Miss Stephanie is a genius. With some cyberstalking, I’d learned of her past with the New York City Ballet and her award-winning performances. I can’t believe she’s my teacher. I perform a little jete over my ballet bag and soon I’m dancing.
I move around like an idiot and don’t look up until I hear a throat clear.
Chase.
He smiles and, like a moth to a flame, I’m drawn to him. I stretch my arms and arch my back, looking up at the disgusting ceiling. When I reach him and our bodies touch, I’m dancing a pas de deux with my Train Boy. I can’t help myself from saying, “I feel amazing!”
He laughs, grabs me around the waist, and lifts me up. I wrap my arms around him. His muscles tighten under my grasp as he spins us in a circle. I sigh and pull away to look at his beautiful face. His eyes are locked on mine, but it’s his lips I can’t resist—they draw me in. With everything in me, I want to kiss them. We both stop laughing and he puts me down, but neither of us make a move to let go as we stand eye-to-eye.
I’m looking at Chase, wanting him, but I can’t help whispering, “I love Ben.”
Chase doesn’t release his hold on me. His hands on my waist heat me up like fire. “I know. I have a New Life Plan.”
“Huh?”
“Long story.”
It sounds complicated, and I’m sort of interested but my body overheats from his closeness, and I don’t think I can follow along anyway. I should back away, but can’t. My body trumps my brain. Being near him and seeing the way he looks into my eyes penetrates me to my core. When he touches my face and strokes my cheek, I think I may pass out. My breath quickens, matching the beat of my heart.
Chase rubs his thumb along my cheekbone, his fingers tickle my neck, and he leans in. I think he’s going to kiss me, but he doesn’t. He presses his forehead against mine and shuts his eyes. I grab his waist and pull him closer.
He sighs, and I hook my thumbs together behind him, not willing to let him pull away. When he wraps his arms around me the same way, I know he won’t let me anyway.
“Can I kiss you, Juliet?” His voice is a heavy whisper.
I can’t think straight and don’t care. I repeat my mantra of the past four years. “I love Ben.” Somewhere inside of me, which isn’t accessible now because Chase is in my arms, it’s true. I do love Ben. Even though, for the life of me, I can’t remember why.
He tilts his head and he breathes into my ear. “That doesn’t answer the question.” His breath heats my neck, and I need his lips to touch me—somewhere, anywhere. “Please?” he moans against my throat. It’s his word, but I feel it, too.
He presses his lips onto my neck and I shudder, chills running up and down my body. He trails light little kisses up to my earlobe. I want to scream.
I want more. I move my head so our lips are close, but Chase still won’t kiss them. He dips back down under my chin, nipping at my throat, driving me crazy. He moves his hands to my hair and tugs my tightly wound bun until it falls into a mess around my shoulders.
I still need more. I move my hands up his shirt to his neck and push his head away from me. I open my eyes and hold his face as I lean in and devour his lips, hoping that kissing him will satisfy this need in me, hoping it will settle my racing heartbeat.
Instead, it does the opposite.
The kiss blows me away, scrambling my mind and pulsating through me, head to toe. I kiss his bottom lip, then his top, opening my mouth to taste him. He groans as his tongue teases mine. His hands fly down my body as if we’re on the clock and have only a few seconds to touch each other.
He moves with me, pressing me against a wall, leaning his body into mine. I pull his hair, grab his shoulders, groping whatever is within reach. Outside voices invade our space as people make their way onto the platform, and I couldn’t care less—a bomb could go off but there’s no way I’d stop kissing Chase. Not here, not now.
I’d spent my high school years teasing and flirting and avoiding all boys except Ben. I’d been kissed before but never like this. I thought when it happened again, it would be Ben. I spent years waiting—waiting for the right time, the right place, my right boy. But as I stand on shaky legs while Chase’s hands run over my chest, down my back, and over my hips, I realize I’m a total idiot for missing out on what’s wrong. Because making out at the train station in my sweaty dancewear with this wrong beautiful boy with his mysterious New Life Plan is absolutely amazing.
