Slow Play

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Slow Play Page 10

by Monica Murphy


  “This.” He touches my hair, tucks a strand behind my ear so gently I have to close my eyes against the intense wave of desire that washes over me. “You feel it,” he whispers. “I touch you and it’s like electricity sparks between us. I look into your eyes and I feel like I’m fucking drowning. And when I kiss you, I never want to stop.”

  I press my lips together, waiting for the touch of his mouth on mine. I expect it. Want it. So bad I can taste it.

  But it doesn’t come.

  Slowly I open my eyes to find him watching me, yet not touching me. “You know I can make it worth your while,” he murmurs as he runs his thumb across his jaw, across his lips. Lips I want to touch. It’s like he’s taunting me and I don’t doubt for an instant this is planned. He knows what he’s doing. “But you’re not brave enough to let go.”

  “Are you calling me a chicken?” I ask.

  He nods, a tiny smile curving his perfect mouth. “Yeah.”

  “If you think that’s going to spring me into action, you’re wrong.” I shift away from the wall and circle around him, drawing closer to my bed. “It’s late. You should go.”

  “Sure.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and hunches his shoulders, his face completely unreadable. Downright innocent looking, which is not very Tristan-like. “Whatever you want, Alexandria.”

  “I want you to leave,” I say again, more to myself than to him.

  “Okay. I’m leaving.” His smile grows. “Can I text you tomorrow?”

  I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”

  He chuckles and makes his way toward the door. I ignore the disappointment crashing through me. He needs to go. His being here is dangerous. I’ll do something crazy like let him stay. Take off his clothes. Take off my clothes. Slip into my bed. Together. Just the two of us.

  And it would be amazing.

  “See that’s the thing about your nice guy Steven. He asks if he can text you, if he can see you. And you always say yes.” He turns to face me. “When I asked just now, you say no. But it works for him. He’s so damn polite you can’t help but agree, right?”

  I nod slowly, wondering where he’s going with this.

  “Me? I don’t ask. I just take. I don’t smile and kick the ground, act like I’m some bashful asshole, hoping like hell you fall for it. I don’t waste my time with games. I go after what I want.”

  His blunt and twisted honesty is somehow working on me. “And what do you want?”

  “You.” He takes three steps and he’s suddenly in front of me, his hand curling around my neck as he pulls me in, pressing a hard, quick kiss to my lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmurs, releasing his hold on me and going back to the door.

  I say nothing, my lips still tingling from his kiss. He opens the door, turning to face me with a smile. “Night Alexandria.”

  The door shuts behind him before I can say another word.

  “You’re mean.” I slump into the chair and glare at Kelli from across the table. She sips from her Starbucks cup, the little smile she’s wearing smug as hell. “Why are we meeting so early on a Sunday again?”

  “To get this hellish task over and done with for the day. Kind of like ripping off a Band Aid you know? Quick and easy,” she says with a yawn. Guess the Starbucks isn’t kicking in just yet. “Besides, it’s not that early.”

  “It’s ten.”

  “So?”

  I say nothing, leaping from the chair when I hear my name called. I grab my drink from the counter and head back to our table, hoping the triple espresso shot I added to my regular PSL will do the trick and wake me up.

  Yet again another bad night of restless sleep. What a surprise. All I could do was run over everything that happened in my mind, the moments playing in a constant loop. The kiss. The kisses. I couldn’t let those go when I should. I so should. He’s such a player he’s probably already kissed two girls since he was last with me. The asshole.

  Tristan is going to drive me to taking sleeping pills I’m sure.

  “Is ten really too early for you on a Sunday morning?” Kelli asks when I settle back in at our table. She sounds concerned, which is hilarious. Though Mama Kelli does rear her ugly head on such occasions.

  “Well, yeah. With school and now my new work schedule in the mix, I think Sunday’s going to end up being my one morning I get to really sleep in, you know? So I want to savor my delicious warm bed, not worry about studying for our stupid stats quiz. I worked really hard yesterday. I was tired, you saw me.” Well, that’s not necessarily a lie. I was tired after working yesterday. But it was Tristan who kept me awake. Tristan and his magic hands and lips and words…oh, his words.

