Making Their Vows
She’s short, but thanks to her high heels, the top of her head comes to my chin. I’d sell my soul to pick her up, get our eyes level and look my fill. Figure out the exact shade of her blue eyes. These hands, though…these busted, bloody, broken hands aren’t meant to touch a girl like her. Only trouble comes out from reaching across the tracks like that.
Trouble for me.
Trouble for her.
As if I’d have a shot.
That gray slip she’s wearing probably costs more than my rent—and that rent is due tomorrow. It comes due every damn month. That’s why I’m down here night after night, taking all comers. Fighting to keep a roof over my little sister’s head. So am I going to take this rich punk Collier’s money? Bet his ass I am. I’m going to enjoy kicking the shit out of him knowing he has a chance with this beautiful vision standing in front of me. All thanks to genetic luck.
God, this girl. What is she doing to me?
I’m only a senior in high school, but I’ve had my fair share of encounters with women. I’m big for my age. Strong as an ox. And I’m not an asshole. Apparently those are qualities women don’t mind in a man, so sex isn’t hard to come by when I feel like it. But no female has ever tripped me up, let alone made my heart rifle violently in my chest. My heart is never involved whatsoever. Right now, though? It’s roaring like a chained beast. My surroundings are gray, inconsequential. There is nothing but her angelic face and some intuition that I was supposed to meet her tonight. That I’ve merely been existing until now. Until her.
I’m caught between the impulse to protect her like a precious treasure…
…and fuck her until she deafens me. Rips my back to shreds with her nails.
When I suggested we use her as the wager, she didn’t like it. Her eyes turned into twin blue flames and now I want them focused on me from below, our bodies slapping together. Sweaty. Greedy. Desperate. How am I going to live without touching this girl when the impulse to do so is turning me inside out?
“What’s your name, beauty?”
She wets her incredible lips. “Grace.”
“Of course it is.” It’s the perfect name for her. She’s so elegant and smooth and soft-spoken, there should be a crown perched on her head. Jesus help me, I can’t help but step a little closer, watching her eyelashes flutter over our proximity. “You didn’t really think I’d use you as a wager, did you, Gracie?”
“I-I…” Color rises in her cheeks. “I don’t know what kind of man you are,” she whispers.
“Would you like to?” I whisper back, recklessly. Stupidly.
But Christ, I have this vision of us wrapped around each other in my bed. The image is so strong, it’s almost like I’ve seen it before. So while I know it’s idiotic to think I’d ever have a real chance with this wealthy, uptown girl, my mouth—and heart—apparently have minds of their own. There’s more to this intuition I have, as well, when it comes to her. For instance, right now, I can tell she’s trying to gather enough courage to say something to me.
“Do I want to get to know you? W-well. That depends,” she says, moving closer to me this time, nearly bringing the toes of her fancy shoes up against my ancient sneakers. “I won’t be gambled with. Not unless it’s my decision. Unless I’m the one doing the gambling.” She seems to quietly pep talk herself, straightening her shoulders, and Jesus, Jesus I might already be in love. Fuck. “If you win the fight, maybe I’ll give you my number.” Blue eyes pull me under and I go to my death willingly. “That way I can find out what kind of a man you are.”
I drag in a shaky breath, my dick starting to pulse painfully. Did she just say she might give me—North Whitlock—her number? To call her? If she’s willing to do that for me, it could be a precursor to more. And I can’t even wrap my head around that. Can’t even imagine what it would be like to take this girl out. Have her all to myself. “Are you fucking with me?” I rasp.
“Am I…” She is genuinely confused. “N-no. No.” Her palms mold to her cheeks. “Oh my gosh, was I wrong about you being interested? I’m sorry—”
“Hell no, you weren’t wrong,” I bark, shock nearly splitting me in half.
“What the hell is going on over there?” Collier the Chump whines.
I lean sideways and point a finger past Grace, spearing him with a glare. “Keep your mouth shut until I’m ready to kick your ass.” The idiot says something back to me, but I don’t hear what it is, because I’m one hundred percent zoned in on Grace. “If you mean what you said—that if I win, I get that number—he doesn’t have a chance in hell.”