Chase
Holy fuck. I can’t stop kissing Juliet. Color explodes in my mind, red mostly, but also oranges, yellows, and of course pinks as she moves in my hands, in my arms, on my lips. I’m not sure if I’m grateful or disappointed we’re in public. Probably grateful. She turns me so my back is against the dirty wall and her hips push into mine. Nope. Disappointed. Definitely disappointed.
The train’s brakes squeal as it approaches the platform, and I pull away, breathless. “We should get back.” We’d already missed one train, not that I care. Juliet doesn’t seem to care either. She looks at me through half-closed eyes and grins. “Jesus, Juliet.” I kiss her again because I have to when she looks at me like that. It’s like a sexy smirk that strikes me right in the groin.
Without focusing too hard on Juliet, I grab her ballet bag in one hand, her hand in the other, and lead her onto the train. She guides me to the back. I throw her bag on an empty seat and sit down.
Juliet doesn’t sit next to me. Instead, as the train begins to pull away, she straddles me. Holy. Fuck. I lean back against the seat and try to play it cool, but I can’t resist touching her thighs as they stretch over my mine. I run my hands over them as I wait for her next move.
The sexy smirk she flashes me is almost as powerful as the touch of her body. The image of her on my lap in the dim light of the train with her hair tangled and loose over her pink sweater and her lips puffy imprints itself on my brain. I’ll have to paint it. I return her smile and push her hair over her shoulders, then pull her close and kiss her again. “If this is what dance class does for you, I’ll gladly escort you home every time,” I half-joke.
She laughs her cotton candy cloud. Pink. “I’m a sweaty mess.” Her lips graze mine as she talks.
“You’re fucking incredible,” I whisper between kisses. As the train reaches the NJU stop, neither of us makes a move to get up. I’m afraid if I get off the train—this magic train where I get to kiss Juliet—I’ll never get to touch her again. NJU means Ben. The train means her soft skin under my fingertips, her hair tickling my neck, her smile directed at me. The train means her pink clouds of laughter, her lips and sighs, the little pants as her chest rises and falls against mine.
The lights dim and the train moves again, away from NJU and Ben into God-knows-where Jersey. It doesn’t matter to me as my hands wrap in Juliet’s hair to smooth it down her back. I’m hard as a rock and, if I were with any girl besides Juliet, I’d be digging the condom out of my wallet and searching for a suitable place to finish what we’d started. But with Juliet, I let her take the lead. I want her to want me. For some reason, that matters with her. As she kisses me, my heart pounds and my body tightens, but I stay in control, committing every touch of her body to memory so I can replay it later.
She’s in my lap. She’s all over me, I’m touching her, and she’s amazing, then suddenly, she stops. She grins, but twists off and sits in the seat next to me. The space between us, only an inch or so, seems more like a mile with the warmth of her body absent. Her pink cloud turns grey.
She leans her head on my shoulder and grabs my hand, playing with my fingers. I hear her sigh, and she says the one word I always expect to hear from her: “Ben.”
I wish Ben were a dick so I could hate him. I say his name to remind me. “Ben.” My roommate, her obsession, sits in the space between us. Old Chase, the Chase that nailed women left and right, would have said something shitty like “Ben who?” New Chase, though, the one who lusted after the first hot girl he met on the way to college three seconds aft
er he swore off women, kisses Juliet’s hand and places it in his lap. “You know what they say?” She doesn’t answer. “What happens at the train station stays at the train station. No worries, okay?”
My heart breaks a little but I let her hold my hand. At the next stop we get off the train and walk to the other side of the tracks, back to NJU. We’re quiet, but my head is swarming with all kinds of nonsense about Juliet, Ben, and myself.
It’s well after midnight when we finally return to Sheridan. At her door, I hand her the ballet bag, and she looks up at me, her brown eyes sad. Neither of us says anything but it doesn’t feel awkward, even though my body is aching for her. I lean in and rub my nose on hers, and with a quick glance down the hallway, I kiss it. “Night, gorgeous,” I whisper into her ear and then kiss her earlobe, too. I resist the urge to look her in the eye and say, Fuck Ben. I want you more. Instead, I walk down the hallway to my room. She opens her door and I open mine, and we watch each step into our rooms.
