Very Wicked Things (Briarwood Academy 2)

I opened my mouth to ask, but stopped myself just in time.

Inquiring about his tat was not the smartest move. He was bad news.

The bell rang.

“Okay,” I said, standing. “This was fun but I have class.”

He rose and grabbed my backpack before I did. “I’ll walk you.”

I shrugged. If the rock star of BA wanted to slum and walk me to class, I’d take it.

We walked out of the cafeteria together while it felt like every girl there watched, some openly glaring at me, some looking at me in confusion. Yeah. I understood that one.

“This is me,” I said, stopping at my Geometry room door.

He handed me my backpack, letting our hands brush. I froze at the delicious sizzle I felt when we’d connected. Oh.

“I bought two tickets to see Les Misérables in a few weeks. Primo seats. Wanna go?” he asked.

“Guys like you aren’t part of my plan,” I said. Amen, sister.

“If that’s a challenge, then I accept.”

I arched a brow. “No challenge, just the truth.”

He hesitated, and I saw a flash of insecurity on his face. “Okay, tell me straight. Are you just completely disinterested in me? You say one thing, but your body is saying something else.”

“My body?” I may have raised my voice. He was crazy.

“Yeah, I’m getting this vibe from you. Makes me want to ditch school and drag you out to the barn at the back of campus where we can be alone. Maybe it’s all me, I don’t know, but I think you feel it too.”

Whoa. He went fast. “You really put yourself all out there, don’t you?”

“Maybe. If this is my only shot, I’m going for it.” He paused. “Let me in, Dovey.”

“Why me?”

And then he blew me away.

He sang out in a low voice, “Why do birds sing? Why do phones ring? Why does my heart fly? For all I know, you’ll make me cry. Why do fools fall in love? Why were you named after a dove?” He stopped and grinned.

My mouth opened. “That was the most atrocious thing I’ve ever heard.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “It was pretty cheesy wasn’t it?”

I nodded. “Award winning crap.”

“Don’t tell anyone I sing silly songs,” he said teasingly. “Football players are supposed to be tough and mean.”

Hmmm, visions of him in tight football pants came to mind. “Everyone says you’re pretty good on the field. That no quarterback is safe.”

“Maybe you can come and watch me play? I could use my own personal cheerleader in the stands.”

Ah. No. That was not me. I am not that girl.

“I’m pretty busy.” And then I said something ridiculous. “But I’d love to see you in uniform.”

His eyes widened. “That can be arranged. Maybe you could wear your little ballet skirt?”

Visions of him slipping his hand up under my skirt flashed through my head. Maybe I’d unlace his football pants, see what all the fuss was about him. Maybe he’d fall in love with me and—

I mentally slapped myself. Hold your horses, Dovey Beckham. This boy was wicked.

One side of his mouth tilted up. “Ah, I shouldn’t have said that. You’re thinking dirty thoughts.”

“Am not.”

“Uh-huh.” His lids lowered.

My breathing escalated and heat settled in my body and I strained to be closer.

Perhaps I’d jumped to conclusions about him.

Maybe Cuba was more than just his reputation.

Yeah, right. I was blinded by lust. Even a nun would crack under the charisma of Cuba Hudson.

“Get to know me, Dovey. Let’s hang out. I promise I won’t bite unless you want me too.”

And what a picture that made in my head.

And that cinched it. I inhaled a cleansing breath. “I appreciate your balls in coming up to me. I even applaud your whole ‘I dreamed about you’ line, because it was smooth. Just the right amount of humor with a touch of sexy. It’s obvious you’re a master at picking up girls, a real charmer. And the kissing part? That was excellent. Very subtle, and just enough to get my mind to thinking about us...you know…kissing.” My words faltered. “But at the end of the day, it won’t work. We aren’t compatible. We come from two different places. You’re rich; I’m not. You like to party; I don’t. You like high heels; I don’t wear them. Good grief, your friends call you Hollywood. Then there’s me. I work my ass off to get everything I have. So yeah, not feasible.”

He straightened up. “I’ll meet you outside your building after dance. I want to see you again before I go home.”

I sputtered. “No. I just gave you a list of reasons why we can’t go out.”

“Yeah, I may have missed some of it. I was watching your mouth move,” he murmured. “Got distracted by your lips.”

“Is this a joke?” I asked.

“I don’t play pranks.” He waved his hands between us. “We have a connection. I knew it the moment I sat down with you. You want to resist me, that’s fine. It’s like foreplay.”

He slid off his leather varsity jacket and wrapped it over my shoulders. “Meet me after your ballet practice. You can give me back my jacket then. That’s all. No more songs.”

But I kinda liked the way he sang.

Then he turned and sauntered away.

“Bad juju,” I murmured to no one is particular, stroking the supple texture of the coat. I made sure no one was looking and buried my face in the collar, inhaling his scent, sandalwood and musk. I wanted to wrap my whole body in it and roll around on the ground. I wanted to wave it around like a matador in front of all the snooty girls in my class. I wanted to take it home and sleep with it, maybe cuddle up to it like a teddy bear. Then I burst out laughing. Craazzzy.