“Process of elimination.”
I bark out a laugh. “How? My Facebook profile picture is of E.T. wearing a dress and a wig from the movie.”
“Exactly.” His straight white teeth are shining bright. I swear the sun glints off them with a little sparkle.
I pause a minute, searching for an explanation, and then it dawns on me.
“The texts. Spielberg.” His grin is blinding, and he winks at me. “You’re a sneaky bastard.”
“I’m a clever bastard.”
“It could have been anyone. What if I didn’t have Facebook at all and you were creepin’ on some rando?”
“Thought of that, but then you stopped when I called out Bailey, so that’s when I knew for sure.”
I shake my head, then continue walking.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asks as he falls in step beside me.
“I have plans.” I don’t tell him they’re with my shitty Wal-Mart mixer and some baked goods.
“What about tomorrow?” I can feel him looking at me, so I shake my head with a playful sigh.
“Excitable and impatient.”
He just shrugs with a smile. “I know what I like.”
I pop a brow and slow to a stop.
“I’ve got plans, Butch. Tonight, tomorrow night, and the next night.”
“Are you always this difficult?”
“Are you always this persistent?”
One could argue that I’ve been a grumpy bitch to him, but he’s really digging in those heels. Big heels. On big feet. Jesus.
“When I want something, yeah.”
“And I suppose that’s me this week? Lucky me.” I do my best to hide the flicker of excitement that shoots through me, but judging by the wicked grin he’s sporting, I wasn’t successful.
“This weekend, then.” His unrelenting eyes search mine, and they dance with heat and suggestive promise. When he bites his full bottom lip, thoughts of Sunday night flash through my mind. His hands on me. His mouth on me. Him inside me. When his jaw clenches and his pupils widen, I know he knows what I’m thinking.
“Okay.” I give in. “Maybe this weekend.”
When I walk away, he doesn’t follow, but he calls out from behind me. “See you soon, Sundance. I’m looking forward to it.”
Yeah. Yeah, me too.
* * *
The past weekand a half has been filled with classwork, bartending, and baking. A lot of irritation when it comes to my Crisco can, too, but it’s been alleviated by my texts with Alex and our clandestine meetings.
We hooked up over the weekend, Saturday after my shift at the bar, and Sunday afternoon between studying and baking. Both times at his house, so I could leave right way, and both times his roommates weren’t home. I’ve only told Ivy a little about him, mostly because she’s been busy with the LSAT and caught up in her own little Kelley-fogged bubble. She can tell there’s something I’m not saying, but she doesn’t pry. She has her own experience with secrets.
Last night, she came home freaking out because Kelley almost kissed her, and—shocker—she wanted him to do it. She was going to avoid him, as V is apt to do when she’s overwhelmed with emotions, but Jesse and I orchestrated a secret intervention at Keggers tonight, one of the other popular campus bars. It’s hilarious and fulfilling to watch as they finally, finally, act on their repressed mutual attraction. And I have to admit, they make a seriously gorgeous couple. Kelley with his athletic build, auburn hair, and hazel eyes, and Ivy with her curves, blonde waves, and baby blues. They’re so wholesome and hot. If they weren’t my friends, I’d totally watch that porn. No shame.
After watching Kelley and Ivy eye fuck each other for the last few hours, I’m high on the sexual tension and horny as hell, so I text Alex and discover he’s at Bar 31. He thought I would be working, and I warm knowing that he was seeking me out again. I would have been bartending tonight, but I switched shifts so I could go out with V. When V leaves Keggers, I walk the few blocks to Bar 31.
I find Alex at the end of the bar, chatting up Jared, when I walk in. His eyes find me immediately, like he sensed my entrance, and I get chills from his heated gaze. The man looks hot. His long hair is pulled half-up into a bun, and he’s sporting dark jeans that hug his monster thighs with a black button down with the sleeves rolled a few times on his pornographic forearms. I know what’s under that shirt, those jeans, and my mouth waters at the visions that flash in my memory.
“Sundance,” he greets me, voice low and suggestive. One word and he’s got me salivating.
“Butch,” I rasp back.
“D’you ride Baby?”
I shake my head slowly.
“Wanna Uber back to my place, then? My roommates are at a party.”
My lips stretch into a smile, and I hold his gaze for a breath, then two, letting the tension build. When he steps closer, attention zeroing in on my mouth as if he’s going to kiss me, I grab his hand and tug him toward the door. “Let’s go.”
We’re barely through his front door before I’m on him, pulling him down to kiss me while I kick off my heels. He squeezes my ass and I twist away, walking backward up a few stairs.
“You comin’?” I purr, and when he lunges for me, I squeal and run the rest of the way up the staircase.
Once in his room, he pulls my black bodycon dress over my head so I’m standing in just a green lace thong. He groans as he palms one of my breasts, and I’m attempting to tug his shirt up when he brushes his thumb over the tattoo on my chest, just above my heart.
“E.E. Cummings,” he whispers, and my breath catches as my eyes snap to his.
“You know it?” I’m in awe. I can’t help it.
He nods and, once more, brushes his fingertips over the inked script.
“Yeah. I do.” His gaze is penetrating, searching, and before he can ask, before he can say anything more, I silence him with my lips.
Frenzied. Hungry.
Because this is what I want. These feelings are the only ones I can handle.
For now.
When I sneak out later,the grass is coated in early morning dew, and the first rays of light are breaking through the silhouettes of neighboring buildings. The moon is fading, but a few gallant stars are still holding on to their shimmer, grasping tightly to their patch of sky until the sun can break and take over.
I inhale deeply and turn back to the townhouse. In the fading darkness, I don’t bother hiding my smile. I’m not exactly sure what it is. Maybe I find his persistence flattering. Or maybe it was the John Hughes text. Or the bookshelf full of young adult novels. Or the fact that he recognized the script of my tattoo. Maybe it was the cupcakes. Maybe, probably, it’s that I don’t hate the idea of more toe-curling orgasms. Of spending more time with him.
Whatever the reason, I take out my phone and put his name in my contacts. Then I shoot him a text before climbing into my Uber. My phone chimes when I’m unlocking the door to my apartment a few minutes later, and when I check the text, for the second time this morning, I don’t hide my smile.
Me:Had to dip. See you later?
Alex:Looking forward to it.