He nodded toward my sweatshirt.
I looked down. Sure enough it was an old high school band sweatshirt. Really, Saylor? I was wearing the ugliest grey sweatshirt I owned. And, kill me now.
“Sure.” I croaked. “I mean, I used to be, but—”
“Thought so.” He nodded. “Want to know how I can tell?”
“I need to practice.” I changed the subject and pointed back to my room. I was about ten seconds away from screaming at the top of my lungs. Though I wasn’t sure if it was out of terror or something else — something that made my heart beat just a little bit faster and my palms start to sweat.
He stalked — not walked — toward me until he was inches from my face. “You scream innocence. Twenty bucks says you practice at least six hours a day, go to bed at nine p.m., and really think you can make it in the big bad world by majoring in piano performance.” His lips curled into a mocking grin. “Daddy bought you everything you could have ever wanted, including the pink pony you probably still have in your room. Trophies line your walls, and the last time you even wore a color as scandalous as red was when you were alone in your room trying to see what it would look like on your tan skin. You think guys like me are trouble and by the looks of it — as much as you want to push me away — you want more…” He lowered his voice to a seductive pitch and I found myself leaning toward him so I could hear. “…you crave more.”
Speechless, I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or slap him across his gorgeous face. Was he serious? Where did he get off saying that to me? A complete stranger? Clearly something was stuck up his ass, and I was about ready to tell him where he could stick that something, but I was too late.
Had I known that any contact from this beautiful stranger would forever change me — would mark me for the rest of my life, wreck me from the inside out, completely break me down until I was nothing but a memory of who I used to be — I would still have made the same choice.
Funny, how people always say they want second chances, yet had I been given one. I would have traveled down the same road. Every. Single. Time.
His mouth crashed against mine in a blur — hot lips pressed, sealed themselves into my memory until all I could think about was the hot slick wetness of his mouth and how every inch of my skin felt like it was on fire from his touch.
He pushed me against the wall, bracing himself with his hands on either side of my head. I’d kissed guys before — none of them had ever kissed me like the gorgeous stranger was kissing me. I didn’t know where to put my hands. I pressed against his chest, which just seemed to encourage him more as his tongue dipped into my mouth.
I pushed harder against him. His hands plunged into my hair.
I squeaked when his hands moved my shoulders — his palms burning a hole through not only my defenses, but my excuses for pushing him away.
His mouth was hot as it pressed harder, his tongue doing things I didn’t know tongues could do. All I could feel was him — I was on fire as his chest met mine. A loud bang clamored in my ears.
The beautiful stranger pulled back his eyes a blaze of fury. If I was scared before — I was petrified now. He looked like he wanted to kill me — and I didn’t mean that in a joking sense. I was actually scared. Well, I was both scared and extremely shocked — let’s just say it was a tie.
In an instant his dark look disappeared as if he’d just put on a Halloween mask and a smile returned to his gorgeous face. With a chuckle he spoke quietly, mockingly, “You’re welcome.”
Pretty sure I looked like I was about to stab him with something sharp because he laughed harder and backed up to his side of the hall. “Whoa, you’re more feisty than I give you credit for — and the proper response is ‘thank you’.” He gave a little bow. Holy crap, I was going to murder him with my bare hands.
“For assaulting me?” I squeaked. “You want me to thank you for assaulting me?”
He winked. “Not assault if you beg me for it.”
“Beg?” I repeated. “I begged to
get sexually harassed?” I marched over to him and pushed against his chest. “Tell me, was it the band geek assumption that got you hot or the fact that you know just by looking at me that I have a pink pony hiding in my room.” I rolled my eyes and stepped back. “You were wrong you know.”
“About what?” he whispered, his bright eyes slipping back into darkness.
“The pony.” I looked back and lifted my chin. “It was purple and it’s not in my room back home.”
“Oh?” His eyebrows lifted.
“Yeah.” I narrowed my eyes and imagined tripping him down the stairs. “It’s in my dorm, you ass.”
With one final look that gave me shivers down to my toes, he gave me a nod and walked down the hall, “See you later, Pony.”
“Bye, asshat.” I called. “And thank you.”
He froze.
I should have stopped talking. Normally I would have stopped talking. Crap! I never spoke out of turn or talked back. But something about him brought out the worst in me I guess.
“I always wanted to know what it would be like to kiss a tattooed bad ass with a chip on his shoulder. Officially crossed that one off my bucket list.”