by J. L. Beck
Asshole. As an act of defiance, I walk over to Alan, running a hand down his arm. The touch is innocent, but I still know it’s wrong. I don’t like Alan, he’s cute, yeah, but he’s not Vance. That doesn’t matter in my mind right at that moment. I still touch him, just to get a rise out of Vance, to show him there are other options out there for me.
“Sure, I’ll have one more,” I coo, beaming up at him. Taking the shot out of his hand, I bring it to my lips. The clear liquid sloshes against the rim and onto my bottom lip. Flicking my tongue out, I lick up the bitter liquid, a sour expression contouring my features.
Alan’s gaze turns molten following the movement of my tongue. I follow the shot with a huge gulp of beer from the cup in my hand. My legs sway, the alcohol sinking heavily in my stomach. I down the rest of the beer and consider getting another when Alan opens his mouth to say something.
“Want to dance?” he asks, extending his hand out to me. Usually I’d say no, but the three shots and all the beer I’ve drank swirling around in my stomach are giving me a fuzzy, happy feeling and I just want to have fun and be carefree. I want to forget about the asshat across the room and if I can do that by dancing with someone else, then I will.
Taking his firm hand, I try to ignore the feel of Vance’s eyes on me as we walk to the makeshift dance floor in the center of the frat house living room. A pop song comes blaring through the speakers. It’s not really slow dance material, but we make the most of it. Alan holds my hands while he dances with me. It feels nice, but it’s nothing like when I danced with Vance.
There’s no electricity between us, no spark, no fire. Alan doesn’t seem to notice or maybe he doesn’t care, I don’t know. He moves closer, pulling me into his chest, his hands moving to my hips as we dance. I want to have fun. I want to forget about Vance and I want to like Alan, but I can’t. It doesn’t matter how nice or good looking he is, he is not Vance.
This feels like a mistake. Dancing with someone while thinking about someone else, it feels wrong, like I’m cheating, which is ridiculous since Vance and I are nothing but mortal enemies and as far from a couple as it gets. I’m about to politely excuse myself, shame blanketing me when Vance appears out of nowhere, his hand wrapping around my wrist gently.
“It’s time to go home,” he yells over the music, tugging me off the dance floor.
“Are you serious?” Alan asks the question that was lodged in my throat.
“Very. Now let’s go, Ava,” he orders, his green eyes piercing mine. He’s paying Alan no attention and I’m thankful for that. I don’t want another fight to break out.
“It’s fine,” I tell Alan, who’s giving me a weary look. “Really, its fine, I want to go home anyway,” I reassure him.
Alan frowns, but releases me, taking a few steps back before giving me a wave goodbye. Vance tugs on my arm and I follow along behind him, not that I could do anything anyway. I feel bad for not saying bye to Jules, but I suppose I can always apologize later. As soon as we step outside and the fresh air hits me, my head starts to spin. I press a hand to my stomach to stop the contents inside from sloshing around.
Maybe three shots within ten minutes wasn’t such a great idea. Vance’s pace slows when he realizes my steps are becoming unsteady. Turning, he wraps an arm around my waist, hauling me against his side. It feels nice, nicer than I expect it to, especially after the way he acted earlier tonight. A smart girl would push him away, tell him to get bent, but I’m not smart. I’m broken, so horribly broken.
“What are you doing?” I ask him, realizing that I’m slurring my words a tad. I’ve been drunk maybe twice in my life. One other time back in high school with one of my friends, it also happened to be the night I lost my virginity.
“Helping you to the car.” His arm tightens around me and the familiar tingle I feel every time he touches me zings through me. I want him to keep touching me, to tell me everything is going to be okay. We’re not even halfway across the front yard when a familiar voice calls out my name.
“Ava!” The sound is deep, manly and it stops us dead in our tracks. Vance turns us so we’re facing toward the owner of said voice. My eyes light up when I see Jules and Remington walking toward us.
They seriously are the sweetest people ever.
