Rolling over on my side, I find Cait hanging a pinboard above her desk. She balances on one foot to reach it. The muscles in her legs flex tight and strong. They must be toned from the running. They’re so smooth; all I can think about is sliding my hands over them. My dick flexes.
She methodically adds items to the board. After she’s done, several photo images and quotes of chick stuff collage across the surface with sayings like love, happiness, and success.
“What the hell is that?” I crane my neck and scowl.
“A vision board.” She doesn’t even glance over her shoulder, like she knew I was awake and watching her this entire time.
“Oh geez, you’re one of those?” I drop my head back into the pillow with a whoosh. I’m not ready to be upright.
“If by saying, one of those, you mean focused, goal oriented and driven, then yes.” She strings white Christmas lights around the edges of the frame and turns them on. They flicker once and sparkle.
“Yep, you’re one of those.” I roll over to stare at the ceiling, which has a poster on it that says Choose Happy.
“Well, I could call you one of those too.” She faces me with hand on her hip.
“I’m not the one making wishes on a pinboard.”
“But you are one of those college boys only interested in getting blitzed out of his mind every night.”
I lift myself on both elbows and glare. “If by saying, I’m one of those college boys, you mean that I’m social, popular, and capable of having fun, then you would be right. But at least I’m not building a shrine to myself,” I mimic her sassy tone.
“Is that so?” Her lips twist.
“Do you see me hanging Christmas lights over a pinboard that reads: beer, party, and friends?”
“No, but there’s a fancy pyramid of beer cans in the corner of your room, and at least one monstrous mound of chunky vomit on your bed.”
The visual make me throw up a little in my mouth, which is how I know she’s telling the truth. I swallow it back but then blanch at the acid taste. When the hell did I do all that? So much for adulting.
“Is that what that smell is?” I peer toward my room.
“Nah, I shut your bedroom door. That smell is you.” She sniffs the air. “I’d guess a nice mixture of beer, urine, and dumpster sludge.”
I glance down at myself. I have no shirt on and there’s a large black Sharpie drawing on my chest. I angle my head, trying to make sense of what it says. “What the—?”
She approaches and stands over me. She laughs with a hand covering her mouth. “But I guess you’re not the player I thought you were.”
Needing to know what it says, I roll out of bed and fumble for her bathroom. Standing in the reflection of a mirror, I ignore the fact I’m half dressed and zero in on what’s been drawn in bold, black caps across my bare chest.
“Holy shit.” I reach for the nearest towel to cover myself.
“Too late,” she says from the bedroom. “I know your secret now—virgin.”
Who the fuck did this? Steph would never. Did I do this to myself? Then it dawns on me. I don’t care, or I only care because Cait saw. But she wouldn’t know if it’s true or not. So instead of playing into the gag, I do the opposite of what she might expect. I drop the towel, letting it fall to the tile floor and head for her shower. I lean in to turn on the faucet. Hot water shoots from the showerhead and steams up the room.
“What the hell are you doing?” Cait calls.
“Don’t come in.”
“It’s my bathroom.” She appears at the door. She halts mid-step as I’m dropping trou, giving her the full sun and moon. It’s pretty spectacular and huge if I do say so myself, but her eyes widen and face blushes red hot within a split second. The color seeps to her ears, turning them a glowing shade of hot pink. She yelps and retreats with her hands covering her eyes, and I laugh.
“I warned you.”
CHAPTER 33
“Are you studying on a Saturday night again?” I slide an arm into my leather jacket, preparing to leave. It’s the sixth Saturday night in a row Cait’s been at the dining room table with her laptop and schoolbooks.
“Are you going out again? You can’t give me a hard time if you’re doing the same thing every week too,” she snaps.
And this is how it’s been since she’s moved in, a back-and-forth game of challenging each other. I’ll admit I’ve enjoyed it, but I hoped I’d win her over at least a little by this point.
It’s time to change that.
