“So what do you have against jocks, anyway?”
“Who said I had anything against them?”
“Really? You really need to ask me that? You sneer every time you say the word.”
“I do not.”
“Yeah you do.” Dillon looked around, wondering if she was going to make him stand all night. Probably, since there weren’t that many places to sit. He pulled his long coat off and moved to the overgrown beanbag chair, eyeing it dubiously. “Is this thing safe to sit in?”
“The sac? Of course. It’s the best.”
“It looks like a beanbag chair on steroids that’ll swallow me whole.”
“You’ve never seen a sac chair before?”
“No.”
“Oh, they’re the absolute best.” She tossed him a grin over her shoulder and nodded toward the big ball. “Go ahead, try it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Uh, yeah. It’s harmless. Watch.” She grinned then kind of ran toward the bag, spinning as she flopped back into it. A small laugh escaped her as she sunk into the chair. “See? Harmless. And super comfortable.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Just try it.” Maggie pushed herself out of the huge bag then stepped out of the way, waving her hand. “Go on. Try it.”
She was serious. And if he didn’t know better, she was actually daring him, too. He narrowed his eyes at her then at the large bag. Well hell, if she could do it—
He took a running start and threw himself into the bag, closing his eyes just before he landed in a belly-flop. His entire body sunk into the cushiony bag, his face enveloped by the soft upholstery. He chuckled and turned himself over, then shifted so he was mostly sitting in it.
“Okay, you were right. This is nice.” He ran his hands along the material then grinned. “I may have to get me one of these.”
“Told you so.” She kicked off her boots then settled into the desk chair, thumbing through a small binder. He had seen it before: it was her planner, always with her.
“You said you had the next few days free?”
“Yeah. Until Tuesday.”
“So when did you want to meet?”
“I’m open every day, you tell me.”
She glanced over at him, her brows lowered, then looked back at the book. Her lips moved silently and she made a few notes on the pages then looked back at him. Down at the book, back at him. “I, uh, I’m actually free every day after eleven.”
“Then we’ll meet every day.”
“I don’t think—”
“That I can do it?”
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“Maybe not, but it’s what you were thinking.” He watched her for a long minute, wondering if she was going to deny it. She didn’t, which almost surprised him. Then again, maybe not. She’d been up front and totally honest ever since he’d met her. Maybe he didn’t always like what she had to say, but he had to give her credit for being open. Too many people weren’t.
He shifted on the bag then patted the large empty space next to him. “Come on over here and have a seat.”
Her eyes widened and she quickly shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not? This thing is big enough. And it’s got to be more comfortable than that chair.”
“No, I don’t think—”
“Maggie. I’m not going to bite. Now get over here and bring your calendar.”
The air grew thick with suspense. Or maybe it was just a clash of wills. Dillon held his breath, wondering if she was going to come up with a reason she couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. His mind was already working, coming up with counter-arguments for every excuse she might give him. He didn’t want to think too hard about why he wanted her to sit next to him, didn’t want to give it more importance than it deserved.
But it was important, and he wasn’t sure why.
He was certain she was going to say no when she finally stood, muttering under her breath. The words were too soft and too quick for him to understand, which was fine by him. He had a pretty good idea of the general gist of her mumbles, he didn’t need to actually hear them.
She stepped closer then eased her body onto the large bag, shifting around for a few seconds. He noticed she was careful not to touch him, not to settle in too close to him, and he gave her extra points for her dexterity.
“Better?”
She snorted, not looking at him. “Sure.”
Dillon chuckled at the sarcasm in her voice then shifted his weight. The bag itself shifted and Maggie rolled toward him until their thighs pressed together. She stiffened again.
“So tell me why you don’t like jocks.”
“I thought you wanted to go over the schedule.”
“We already did. Every day after eleven in the morning. Now why don’t you like jocks?”
“We’re not having this discussion—”
“Let me guess: you had a crush on one who happened to be an asshole.”
Maggie didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. Her pursed lips and clenched jaw said it all. Dillon shifted once more, bringing her even closer without actually touching her. He started to move his arm, to drape it around her shoulders. Not just because he wanted to, but because it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do. He caught himself at the last minute and dropped his hand back into his lap.
“High school?”
Maggie turned her head, her eyes narrowed. “What about high school?”
“When it happened.”
“We’re not having this discussion—”
“You said that already.”
“Because I meant it.”
“Okay, fine.”
“Fine.”
“Most teenage boys are assholes.”
“I could say the same for most grown boys, too.”
“Ouch. That’s not very nice.”
“I didn’t say it to be nice.”
“Obviously.” Dillon chuckled, which only made her frown deepen. “So. Did you have fun at the game?”
She turned her head, eyeing him with suspicion. Her body relaxed next to his, just the slightest bit. A small victory. “Yeah, I did. Like I said, I didn’t understand any of it, but it was still kind of fun.”