“Where do you think you’re taking her?” Rem asks Vance, but it sounds more like an accusation than a question. Worry creases his forehead and I wonder if he thinks Vance is going to hurt me or something.
“Home,” is all Vance says. It’s obvious he doesn’t care to explain himself, and I suppose he shouldn’t have to. He might be a dick, a douchebag even, but he’s not the type to take advantage of a woman.
Turning away from them, he starts to walk again, tucking me in even closer to his side. I feel protected, secure, and for one single moment, I let myself lean into his touch. My nose pressed into his shirt. He smells like soap, and spices like clove and cinnamon.
“Yeah, I don’t think so, pretty boy. She’s not safe with you, need I remind you of your little outburst earlier. I can’t allow you to leave with her and maintain a clear conscience.” At Rem’s words, Vance stiffens, every muscle in his body tightening. He inhales a sharp breath, almost like he’s trying to calm himself.
Shit. This is bad. I brace myself for the fight that I’m certain is to come, only this time it’ll be against Remington and there won’t be anyone to break them up. Wincing, I start to pull away but am surprised when Vance does the polar opposite of what I’m expecting.
He calmly turns, and says, “She’ll always be safe with me. I would never let anything happen to her. I might say mean shit, cut her down, but I wouldn’t ever take advantage of her or lay a hand on her. I’m a fucking man, and men don’t take from women who don’t want it.”
Well fudgesicles, where is this guy all the time?
I’m not sure what I’m more shocked over, the words coming out of Vance’s mouth or that it sounded like he might actually care about me. There’s a strange kind of conviction to his tone that makes it impossible for me to deny that he is speaking the truth.
Hell, I must be drunker than I suspect if I’m thinking that Vance actually cares about me. I’m probably totally misreading the situation. What other explanation could there be for his caring behavior.
“I’ll hold you to that, Van. If I hear that you fucked with her, or hurt her in any way, I’ll rearrange your face with my fists. Got it?” Rem warns. He’s so protective, Jules really is lucky to have him.
“I got it,” Vance growls, turning our backs to them, we start walking away again.
With each step toward the car, my legs get weaker, my knees knocking together. Exhaustion seeps into my pores. Unable to stop myself, I lean into Vance more and more until my head is leaning against his shoulder.
This feels right, perfect even.
When we finally get to the car, he opens the door for me and helps me inside. I’m so tired and woozy that I can barely keep my eyes open. My eyes fall closed, and I tell myself I’m just going to doze off for a few minutes, but the next time I open my eyes, we’re already parked in the driveway at the house.
Vance opens the passenger side door and holds out his hand toward me. I blink, looking up at him wide-eyed. Why is he helping me? He doesn’t care about me, so why?
“What…?” I tilt my head to the side, inspecting him.
“Either take my hand and let me help you or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you inside. It’s your choice and don’t take long to decide or I’ll choose for you.” His voice is unusually soft, and dare I say calm. It’s so unlike him to be gentle and kind that I’m almost worried this is a dream. A dream I kinda don’t want to wake up from.
“Am I asleep?” I whisper, placing my hand in his. His hand is warm and I shiver at the contact.
Laughing softly, he says, “No, you’re not sleeping. Why would you even ask that?”
He helps me out of the car and onto my wobbly legs before closing the door.
“Because you’re being nice to me and you’re never nice to me. You’d rather stab yourself in the eye with a fork then befriend me. Admit it, you would.”
Quietly, he whispers, “I’m thinking maybe I was wrong about you.”
Wrong about me? Of course he’s wrong about me. He’s been blaming me for some mysterious thing since I got here, cutting me down with his words, and giving me serious whiplash with his hot and cold attitude. He thinks he knows, knows what I went through to get here, but he doesn’t have a clue, so yeah, he’s wrong. Very wrong.
He walks us to the front door and unlocks it without ever letting go of me. I’m a little more awake and a little less drunk now that I’ve had a short nap and some fresh air.