Chapter Eight
Juliet
Restless, I toss and turn all night replaying my train ride with Chase. I’m half asleep, half awake, while images of Chase, Ben, Miss Stephanie, the dancers in class, and the train, race through my mind, blending together and meshing in a nonsense world. The more I try not to think about Chase, the more I imagine his lips on mine, his hands on my ass, his fingers wrapped in my hair. By three o’clock in the morning, I’m exhausted, and every nerve ending in my body is completely turned on, so I take matters into my own hands—literally. I let the feelings take me over, a sort of reverse psychology, hoping that to touch my body and play out the scene in my mind will allow me to let it go. The faces change from Chase to Ben back to Chase, but I don’t care. When I get the release I need, I fall into a sound sleep.
I dream of breakfast foods—of pancakes and hot syrup. Justine passes me the butter, and I load it onto my plate. You’ll never guess what happened last night, I tell her. I look into her smiling face, a mirror image of mine. He’s so beautiful. He’s an artist.
She smiles and tilts her head. But Ben’s a football player, not an artist, she says.
No, not Ben, Chase. Clouds fall over her face, so I fan them away.
I hear a beeping sound and Justine says, I have to get my phone now. The beeping becomes more urgent, but I beg her to stay. Justine pulls the clouds in front of her. I have to get that, she says as she fades away.
I wake myself begging Justine not to leave. “No!” I hear my own voice and see that my phone is ringing and vibrating on the desk next to me. Ben’s smiling face lights the room. I pick up the phone.
I look at the time before I answer the call. What day is it? Friday? My morning voice is raspy. I yell at Ben, “I can’t talk. I overslept. I’m late for class.”
“Okay, Jules. Lunch today?”
I picture Ben’s warm brown eyes and try hard to muster up some guilt about Chase, the train, and my late night thoughts. But I can’t. “Text me where to meet you. I have to get in the shower.”
“Take your time. Don’t rush.”
I wish I were calm like Ben, but I know I won’t be able to slow down. I hate being late. “I’ll talk to you later,” I say and hang up.
In seconds, I jump out of bed, yank off my tee shirt and shorts, and wrap myself in a towel. I grab my shower caddy, slide on my flip-flops, and leap across the hall, pushing the door of the men’s room so hard that it flies open and bangs against the wall next to me.
That deep voice that haunted my dreams yells, “Shit!”
I stop dead in my tracks at the sight of Chase in nothing but a white bath towel and shaving cream, blood now dripping from his neck as he holds a razor. My lord in heaven, the towel hangs so low on his waist that I can see his hip bones. He’s long, smooth, and looks like sweet caramel. Wow. He throws his razor and grabs his neck where he cut himself. Is that a tattoo on the inside of his bicep? I’m gawking as the men’s room door swings back and hits me in the face.
“Ouch,” I whine as I push the door open again. “Jesus, Chase. What are you doing in here?” I scowl and rub my forehead.
“It’s the men’s room, Juliet. I was shaving until you scared the crap out of me.” He grabs a paper towel and runs it under the water. I walk in as Chase bends over the sink, his bare back calling me to rest my cheek against it. I can’t believe I spent a good portion of last night kissing him. “Are you okay?”
He shakes his head as he brings the wet paper towel to me and presses it onto my forehead.
I point to the door. “I was rushing …and I saw you …”
Um, hello shoulders flexing in front of my face. Chase is inches from me and we’re both practically naked. I get flustered and it’s possible I’m panting as I stare at his bare chest. I can’t stop admiring his bare skin. The scent of his shaving cream makes me dizzy. For half a second, I fantasize that the spots of shaving cream on his neck are whipped cream and I can lick them off—well, not the bloody parts, but the fluffy, creamy parts. He smells so good and looks so damn tasty. I feel like our towels want to run away together and leave us naked for a play date.
I shake my head, focusing back to reality. Frustrated at our near nakedness and close proximity, I groan. “I have to get in the shower. Did you slice your jugular?”
“I’ll live,” he says, searching my face.
He doesn’t move out of my way, so I shrug. “I’m late.”
