Sweet and Sinful

by Andra Lake

  My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

  “Cut the crap. What have you been doing?”

  “I already told you. I’m just stressed out. Don’t want to flunk my first year.”

  “And that has to do with Ian how?”

  “We’re in a class together.”

  “Like I said, I don’t believe you.”

  The truth was, she really didn’t want to hear the truth. Not in this mood. So I changed the topic to her favorite subject: Melissa. Some people might catch on to this trick, but with Melissa it was a sure win. She couldn’t help but talk about herself.

  “You seem upset. What’s wrong?” I asked in the most compassionate voice I could muster. “Everything going all right with you and Gary?”

  Her eyes went cold. So cold, I had to suppress a shiver.

  “No, they are not going all right.” She glared at me for a moment longer before her shoulders slumped and she let out a defeated sigh. “He said he would call—you know, after that night—but he never did.”

  “Shitty.” I looked down at my hands knotted in my lap. I sucked at girl talk. “Have you seen him? In class or anything?”

  She snorted bitterly. “Yeah. He acts like he always did. I guess I just had a different idea about what happened between us. He probably does that with tons of girls.”

  The image of Gary spanking a girl behind a screen popped into my mind and I quickly shoved it aside. Gross.

  Melissa tossed her hair over her shoulder. “He’s a pervert anyway. I mean, he likes to paddle girls in schoolgirl uniforms.” Her eyes narrowed on me again, and a sense of unease slid over me.

  “He wasn’t the only guy I knew at that party,” she said, still studying me. “Ian was there too. And unless he ended up there by accident, he gets his kicks the same way. Apparently our RC is into spanking girls as well.”

  There was something dangerous in her tone. She didn’t just sound bitter, she sounded vindictive. A woman scorned. The thought popped into my mind and I realized how right that saying was. A woman scorned could make mistakes…ones that hurt other people.

  “If you must know, he came to see me,” I said.

  She smiled like a cat. “I know. And paddle your little minor ass.”

  I glared at her. “No, his friend told him that I looked lost and obviously didn’t know what the party was all about, which I didn’t. He came to help get me out of there.”

  Melissa sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “So he likes you.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Hmm.”

  I sighed. She was still staring at me with a weird expression. “Well why don’t you ask him?”

  Finally she broke eye contact and looked back down at her book. “I doubt he does. He’s Ian Crawford. He can have anyone.”

  For a moment I sat there, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. Then I grabbed my cosmetic bag and escaped to the bathroom.

  ***

  I woke up sore.

  If I needed a reminder that I’d been a virgin, now I had it. Everything had felt normal the night before but today was a different story. Every time I sat down, I had a reminder of Ian.

  I winced as I slid into the seat beside his in our History of Music class. We were five minutes early and I was still groggy. “Morning.”

  With a smile way too wide for such an early morning, he passed me a banana. “Phallic breakfast. Thought it was appropriate considering last night’s events.”

  “How thoughtful. And romantic.”

  “I knew you’d think so.” He leaned closer so I could feel his breath on my cheek. “How are you feeling today?”

  I flushed and crossed my legs, grateful for the dark of the auditorium. “I feel you.”

  “Mm. I thought you might.”

  I glared at him. “Does that make you happy?”

  “Not especially. I’m not an asshole.”

  Still he did look a wee bit proud of himself. I rolled my eyes but smiled.

  “We’ll just have to take it easy over the next few days.” His eyes dropped to my lips, those dark lashes fanning his cheeks. “I thought about you all last night though, so as soon as you’re feeling better, we’ll be doing that again. That and other things. I figure I have more to teach you.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “So you’ve decided to go ahead and corrupt an innocent.”

  “I’m fairly certain my innocent is looking to be corrupted.”

  “Your innocent?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

  “You said it yourself,” he said with a smirk. “You want to be mine.”