When I don’t answer, Cait returns her focus to her laptop. I was supposed to meet Steph tonight for our weekly blow-off-steam session on Division Street. Not because I want to but because she’s blackmailing me. She’s threatened to tell Cait I’ve been lusting over her for months. Which with any other girl might be a good thing, but I’m unsure how this news would settle with Cait. My worst fear is she’ll move out, and I don’t want that. I remove my cell to text Steph.
ME: Ur on ur own 2night.
Steph responds and she isn’t happy. Instead of engaging in a texting war, I turn off my phone and slip it into my pocket. When I remove my jacket and scarf and hang them back in the closet, Cait peers at me with suspicion. I set my book bag on the table and remove my laptop and schoolwork before settling in a chair across from her.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Same thing as you.” I organize my space.
“Uh, no.” She drops her pen on the table.
“But isn’t this what you were challenging me to do? What you do?” I open my laptop and hit the power button. It pings to life and a small Apple icon appears on the screen.
“That’s not it at all.” She stutters, seemingly at a loss for words, before belting out, “You started it.”
“I started it?” I laugh.
She pouts a little for being called out, and it drives me so mad I have to grab on to the edge of my seat with both hands to stop myself from jumping across the table to kiss it away. Is she so clueless that she can’t see how she affects me? The answer is a definite yes. From the time she’s moved in, she’s been too consumed in her bubble to notice me. So now I need to figure out how to connect with her, or better yet, force her to connect with me.
I lean back in my chair getting comfortable, while twirling a pen between my fingers. “I think,” I pause to be dramatic, “I think you like me and that’s why you don’t want me to stay. This handsome mug would be too distracting for you.”
“Phfft. In your dreams.” She rolls her eyes.
“Denial. It’s the first sign of love.” I lean into the table with a grin.
“Get over yourself,” she says, but her face betrays her. The blood’s rushing to her ears. She must sense the heat because she launches from her seat and scurries to the kitchen to open the refrigerator. She looks deep inside, moving food around.
“I’ll take a beer while you’re over there cooling off.” I laugh.
Her back stiffens upright. I can’t see her face but her body language always gives her away. She’s contemplating her next move. How will she deal with the insinuation that she likes me? She can’t ignore it. It would be more denial, and she knows what I perceive as denial.
I didn’t deem any truth in my own statement until this moment. I hoped, yes, but now I’m curious if there’s an attraction on her end too. I’m starting to think there is.
She removes two bottles of Goose Island beer and places them on the counter. Like a pro bartender, she uses the edge of the counter and the force of her hand to remove the caps. They snap off and ping across the kitchen before landing on the floor. With one bottle in each hand she struts forward. She places a beer before me, and then takes a sip of her own.
“I didn’t peg you for the drinking type,” I say.
“And what type did you peg me for?” She places a hand on the table and leans.
“An uptight, prissy princess who’s never done anything remotely risky in her life. Drinking included. Y
ou know, because of all of your rules.”
Her eyes press into slits, but then her shoulders relax from the spot from which they’re pinned near her ears. Something in her releases. Perhaps it’s my challenge that’s lowering her tightly wound personality. Or maybe she’s borrowing my tactic—being the opposite of what’s expected.
She sets her glass down and lowers herself until we’re face to face. Gaze level with mine, she places her hand over my chest. My muscles stiffen and my breath catches high in my lungs from having contact. I can’t help it. I’ve been waiting for months for something as small as this.
I hold my breath to control my wild excitement. I may have been joking but now I think she wants me. For real. She traces her tongue over her pouty lips, and my focus zings there. They’re plump and glistening, and I can almost taste them just by looking at them. She leans closer until her lips graze mine. They slip and slide, barely touching. But this is not a kiss. This is a fucking tease. Her soft cheek brushes across the roughness of mine, while her breath warms the small space separating us. My dick stands alert, pressing into the zipper of my jeans.
