Or can I?
“And if I don’t want to?” I ask.
She glares at me, flustered. “What?”
“Play by your rules?” I take a step forward, holding my hands up and wiggling my fingers. “These hands do a lot more than hurt, Sugar. They can make a girl feel really good, too. Hell, they can make me feel pretty damn good if I’m in a jam.”
Her cheeks turn an incredible shade of red and the spark reignites in her eyes. “You’re disgusting.”
“Am I? Because I think I just heard you call me pretty.” I lick my bottom lip, thinking yeah. Yeah, I’m so fucking into this. “You’re not so repulsed by me after all.”
“You’re wrong. I hate guys like you.”
“Yeah? Then why are your cheeks all flushed?” I look down at her chest. “And you’re breathing heavy, and you didn’t have to get in the car with me, but you did, because even if you hate me, there’s something about me that keeps bringing you back.”
“That’s not true,” she says, but there’s something about the way she says it. The frown that creases her brow. The way her eyes flicker with worry.
She’s doubting herself, and she doesn’t like it.
We’re inches apart now, and she still hasn’t run. She looks up at me with those bitter, angry eyes but here’s the thing. I don’t think all that hurt is about me. It has to be about something else—someone else—and I’m pretty fucking sure I can make her associate me with something else.
I bend and go for it, crashing my mouth to hers. I feel her body go stiff even as her lips grow pliant against mine.
She doesn’t stab me, and for some reason, I’m surprised.
For Sugar Voss, that’s gotta be the equivalent of a marriage proposal.
My kiss isn’t gentle or kind, but I never have been. The tip of her nose is cold, bumping against my cheek as a I pull a hard, sucking kiss from her full lips. Her mouth is hot against mine and when I lick against the seam of her lips, they obediently part, granting me access to the slick warmth inside. Without really expecting her to, I make a sound when she surges back, licking angrily against my tongue.
Oh, fuck yeah.
Now it’s a fight—a struggle between us—two dominating forces caught in a battle. Kissing, fighting? This, I know. From the way she’s kissing me back, all breathless and defiant, a bitten-off grunt in the back of her throat, so does she. I’m getting so into it that I don’t even give a second thought to lifting my hands, pressing them against the small of her back and crushing her body to mine, all hard and soft and—
She jerks back and shoves her hands against my chest, sending me stumbling back. I’m still so lost in the fog of that kiss that I don’t see her knee before I feel it—oh fuck, no no no—driving right into my crotch.
“Oof,” I groan, hands clutching my balls as I buckle and fall to my knees. The ground is wet and cold when I tip over onto my side, eyes squeezed shut against the pain. So degrading, the way I quiver down here in the grass. I look up and see her puffy, pink lips twisted into a mean grin.
“Rule number one, asshole.” She gives her a knife a twirl before dropping it into her bag. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
I stroll into the main building the next day, hoping no one can tell that I spent two hours with an ice pack on my junk. It m
ay have been a little over dramatic, but I was nursing a bruised ego as much as my balls. I’ve been in dozens of fights, have lightning-fast reflexes, can control a speeding car, but somehow, I managed to let a girl named Sugar get the best of me. Shit’s demoralizing.
It didn’t help that the kiss was fucking amazing.
So amazing, that I’m actually thinking a knee to the balls was worth it.
“Hey, Bass,” Sydney says, falling in step as I walk toward my locker. “Saw you at the car show last night. Sucks that the cops showed up. I was hoping we could hang out afterwards.”
I cut my eyes over at her. She’s in her cheer get-up, basketball season being in full swing. “Yeah, too bad, but that’s part of the deal. The cops always show.”
I stop at the locker and she presses her hand against my chest, gazing slyly back at me. Ugh. “Well, next time we should have a backup plan. We can arrange to meet later.”
This girl either can’t take a hint—or won’t. One of the two. I open my mouth to tell her it’s not going to happen again—ever—but over her glittery hair bow I see Reyn open his locker door. He pauses for a second, then pulls out a black envelope. Fuck. Apparently, I got Devil business brewing in the locker behind me. Not something Sydney can see.
“Yeah, we’ll figure something out.” I rest my hand on my locker handle. “I’ve got to get to class. You know what a hard-ass Dr. Ross is about tardies.”
Her eyes get all annoyingly bright. “Right! We’ll definitely figure something out.” She drags her fingers down my chest. “Have a good day.”