“I’m full.” I tossed my napkin on the table. “Take me home now please.” I dug around in my bag for my wallet.
“Put your wallet away. I got it.”
“No. This isn’t a date.” I dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table and scooted out from the booth. Without waiting, I strode out of the restaurant. He caught up with me quickly outside, his jaw clamped tight, so that I knew he was angry. He didn’t touch me, just moved ahead of me to open my door. Again, like this was a date. I compressed my lips and uttered nothing. It was almost over. Next time I wouldn’t let him persuade me to go out with him. It was sending the wrong message. Not just to him, but to my brain, too.
We sat in silence on the way back to my dorm. I slid him a glance. His jaw was still locked tightly. He was mad. Good. So was I. Arms crossed, I stared straight ahead again. “You were the one who twisted my arm into going out to dinner.”
Why I felt compelled to remind him of this, I didn’t know. Maybe I felt a little guilty for tossing that money down and storming from the diner. If this had been a date, it was ending badly. My chest felt hollow inside and I sucked in a deep breath as though I could fill every little empty corner. I was such a liar. The idea of never seeing him again made me feel like crap. Why was this happening to me? I slid another glance his way, wondering if I shouldn’t just give in, surrender, and see where this could go. Just scratch the itch.
“That’s right.” He nodded as he turned on the street that cut in front of my dorm. “I’m such an ass**le for trying to buy you dinner.”
“I didn’t say that,” I whispered, my eyes suddenly burning.
“I wanted to take you out. You didn’t really want to go. I get it. You made that clear from the start. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Then why did I feel like I had?
He pulled into my dorm parking lot and parked in an empty space. Killing the engine, he climbed out of the vehicle. I watched him through the windshield as he stalked around to my door and pulled it open for me.
He walked me to the front of my building, keeping pace beside me. At the front door, he stopped and waited for me to open the door. I faced him. “Thanks—”
“Nu-uh.” He shook his head. “I’m taking you to your door.”
A quick glance at his face told me that this wasn’t open for discussion. Almost meekly, I led him inside. Tension swirled between us as we rode the elevator to my floor.
Thankfully, my hall was empty as he walked me to my door. I didn’t need anyone glancing at his brooding expression and wondering if I wasn’t being escorted by a serial killer.
I stopped at my door. “Good night.” And I might as well have said good-bye because that’s what this felt like. I’d done what I set out to do and pushed him away. I should be patting myself on the back.
He didn’t move away. Just stared. Looked down at me with an unreadable expression. His eyes roamed over me. He wasn’t touching me but it felt like he was. All over I felt him. My breath slipped in shallow spurts from my mouth.
“You know what the most frustrating thing about you is?”
I moistened my lips, and even though I told myself to say nothing, to not ask, I did. “What?”
“You don’t know what you want.”
That wasn’t true. I knew what I wanted. I wanted him. I could admit that much to myself. I just wasn’t going to let myself have him.
He continued. “I could walk away if I really believed there wasn’t anything between us.” It was like he was saying this more to himself than me. He lifted a hand to touch my face, but he stopped, his hand in midair, inches from my cheek. He lowered his head until our foreheads touched. “If you didn’t look at me the way you’re looking at me now, I could just go.” His breath brushed over my lips and I couldn’t help myself. I came up on my tiptoes and pressed my mouth to his, a betrayal to myself, but I couldn’t help it.
It was like a wire snapped. His hands slid around my back and hauled me close. My head rolled back against the door, my throat arching beneath the onslaught of his lips on mine. Hot and devouring. His tongue parried with mine, stroked and tasted. My hands flattened against his chest, fingers digging into the solidness of his flesh, hating the fabric separating my skin from his.
So much for convincing him that I didn’t want him.
In that moment, I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. There was only craving. Only need. If I could crawl my way inside him, I would.
“Fuck, Emerson,” he mumbled against my mouth. “You taste so good.” His hand slid down my back to cup my butt and lift me against him. Instantly I felt him. His hardness prodded against my belly and my stomach clenched with need.
A loud throat clearing penetrated dimly. Shaw lifted his head and I had to stop myself from diving back for his mouth. It took me a moment to focus my gaze on Georgia, standing there looking amused.
She waved, her eyes going back and forth between me and Shaw. “Hi.”
“Oh, hey, Georgia.”
Shaw stepped back from me, putting much needed space between us. I tucked my hair behind my ear, my hand shaking.
“Hey,” she echoed.
I motioned with a still shaking hand toward Shaw. “This is Shaw. Shaw, my roommate, Georgia.”
They shook hands. “Pleasure to meet you, Shaw.” Georgia’s smile was blinding, and I knew she was enjoying my discomfort a bit too much.
She motioned to the door. “Sorry to interrupt. I just needed to get something from my room, so if you two—”
“No worries,” I said quickly. “Shaw was just dropping me off.”
“Oh. Great.” Her voice didn’t sound like she thought it was great though. In fact, she looked a little disappointed. Like she regretted interrupting us if it meant our making out was coming to an end.
Shaw looked at me steadily, and I knew if Georgia wasn’t here he would definitely be saying something more. Or, actually, maybe nothing at all. We’d probably still be lip locked.
I forced myself to meet his too perceptive brown eyes. “Thanks again.”
He nodded. “Good night.” His gaze skipped to Georgia. “Nice meeting you.”
“You, too.” Georgia’s bright smile was back in place. We stood rooted to the floor in front of our room as he headed down the hall and stepped onto the elevator.