“What’s going on between us?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
Vance is suddenly so different. Less angry and brooding but I can’t figure out what’s changed aside from his attitude. It’s almost like he’s repressing his feelings. Is he sick? Has he hit his head? It’s kinda like he’s the old Vance, like he’s my friend and not my enemy.
Oh God, maybe I’ve missed him so much over the years, that suddenly now I’m imagining him being nice to me. But I can’t possibly be imagining his gentle hands or soft voice. He helps me up the stairs and all the way into my room where he navigates me to the bed before pushing gently on my shoulders to make me sit.
“What do you mean what’s going on with us?” he finally asks, startling me. I had almost forgotten I asked him a question.
Sighing, I blow out a big breath. “I mean, you’re being nice to me, helping me…”
Rolling his eyes, he ignores my question and instead asks his own, “You need help getting undressed?”
“Who are you and what have you done with brooding, angry, Vance?”
Vance wants to smile, his lips trying their hardest to tug up at the sides.
“Clothes, Ava. Do you want them off? I’ll help you if you need me to.”
I don’t really need help, I could probably manage on my own, but I want him to help me. I want to feel his hands on my skin, burning a blazing path of fire all the way down to my center.
Giggling, I say, “I bet you would…” And because patience has never been Vance’s strong suit, he leans down and grabs the hem of my shirt.
“Lift your arms,” he orders.
I do as he says as he pulls the shirt up and over my head. Cool air hits my heated skin, and I shiver, a light dusting of goosebumps blanket my arms.
“So bossy,” I mumble under my breath.
He ignores my comment and instead reaches for my shoes, pulling them off and placing them on the floor. Green eyes meet mine, there’s a hunger in those depths, but it’s nothing that scares me, or even worries me.
It’s a normal Vance look, intense, and possessive, and made to be felt. He gently nudges my shoulders, making me lie back on my bed. My pulse is racing, my heart slamming against my rib cage like it’s trying to escape my chest and fly away.
Then he flicks the button on my jeans and pulls them down my legs slowly, so damn slowly I’m pretty sure he’s trying to kill one of us. Probably me.
Once he’s done, I’m left on the bed wearing nothing but my black lace panties and a bra, and somehow even that seems to be too much clothing. I want every inch of fabric gone, and I want Vance to lose his clothing too, so it’s nothing but our heated bodies, skin to skin.
I twist in the bed, hoping that he won’t leave just yet when the stupid underwire of my bra digs into the side of my boob. Stupid bras, who made this damn contraption anyway.
“You probably don’t know this…since you’re a guy and don’t have a pair of tits, but bras get really uncomfortable after a while. Definitely not something you want to sleep with…” My voice trails off. I’m staring up at him, unable to remove my eyes from his smug, arrogantly, ridiculously handsome face.
“Is that right? Are you asking me to take your bra off? Because I must say, I’ve never had a chick ask me to take her bra off just so she can go to sleep. Most of the time, I’m not touching their tits.”
I start nodding halfway through the question.
He peers down at me for a few seconds like he’s weighing his options, considering if it’s a good idea or not. Do it. I think to myself, secretly tempting him.
Do it. Touch me.
As if he’s made up his mind, he sighs and leans over me, slipping a hand underneath my back. His fingers are warm, and I shiver again at his gentle caress. I arch my back to give him better access, but mainly so I can tease him by pushing my boobs into his face. I’m impressed when he quickly unhooks the bra with one hand without even seeing the hooks in the back.
“Impressive, Mr. Preston. You’ve got some mad skills there,” I taunt teasingly.
“You haven't seen anything yet.” The mischievous glint in his eyes tell me I probably haven’t. Vance is way more experienced than I am. I’ve had sex with one guy, and it was all fumbling and awkwardness. Nothing like how I know sex with my bully, my enemy, would be.
Before he has the chance to straighten and pull away, I snake my hands around his neck and make an attempt to pull him down on top of me. He’s huge, tall, and muscled. All I can seem to think about is the weight of his body on mine, our skin touching, his fingers digging into my hips while he thrusts his hardened cock into me.