“This is never going to happen. Not. On. Your. Life,” she says and curls away with a grin. Like some kind of seasoned seductress, she picks up her beer and slinks to her side of the table, leaving me frozen in shock. Then she relaxes in her chair, sipping her drink. She focuses on her schoolwork like nothing ever happened.
I stare at my own laptop, eyes wide and unable to focus on anything but replaying our encounter in my mind. I can’t believe she had the lady balls to do that, but despite her convincing act, I don’t believe her words. Not for one damn second. Something did happen between us, and she knows it. I know she does because as the hours pass and we try to concentrate on our studies, she eyes me like she wants to do it again, and I invite her to with my best you-know-you-want-me grin.
CHAPTER 34
I’m sitting at the kitchen table, laptop and books spread out before me, prepared for a repeat of the previous Saturday evening. But this time I have a game plan. The problem is Steph is cranky because I’m ditching her again. She argues I should put the moves on Cait on my own time, not hers. To butter her up, I reminded her she’s the one who made this happen. Steph, not fate. She’s never been beneath a little ass-kissing, though I’m still unsure if I’m in the clear.
Knock, knock, knock.
I stand to answer the door but before I do, Cait appears from her bedroom dressed like a goddess in a fire-engine red dress. She’s skittering for the door on matching heels, which make her legs look even longer, if that’s possible.
My heart seizes because it dawns on me she might have a date. In all the time she’s lived here, she’s never dressed like this, and I’ve never, ever seen her hair down. I puff up my chest, preparing for the worst-case scenario when she opens the door.
“Hey, come on in,” Cait says in a honey-sweet voice she’s never used on me. My gaze falls to my socks because I’m unwilling to lift my eyes to the shithead who’s going to steal her from me.
“Glad someone wants to have fun tonight,” the incoming voice says. My irritation crackles when I recognize Steph’s voice. She is the shithead. I should have known.
Steph continues with the punches. “Did you know Evan ditched me tonight? He said he needed to study. Boring, right? That’s why I was so happy we could do a girls’ night.”
She hugs Cait the way girls do—halfheartedly and barely touching, so not to mess up their makeup or hair.
“Girls’ night?” I glance between the two, relieved to see it’s Steph but pissed because I know what she’s doing. She’s stealing my chance to hang with Cait, on purpose and to get back at me. Or maybe Steph is finally going to tell Cait my secret? With an inward grumble, I acknowledge that these two together could be disastrous. I cross my arms over my chest and scowl.
“Yeah, I decided you were right,” Cait says to me.
“That’s a first. About what?”
“About getting out and having fun.” She smooths her skintight dress, and as I visually follow her hands sliding down her hips, I’m wishing they were my hands, not hers.
“I didn’t realize you were capable,” I jab.
“Too bad you’ll miss it.” She slips on a tiny leather jacket and tucks a sparkly purse under her arm. Balanced on high heels, the two leave, shutting the door behind them.
Now alone and with my epic plans ruined, I wildly punch at the air with both fists and groan. But the mini-freak-out is temporary, because I rush to regroup and call the only person who can help with my new scheme—stealing Cait back from Steph.
With hands clenching my cell, I wait for Steph to post her first evening duck-face selfie to social media so I can glean where they’re partying. It takes fifty-six minutes before I’ve zeroed in on their exact location. Tonight they’re at the club Crobar.
“Stalk much?” Steph asks as I appear out of the haze of a fog, roaming laser lighting and retro pop-dance music blasting in the background. They’re having some kind of ’80s theme night. I can tell by the Cyndi Lauper and Billy Idol look-alikes.
When Steph spots her crush, Trevor, at my side, her eyes widen and she says, “Damn, you’re good, Wade.”
She slinks around me, fists her hand into his collared shirt, and drags him to the dance floor. Lucky for me, Trevor happily obliges. Cait remains at their table sitting on a chair, smooth legs crossed and sipping a fancy drink. Except the problem now is there’s a guy hitting on her. And what’s worse? She doesn’t appear to mind. They’re far too close and giggly for my liking.
