet to be determined. As much as I love the sport, I’ve gotten my brains beat to shit enough already. And my body? Some days, I feel like a seventy-year-old man rolling out of bed in the morning.
So, senior year will be it for me.
I plow a hand through my still-damp hair as the curtain drops into place. The showcase has been on my radar for months, just like it was last year. I can’t believe I missed her performance. I’m halfway to my feet and ready to sprint unnoticed from the auditorium when the heavy screen rises, and the violin section of the orchestra takes up their instruments.
My heart stutters as my gaze fastens on to her. Carefully, I lower myself back onto the seat again. The last girl had been wearing the full ballerina getup. You know—pink leotard, tights, puffy tutu, hair slicked back into a bun, and a small silver crown decorating her head. Kind of overkill, if you ask me.
Alyssa, on the other hand, is outfitted in a tight, long-sleeved shirt that bares her midriff and black booty shorts that match the top. Her hair is swept back into a ponytail, and she’s barefoot.
Her arms are stretched above her head, and her chin is tilted upward as if staring at something only she can see. Even from this distance, the expression on her face is one of serenity. Almost as if she’s alone, unaware of the hundreds of spectators watching her every gesture.
It’s only when the tempo of the violins change and other instruments join in, giving more depth to the music, does Alyssa break her pose. Her movements are graceful. Deep and sweeping. She soars across the space, using every square inch of the stage. My breath catches, becoming trapped in my chest as I lean forward. My gaze greedily follows every step. Every arc and bend. Every spin and dip. It doesn’t take long before she becomes one with the music, conveying a story to the audience. Her expressions change and contort. She is pure poetry in motion as she lights up the stage.
Everything about her is captivating. It doesn’t take long for the audience around me to fall away. And then it’s like she’s performing solely for my pleasure.
The first time I saw Alyssa dance was in high school. Jenna, my stepmother, dragged my father and me to a performance of The Nutcracker at Christmas. I hadn’t been happy about it, but I love Jenna. As far as stepmothers go, she’s a keeper. A hell of a lot better than my biological mother, who took off when I was five years old, and I haven’t seen her since. Even though I try not to dwell on Candace, the fact that she couldn’t be bothered to stick around to see how I turned out bothers me on a profound level.
How could it not?
Two years after that, Dad married Jenna, and she’s been a permanent fixture in my life ever since. So, if she wanted me to experience a little culture? Fine, I would do it. Once the lights dimmed and the curtain was raised, I’d popped an earbud in and settled back in my seat, fully prepared to waste the next two hours of my life. Instead, Alyssa had danced her way across the stage. I’d pulled out the earbud and sat spellbound, unable to look away.
I’d let Jenna make the outing an annual tradition and didn’t bitch one damn time about going. Maybe in real life, I couldn’t stare at Alyssa the way I wanted to, but in a darkened theater, I could spend a couple of hours feeding the intense need I had for her. The craving that was deep inside. The one I continued to deny myself on a daily basis.
The best part, the most reassuring part, was that she would never be the wiser.
Chapter Four
Colton
September of sophomore year...
“Dude, you know I hate this place.” Beck glares at the wide-open space that surrounds him. “The silence creeps me out.”
A librarian sitting behind a long stretch of counter in the middle of the second-floor scowls at us before raising a finger to her lips. “Shhh!”
Beck stiffens beside me as his mouth sinks at the corners. “That woman just shushed me.”
I glance at the older lady, who is now full-on glaring at us. “Yup, that’s her job.”
“Why the hell did you bring me here?” His grumbled words are barely decipherable. “Is it payback for something I did to you? If so, I’m sorry. All right? Whatever it is, I apologize. And I’ll never do it again.” There’s a beat of silence. “Can we leave now?”
I roll my eyes—what a damn baby. “Just give me a few minutes. I need to check out a couple of books for an econ project, then we can head out.”
“Sounds seriously boring.”
He’s not wrong. Most of the time, economics is dry and tedious. And micro-econ makes me want to hurtle myself off a cliff. It’s a necessary evil for the finance degree I’m working toward.
As we wind our way through a few of the stacks, looking for the business section, Beck grinds to a halt. I stop and raise a brow. I swear to God, if he’s about to bitch and complain again, I’m going to punch him in the face.
Then he can bitch and complain about that.
Instead, his gaze remains focused on something in the distance. He’s like a bird dog who has spotted, well...a bird. Normally, Beck is a laidback kind of dude. Nothing riles him up, and he’s not one to take life too seriously. I’m pretty sure his father, Archibald, attempted to beat the nonchalance right out of him, but it didn’t work. Beck is who he is, and that’s not going to change anytime soon.
