Greek (Palm South University)

Chandler nods on a smile, gives me a little wave of her hand, and then I’m out the door and pulling out my phone to call Cassie back.

“I DON’T WANNA,” I whine, sticking out my bottom lip as far as I can and batting my lashes for good measure.

Clinton chuckles, kissing my knuckles before he stands and tugs on my wrists to try to get me to stand. “I know you don’t wanna, but that’s exactly why we should.”

“It’s been such a long week. With the detective and school and tests and poor Lei being laid up and I just…” I sink farther into the couch, despite him holding my hands. “I really don’t wanna.”

He gives me a gentle tug until I finally groan and reluctantly stand, and then he sweeps me into his massive arms, encompassing me in his classic Bear Hug that instantly fills me with warmth. I sigh, leaning into the embrace, my head resting on his chest as I clasp my hands behind the small of his back.

“Tell you what. Give me one hour. If in one hour you still want to come back and get in these sweatpants, I’ll cuddle you all night and deliver wine on demand.”

“I want to cry just thinking about that.”

He smiles, pulling back to search my gaze. “What if I told you wine is still involved?”

“I’m listening…”

“And food.”

I tilt my head to the side, sighing. “Fine. But I’m not putting on makeup or doing my hair.”

“Good because you look perfect without doing a damn thing,” he says, kissing my nose, and then he releases me and practically skips into his kitchen, telling me to get dressed.

It still takes me a while to drag myself back to his room where my weekender bag is, and I dig through it, pulling out a pair of linen shorts and a loose, comfortable blouse to go with them. I tug on my Sperrys and put my hair in a ponytail, grimacing when I see my reflection in the mirror.

Perfect, my ass.

The long week of studying and tests and meeting with my lawyer is evident on every inch of my face — namely in the dark circles under my eyes. I debate putting on makeup despite what I said, but I don’t have the chance before Clinton calls my name from down the hall and tells me to hurry up.

With one last sight, I flick the light off in the bathroom and let him lead me out into the sticky, humid night.

We’re quiet on the drive to wherever he’s taking me, but he’s wearing a wide smile and singing along to the songs on the stereo, one hand on the steering wheel, and the other tucked possessively around my thigh.

I stare at that massive dark hand, the way the fingers curl easily around me, the way I know exactly what they feel like on every inch of my body and like clockwork, my neck heats, mouth watering a bit at the thought of what he might do to me tonight.

We took it excruciatingly slow over the summer — which was half my idea and half my own personal torture. But after Gavin, I wanted to be sure Bear and I were serious before I opened that part of me to him — especially since I hadn’t been with anyone since the night I was raped.

A little shutter goes through me at the thought of the word, but I’m getting better at saying it, at accepting it, at remembering that it’s something that happened to me — not something that defines me.

So the summer was slow, but we still played and touched and kissed and laughed. I still explored him under the covers just as he did with me. And then, a few weeks ago, we finally broke the barrier and went all the way.

And God, it was all I wanted to do nowadays.

It’s hard for me to keep my hands off him, to not kiss him longer and deeper every time, knowing that if I kiss him just the right way, he’ll grow hard without being able to control himself.

I love that I have that effect on him.

I love that he wants me so badly he can barely stand it.

After a slow, calm cruise through town with the windows down, we pull up to a small park by the beach. Clinton climbs out before I can even unbuckle, opening my door for me and helping me out before he grabs a big cooler and duffle bag out of the bed of his truck.

“Did you pack us a picnic?” I ask, eyeing the bag as he slings it over his shoulder and carries the cooler in that same hand so he can hold mine with his other.

“I did, indeed.”

“Wow,” I comment as he steers us toward the water’s edge. “You’ve become such a romantic.”