And here I thought I’d only have to get rid of Steph. I sulk at my new situation, filled with one roadblock after another. With the way Cait looks tonight, I can’t blame the guy for wanting to get to know her, but I still don’t like it.
She hasn’t seen me yet, so I settle at the bar stool next to her. They’re too engrossed in their conversation to notice me, so I listen in.
The guy says, “I’m home for the weekend from Georgetown, visiting my family...”
I’m waiting for Cait to share that she attended Georgetown her freshman year, but she never does. Which means she can’t be that into him. This guy is so done. With renewed confidence, I scoot closer. When I do, she spots me and flinches in surprise.
“What are you doing here?”
“I decided I needed proof.” I wave down a waitress.
“Of what?”
“Of fun. I still don’t think you’re capable.” I shrug.
She gives me her sassy head tilt, making her hair spill over her shoulders and across her chest. With it long and loose, I want run my fingers through the silky strands and tug.
“Then you’re just in time.” She shoots back as she sets her froufrou drink on the cocktail table. “You can watch me and my new friend, Wyatt.”
“It’s Zack, actually. Zack Taylor,” the guy interrupts.
She gives him a guilty glance and clears her throat. “Right, sorry, you can watch as Zack and I have fun.” She jumps down from her stool, grabs his arm, and leads him to the dance floor. He’s all too eager to join her. I grit my teeth as I watch the two.
A waitress appears to take my drink order. When she leaves, I settle into my uncomfortable seat. By the general look of Zack, I don’t have high hopes for his dancing abilities. At least, that’s my jealous side talking. From acting as Steph’s wingman, I know what she considers a decent-looking dude, and she’d call this one a dime-piece and then rub her tits all over him. So the only hope I have now is for his dancing to suck balls.
Praying for a shitshow and trying to appear unfazed, I bob my head to the music. Except when the two find a spot among the crowd and begin to move, I realize how much trouble I’m in. Zack is a fucking dance genius. I lean forward, mouth agape, watching his mad skills rival both Usher and JT. Motherfuck.
The waitress drops the drink on my table, and I turn away to chug it in one gulp. When I slam the empty glass down, clanking the ice, I co
mmence moping. I’m done tonight. I know when I’ve been outplayed. Getting ready to surrender the mission, I allow myself one last look at Cait before I leave, but I have to do a double take when I see her.
My brows rise. I didn’t notice before but Cait’s dancing looks like a cat wiggling her way out a Halloween costume. She’s shaking her leg like there’s tape stuck to the bottom of her foot and she can’t reach it. And what the hell is she doing with her mouth? She looks like a feeding piranha.
I clench my gut and double over with laughter. What makes this extra special is, I’m pretty positive she has no clue how ridiculous she looks. She steps on Zack’s toes at least five times, and by the end of the song they’ve bumped heads twice. I can’t be sure, but this is probably the reason he bolts when the next song begins.
With her hands latched on her hips, she watches him dart away, disappearing into the roiling crowd. I use the moment to slide in where he left off. When she’s not looking, I grab her waist, spin her until she faces me, and gather her close when a slow song plays. “Crazy For You” by Madonna.
“Here to gloat?” She jerks away, but I refuse to release her.
“No, I’m here to tell you he’s an idiot.” She relaxes a little. At the tiny compliance, I place my hand on the small of her back to control her movements, forcing them to sway smooth with mine.
I continue, “He was dancing with the prettiest girl here and he blew it.”
She gives me a half smile and sighs. “I was having fun. I guess he wasn’t.” Her long-lashed gaze averts with embarrassment.
“Maybe you were just trying to have fun with the wrong guy.” I want to make her feel better. And I know I’ve succeeded when she shoots me an inquiring gaze.
“And you know the right guy?”
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