Wrong For Me

My dick starts to harden. If either of us moves any closer, she’ll feel it.

She’s not ready for that.

“Tell me ... will those things mess up your perfect little day?” When my right hand dares to reach out and plant itself on her hip she gasps her eyes flying to mine.

I see her confusion, feel her wariness.

This is me after all. The one that outed her for stuffing her bra for her seventh-grade dance when I noticed every guys’ eyes on her chest. The one that flipped her dress up in front of her entire eighth grade class when she made it a point to ignore me. The one that warned the entire freshman football team to stay away from her, claiming she was a lot like Velcro and a bit on the crazy side – something no teenage dude just exploring girl’s wants.

But behind the worry and suspicion is a deeper reaction she can’t quite place. One she refuses to reach for - curiosity.

She doesn’t understand me and why I treat her the way I do. If only she knew it was hard for me to watch her cry, even though I’m typically the one to make it happen.

The fact that my words and actions cut her deeper than anyone else’s should make her understand, but she refuses to pull the blinders off. Either way, I know what I see in her baby blues, and buried deep beneath her feelings for someone who doesn’t deserve her and will never want her like I do... is me.

Her antihero.

Her breath locks in her throat when I lower my head, bringing my lips even with hers.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

I let my mouth brush hers. “Anyone ever kissed these lips of yours?”

“I-”

“Don’t lie,” I breathe against her. “I know the answer already.”

“How could you possibly know?”

“I make it my business to know everything.”

“About me?”

I slide my cheek along hers until our eyes lock again.

“Yes.” My hand glides up her ribs, loving how she inhales deeply as it does. No other asshole’s lips have touched hers.

“You were mine first.” I step into her and those lips part, her eyelids growing heavy. “It’s only fair...”

I don’t say anything else but attempt to calm myself for when my mouth meets hers for the first time and goddamn, I wasn’t fucking ready for it.

Soft as silk with a hint of chocolate frosting, her lips shake against me, but I feel her press back, and I don’t imagine the fraction of an inch her mouth opens to feel more of me as she presses them firmer against mine.

Her fingers graze my stomach, her need to touch me too strong for her to fight, and damn if I don’t want her to run her hands all over me, but a loud squeal outside has her pulling back.

“Oh my God!” She covers her face, and when her hands fall and desire disappears, something I never wanted to witness when her eyes were locked with mine shines back clear as day.

Regret. Disgust.

Fuck.

She’s clearly not ready to understand what it means. Eventually, she won’t be able to push it down, she won’t be able to push me out of her head.

It makes her feel wrong for wanting me because she’s not ready to let go of him, so I’ll ease her mind, for now. I’ll play the role she so badly wants me to stay in.

“Well, that was less than I expected,” I lie through my teeth, fighting to keep my mask on when her eyes start to water.

“Why did you do this?” she speaks low, but her temper rises. “I can’t ever get that back, and now it belongs to someone I can’t stand.”

Damn right it does.

“Don’t care. All I know is, now you can’t give it to the person you wanted to give it to, not that he wants it.”

Her jaw drops with her tears. “You did this, so it couldn’t be Rowan.”

“It wasn’t his to take.”

“Says who?!”

“Me. I do,” I force through clenched teeth. “Like I said, you were mine first. Not his. You’re not even his now.”

“Stop pretending to know anything about mine and Rowan’s relationship!”

I push into her and she gasps. “Stop pretending you have one!”

“I hate you.”

A sharp pain hits in the center of my chest, but I ignore it and back away.

And even as I do, even after I stole something she was saving for someone else, her eyes tell me she’s lying. She doesn’t hate me, and she can’t understand why when we both know she should.

“Glad to see nothing’s changed over summer, Oakley.” I open the door, throwing a “happy birthday” over my shoulder on the way out.Twenty Years OldShe’s buzzin’ hard.

And her hips are swaying dangerously slow and wide and motherfucker, if I don’t have to adjust in my jeans to keep from drawing attention to myself.