“They can’t grant her her rights back,” I say firmly.
“They shouldn’t, but it isn’t up to us. We just have to keep providing a loving home for Tyla and Brant, and hope that the law and the universe are on our side.” Mom’s voice is cautiously hopeful.
It’s all we have—hope. And that can be a dangerous thing.
10
Henley
“Okay, obviously, you know this is the shutter button. And this is how you adjust the focus. I can teach you a little more about lighting on Photoshop later.”
Jamie straightens my camera, coming up close to a group of wildflowers. We chose the arboretum on campus to shoot our first project for our Composition of Photography class, which we shared as well as Kyle’s class, because of the easy canvas and beautiful landscape. Taking photos of flowers and plants wasn’t as challenging as people, and it always provided for a pretty picture, no matter the lighting.
I was helping her, teaching her some of the photography basics, and she was turning out to be a natural. I didn’t often let someone borrow my camera, but there was something about Jamie that I just trusted. Maybe it was because her soft-spoken sarcasm reminded me of Catherine, but I’d let her get her shots first. And then, I’d take some more difficult angles to really wow our professor. I might be helping Jamie, but I was here to show off what I could do.
The dye Rhiannon convinced me to go with is nearly out of my hair. There are just a few tips at the end still blazing with the fire of scarlet red, and I can’t wait for them to leave. Because those scarlet tips keep reminding me of what I did the other night with Lincoln Kolb.
And how I can’t stop thinking about it. How I can’t stop thinking about how he knew the exact right way to make me come. Or the way his breathy grunts and curses filled my ears, made me feel like that Ariana Grande song, “God is a Woman.”
I have to stop thinking about him like this. I have to let fury rule my brain, and my heart.
Now that the hair dye task is complete, I only have four more to go.
6. Dye my hair
7. Have sex
8. Camp out in a tent
9. Go bungee jumping
10. Get revenge on Lincoln Kolb
Number seven goes right along with number ten, and although Catherine never cashed in her virginity card before she passed, I already have. So I guess I could cross that off, but I’ll amend it to be sex with Lincoln, as I’m pretty sure she would have lost it to him if it hadn’t been for her cancer recurrence.
How strange to think that Catherine would have been claiming the penis I touched in a bathroom on Saturday night. Sometimes, in all of this, I forget how much she was into him. She’d talked about dating Lincoln Kolb for ages before it happened, and while she was with him, it was like sunshine and rainbows every day.
I can still remember the look on her face when she told me he broke up with her. The bastard was going to get what was coming to him.
Aside from the two biggest ones left, I had camping and bungee jumping. Neither one of which I was looking forward to.
“All right, I think I got it. Can we take a snack break now?” Jamie whines.
“I’m in.” I pick up my iced coffee, downing it in a satisfactory gulp from the straw. “God, why is coffee so good?”
“Nectar of the gods. Pairs perfectly with a sea salt chocolate chip.” She hands me a cookie from her bag.
I take a bite and audibly groan. “Oh my God, did you make this?”
She nods. “Yep, whipped them up in the common room kitchen this morning.”
“Jesus, this is what you need to be doing with your life.” I point at the cookie, which is now almost half gone.
“Thanks, but it’s so hard to get into pastry, or baking. Plus, everyone’s goal in that industry is to like, own their own business or open up a shop. Or be a foodie Instagramer. It’s so saturated.”
I snort, motioning for her to pass me another. “And what do you think the photography industry is? Beautiful photography accounts on Instagram are like Starbucks in New York City. Spit and you’ll hit one every time.”
Jamie chuckles. “Yeah, I guess.”
“I’m serious, though. I could start photographing some of your treats. Put them on IG. See what happens. It’s dumb not to go for something you love. Believe me, life is too short.”
My voice must take on some odd note, because she eyes me cautiously. “You okay?”
I shrug, emotion suddenly overcoming me. It’s weird, grief. Some days, I’m fine. I can go hours without thinking of Catherine. And then other days, I cry if I get a whiff of what I think is the perfume she used to wear. Or when I’m looking at a certain color wall, and it reminds me of the time we splattered paint all over her bedroom to make it look edgy.
“My … I lost someone close to me at the end of the school year, just before graduation. It’s … some days are better than others.”
It feels good to tell someone, even if I don’t specifically talk about Catherine. No one at Warchester knows what I’m dealing with under this tough exterior, and my chest heaves open in relief at admitting a small part of it to Jamie.
She touches my hand. “I’m so sorry. If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”
It’s a simple statement, a small show of camaraderie. But it makes a big difference. “Thanks.”
“In the meantime, I have a walnut blondie recipe I’ve been wanting to try out. Want to come help me make it, maybe take a few free marketing photos for your portfolio?” She crosses her fingers.
“If I get to taste test, I’m in.” I nod, smiling.
I may never find the friendship I had with Catherine, but it’s turning out that there are other females out there who may understand me just as well.
11
Lincoln
Another Friday night in college, another party.
Only tonight, I’m not drinking. During season, we’re not allowed to drink the night before games, and honestly, we really shouldn’t be drinking the week before either. Saturday, after the game, is the only party night we’re allowed. But no one is going to go running to coach if one of the players has a beer at the end of a long Tuesday.