  They are the worst. Yet they’re also such an incredible turn-on. What guy tells you he’s not nice? That he just takes what he wants?

  A hot guy like Tristan, that’s who.

  “We never did talk about your first day on the job.” Kelli takes a sip of her drink. “How was it?”

  “I liked it. The owner, Sandie, is really nice and easy to talk to. She’s giving me around fifteen hours a week at first and she’ll give me a few more if I think I can handle it.”

  “That’s awesome. I’m so happy for you!” Kelli leans over and grabs her backpack, unzipping it so she can pull out our statistics book. “You ready for this?”

  No. I never will be either. I despise this class. “Isn’t it counterproductive to cram for a test in the morning when we won’t be taking it until at least twenty four hours later? Actually closer to thirty six?”

  “It was the only time I could fit this in. I have to write a paper this afternoon. I’m meeting with my study group over at the library.” Kelli flips open her book and grimaces at what greets her. “God, what does all this stuff even mean?”

  “You don’t know?” I chug half my PSL as quick as possible, needing that extra caffeine to jolt my system awake. “Why am I studying with you again?”

  “Because I have the hook up.” Kelli’s sly smile tells me everything I need to know without wasting a word. “He should be here any minute.”

  Oh. Crap. She’s talking about…

  “I’m going to kill you,” I mutter as I cross my arms onto the table and let my head fall on top of it. Damn it, he better not show up. I don’t want to see him. My lack of sleep is all his fault and I look like ass because of it so I’m blaming him for that too.

  He’s going to take the blame for everything right now and I don’t feel one ounce of guilt over it either.

  “Good morning, ladies.”

  His deep, slightly rough, totally sexy voice is super close and I lift my head, cracking my eyes open. Kelli’s watching me with this amused expression on her face and I know he’s standing behind me. Above me. Whatever. I can feel him. All of his warm, deliciously sexy vibes are coming straight at me, trying to draw me into his dangerous web.

  Slowly I turn and tilt my head back until my gaze meets his. He’s smiling at me, as friendly as ever, without a care in the world. Looking so freaking good in jeans and a—yep you guessed it—dark green Henley long-sleeved shirt that conforms to his shoulders and chest, making his eyes look more green than blue. His hair is damp, as if he just got out of the shower only moments ago and he’s got a coffee in his hand. The epitome of casual nonchalance, like a good friend stopping by to help us out of the kindness of his warm and giving heart. A heart I don’t believe exists if you want my honest opinion.

  “Looking fresh and bright eyed this morning, aren’t you,” he drawls, staring pointedly at me. There’s not a flicker of acknowledgement of what happened between us last night in his expression.

  Yeah. Fine. No big deal. If he can act nonchalant, so can I.

  “I can’t shake you, can I?” I ask wryly. I’m pretending too. Like he didn’t have his tongue shoved in my mouth and his hands all over my body only a few hours ago. Like I wasn’t moaning and rubbing against him, my hands in his hair and every bit of common sense fleeing my brain.

  Laughing, he
pulls out the chair next to mine—did you expect he would sit next to Kelli? Please—and settles in, his arm bumping against my elbow. “I’m here to help you, Alexandria. I know statistics is your worst subject.”

  “It is.” I reach into my backpack and pull out my stupid textbook, determined to make this all about school and nothing else.

  “Why is that anyway?”

  “Because it’s math, duh.” Oh, I sound like a petulant child. He should tell me to grow up. I deserve it. He did help us a few days ago at the library. I can’t forget that. He’s here on a Sunday morning, taking the time to help us cram. Either he’s just being nice or has ulterior motives.

  I’m pretty certain it’s ulterior motives bringing him here but I guess I should take advantage of his help while I can.

