Kissing Princeton Charming (The Princeton Charming Series Book 1)

by Frankie Love

  “I don’t even have my books here.”

  “Like I said, I have the notes. And I’m not ready to give you up just yet.”

  Just yet? His words imply that it’s coming. His ultimate rejection. And I’m not ready for that either.

  “Okay. But I need breakfast. And coffee. Oh, and clothes would help too.”

  He grins up at me. “I prefer you like this.”

  “And I prefer not failing Theories of Global Justice.”

  “I won’t let that happen. I got a ninety-two in that class.”

  “Seriously?”

  He chuckles as he rolls me over, then gets out of bed, returning to his closet. When he comes back, he’s holding a t-shirt that says Property of Princeton. He hands it to me and winks. “Just in case you forget who you belong to.”

  I raise an eyebrow and try not to show how his words make butterflies take flight in my stomach. “You laying claim?”

  He just chuckles, pulling me to him, and before I get the shirt over my head, I am in his arms, once again and his mouth is on mine.

  His kisses remind me that the last thing I want to do is leave this townhouse. As he runs his hands over my bare back, I think that ninety percent studying, ten percent sex sounds just about right.

  I spend the day on Spencer’s couch, legs draped over his lap as he helps me study. I’m actually shocked at how smart he is. Figured the infamous Princeton Charming was only here because his parents could afford to bribe the dean of admittance.

  “You really know this stuff,” I say.

  “I’m not just good looks and charm, sweetheart.” He taps his temple. “Eight years of the top boarding schools in the country have to account for something.”

  “Schools?”

  He shrugs. “I may have gotten kicked out of a couple.”

  “For what?”

  “I wasn’t always as well behaved as I am now.”

  I chuckle. “You’re still trouble.”

  He pulls me onto his lap and nuzzles his nose against the side of my neck. “What makes you say that?”

  “I’ve heard the rumors.” I wrap my arms around his neck and shift so that I’m straddling him.

  “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

  I can feel his cock twitch under me. “So you weren’t the one who duct taped the academic dean’s car during frosh week?”

  He smirks. “Prescott may have had a hand in that one.”

  “Was it you who turned the Fountain of Freedom into a ball pit?”

  “Okay, that was me.”

  I laugh. “And let’s not forget all the girls you’ve—”

  He slaps my ass, hard. “I’d rather not bring up other chicks when I’m with you.”

  “I’m not the jealous type, Spencer. I knew when I started this with you that you weren’t exactly...innocent.”

  His lips thin as he looks up at me. “No, Charlie. I’m anything but innocent.”

  “You may be the first guy I...well, you know. But I’ve kissed other people, too.”

  “Kissing isn’t exactly what I was talking about. And I don’t want to think about you with other guys, either.”

  “Jealous?” I tease.

  He frowns. “Yeah.”

  “Really? Why, it’s just kissing, it’s not like—”

  “Kissing is more intimate than sex, Charlie.”

  “Um, I don’t think so.”

  He sighs and cups the back of my head drawing my face closer to his. “Sex is just...fucking. But kissing...” He brushes his lips against mine. “It means something.”

  Despite the way my insides flip flop, I tease, “Well, I’m sure you’ve kissed your share of girls.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  He shrugs. “You’re only the second girl I’ve kissed.”

  “Oh.” It’s hard for me to wrap my head around his confession. And even though I know I shouldn’t ask, know that I really don’t want to know, I ask, “Who was the first?”

  His lips purse and he hesitates before answering. “Winslow.”

  I chew on my bottom lip. “So you two were serious?”

  He shrugs. “She wanted to be.”

  “And you?”

  “She’ll always mean something to me, but I didn’t love her the way she wanted. The way she deserves.”

  So much for saying I’m not the jealous type. The green monster wriggles in my stomach and tightens my throat.

  “Your families, they’re close, right?” I can’t help but ask.