Ugh, I need to get laid, and by someone that isn’t Vance.
Anticipating my next move, his fingers wrap around my wrists, halting any further advancement. Oh, shucks. It seems the asshole as grown a conscience.
“You’re drunk. Go to sleep, Ava.”
“You’re drunk. Go to sleep, Vance,” I mock, sticking my tongue out at him.
“Sassy. Not much has changed about you, has it? You still make me want to throttle you,” he says heatedly.
“Well, I feel the same about you too,” I say before slipping out of my bra, and flinging it across the room. I can feel my nipples tighten now that they are free from the bra and I know if he would touch them, touch me, they would harden to stiff peaks.
Excitement and lust pulse through me at the thought.
“Stay with me,” I whine, giving him my best pout. I don’t want this precious, un-hateful moment to end between us. It’s too soon. I’ve only got a taste of the old Vance and I’m not ready to give him up yet. “Please…” I say a second later, because the apprehension flickering in his eyes tells me he doesn’t want to give in.
He exhales all the air in his lungs, and his jaw tightens. He shakes his head as if he’s telling himself he shouldn’t do it, shouldn’t stay, but just like me, he can’t let go of whatever is happening right now. So instead of leaving, he starts to take off his clothes. Gulping, I swallow down the groan forming in my throat.
His shirt is the first to go and when the simple t-shirt is pulled away, he extends it to me.
“Here, put this on.” There’s a seductiveness to his voice that calls out to me.
“Do you have a problem with boobs?” I tease, feeling light-hearted and free. He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, letting his eyes run over my bare chest. Of course he’s not shy about looking. My tits aren’t huge, more like a handful each, but they aren’t bad either. I mean boobs are boobs, right?
“Nah, your tits are perfect. Now put the shirt on, before I put it on you myself. I’m a man of my word, so for tonight your virtue is safe with me.”
“You’re so bossy, and I’m not a virgin, there is no virtue to save,” I grumble, pulling on his shirt awkwardly before shoving down into the pillowy mattress.
“Virgin or not, it’s not happening, so stop being a pain in the ass.”
I watch him intently as he gives me my own personal striptease. My mouth starts watering and moisture builds between my thighs with every piece of clothing he tosses to the floor.
Once down to his boxers, he slides into the bed beside me, the bed is a queen, but with his bulking frame in it, it feels like a twin. He pulls the bl
anket up and over both of us. Feeling extra brave, I slide across the sheets and over to him until my body is pressing up against his side. He starts to move, and all I can think is, shit, he’s about to push me away, but instead he does the opposite and slides his arm under my head the motion drawing me closer to him, if that’s even possible.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, suddenly feeling like I need to apologize even though it wasn’t me who made myself look like a giant ass tonight. Kidding aside, we should really talk about it. The giant elephant in the room. It’s weighing heavily on both of us. I don’t know Vance as well as everyone else, but I do know that he wasn’t acting like himself at that party.
“Shhh…” Vance whispers as if he doesn’t want to hear my apology. Pressing my cheek against his red hot skin, I inhale deeply, sniffing him. Damnit. Even his skin smells good like soap and cloves, and I kinda want to take a bite out of him like a chocolate chip cookie.
But even his scent can’t mask the exhaustion I’m feeling. All this fighting, pretending, it’s wearing me down. The wakefulness I felt a few minutes ago evaporates, and I yawn into Vance’s side, none too lady-like. My eyelids droop, fluttering open and closed a couple times. I’m about to doze off with hopes I don’t drool all over his chest when Vance’s deep rumbling voice fills my ears.
“What happened…like really happened, that night five years ago?” With my eyes still closed, I answer him.
“You dared me…remember?” I ask sleepily. Maybe he did hit his head if he can’t remember what happened that night.
“Yeah, and then? What happened then? What happened after that, after you went into the house?”
My brain is like a cookie jar that you can’t see the contents too, my hands digging through the memories trying to place the right one. It seems to take me an eternity partially because I’m drunk, but mostly because it’s not a memory I’m really all that fond of.