“Maybe I can teach you a little about hockey. You know, after you teach me all about my shortcomings in chemistry.”
“I never said you had shortcomings—”
“I was joking. Lighten up.” He nudged her in the side then inwardly winced. Nudging her? Really? She wasn’t one of the guys, not even close. What the hell was he thinking?
Maggie was obviously wondering the same thing because she leaned closer, watching him from beneath lowered brows. Dillon shifted, wondering how to apologize. Or if he even should apologize. Would apologizing make it worse?
Probably. And he didn’t want to make it worse, not when she was looking at him like that. She was so close, close enough he could see little flecks of gold in the warm brown eyes behind the lenses of her glasses. From this close, her skin looked rosier than he first thought. And soft. Was it as soft as it looked? He suddenly wanted to know.
He raised his hand, his fingers outstretched, inches away from her cheek. She blinked, her eyes widening a fraction as he hesitated. Then he reached out and ran the tip of his index finger along her cheek, down to her jaw then up across her bottom lip. Her mouth parted on a small gasp, barely more than a breath of surprise.
He had been right. Her skin was soft, almost like a petal. Her lip was even softer and he suddenly wanted—needed—to feel how soft her mouth would be against his.
Dillon shifted, leaning closer. Would she stiffen? Push him away? Slug him? She did none of those things so he leaned closer still, closer until his mouth closed over hers. Soft, gentle, tentative.
She gasped again, her mouth opening under his. He took advantage and swept his tongue inside in a gentle invasion. Seeking, learning. Slow, so slow.
She leaned closer, he
r hands hesitating before settling on his shoulders. Dillon cradled the back of her head in his hand and deepened the kiss, falling back into the downy softness of the oversized sac until she was resting partially across his chest.
He kept kissing her, deep explorations of her mouth, learning more with every sweep of his tongue. She tasted like spice and wonder, warm and inviting and mysterious.
He groaned, the sound muffled between them. Desire, swift and burning, swept through him. He wanted to do more than kiss. So much more. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not with Maggie.
He wanted more than kisses: he wanted her trust.
Dillon gentled the kiss and eased away, his fingers still stroking the soft strands of her hair. Maggie’s eyes fluttered open, wide and dazed as she watched him. Her mouth was slightly parted, her lips moist and rosy. She looked…stunned. Dillon could empathize, because he felt the same way.
“I should go.” His voice was hoarse, ragged, the sound surprising him. He cleared his throat but made no move to stand.
Maggie blinked, almost like she didn’t hear him at first. Then her body stiffened and she placed her hands against his chest, trying to push away. Dillon tightened his arms around her, holding her in place as he read her mind.
“If I don’t leave now, I’m going to want to do more than kiss.”
“Oh.” Her body eased, but only slightly. He held his breath, hoping for an invitation, but he heard only silence. And he should leave, he really should…
He captured her mouth once more, unable to fend off temptation. The kiss was sweeter, spicier. Deeper. And oh, so tempting. He pulled away again with a groan of regret then shifted on the bag.
Maggie was the first one to move, sliding away from him and pushing to her feet. She ran a trembling hand through her hair and offered him a small smile as she stuck her hand out.
He took it in his, smiling when her fingers tightened around his own and tugged to help him up. It would be so easy to tug harder, to pull her back into his lap. But no, he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not yet. Not tonight.
He jumped to his feet, reaching down to adjust himself when Maggie turned away. Already he was regretting his decision to stop.
No, that wasn’t true. Not really. Maybe it would be a long night once he left, but he’d regret it more if he just jumped her. He’d had one-night stands before, here and there. Not long after he’d been drafted. That’s not what he wanted with Maggie.
He didn’t know what he wanted with Maggie.
“So. Tomorrow at eleven?”
Dillon shrugged into his coat and nodded. “Tomorrow at eleven. Meet here?”
The question seemed to surprise her. She hesitated, chewing on her lower lip for a brief second, then finally nodded. “Okay. We can meet here. Sure.”
“Perfect.” He turned toward the door, stopped, moved two steps toward Maggie. Then he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss against her mouth, smiling at the small gasp of surprise.
“See you tomorrow.”
Chapter Eleven
Dillon Frayser was nothing more than a big fat liar and Maggie had the proof right in front of her. In black and white.
Right there. In front of her.
She glared at the paper, wondering if she could make it go up in flames with her stare. She had never been one to wish for superpowers before, but she did now: the power to ignite with a single look.
Knowing her luck, the stupid power would backfire and set her on fire when she looked in the mirror. Because yeah, that was the kind of luck she was having today.
And it was all because of that kiss last night. One silly, stupid, kiss. Okay, so maybe it was more than one kiss. And maybe it wasn’t exactly silly. Or stupid. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it, which is why she overslept this morning. That made her run late, which cut her time short in the lab. That made her cranky, because she had been so close to finishing her project.