  Spencer groans. “Something like that. Our families have this idea in their head that I’m gonna be some state senator. Winslow is a part of their mastermind plot. Power couple, taking over DC.”

  My lips twitch as I take in his explanation. It’s not exactly giving me confidence in this lasting longer than a fling. Which I knew when I came over here. Still, when Spencer held me in his arms last night, I really could see us as more than a hook-up.

  He’s only kissed two people.

  Sure, Winslow is one of them.

  But the other one is me.

  That has to mean something, doesn’t it?

  “Look, the point is that I don’t want that life,” he says, his fingers laced with mine. “I have a different ambition.”

  “You don’t want to be a politician?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “You’ll think it’s dumb.” When he leans back on the couch, his cheeks redden slightly, and he looks away.

  “Wait, are you embarrassed?”

  “I’ve just never talked about it with anyone.”

  “Okay, now you have to tell me.”

  He groans. “Fine, but don’t laugh.”

  “Promise,” I say, crossing my heart with my finger.

  “I want to help people. And not the kind of help politicians give. I want to be on the ground floor. Really helping. I’d love to have a non-profit where people in crisis could get the services they need. Everything I’m learning right now in poli-sci points to inequality between the rich and poor and...” He trails off, running a hand over his jaw. “I don’t know. I’m not qualified, I know that. But...”

  I can’t help but smile, his confession confirms that there is more than meets the eye when it comes to Spencer Beckett. I straddle him, wanting to look in his eyes. “The arrogant prince has a soft side, I wouldn’t have guessed.”

  He exhales. “Well don’t go telling anyone. I have a reputation, you know.”

  “I know.” I run my fingers through his hair. “I won’t tell a soul that you’re secretly a bleeding-heart. Can you imagine what would happen if that got out?” I gasp exaggeratedly as Spencer begins to tickle me, sending us both into a fit of laughter.

  “You are trouble, Charlie Hayes. Trouble.”

  We fall to the floor, cracking up as Spencer’s phone buzzes. He reaches for it and looks at the text. Groaning, he locks it and sets it aside.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “Nothing, just Prescott.”

  “What does he want?” I ask, realizing the time. We’ve spent the entire day together and I should get home. I have laundry to do and an outline for my civics essay that needs some serious attention.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “No matter what I give Prescott, it’s never enough.”

  “Well, Spencer Beckett, what you gave me last night was plenty.”

  Spencer laughs. “Is that your way of calling this off?”

  I twist my lips. “I just know that there are no guarantees in life. And I don’t want to be an obligation.”

  Spencer draws me to him. We’re on the floor, and his arms wrap around mine. “Charlie, I know as well as anyone there are no guarantees. I also know you and I are more than a hook-up.”

  Later, when Spencer drops me off at my dorm, I turn to wave goodbye. As I do, snowflakes begin to fall, and my eyes widen.

  “You see that?” I ask as Spencer unrolls his window.

  “It’s beautiful,” he says, but
his eyes are only on me, his grin not as cocky as before, just filled with...happiness. “Just like you.”

  I wave at him over my shoulder as I walk away, feeling his gaze on me, butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

  We didn’t label our relationship, but as I walk to my room a calm sweeps over me. We don’t need a label, not now. Because having his word that this is more than a hook-up is enough of a guarantee.

  19

  Spencer

  “It’s non-negotiable,” Prescott says as he sinks down in a leather club chair to join me. “A bet is a bet.”

  We’re at the Ivy, tumblers of barrel-aged whiskey in hand, and Prescott just won’t drop the fucked up bet we made weeks ago.

  “I’m not up for it. I’ve got commitments here that I don’t want to break.”

  “You talking about your waitress? Come on, Charlotte is hot, but so are the hookers in Atlantic City.”

  “She’s not a waitress anymore,” I say under my breath. For the last week, I know Charlie has grown more tense over the fact she hasn’t found another job. She doesn’t want any handouts, which I respect, but it kills me to know she is stressed. I need to figure out a way to help her out without her knowing.

