I’m still adjusting. I need some time to calibrate all this new independence.
Blake Travis is not helping my situation by being so damn built and gorgeous and quietly fascinated as he watches me watch him. It’s probably half a minute before he even says anything. He folds his buff arms across his sculpted chest and sort of silently contemplates me. Then he smiles again and those blue eyes spangle at me. “Hi,” he finally says.
“Hi.”
“I’m Blake Travis.” His voice is deep and has a husky layer to it that makes me wonder if he’s got a good singing voice. I bet he does.
“I know.”
“You’re Skye.” I’ll admit I like the way he says my name. There’s something soft and endearing about the way he handles the word, like it’s special to him.
“I am.”
“You’re a freshman.”
“Yes.”
“You’re an art student.”
“It sounds like you pretty much know everything there is to know about me,” I say. “So I guess we’re done here.”
He does that thing again where he just watches me with this rapt, nearly-amused look on his face. “Actually,” he says, “I think we’re just getting started.”
I fold my arms across my chest and glare at him a little. I wish he would leave. Because I can tell: the more time I spend with this guy, the harder he’s going to be to resist. I don’t know how to resist. Or anything else. I’m too inexperienced with relationships with human beings in general to even know where to begin.
“Tell me about yourself,” he says.
I’m still glaring at him, wondering why he would want to know this. “Don’t you have legions of girls lining up to talk to you? Maybe you should go and talk to one of them.”
He seems almost hurt by my comment. His smile falters a little. “I don’t want to talk to them. I want to talk to you.”
“Why?”
He blinks at me. “Why?” He laughs. I have no idea what could be funny about this.
“Let me see,” he says, as though talking to someone else, or to himself. “Skye wants to know why I’d want to talk to her. Hmm, let me think about that for a second.” He rubs his hand across his jaw, like he is thinking about it. Then he stares straight into my eyes. “Maybe it’s because when I saw you, sitting up there in those stands, I’d never felt so drawn to anyone in my life.”
I twirl a strand of my long hair around a finger. Something I do when I felt uneasy, like now.
He continues. “Because all the light in that stadium seemed to land on you. And all I wanted to do was stare at you and talk to you and follow you wherever you go.”
He’s crazy.
“Or maybe it’s because when I looked up and you were gone, I couldn’t handle it. So I ran up into those stands and I asked your friend about you and when she told me, I’ve been counting down the seconds until I could see you again. Because I knew where I might find you. Right here. So I came. To talk to you. No one else. Just you.”
I think that might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. And I have no idea how to respond to it.
“I wasn’t sure I’d find you here today,” he says. “You know, classes don’t start until Monday.”
“I know.” I sound almost rude and I don’t mean it to. I’m honestly just not that used to talking to people. So I make a point of trying to tone down my anxiety. “I just thought the building might be open. I wanted to get some work done.”
“I’m pretty sure they won’t open it until the start of the semester. Which is Monday.”
There goes the weekend I was going to spend working on my art project.
“Can I take you out to breakfast?” he says. “I haven’t eaten yet. I’m starving.”
Just then my stomach growls, like my body is a traitor that wants to spend more time with Blake Travis, even when my sane mind is telling me to run a mile from this grade-A specimen of too much masculinity for a hermit like me to even think about handling.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Sure it is,” he says. “You can’t work because the building is locked. It’s a beautiful day and we should make the most of it.”
When it puts it like that, it almost does sound like a good idea.
But I can’t. I’m so far out of my comfort zone I feel panicky. Like I might do something reckless and unpredictable.
“Sorry,” I say. “Maybe another time.” I remember what Piper said about him. About his rule. About how half the girls at this college are trying to convince him to break it.
The way he’s looking at me is so sad, so disappointed, I almost change my mind.
I don’t want to be impolite to him. Partly because he actually seems like a genuinely nice person and partly because of the way he’s looking at me. But I need to be clear about this. “I’m not interested in … dating people.”
His voice is low and his blue eyes take on a quiet, savage intensity as he says, “I’m not interested in dating people either. Just one person.”
“I heard about that. You’re saving yourself for true love.” Maybe the tiniest bit of skepticism creeps into my statement, only because it sounds so optimistic. So unrealistic.
A shadow of vulnerability crosses his face and I wish I could take that back. I get the feeling something made that decision for him, some painful memory from his past.
Maybe it’s that vulnerability or maybe it’s something else, but what I realize is that, with Blake Travis, I don’t feel as shy as I usually do. The sheer size of him and the brimming power contained in all those big muscles should be intimidating the hell out of me. But instead of feeling threatened, I’m almost comforted by how solid and strong he looks. And how close he’s sitting to me. Which is strange. This has never happened to me before.
I start to apologize, in case I’ve hurt his feelings or said something out of line. But then he says, “I don’t know how breakfast turned into true love but if you want to know about my rule I’ll tell you. It’ll have to be over pancakes, though, because it’s a long story.” He stands up and holds out a hand to help me. “You coming?”
She’s mind-blowingly pretty.