“If you want to get out of here,” I mutter impatiently, “then let’s move.”
“You know what? Go on without me. Baker is over there with Reinholtz and Collins. I’m gonna see what they’re up to.”
That’s when my gaze lands on a table full of our teammates. My guess is that they’re here, getting study hours in. By all the joking and laughing going on, it doesn’t look like that’s happening. And Baker...that guy needs all the study time he can get. “Whatever, dude. I’ll swing by after I find what I need.”
Beck saunters away with a wave of his hand. “Take your time.”
Honestly, I’ll probably get this wrapped up a lot faster without him in tow. Just like I suspected, it takes under five minutes to locate the books I’m hunting for. With a big breath, I blow off the dust covering them before pulling each
one out and thumbing through the pages. One peek at the table of contents is enough to confirm this project will be every bit as excruciating as I originally suspected.
Fucking economics.
With the books in hand, I swing around, ready to find Beck. As I retrace my steps through the second floor of the library, I spot Alyssa sitting at a table buried in a corner of the business section. It’s not exactly the most popular place for obvious reasons, but I guess if you’re looking for a quiet area to work, this would be it. For a long moment, I take her in. Her long blond hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she’s wearing a shirt that hangs off one shoulder. There are black glasses perched on her nose.
A zip of unwanted attraction ricochets through my heart. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Alyssa wear glasses before. She looks all kinds of sexy in them. And studious.
Fooling around with her after high school graduation had been a mistake. One I regret. If I thought it would help evict her from my head, I was sadly mistaken—more like the opposite. One taste was never going to be enough.
Instead of giving in to my urges, I’ve steered clear of the west end of campus, where the fine arts building, and her dorm, are located. If I catch wind that she’ll be at a party, I hit a different one. That’s been my tactical plan ever since.
Has it helped to stomp out my feelings for her?
Not one damn bit. When we do happen to run into each other, the intensity is like a tidal wave crashing over me, threatening to suck me under. Instead of cautiously backing away, I take an unconscious step in her direction. Before I can think better of it, more distance gets eaten up between us. Even though my brain is shouting at me to turn around and walk away, instinct takes over, propelling me forward.
This is the one girl who continues to override my feelings of self-preservation. I’ve never understood how she’s managed to circumvent the walls I’ve thrown up. Alyssa stirs emotions inside me that I’d rather not experience. There’s something about her that draws me like a moth to a flickering flame. As much as I want to forget about her, I can’t. She’s always there in the back of my head. When I’m with other girls, it’s Alyssa I envision. She’s the only one capable of making me feel something which is precisely why I continue to deny myself.
It’s all kinds of fucked up, and I know it.
When Alyssa flashes a smile across the table, my gaze shifts, and I realize she isn’t alone. I straighten to my full height, only now noticing the guy parked across from her.
Jamison Daniels.
He’s one of my teammates.
What the fuck is she doing with him?
His lips hitch at the corners as he reaches across the smooth surface that separates them and brushes his fingers across her knuckles.
Oh, hell no!
That is so not going to happen!
Before I realize it, I’m stalking across the space. It only takes a handful of strides for me to pull up alongside their table. Alyssa blinks out of her Jamison-induced haze as her gaze flickers in my direction. Ever since that girl turned fifteen, she’s been after me. I’ve never seen her so much as look at another dude. A potent concoction of jealousy-infused anger vibrates through every cell of my being. It takes all of my self-control not to tackle this asshole to the ground and drag him away from her.
“Hey.” I’m almost impressed at my own ability to keep my fury from bleeding through that one syllable. I want to rip off Jamison’s head and shit down his throat. Alyssa needs to understand that she belongs to me. Whether we’re together or not.
She’s mine.
She’s always been mine.
“Hi.” Her gaze stays pinned to me as she leans against the chair and pulls off her glasses. The movement has her fingers slipping from his outstretched hand.
I release a pent-up breath the moment they’re no longer touching. I’d hate to beat the shit out of one of my own teammates, but I’ll do it. I don’t like him touching her.
Hell, I don’t like anyone touching her.
Anyone that is but me.
Fuck.
I plow a hand through my hair in agitation. Only now does it occur to me that I have no idea if she’s been out with other guys. Whenever we run into each other, her attention is strictly focused on me. Even if I’m surrounded by other girls, she’ll fight her way through the crowd to get to me.
And you know what?
That’s exactly the way I like it. I enjoy knowing that even though I’m holding her at a distance, it’s me that she wants.