  “That was in the heat of the moment. Sex talk doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Still smirking, he sat back in his seat as the professor entered the auditorium, followed by a surge of students. 8 a.m. classes were the worst.

  I couldn’t concentrate the entire class. It was like I was on high alert for everything Ian. All of it distracted me—his fingers on the keys, any slight shift he made in his seat. Even his damn aura tingled against my skin.

  When class ended, he placed his hand on my lower back as we filed out of our row. The action was possessive but not obvious enough that anyone around us would know. He didn’t take his hand away until we were out of the lecture hall, and even then it was reluctantly. The small of my back instantly felt cold.

  “I’m planning to talk to Bruce today,” he told me as we walked. “Bruce being my boss.”

  “Right.”

  Sensing my discomfort, he reached out and touched my shoulder, turned me to face him. “It’ll be all right. The RC position isn’t worth not being with you. Worst case scenario: they kick me out and I rent a sweet apartment. It’s not like I don’t have the cash.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sometimes it’s hard to feel sorry for you.”

  “That’s the point. Don’t.”

  “Hey, Alexis.”

  I turned to see Daniel standing beside me, hands shoved casually in his pockets and blue eyes smiling. Daniel was in my poetry course and was cute in that boy-next-door kind of way. I was surprised he even knew my name—I’d maybe talked to him once or twice in class.

  “Oh hey,” I responded.

  Ian moved closer to me and crossed his arms, assessing Daniel coolly.

  “How’s your poem for this week coming?” Daniel asked. “I really liked that one you presented last week. Just wanted to tell you that.” He shifted uncomfortably as if he had more to say but was considering whether or not it was a good idea. “You’re pretty good.”

  “Thanks,” I said shyly. I’d never been good at accepting compliments.

  “It was pretty intense,” he continued. “Where did you get the idea, or was it inspired from your own life?” He reddened a bit. “I don’t mean to pry or anything.”

  Ian’s eyes narrowed on Daniel briefly before he looked at me, raised an eyebrow. “What’s this guy on about?”

  Now I reddened. “Ian, this is Daniel. He’s in my poetry writing class.”

  Ian snorted. “I’m not surprised.”

  Daniel’s mouth popped open. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He’s talking about the poem I was picked to present.” I quickly began filling Ian in before the inevitable fight could begin. “On Friday.”

  “Oh yeah? And what was it about?”

  I hesitated. “Love.”

  “But not a traditional love.” Daniel turned to Ian, his voice taking on a tone of superiority. “An intense and perhaps unhealthy addiction to another person. You’d have to read it to understand.”

  Ian didn’t look impressed.

  “However the guy sounds dangerous and fucked up,” Daniel added as if by an afterthought. “I got the impression she knows she should stay away from him but she’s trapped by her feelings and too far gone. She’s headed down a dark road.”

  “Um that’s not really what it was about,” I said, peeking nervously at Ian. “It’s just all s
o new for her and he is more experienced and she doesn’t know what to expect. It was supposed to feel real. Like song lyrics.”

  Ian draped an arm over my shoulders, his eyes still on Daniel. “Sounds like you missed the intention of the poem, dude.”

  Daniel’s jaw tightened. “I suppose that’s partly why I love poetry: we can read our own meaning into it. At any rate, nice talking to you, Alexis.”

  When he left, I shrugged out of Ian’s arm and began walking again, keeping my head down so that he couldn’t see my heated face. Of all the bad luck—I’d never intended for Ian to learn about the poem. I’d written it the day I’d started avoiding him, back when I was all torn about whether or not to give in to my urges. I also hadn’t expected to be called upon in class to read it. That had been one of the most embarrassing experiences of my life.

  For a while we walked in silence, and then Ian finally spoke.

  “So you wrote a poem about us.”

  “Not us per se,” I said softly, my eyes on my shoes. “Maybe it was initially inspired by us, but it took on a life of its own. All my lyrics do. That’s why he referred to it as being an addiction to another person.”

  Ian stopped walking. “But it is an addiction.”