I can’t help it if I’m supposed to be here in support of the team, at the team house off campus, and there is a party going on. None of us are drinking, most of us are looking for a hot chick to hook up with to calm our nerves before game day, and parties just keep your mind off of stressful shit.
The place smells like sex and sweat, and I won’t lie, I could go for a hot fuck right now.
Except, my dick is an asshole. Because the only girl he seems to want won’t give him the time of day.
I can’t take my attention off her. I’ve been keeping an eye on Henley all night. It’s not a coincidence she keeps showing up to the parties she’ll know I’ll be at. If she didn’t want to encounter me, she could go to another party, or try to sneak in underage at the bars. So I don’t understand why she won’t come over here, or why she’s pretending not to see me smirk across the dance floor when our gazes collide.
We’ve not spoken or seen each other since the night in the bathroom, not that I haven’t tried. I’ve gazed around the quad each time I’ve passed through, looking for her. I suppose I could have gone through some channels to get her number, but I didn’t want to look too desperate.
The moment she makes a move, her red cup in hand, I know it’s my time to strike.
I step up to the keg, where she’s about to fill her cup.
“If you can fill that with no foam, I’ll let you keep pretending you’re not looking at me across the party. If not, you have to kiss me again.”
Henley doesn’t even flick those big brown eyes up at me. I’m glad her hair is back to its normal color, the blond of a dimming sunset. It’s the color you look out for over the horizon, and I want it on my pillow, in my sheets.
“I’m sorry, who was watching who across the party?” I see the tilt of her lips through th
e curtain of her hair.
I step into her space, not caring that I’m the one desperately trying to pursue her. “Pour your beer, Jimmy.”
“I can’t with you distracting me, Stallion,” she quips.
“Ah, so I do get under your skin. I wasn’t sure I could weasel my way in there.”
Banter is our foreplay, and I’m ready to get to the main attraction.
Henley’s thumb presses the top of the tap, beer spilling from the faucet, and we both watch in anticipation. The cold, carbonated liquid fills her cup, and I want to tell her to go faster. It feels like time all but stops, because damn, I want the foamy head to appear on the top of that drink.
“Careful now, looks like you’re tilting it too much,” I tease, trying to make her mess up.
Henley’s slim wrist rotates on her cup, pulling it up just a second too soon, and voilà, a foamy sea covering the top of her beer.
“Oh, damn. You lose. Guess you’ll have to kiss me now.” I pucker my lips.
“What if I wanted to lose?” she challenges, spite dancing in her eyes.
“Then I guess you have to kiss me, babe.” I puff out my chest, a cocky grin stretching my lips.
Henley rolls her eyes. “I’m not your babe.”
“What, you don’t like that nickname?”
“I thought my nickname was Jimmy.” She folds her arms, and I want to rip off the tiny white tank top she’s wearing.
“And you know mine is Stallion.”
Henley eyes me, and I can’t read her expression. Without breaking our stare, she tips the cup to her lips and chugs, her long black eyelashes batting against her cheeks. She doesn’t stop until the last drop is drank, and then tosses the cup aside.
And leans up on her toes to kiss me.
Right there, in front of the entire party, blocking the line to the keg, she slaps her hand around the back of my neck and claims my mouth. It’s sexy and badass, the way she picked up my gauntlet and ran away with the prize. Because neither of us lost in this little bet … oh hell no, no one’s losing as she melts into me and I feel the blood rush to my cock.
Someone whistles, and I hear the catcalls begin.
“Come back to my room with me.” I break away but keep my mouth on hers.
“You’re drunk,” she says.
“I haven’t had a drop of alcohol. Are you drunk?”
“I had one beer.” Her eyes flick up at me, assessing, searching.
“I’m not a gentleman, Henley. I want to fuck you so hard that you see stars. If you want that, which I know you do, come back to my room with me.”
There is a distinct possibility she could say no. I’m half expecting her to turn me down, because she’s shown no indication outside of that one hookup in the bathroom that she wants or needs me.
Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to her; I’m used to girls, both here and back in my hometown, pursuing me. I’m used to girls throwing themselves at me, I’m used to having the pick of the litter. That sounds fucking awful, but I’ve been an attractive athlete my whole life, I know that I have a draw. It’s just the way things are, I didn’t make up the rules.
But with Henley, I’ve finally encountered the hard-to-get girl everyone has always warned me about. The one who won’t be impressed by me, or beg to fall into bed with me. Henley is elusive, mature, feisty and just downright confusing. Why is it that all men want the one woman that confuses them?
“Let’s go. Before I change my mind.”
I barely register her words before Henley is dragging me out of the party by the arm.
Wait a minute, she’s going to come to my room?
Shit, I better bring my sexual A-plus game.
12
Lincoln
We barely talk on the way back to our conjoined tower buildings, mostly because I’m terrified I’ll spook her.
I’m shocked when she turns to come into West tower with me, instead of brushing me off like the last time I walked her home from a party.
“If your sheets are dirty, I’m leaving.” She chuckles, but we both know she’s not joking.