  And without my family knowing.

  I may be twenty-three, but I’m not financially independent. Not yet. My parents control my trust fund until I finish grad school. And until then, they are aware of all my expenses. If they found out I was financially supporting a woman I’ve known for less than a month they wouldn’t exactly be pleased.

  I need to find a way to help Charlie that isn’t tied to Beckett money.

  “I’ve known you most of my life, Spence. You have never gone back on your word. You can’t start now.”

  I finish my drink, thinking. “I’m not interested in sex with strangers, but I’d be up for a night at a roulette table.”

  Prescott claps. “There’s my boy. I’ll call the limo, you ready to go?”

  “Now?” I look at my phone, already knowing the answer It’s only seven. It takes less than two hours to get to the strip. “It’s a Wednesday night, Prescott.”

  “Perfect. I’ll call the boys.” He squeezes my shoulders. “It’s time to get lucky, motherfucker.”

  When we walk into the Borgata, I can’t help but grin. Prescott is pumped, and Connery and Yates are already drunk. It’s been a while since I let loose with my boys, and I admit to feeling their excitement. On the limo ride over they push me for details about Charlotte.

  “So you guys together?” Yates pours us another round of bourbon on ice.

  “Technically, no, but I can see it going there.” I stretch my legs out in front of me, unable to help the smile that tugs at my lips when I think of Charlie.

  “That’s fucking nuts.” Connery shakes his head. “Princeton Charming falling for a commoner.”

  “You can’t be like that,” I tell him, holding his gaze and making sure he knows I’m serious. “You have to be cool about her, have my back. God knows my mother is gonna lose her shit.”

  Yates raises his glass, his words slurred when he says, “To your Princess.”

  Prescott’s jaw twitches and he rolls his eyes, but he raises his glass anyway, playing along. No way is he going to risk ruining tonight by weighing in on anything.

  I can’t figure out what his deal is with Charlie. He was the one who was trying to get her a job, even though it didn’t pan out.

  “I tried to pull some strings,” Prescott says when I ask him about it.

  I’ve tried not to be jealous that she accepted his help, but not mine. Prescott of all people. I love the man, but he’s either hot or cold with her. A nagging feeling in the back of my head thinks he’s still pissed that I refused his idea of sharing her.

  But no way in hell am I letting her near him. Or near any other man for that matter.

  Charlie Hayes is mine.

  Prescott shrugs. “Turns out they were unpaid intern positions.”

  “Unpaid internships reek of privilege. You shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up. I mean, who can afford to take that on?”

  “Us,” he says, smirking.

  “We’re not getting into a bougie debate on a night where we’re playing hundred dollar hands,” Yates says, looking between us, obviously feeling the tension.

  And I know he’s right. There’s a time and place for everything.

  But by the time we’re in the casino, the bottle of bourbon we finished off in the limo has erased the strain between us. I’m here for one reason and one reason only. To win a fuck ton of cash for Charlie.

  We head to the roulette tables, and a cocktail waitress takes our orders as we begin laying down chips. I’m putting my money on odds, because yes, I am cheesy as fuck, and for me and Charlie to work out, it’s gonna be against all odds.

  The dealer drops the ball on the track and spins the wheel. It lands on twenty-three. “Nice,” Prescott says, raising his bourbon. “That’s how we do it.”

  We keep playing for an hour or so, but I see Prescott’s eyes constantly scanning the room as if he’s looking for something, or someone.

  “What gives?” I ask as I place half my chips on black on the outside of the table for a side bet, hoping to double it all. Yates bets on red and I laugh. “You going against me? Man. Brutal!”

  Prescott clears his throat. “Ah, nothing, just heard a group from campus might be coming.”

  I frown. Who else would be here on a Wednesday night. “Who?”

  Prescott shrugs. “Doesn’t matter, but you need to loosen up. You look so tense every time you make a bet.”