He nods and moves to the side but smiles and makes a sound like a cough.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He does it again, the weird cough noise, and tries to cover his mouth with his fist. Is he laughing at me? “What is your problem?”
With that one question, Chase ditches the cover-up cough and chuckles like a schoolgirl. I wait and glare, raising my eyebrows while he doubles over.
Through his laugh he gasps out, “When the door hit you…you had this look… your face.” He waves his palm over his face and tries to act out my reaction. “You looked ridiculous.”
My jaw drops at his rudeness, but at the same time, I try not to laugh. I throw my wet paper towel at him. “Jerk.”
Chase cracks up again over his own stupid joke, so I smack him on the arm. He straightens up and wipes a tear from under his eye. “Really, Chase? You’re making fun of me? You should see yourself. Bleeding with a half whipped cream neck.”
He freezes and points at me. His eyes pop and his jaw hangs open. What did I just say? Of course, Chase tells me. “You said whipped cream!”
I try not to laugh at my slip up. “I said ‘shaving cream,’ you idiot.” I walk to a shower stall and turn on the water. He’s still grinning when he turns toward the mirror and reapplies his whipped shaving cream.
“You said whipped cream! You want to slather me in whipped cream! Were you dreaming of train rides and whipped cream last night, by any chance?” He resumes shaving and leering at me through the mirror as I wait for the water to heat up.
“You would love that wouldn’t you, you egomaniac? For your information, I slept like a baby. You?”
“I thought about you all night, gorgeous. And I’ll probably think about you all day.”
I warm and my hardening nipples remind me I’m just about naked. He’s just so…I can’t think of the word. “Hot” doesn’t seem strong enough. “Steamy” runs through my mind, but maybe that’s because of the shower.
He stares at my reflection in the mirror as he rinses his razor. “I’ve seen you in a couple of cute outfits the past few days, but the towel is definitely my favorite.”
I watch him finish shaving and swoon when he pulls the bottom of his towel up to dry his face. I don’t see anything, because he expertly maneuvers the towel to keep the interesting parts hidden, but there’s this flash of additional skin and I want to curl myself into a ball of girly hormonal gobbledygook. I know he can tell, and that pisses me off.
As if he needs to put more icing, or whipped cream, on the cake, Chase turns to face me, leaning agai
nst the sink. “When’s our next train ride?”
He looks at me the way he did during our make out session. I flush, my breathing turns to panting, and there’s no mistaking the throbbing between my legs. Dammit. I don’t do flustering. If only my stupid, traitorous body, tingling with the promise of his words, would agree.
The Chase Cooper Sexy Meter needs to be taken down a notch, or I’m going to have to move out of Sheridan. I get my head together and change my approach, embracing my sexy thoughts as I take a deep, cleansing breath and lean into my hip. I know from last night that he’s super into my hair, so I pull it out of the knot I’d slept in. He studies it as it flows over my bare shoulders. When his eyes return to mine, I unwrap my towel, still holding it over me. I look down his body. His towel doesn’t hide much, and it’s obvious I’m having the desired effect.
I smirk as I turn my back to him and drop my towel, then pause for half a second before I step into the shower. “Maybe our next train ride is in your dreams.”
“Shit,” he murmurs.
I pull the curtain shut and let the water fall over me. Just like that, I’m back in the driver’s seat. But showering with a mostly naked, totally aroused Chase a few feet away does all kinds of crazy things to my psyche.
Chase
Ben rummages through drawers then pulls out a polo shirt. “What’s up for the weekend, C. C.?” Ben’s developed a nickname for just about everyone on the floor. I’m my initials. Then there’s Frankie-O, Winner, A-Rod, Mags, Sweet Meg, and of course, his Jules.
“When will you be back? Maybe we can hang out tomorrow night?” Ben has an away game this weekend. Even though he doesn’t get any play time, he loves traveling with the team. I think he’s, like, third backup quarterback or something ridiculous like that. He thinks if he puts his dues in now, by the time he’s a senior, he’ll get to play. Dude must love football to put up with that time frame.
“I should be back by dinner time,” he says.
She Laughs in Pink (Sheridan Hall #1) Page 7