Then to learn that Dillon Frayser was a liar…that was more than she could handle on one meager cup of tea this morning. Regular tea, because she didn’t have time to swing by the coffee shop and get her normal chai tea latte.
Because she had overslept. Because she had been up all night thinking about that stupid kiss.
“What’s wrong?”
She looked up from the paper and focused her laser glare on the big fat liar sprawled in her sac chair. He didn’t burst into flames like she wanted. In fact, he didn’t do anything except sit there, sprawled out like he actually belonged there, a look of innocence on his too-charming face.
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure? You look like something’s wrong.”
“I said: nothing.” She pushed the words out through clenched teeth, which only made him watch her more closely. And could he look any more innocent and charming? Sitting there in a pair of faded jeans that hugged his long powerful legs and a faded sweatshirt that did absolutely nothing to hide his broad muscular chest. And she knew it was muscular and solid and hard as a rock because she had been draped across it last night. Right there, in that stupid soft sac chair where he was sitting.
Life wasn’t fair. At all.
Because Dillon Frayser was a big fat liar.
Yeah, maybe he was a jock. But he was a jock with brains. He played chess! Cripes, this wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.
She looked back at the paper and fisted her hand in her lap. If she didn’t do that, she’d end up crumbling the paper into a big fat wad and throwing it at him. Only she didn’t have very good aim so the wad would probably land at her own feet and bounce harmlessly away. And where was the fun in that?
“So how’d I do?”
Maggie resisted laughing, just one short, loud HA. Yeah, like he didn’t know how he did. She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to figure out if he was teasing her.
“Was it that bad?”
“No.”
“Oh.” He shifted and took a sip of whatever was in the giant cup he’d brought with him. Of course, he brought her one, too. A large chai tea latte. No water. Extra hot. And cripes, how had he figured out so quickly how she liked her drink? He’d heard her order it maybe once. Once. He shouldn’t be able to remember.
Except he did. And now that she thought about it, she realized he’d done the same thing yesterday: ordered her favorite drink without having to ask what it was.
She eyed the cup sitting on the edge of the desk then finally reached for it. No, she wasn’t betraying herself by taking a drink. She needed the caffeine, even if it was too little, too late.
“Are you going to keep me in suspense all day or are you going to let me know how I did?”
“Yeah.”
He chuckled, the sound warm and maybe even a little confused. “Okay. Is that yeah, you’re going to keep me in suspense? Or yeah, you’re going to tell me?”
“I’m going to tell you.”
Several minutes went by, filled with nothing more than the tiny patter of Slinky’s paws against the bottom of her cage. Dillon took another long swallow of his drink then sat the cup off to the side.
“Well?”
“You passed.”
“Cool. How many did I get wrong?”
Maggie clenched her jaw and glanced at the paper then looked back at him. Well, in his direction anyway. She couldn’t really look at him. “None.”
He straightened in the bag, shifting so he didn’t lean to the side. “Really? None wrong? Awesome.”
“Yeah. Awesome.” Maggie grabbed the paper and stood, reminding herself once again that she couldn’t crumple it and throw it at him. She closed the distance between them and dropped it in his lap then kept going, heading toward the kitchen. There was absolutely nothing in the kitchen she needed but she couldn’t just sit there.
“Is it my imagination or are you angry about something?”
“I’m not angry.”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive.” She opened one cabinet and stared into it. Closed it and moved t
o the next one, then the next one. The spot between her shoulder blades tingled a little and she knew it was because Dillon was watching her.
Probably wondering what she was doing, opening and slamming cabinet doors. Well, let him wonder.
“Did you want to start the next module? It’s early still.”
Not really, no. But she couldn’t tell him that, not when that was the whole reason he was here.
She slammed the last cabinet door then turned around. She crossed her arms in front of her and leaned back against the counter, not quite looking at him.
“You said this was the last course you needed for your degree.”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“How come you never bothered with it before now?”
“I told you, I got drafted—”
“Yeah, but that was a few years ago. Why didn’t you bother with until now?”
“I just never did.”
“But you changed your mind because you want to surprise your mother.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. But why now?”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“I mean, why did you leave this course for the last? You should have taken it earlier in your studies.”
“I didn’t.”
“Yeah, obviously. Why not?”
“Does it matter?”
It would, if she would actually get to the point. If she even had a point. She did, she just needed to figure out how to ask.
She blew out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through her hair. “Why did you leave chemistry for last?”
“Not all chemistry. Just this one course.”
“Why?”
“Honestly?”
“No. I want you to lie to me. Of course honestly. Cripes.”
Dillon chuckled, the sound wrapping around her and sending little tingles of warmth shooting through her. She tightened her hands around her arms and narrowed her eyes at him, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I hate chemistry.”
“You hate chemistry?”
“Yeah. It was my worst subject and always pulled down my GPA.”
“It pulled down your GPA. And what was that?”
One-Timer (The Baltimore Banners Book 9) Page 8