  I clench my jaw, not interested in sharing my personal motivation with my oldest friend. Something about him is just not sitting right with me.

  Connery walks over to us, arms raised. “The party just arrived, fuckers!”

  With him is a clan of five Ivy girls, Winslow at the helm.

  “What the hell, Prescott?” I ask, turning toward him as the dealer announces red twelve. Fuck.

  “Nice,” Yates slurs, getting more drunk by the minute, but he just won big.

  It’s not looking good for me. In fact, this entire night just turned into a clusterfuck.

  Winslow is sauntering over to me with a sly look on her face. Long gone is the drunk girl from the post-football victory party, and the pajama-clad Winslow from the grocery store parking lot is nowhere to be seen. Now she is poised to perfection and cold sober. I know because she has that icy look in her eyes she only gets when she hasn’t been drinking. Clarity. Decision. Intent.

  And she is looking straight at me.

  “Let’s go dancing,” Georgia Renshaw, Winslow’s best friend says to Connery, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Come on, please!?”

  Connery has a thing for Georgia and so the next thing I know, we’re all headed to the hotel’s dance club.

  “It’s gonna be dead on a mid-week night,” I say, trailing behind the group. I drink my bourbon trying to think how I can ditch my friends for a few hands of blackjack.

  “Hey, you’re here for a night of debauchery,” Prescott says. “If the club is dead, we can bring it to life.” He pulls out a plastic baggie of coke from his breast pocket.

  “Not my thing, man,” I say, unease creeping into my chest. “You know, I’m really not up for dancing. I’ll meet up with you later.”

  Prescott is pissed, but I don’t care. The last thing I want is Winslow grinding against me on a dance floor.

  I’m just sitting down at a blackjack table when someone reaches around me, covering my eyes.

  “Guess who,” Winslow laughs as I pull her hands away. She spins my stool around and plops down in my lap. Before I can peel her off of me, she’s pulled out her phone and taking photos of us. When a cocktail waitress walks by, Win drags her into the shot. “The more, the merrier,” she says playfully.

  “Enough,” I say, giving the waitress a fifty dollar chip as an apology for Winslow’s obnoxious mood.

  Winsl
ow slides into the stool next to me. “You’re no fun tonight.”

  “What are you even doing here?”

  She frowns as I am dealt in. I look at my cards, not wanting to give her any more attention.

  “I came because I was invited. Everyone thought you needed a fun night out with your real friends, to remember what really matters.”

  I refuse to play along. She’s just trying to get under my skin, and I won’t let her.

  “Listen, Spence, Georgie literally heard that Daphne girl, Charlotte Hayes’ roommate, in the dining hall telling people you guys slept together. We are here for damage control.”

  I scoff, tapping the table for another card. Twenty-one on the money. I take my winnings and leave, not wanting to get into this in front of a dealer. For all her talk, Winslow sure could learn some table manners.

  “Damage control? Is that what you call this? Because I call it quits. Seriously, Win, I’m done. You and I, we’re over. I told my mom that the other day, and I suggest you let your parents know the same. Go find another rising politician to claim.”

  Winslow’s eyes gloss over, and I can see the tears building.

  Shit.

  “We’re practically family, Spencer. You know that.” Her chin trembles, and in her face I see a reel of memories. Our first kiss when we were thirteen. Our first prep school dance. Teaching her to drive on her father’s stick shift BMW. Losing our virginity at Nantucket the summer we both turned sixteen.

  “You slept with Ethan.” I keep my voice cold, void of any emotion.

  She swallows hard, and I see the guilt in her eyes, but also the accusal. “What was I supposed to do? You broke my heart, Spencer. After you broke up with me...”

  “I never meant to hurt you.” And I hadn’t. But I knew we would never make each other happy. Still, it didn’t mean I still didn’t care about her. She was right, we are practically family.

  Tears fall down her cheeks and I pull her into my arms. She may not be my last, but she was so many of my firsts.

  “I love you, Spencer.” She sniffs.