  “I’ve discovered those who hate math are usually just scared of it,” he says, his gaze snagging mine. For a moment I see a flicker of something dark in his eyes. A reminder of the Tristan I was with last night. The one who kissed me and touched me and drove me out of my freaking mind with lust. “You shouldn’t be afraid of simple logic. It can’t hurt you.”

  Is he talking about stats or himself?

  Kelli clears her throat and Tristan jerks his gaze from mine. “This test is huge,” she stresses. “Not just a weekly quiz, Tris, but a complete review of everything we’ve learned so far this semester. I’ve forgotten pretty much everything from the first few weeks of class. Haven’t you, Alex?”

  I nod, unable to speak. My heart feels like it’s bouncing around in my chest like a basketball and I don’t think I can blame the espresso shots in my latte.

  “Not a problem,” he says breezily, reaching over to snag my textbook. I mutter a noise of protest but he ignores me, bending his head over the pages as he starts flipping through them. His hair falls over his forehead, brown highlighted with gold and so tempting. As in tempting me to push it away. Run my fingers through it because it’s so soft and I like the way it clung to my fingers…

  Making an irritated sound in my throat, I glance up at Kelli and send her a stern look, one that says I cannot freaking believe you. But she just smiles and waggles her eyebrows.

  And so begins an hour of absolute, pure torture. Not just the stats review because that’s bad enough. No, the worst part of it all is sitting next to Tristan, listening to him speak, watching his hands move over the paper as he demonstrates a formula, as he taps the book spread out in front of us to point out something in particular. He has nice hands.

  Beautiful hands, with long fingers, wide palms, hands that knew just how to touch me. Now they’re being wasted on paper and textbooks, running over statistics problems and trying their best to get me to focus. But I can’t. I can’t focus when all I can do is feel him. Smell him. His hair is now dry and it curls around his ears and neck. He still has scruff on his jaw and chin, which tells me he didn’t shave this morning and I want to feel it. Run my hands over his face and feel the prick of his stubble against my palm.

  Clearly I’m losing my mind. I’m also going to fail this test because I’m not retaining a word he’s saying.

  “You’re so smart, Tristan,” Kelli says for about the twentieth time. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  I say nothing because he’s not helping me whatsoever.

  “I need another drink.” Kelli rises to her feet and panic washes through me. I should go with her. Or go use the restroom—anything to avoid spending time with Tristan alone.

  But I do nothing. Just sit in gape-mouthed horror as Kelli heads over to the front counter to place her order. I can feel Tristan looking at me and I remain facing forward. Biting off the little gasp that forms when he gently grabs my hand and interlaces our fingers together.

  Just as he said last night, sparks form between our palms, sending a trail of heat up my arm, coursing through my veins. I swallow hard and work my jaw, trying to come up with something to say when he beats me to the punch.

  “You’re not listening to a thing I’m saying are you?”

  His gruff voice melts my resolve and I dare to look over at him. Still can’t seem to muster up a word to say yet though.

  He must think I’m an idiot.

  His smile is soft, unlike the normal, cocky smirk that he usually flashes at me and I’m instantly wary. “Are you getting it? Or is it all just going over your head?”

  I shrug, my mouth twisting to the side in a grimace. I don’t want to tell him I’m not getting it because the mere sound of his voice is too distracting? Or the fact that I can smell his clean, soapy scent and it’s making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside? I can’t even speak because he’s touching me, his fingers curling around mine…

  “Alexandria.” My gaze zeroes in on his mouth as he says my name. I like how he pronounces it, the way his lips form, that little glimpse of tongue I see when he trips over the second syllable. “Have you turned mute? Deaf—ah hell, maybe both? Shit, are you Helen Keller reincarnated?”

  I release his hand and shove at his shoulder, making him laugh. “Stop,” I mumble.

  His laughter dies. “Seriously, do you want me to go over something again? I know this particular section is tough.” He flips the pages of my book, pointing.

  I rest my hand on his arm and he turns to look at me. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  It’s a legitimate question. He doesn’t do nice. He said that himself last night. He’s proved that time and again. So why is he helping us study for our test? He’s already taken this course. He should be sleeping in or rolling around in bed with some pretty girl, not wasting his time trying to teach Kelli and me statistics.