  “What?” I stopped to face him again. We were now in the middle of the block.

  “What I feel for you. It could be considered an addiction.”

  “Yeah. I guess it could.”

  Ian reached out and inserted a finger into the front of my jeans, pulled me to him. His grin was mischievous, infectious. “And I need my Lex fix.”

  I laughed and pulled away. “You’re giving me a few days to recover, remember? And don’t you need to talk to Bruce?”

  He sighed. “Fine. Come on, you can wait at my place.”

  Instead of taking the steps down to the basement of the block, we entered through the door to my building. Ian paused at the staircase to make sure no one could see us through the glass door to the lounge, and then with a wink, descended the staircase to the basement. I followed, feeling jittery and lightheaded. It was a relief to know that after talking to Bruce, all this sneaking around would be over.

  As soon as we were alone in his room, Ian gently took my bag off my shoulder and placed it on his desk. We went into his bedroom and I stood in the middle of the room feeling anxious while he walked over the guitar stand that housed both an electric and acoustic guitar. Apparently he wasn’t quite ready for the showdown either.

  “Do you play?”

  I shook my head.

  “Sometimes I prefer the acoustic.” He ran his fingers along its neck. “I like the rawness of acoustic guitar, don’t you? And I never feel like I should be playing in a band when I’m playing acoustic.”

  “Why don’t you like the idea of being in a band?”

  “I guess it’s the pressure. I only want to be accountable to myself.” He picked up the electric, a red Gibson with a mother of pearl faceplate, and held it out to me. “‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ is an easy enough one to learn. It only requires chords E minor, A, G and C. I’ll find the chords for you.”

  Moving to the living room area, Ian opened his laptop on the coffee table and ran a search. I followed and perched on the edge of the couch, played at plucking the strings. Soon a printer on the desk roared to life and Ian brought the papers over, placed them on the table in front of me. He’d printed off both the tabs and chords used in Teen Spirit, as well as a page of chords and their finger placement diagrams.

  “I expect a show when I get back.” He winked.

  I knew he was trying to distract me, and I appreciated it. The moment he left, I looked at the chords drawings and practiced moving my fingers into place. Then I tried actually playing each chord until it sounded right. Then, once I was confident with each chord, I finally attempted a very, very slow rendition of the song. The hardest part was moving my fingers to the next chord in time. The most painful part was the way the strings bit into my fingers. No wonder Ian had callouses.

  I was musical and knew how to play piano, but guitar was entirely different. Guitarists used tabs and memorized chords, whereas I was used to reading music. Not for the first time, I appreciated how much time it must take to learn guitar. Plus it was way cooler. A guitarist could join a band and if they could sing too, they had it made. Sure some bands had keyboardists, but I doubted they got the same star attention as lead singers and guitarists.

  As I thrummed the strings, I got lost in the idea of Ian and I being in a band. Maybe I could write the lyrics and play keyboard and he could play lead guitar. Was he a singer? I’d have to find out. I’d love to find out.

  The suite door banged closed and I stopped playing. A string vibrated and slowly died out as Ian walked into the bedroom, his face unreadable.

  “How’d it go?” I asked, pushing the guitar aside and jumping to my feet.

  “Terrible.” Ian shook his head somberly. “Not only was I fired, I was kicked out of school.”

  But his lip twitched and gave him away.

  “Jerk!” I said and tossed a pillow at him. “I was worried. What happened?”

  He sprawled on the couch, grinning mischievously. “Play for me and I’ll tell you.”

  “Ha! Yeah right.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I said I expect a show when I get back.”

  “That’s so not fair.”

  I crossed my arms and stared him down. Ian met the challenge, his arms stretched across the back of the couch cushions, his eyes narrowed.

  “Fine,” I muttered, breaking under his intense gaze. I moved to sit down again, but he shook his head.

  “No, stand up and play for me. Like a real rocker chick.”