And she’s as skittish as a deer caught in the headlights. She’s put up some sort of protective emotional wall to shield herself from something, you can tell. And she’s smart. Determined. She’s not going to make this fucking easy for me, but that’s cool. I have all the time in the world. I’ve waited this long and I can wait a little longer. Even though I don’t want to wait any longer. I want to kiss her and hold her in my arms.
I won’t, but I want to.
There’s a reason she’s shy and closed down. And I plan on finding out what it is. Then, no matter how long it takes, I’m going to prove to her that she can trust me. I’m going to break down that protective wall and rebuild it. With safety. I’m going to enjoy figuring out how to get her to fall in love with me, even if it takes the rest of my life to do it.
Because every instinct that drew me to her the very first time I saw her has only intensified by about a million percent the minute I saw her up close. And talked to her. And heard her starry voice. Something about her, is it. I feel like I’ve just been plugged in to a lightning bolt. She’s exactly what I’ve been looking for. She’s pure beauty, alight from the inside all the way to the surface. And her surface, I have to admit, is blowing my fucking head off.
She’s slender. I find myself feeling protective, like I want to make sure she’s getting enough to eat. It’s a strange thing to think about. Her hair is the color of pale straw, of bleached wheat in the summer sun. Shades of glimmering white and gold weave in long, thick ropes, almost to her waist. Her eyes are a smoky shade of green. If she’s wearing make-up, I can’t tell. Her skin is lightly tanned. Her face is enchanting, pixie-cute and unfairly gorgeous.
And pissed off.
She doesn’t take my hand. She’s still sitting there with her arms folded across her chest. She exhales a tiny hu
ff of laughter. “I’m not going to breakfast with you.”
“Why not? You’re hungry. I’m hungry. Let’s eat something.”
She stands up. She’s so small and so slight compared to me. I have this caveman-like urge to sling her over my shoulder and carry her away with me. I could, so damn easily.
But this is a game I’m going to need to learn to play. Because I plan on playing it for a long time to come. So I smile at her with every ounce of boyish charm I possess. “Please?”
“Look,” she says. “Blake. You seem like a nice person. But I’ve got a lot to do and I still haven’t finished unpacking. I have a meal plan at the cafeteria. So I’m just going to grab a bagel and go back to my room to do some sketching.”
“Sketching?” I’ll admit it: that stings. I’ve been snubbing girls since as long as I can remember, waiting for the one girl who can make my heart beat faster and my life seem less bleak than it actually fucking is, and here she finally is. And she’d rather sketch than eat breakfast with me? I don’t get this.
She starts walking and I walk alongside her. I almost feel panicked. She’s leaving? I’m not ready to be finished with this. I’m not ready to stop looking at her yet.
“You don’t need to walk with me,” she says. “I know how to get back to my dorm. Besides, don’t you have someplace you need to be? Like football practice or something? Anyway, it was nice to meet you.” She starts putting her headphones back in. Like she’s done here. Like she’s dismissing me.
Before I can stop myself, I step in front of her, blocking her path. If this is the only way to get her attention, then so fucking be it. I hate to be a brute about this, but I’m not taking no for an answer. I can’t.
She stops walking, staring up at me with this annoyed look on her face. I notice it then: she has a sprinkling of tiny golden freckles across her nose. Her lips are pink. The urge to kiss her is so fierce I feel dizzy.
“You’re right,” I say. “It’s probably best if we don’t go out to breakfast. I get hounded when I go out to eat. We’d end up on fucking Instagram.”
She stares up at me and her pink mouth is twisted into this cute-as-hell little pout. Finally, she says, “No, we wouldn’t want that.” Sarcastically, if I’m not mistaken.
“Today’s the first day off I’ve had in a long time,” I tell her. “No games, no practice. I’ve got a car full of gas, an empty house with a hot tub, a bottle of champagne in my fridge, a view of the lake, a wad of cash in my wallet and I’m staring at the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. You can’t tell me no. That just wouldn’t be right.”
She glares at me. The smoky green burn of her eyes slays me a little more.
I blink at her, innocently. “Pretty please?”
At this, finally, she smiles. A real smile. My heart shatters into a million little love-crazed pieces. “That’s funny.”
“Funny?”
“As if I’d go to your house with you, Blake Travis. I don’t even know you. And, as I’ve said, I’m busy. Now, if you wouldn’t mind stepping out of the way, I’m going now.”
I don’t even care: I sink to one knee and grab her hand in mine. The cool, soft glide of her skin jolts white-hot feeling into my heart and my cock, like all the blood in my body is rushing to one or the other.
“Blake?” A note of irritation touches her soft question. “What are you doing?”
“My rule.” I don’t even know how to describe all this. I stall for a few seconds, trying to get my head around what the fuck is happening here.
“Your rule,” she repeats.
“It’s not a joke. And no one was ever even supposed to know about it. I never told anyone, is what I mean. But word got out that I don’t hook up with random girls. Or any girls. Ever. People started talking about it in the locker room and on social media and pretty much everywhere else. Until it became public knowledge, even though it was personal.”
I can see she’s a little confused by my gush, but I don’t care. I’m still holding her hand and kneeling in front of her like an idiot.
