The Sophomore (College Years 2)

My heart pitter patters in my chest. “What do you mean? Why can’t you believe it?”

“Well, look at you.” He waves a hand in my direction, his cheeks ruddy. “You’re—hot.”

“You think I’m hot?” I’m stunned. No one has ever, in my entire life, called me hot.

“Don’t act like you don’t know it,” he says, taking a step closer.

I smile at him, appreciating his nearness. His compliment. He’s taller than me, but probably not six foot. More like five-nine maybe? But that’s okay. I don’t need some towering giant like all the rest of the guys I know.

Like Jackson.

I shove him out of my mind and smile at Carson, who smiles at me in return.

“I don’t hear that word much to describe me,” I admit. When he frowns, I clarify, “Hot.”

“Oh. Well, that was probably rude of me to say.” His cheeks turn even redder, poor guy. “You’re pretty. And nice. I like your smile.”

“Aw, thank you. I like your eyes,” I say.

“Even with the glasses?” He touches the rims, and I can tell he’s self-conscious of them.

“Especially with the glasses. You look cute in them,” I say, my voice flirtatious.

See? I can do this. I can flirt with another boy. A stranger. I can have fun at a party and wear a tank top that’s a little too small. I can have a couple of drinks and not make a fool of myself for a guy who doesn’t give a shit about me.

Carson likes me. I can see it in his eyes. Read it in his body language. He’s leaning toward me, and I know if I asked him to take it slow, he’d take it slow. He’d respect my wishes. He’d respect me.

He’s definitely more my speed. Not as risky.

Jackson just takes. He’d crash into me and demand whatever he could. My time, my adoration, my utter devotion. I gave it to him willingly, I always did, but I was blind to his selfishness. Always believing he would eventually return my feelings. How could he not? What

we shared was amazing. We were connected. I’m realizing I was too dazzled by his aura, his face, his stupid voice to see what was really going on.

That he was just using me. I was a convenient crutch. The girl he could always count on being there for him. The girl he could never see beyond as a friend.

I was so blind.

“Thanks,” Carson says, tipping his head toward mine. “Maybe we could, uh, get together sometime? Go to a movie?”

Giddiness rises inside of me and I tell myself to remain calm. He’s asking me on a date. I’m definitely going to say yes. For sure. I need to give him a chance. Remind myself I don’t need to be starstruck in order to get with a guy. There are perfectly average, attractive guys out here in the real world waiting for me, eager to spend time with me. Like this one.

I part my lips, ready to say yes, when I spot him.

Jackson. Entering the kitchen. Alone. No girl hanging on his arm. His expression determined, his gaze sliding to mine.

I freeze, the words sticking in my throat. His eyes seem to almost bug out of his head as he makes his way toward us, staring only at me.

Oh. Shit.

Nine

Jackson

What the hell did Ellie do to herself?

I’m not complaining. Hell no. She looks…gorgeous. Sexy. All I see is skin. Her shoulders, her arms. Jesus, her tits. There’s a lot of her on display tonight, and I like it.

Eli and I showed up late, because that’s how we roll. He was on the phone with Ava for God knows how long. Probably jerking off to the sound of her voice, but whatever. I get it. He misses her something fierce and she misses him, and when he came out of the bedroom after their call, he told me he didn’t want to go to the party.