  His lips part and his eyes go blank. Like a curtain dropping, masking any emotion that he might’ve been feeling only a moment ago. “I’m doing it for Kelli.”

  I slowly shake my head. “Don’t lie to me, Tristan.”

  “I want to get in your panties? This way you’ll owe me?” He lifts his eyebrows.

  Okay, there’s a glimpse of the real Tristan. Maybe. “So now you’re trading your stats skills for sex?”

  He smiles. “Whatever works, right?”

  “You still want to have sex with me?”

  “You don’t have to fish for compliments.” He reaches for my face, presses his thumb to the corner of my lips. “I’d fuck you in the bathroom right now if you said you were up for it.”

  “Gross.” I swat his hand away and he chuckles. I really hope he’s joking. Well, sort of. Being here with him like this, acting so normal on a Sunday morning in a Starbucks, I don’t know what to think. How to feel. He’s…sweet like this. Trying to help us out, patiently explaining everything, going over each example step by step. Who knew Tristan had it in him?

  “Do I have to want something from you when I offer my help?”

  “I don’t know. Do you? I get a sense you don’t normally help anyone.”

  He frowns. “I don’t.”

  But I’m willing to help her. Why? This goes beyond wanting to get her naked. Or…no. No, it doesn’t. I’m just so damn intrigued by this girl I’ll do just about anything to get her to come around and see my way of things.

  And my way of things involves getting her naked. That’s it. End of story.

  “So why me?” she asks, prodding me in the side with her index finger.

  Damn, she’s pushy. And pretty. So pretty. No makeup on, her dark blonde hair in a ponytail on top of her head, skin clear and smooth, those questioning eyes watching me, waiting for me to what? Give her a proper explanation?

  How can I do that when I don’t understand my motives myself?

  “Because you’re extremely fuckable?” I wince the moment the words leave my mouth and she glares. Girls at a bar on a Thursday night three drinks in love it when I say they’re fuckable. They fall for that line every single time.

  Sunday morning at a Starbucks cramming for a stats test…I’m thinking fuckable doesn’t work.

  “You make me sound like a dirty stuffed
animal. ‘Oh, she’s so adorably fuckable’.” Alexandria makes a face.

  “Maybe that was a bad choice of words,” I start but she cuts me off.

  “You think?”

  “I know,” I stress. “And I take it back. You’re not fuckable.”

  Oh, look at that. Her expression changes and she looks downright sad that I took back the fuckable remark. Make up your mind, gorgeous. You either want my attention or not.

  “Are you two fighting?” Kelli asks as she settles back into her seat.

  “I’m done.” Alexandria pulls her book away from me and slams it shut, then stuffs it into her backpack. “Either I’ve got this or I don’t. Thanks for your help, Tristan,” she says, not even bothering to look at me as she stands. “See you tomorrow in class, Kelli.”

  She buzzes out of the Starbucks before Kelli or I can say anything to stop her.

  “That was weird,” Kelli says slowly, sipping from her drink. “What just happened?”

  “I don’t know.” I study the door, wishing she would come back. Wishing more that I could chase after her. But I don’t chase after women. Not like this. The conquest happens because they come to me. I draw them in like bees to honey. It’s easy. Smile, say something flirty, drop an innuendo, make eye contact, touch them and bam. They’re yours for the night. Sometimes they’d like to be yours beyond the night but I never let them get to that point. Not really. Unless they’re psycho and have wedding dreams from the first moment they meet you.

  I had one of those my freshman year. Scariest shit ever. She was a straight up stalker. Gabe and Shep found it hilarious.

  They would.

  “You said something to offend her.” Kelli states this, not asking like a normal person would.

  “I don’t know.” I throw my hands up into the air, frustration slipping through my veins. “She’s hard to read.”

  “She says the same thing about you.”

  I go still. “She does?”

 

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