“Put your wallet away. I got it.”
“No. This isn’t a date.” I dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table and scooted out from the booth. Without waiting, I strode out of the restaurant. He caught up with me quickly outside, his jaw clamped tight, so that I knew he was angry. He didn’t touch me, just moved ahead of me to open my door. Again, like this was a date. I compressed my lips and uttered nothing. It was almost over. Next time I wouldn’t let him persuade me to go out with him. It was sending the wrong message. Not just to him, but to my brain, too.
We sat in silence on the way back to my dorm. I slid him a glance. His jaw was still locked tightly. He was mad. Good. So was I. Arms crossed, I stared straight ahead again. “You were the one who twisted my arm into going out to dinner.”
Why I felt compelled to remind him of this, I didn’t know. Maybe I felt a little guilty for tossing that money down and storming from the diner. If this had been a date, it was ending badly. My chest felt hollow inside and I sucked in a deep breath as though I could fill every little empty corner. I was such a liar. The idea of never seeing him again made me feel like crap. Why was this happening to me? I slid another glance his way, wondering if I shouldn’t just give in, surrender, and see where this could go. Just scratch the itch.
“That’s right.” He nodded as he turned on the street that cut in front of my dorm. “I’m such an ass**le for trying to buy you dinner.”
“I didn’t say that,” I whispered, my eyes suddenly burning.
“I wanted to take you out. You didn’t really want to go. I get it. You made that clear from the start. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Then why did I feel like I had?
He pulled into my dorm parking lot and parked in an empty space. Killing the engine, he climbed out of the vehicle. I watched him through the windshield as he stalked around to my door and pulled it open for me.
He walked me to the front of my building, keeping pace beside me. At the front door, he stopped and waited for me to open the door. I faced him. “Thanks—”
“Nu-uh.” He shook his head. “I’m taking you to your door.”
A quick glance at his face told me that this wasn’t open for discussion. Almost meekly, I led him inside. Tension swirled between us as we rode the elevator to my floor.
Thankfully, my hall was empty as he walked me to my door. I didn’t need anyone glancing at his brooding expression and wondering if I wasn’t being escorted by a serial killer.
I stopped at my door. “Good night.” And I might as well have said good-bye because that’s what this felt like. I’d done what I set out to do and pushed him away. I should be patting myself on the back.
He didn’t move away. Just stared. Looked down at me with an unreadable expression. His eyes roamed over me. He wasn’t touching me but it felt like he was. All over I felt him. My breath slipped in shallow spurts from my mouth.
“You know what the most frustrating thing about you is?”
I moistened my lips, and even though I told myself to say nothing, to not ask, I did. “What?”
“You don’t know what you want.”
That wasn’t true. I knew what I wanted. I wanted him. I could admit that much to myself. I just wasn’t going to let myself have him.
He continued. “I could walk away if I really believed there wasn’t anything between us.” It was like he was saying this more to himself than me. He lifted a hand to touch my face, but he stopped, his hand in midair, inches from my cheek. He lowered his head until our foreheads touched. “If you didn’t look at me the way you’re looking at me now, I could just go.” His breath brushed over my lips and I couldn’t help myself. I came up on my tiptoes and pressed my mouth to his, a betrayal to myself, but I couldn’t help it.
It was like a wire snapped. His hands slid around my back and hauled me close. My head rolled back against the door, my throat arching beneath the onslaught of his lips on mine. Hot and devouring. His tongue parried with mine, stroked and tasted. My hands flattened against his chest, fingers digging into the solidness of his flesh, hating the fabric separating my skin from his.
So much for convincing him that I didn’t want him.
In that moment, I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. There was only craving. Only need. If I could crawl my way inside him, I would.
“Fuck, Emerson,” he mumbled against my mouth. “You taste so good.” His hand slid down my back to cup my butt and lift me against him. Instantly I felt him. His hardness prodded against my belly and my stomach clenched with need.
A loud throat clearing penetrated dimly. Shaw lifted his head and I had to stop myself from diving back for his mouth. It took me a moment to focus my gaze on Georgia, standing there looking amused.
She waved, her eyes going back and forth between me and Shaw. “Hi.”
“Oh, hey, Georgia.”
Shaw stepped back from me, putting much needed space between us. I tucked my hair behind my ear, my hand shaking.
“Hey,” she echoed.
I motioned with a still shaking hand toward Shaw. “This is Shaw. Shaw, my roommate, Georgia.”
They shook hands. “Pleasure to meet you, Shaw.” Georgia’s smile was blinding, and I knew she was enjoying my discomfort a bit too much.
She motioned to the door. “Sorry to interrupt. I just needed to get something from my room, so if you two—”
“No worries,” I said quickly. “Shaw was just dropping me off.”
“Oh. Great.” Her voice didn’t sound like she thought it was great though. In fact, she looked a little disappointed. Like she regretted interrupting us if it meant our making out was coming to an end.
Shaw looked at me steadily, and I knew if Georgia wasn’t here he would definitely be saying something more. Or, actually, maybe nothing at all. We’d probably still be lip locked.
I forced myself to meet his too perceptive brown eyes. “Thanks again.”
He nodded. “Good night.” His gaze skipped to Georgia. “Nice meeting you.”
“You, too.” Georgia’s bright smile was back in place. We stood rooted to the floor in front of our room as he headed down the hall and stepped onto the elevator.