  I shot him a glare, which he returned with a grin. He held the guitar out and I snatched it from him but went to stand in front of the TV, his amused smile making me blush. All I needed was for him to tell me I look cute. If he said that, I was going to hit him with the guitar instead.

  Carefully I put the strap over my shoulder and adjusted it to fit my height. Then I practiced squeezing the chords a few times. When I glanced up at Ian he was watching me, that smile still on his lips.

  “Any time, sweetheart.”

  Taking a deep breath, I began to play. Luckily my hair shielded him from witnessing my embarrassment as I plucked at the strings. I hadn’t practiced standing up so it took me a moment to get my bearings, but soon I was into the music and could hear Kurt Cobain singing in my head. I even had to bite my lip to stop myself from singing along. No one needed to hear that.

  Ian clapped loudly when I finished. “You’re a natural. You looked hot too.”

  Blushing, I hastily sat down again, shoving the guitar at him. “Now your turn. Out with it.”

  He shrugged, his tone growing more serious. “It went okay. Well, I shouldn’t make it sound that easy. At first he was pissed. Said I should have known better not to get involved with you.” Ian paused to swallow. “He’d heard about what happened with Vanessa and thought this was the same thing.”

  I’d forgotten all about Vanessa. I bit my lip and looked down guiltily.

  “So it took me a while to calm him down and convince him this is different. Basically he wanted to know how serious we are and if there’s a chance I’ll break it off during the school year.”

  I stopped breathing and continued to look at my fingers. I was dying to know what he’d responded.

  “Hey.” Ian put a finger under my chin and tilted my head up to look at him. “Are you actually afraid I might have said yes?”

  “No,” I lied.

  He gave me a disapproving look but continued. “Once he knew how into you I am, or maybe that I wasn’t going to back down, he had no problem with it. Said it’s shitty luck you live in one of my buildings but that he doesn’t want me to resign. Too bad—I’d envisioned renting an apartment and moving you in to have sex with me 24/7.”

  I snorted. “You would envision that.”

  “Careful. Yo
u don’t want to anger me right now. You’re still recovering from the last time you did that.”

  I shifted on the couch. “Maybe we should get out of here.” The energy in the room was starting to feel dangerously charged, and he was right. I couldn’t take another round with him today.

  “Relax.” He grinned and pulled me into his side. “Let's just watch a movie before we have to leave for our afternoon classes. No studying, no talking, just us.”

  I exhaled and nodded. That sounded like heaven.

  ***

  But we didn’t end up returning to class. Ian, in all his selflessness, insisted I was still recovering and needed time to just veg. And I was too burnt out from my weekend of studying to argue. So instead we watched a movie then went to the cafeteria for a very late lunch. It was our first outing since we became a couple and we didn’t exactly try to hide our relationship, but we didn’t make a big show of it either, much to Ian’s frustration. He tried to grab my hand a few times only to have me snatch it away. He glowered the entire wait in the food line and still didn’t thaw when we sat by the window to eat our burgers.

  “I just want to tell my friends first,” I explained. “They’ll be upset if they hear it from someone else.”

  “Then we’re telling them tonight.” He gave me a stern look.

  “Definitely.”

  “And I’ll come with you,” he pressed.

  I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off.

  “I’m their RC. It makes sense for me to be there.”

  I sighed. “Fine.”

  “After dinner then.”

  “Okay.”

  His stern expression melted into a grin. “Good, because I’m taking you on a date.”

  My eyebrows shot up. This I hadn’t been expecting. Ian Crawford could be romantic?

  As if reading my mind, he cocked his head to the side and sighed. “When will you stop being so skeptical and get that I’m different with you? You make me want to be a good guy. Most of the time,” he added with a smirk.

  I smiled and looked down at my lap, aware of all the eyes on us in the cafeteria. Somehow I doubted we looked like two buds having a friendly chat over lunch. My cheeks were flushed and his body language said it all: he was itching to touch me.