“Okay,” she says gently. Almost like, now that I’ve started, she wants to hear where I’m going with this.
“There’s a reason I took that vow. My parents died young. And they were really in love with each other. Crazy in love. I’ve never seen two people more in love than that. So when they died I decided I wanted that for myself. I guess I made the rule to honor their memory, even though that probably sounds cheesy to you. So I waited, hoping I might find something more meaningful than a one-night stand with a cheerleader, not that I have anything against cheerleaders, but none of them really appealed to me. So I waited.” I stop there for a second because this confession is affecting me in ways I wasn’t expecting. Almost like some of that old grief is bubbling back up to the surface. I guess it doesn’t take a shrink to figure out why it would. I haven’t talked about any of this to anyone in a long time.
“It doesn’t sound cheesy,” she says. “Of course it doesn’t. It sounds romantic.”
“I’m sorry to be so intense, but I would just really like to ask you to spend a little more time with me. I’ll be a perfect gentleman. I promise. We can take this as slow as you need it to be. I …” I falter a little. I can’t exactly say what I mean, now, can I? Because when I saw you I was glad I waited. Because I’ve been looking for so long for the perfect girl and you’re it. Because my heart is already broken. Because I’m already dedicated to convincing you to be mine and only mine. See what I mean? It’s a little fucking heavy for a first date. Especially a first date that isn’t even a date yet. So I keep it brief, realizing I’ve already said enough to certifiably classify me as a raging lunatic. “… I just want to get to know you. I want to spend an hour or two with you, that’s all. Then you can decide. Just breakfast. I promise. I’ll cook for you, we can look out at the view and talk for a while, we can celebrate my birthday with a glass of champagne, then I’ll drive you straight back to your dorm and you can spend the rest of the day sketching your heart out.”
“Today’s your birthday?” Her green eyes have little flecks of gold in them, like starbursts. They match her freckles and the glinting shine of her hair. She’s fucking dazzling.
“Yes.”
“Mine was two days ago.”
“Well, then we definitely need to celebrate. I don’t have anyone else to celebrate with. I want to celebrate my twentieth birthday with you. What do you say?”
She’s still glaring at me, but the look is just a little bit softer now. I’ve started to break through, I can only hope. Her stomach growls again and her cheeks go slightly pink with embarrassment. I’m about to die with infatuation.
“I’ll have breakfast with you on one condition,” she says.
“Name it.” If she told me to jump off the nearest bridge I really don’t think I’d hesitate, that’s how fucked-up this is.
“I’m not your dream girl, Blake. Or your … ‘true love’.” She even makes little air quotes with her fingers. “So you can put all that stuff out of your head. I have exactly one friend in this town and I’ll admit it might be nice to have another one. But that’s as far as this goes. I think it’s sweet that you would make a vow to honor your parents. But you don’t know the first thing about me. So please don’t make this more than it is. It’s breakfast. That’s it. Then you’ll take me home. Okay?”
I put my hand on my heart. “Okay. Okay. Absolutely one hundred percent okay. Your every wish is my command.” What the fuck? Why would I say something so fucking stupid? My endorphin overload is messing with my head. But who cares? She said yes! This exquisite little golden goddess is coming to my house to drink champagne and have breakfast with me. “Actually, I have one condition of my own. I’d like to know your last name.”
She blinks at me, like she’s deciding. “Monroe.”
I hold out my hand for her to shake. “Nice to meet you, Skye Monroe.”
She smiles a little and shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you, too, Bla
ke Travis.”
I’ve already decided: it’s my new mission in life, to woo her and to win her. To spend every day with her from now on. Forever.
And every night.
My heart’s beating fast, pumping wild energy through my veins. Here I was, minding my own business, my thoughts lost in the sculpture I’m getting ready to create, and all of a sudden I find myself cocooned in a luxury sports car next to the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. How did this happen?
It’s just breakfast, I remind myself. We’ll have pancakes, enjoy the view for an hour, then I’ll get Blake to take me back to my dorm and I’ll get on with my life. I’ll immerse myself in work and Blake Travis will fade out into a sweet, one-off memory of that time I went for a ride in a Mustang with a quarterback.
I try not to stare at the way his tanned, strong, hair-dusted arm flexes when he changes the gears of his car. Or the way his jeans hug the thick muscles of his athletic thighs. Or even how his shirt pulls tight over the hard planes of his broad chest and his burly shoulders.
He catches me looking at him and I blush again.
“All right?” he says.
“Yeah.” The crazy thing is: I am all right. My body is humming along with the low roar of his car’s engine. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel scared. I feel alive, like Blake’s presence has turned me electric and hyper-aware. It’s fun, driving in his car with him. I can’t remember the last time I had fun.
We’re driving along a road with big houses and views through the trees of a blue lake. He turns into a driveway. The house is huge, made of stone and wood. “This is it,” he says.
“This is your house?”
“My family’s. But Gabriel is the C.E.O. of his own business in Dallas and Ethan’s second tour in Afghanistan ends in about a month.”
SCORE (Travis Brothers Book 1) Page 3