It’s a good thing I have a mother who taught me to do laundry. Well, that … and that I haven’t slept with someone since I got to Warchester. First, it was because of preseason, and then it was because I was trying to convince this girl to have sex with me.
By the time we reach my door and I swipe my ID to unlock it, my heart threatens to beat out of my chest.
Because this isn’t just any girl, and that feels strange to me. I’ve been trying to get Henley alone for almost three weeks now, which for me is a long time. Sure, I had the odd high school girlfriend, which really didn’t mean much. We’d hookup at parties or go to the movies or eat half-price appetizers at Applebee’s on Friday night.
No, I hadn’t been this determined about a girl in a long time, and even though we had no promises between us and this probably wasn’t going anywhere, I was into her. For more than just her looks.
So, fuck, I really wanted this to go well. I know I have the moves on the mattress, I’m not doubting it. But what if Henley likes something I haven’t tried on a girl yet? What if she’s not into certain positions, or wants me to turn the fucking lights off. I hate it when girls want me to turn the lights off. Half the fun of fucking is seeing what I do to you when I do it.
“So, this is the ultimate bachelor cave.” Henley walks around my room, her finger trailing over my dresser and desk.
I square my shoulders, ego firmly back in place. I know how to play her body like a damn guitar, and I suck at instruments. In the bathroom last weekend, I made her come harder than any girl I’ve ever had my fingers in. Fuck, was that sexy.
Walking up behind her, I sweep the curtain of blond curls aside to reveal her bare neck, nothing but a spaghetti strap covering her all the way down on her shoulder.
“That’s right.” My lips find the spot that made her shiver last weekend, and I lick it.
Sure enough, as if on cue, Henley quivers against me, her response making my dick spring to life. Slowly, I feast on her neck, hitting every citrus-scented spot I know makes her weak.
A small laugh comes from her throat as I make my way to her shoulder. “How are we going to fit in that bed together? How do you even sleep in that thing?”
She points to my bed, the same extra-long sized twin every college student gets issued in their dorm room.
I chuckle, because she has a point. “Part of me thinks they make them that small so when we’re getting busy, we have to get real close.”
And without further ado, I spin her, pick her up, and deposit her so that she’s sitting on my bed, legs spread open. Before Henley can blink, I move between them, taking her jaw in my hands and pulling her lips to mine.
My tongue glides into her mouth, kissing her furiously. I’ve been patient for too long, composed and confident for more than I can bear. Now that I have her here in my room, I’m going to let my control slip.
I focus in on her lips; the beauty mark right above them. Bending, I press my tongue to it, craving to taste every inch of her. Her hands pull at the hem of my T-shirt as she moans, my throat vibrating with the sound. Up and over my head it goes, and then her fingers are exploring every inch of my abs and chest, tangling in the patch of hair that dips below my belt.
Unfortunately, for me, but also fortunately, Henley doesn’t whine about turning the lights off. That’s because this woman is wholly secure in her beauty, as she should be. I can’t wait to watch every curve of her body, as I go down on her, as I enter her …
But it does mean she hesitates as her fingers run over my scar. The jagged, puckered skin on my stomach that makes me want to shrink back.
Instead of showing any vulnerability, I move faster, removing her top, unhooking her bra, so that her fantastic rack falls into my palms. They’re perky and heavy, and I can’t help but take her nipples in my mouth.
“Christ,” Henley curses, and I smile against her skin.
; “Not Christ, just Lincoln,” I taunt, before pushing her back toward the pillows and climbing over her.
Henley rolls her eyes, but mid-roll I unbuckle my pants and shrug out of them, and when my cock springs free, she audibly gulps. She reaches for me, and as much as I want those slim little fingers pumping around me, I know I have to do something first. I need to do it.
I move down her body, my blood pounding in my ears. Henley is squirming on my sheets, and I can smell the musk of her before I even settle my mouth between her thighs.
And when I do.
Holy fucking hell.
I’ve never heard sounds like this from a girl. Or maybe I have, but they haven’t made my heart drop and my cock tingle quite the way Henley seems to be able to. Her breathy little moans light a fire inside my chest, and as I feast on her, it only serves to turn me on more.
The scent of her, the way she’s writhing against me and the bed, it’s ecstasy. And I’m not even inside of her yet. The way she’s so unashamed in her sexuality, of gripping my head and pulling me into her pussy as I eat it—I’ve never encountered a girl like this. It’s fucking sexy, and right before I just know she’ll explode on my tongue, I pull back.
“Condom,” she pants, her cheeks a pretty pink.
With the taste of her on my lips, I reach for my desk drawer beside my bed and strap up. The latex stretches down my cock, my fingers pinching the head, and then I’m positioned on top of her, Henley’s legs spread and eyes glazed over with desire.
“Turn around. Show me that ass,” I demand.
As much as I want to take this slow, to move in between her legs while she winds them around me, I’ve wanted to see that ass bounce as I wrap my fist in her hair even more.
She rolls, rising up on all fours, and goddamn it, if I died right now I’d be a happy man.
Fool Me Twice Page 6