Does that make me an asshole?
Probably, but I can live with that knowledge. What I can’t tolerate is Alyssa going out with other guys. Fear and panic flood through me until I’m nearly drowning in it. Here’s the problem—I can’t have this girl for myself, but I don’t want anyone else to have her either. I have no idea what to do.
Whether Jamison realizes it or not, he’s treading on my territory.
“Daniels,” I bite out.
Reluctantly, he sits back and folds his arms across his chest. His biceps pop with the movement. Is he seriously trying to intimidate me? I almost snort.
Not gonna happen, dude.
“What’s up, Montgomery?”
Instead of responding to the question, I fire off one of my own. “Do you two know each other?” I wince at the bite of jealousy that threads its way through my gruff voice.
“We have psychology together,” Alyssa cuts in, beating him to the punch and drawing my attention back to her.
I jerk my head toward the stacks where we can have a little more privacy. “Let’s talk.”
Her brows skyrocket across her forehead before she does the unthinkable and shakes her head. “Sorry, maybe another time? We’re kind of in the middle of something.”
Excuse me?
First of all, I’m well aware of what they’re in the middle of, and that’s exactly what I’m attempting to break up.
Second, is Alyssa really telling me no?
Me?
Is this the same girl who would have happily spread her legs any time I wanted?
“Look, Mont—”
“Shut the hell up,” I glance at Jamison and snap, “this doesn’t concern you. Do yourself a favor and stay out of it.”
His jaw turns slack. I don’t think he could be more surprised if I tackled his ass to the floor in the middle of the library. Jamison Daniels might be a senior, but I don’t give a flying fuck.
Alyssa’s eyes widen.
Since they’re both in a state of shock, I drop the books I’m holding onto the table and take this opportunity to pull her away. Alyssa has always been something of a wildcard. I don’t even bother to pretend it’s not part of the attraction. Once she finds her bearings, she’ll probably tear me a new one.
I grab her hand and yank her to her feet before flicking a glance at Daniels to make sure his ass stays glued to the chair. Even though I can tell he’s tempted to get in my way, he doesn’t move a muscle. The guy has always struck me as a pussy, so this isn’t a total surprise. All bark and no bite.
“Colton,” she says in weak protest.
“You’ve got two minutes, Montgomery,” Jamison mutters.
Or what? What’s he going to do?
Instead of jumping further down his throat and getting into a physical altercation, my grip tightens on her. That one touch has the brightest part of my anger and jealousy diminishing. Alyssa has always had this effect on me. She settles something deep inside. Something I’ve never wanted to examine too closely. Only now do I realize that I might have to. If my only alternative is to lose her, then there won’t be a choice in the matter.
Ignoring Jamison, I wind my way through the stacks, searching for a place we can converse without interruption.
“Colton!” She tugs her hand, attempting to pull it free. “Stop! You can’t just come here and hijack—”
Wanna bet?
When I grind to a halt, she slams into me from behind and stumbles. I swing around
, my hands tightening on her slender shoulders before stalking toward her. She’s left with no other choice but to scramble backward. Her eyes widen as her spine hits the bookshelf, and she realizes there’s nowhere else to go. She’s trapped.
And at my mercy.
Our gazes fasten as my lips hover over her parted ones. The scent of her is intoxicating. I’ve spent so much time keeping her at a distance that being this close to her drives me insane. It takes everything I have to hold myself in check. I want this girl in the worst possible way.
I always have.
Now that I’ve done the unthinkable and touched her, I’m finding it difficult to control myself. The floodgates have been opened, and there’s no way to slam them shut again.
“What are you doing?” Her voice wavers as her hands press against my chest as if she’s capable of holding me off. The heat of her palms burn through the thin cotton of my T-shirt, singeing the skin beneath it. The feel of them are tattoos that will forever be a reminder of the day I lost my battle.
“This.”
I step closer, pressing our bodies together until I can feel every rise and fall of her chest against mine. Her breath catches at the contact right before my lips crash onto hers. For a heartbeat, maybe two, I wonder if she’ll fight me. Her body stiffens before melting against mine as if she’s wanted this for as long as I have.
When my tongue sweeps across the seam of her lips, demanding entrance, she opens, and I delve inside. Her fingers curl, sinking into the cotton fabric of my shirt. The crescent shape of her nails bite into my flesh, grounding me to the present, to the intimacy unfolding between us. Only now that I’m exploring her mouth do I realize how much I’ve craved this. How did I ever think that one taste of her sweetness, almost a year and a half ago, would be enough?
The Boy Next Door Page 2