Foreplay: The Ivy Chronicles

by Sophie Jordan

  “You’re right. You’re nothing like the other girls I see every night.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” I muttered.

  My fingers closed around the hard steel of my keys. Unlocking the door and pulling it open, I looked up, ready to tell him off, but then I lost myself in those pale blue eyes until I wasn’t sure what I was mad about anymore. Those eyes made everything inside me go hot and weak all at once.

  “And that’s not a bad thing. Trust me.”

  Suddenly my knees felt all trembly, and I knew I needed to sit down.

  “Thanks for the walk.” I started to duck inside the car, but his voice stopped me.

  “Tell me something, Pepper.”

  It was the first time I’d heard my name on his lips.

  I nodded dumbly, the open door at my back. “How old are you really?”

  The question caught me off guard. “Nineteen.”

  He laughed, the sound loose and dark, curling through me like hot chocolate. “Thought so.” His well-carved lips quirked. “You’re just a kid.”

  “I am not a kid,” I protested. I haven’t been a kid since I spent my nights in motel bathrooms, listening to my mom getting bombed with random guys on the other side of the door. “How old are you?” I shot back.

  “Twenty-three.”

  “You’re not that much older than me,” I argued. “I’m not a kid.”

  He held up both hands as though warding me off. His half smile mocked me. “If you say so.”

  I made a growl of frustration. “Don’t do that.”

  “What?”

  “Condescend to me,” I snapped.

  One of his dark eyebrows winged high. “Uh-oh. I made you mad. College girl is pulling out the big vocabulary now.”

  How did this guy get girls to make out with him? He was a colossal jerk. I could blame it on his looks, but not all hot guys were jerks. Hunter wasn’t.

  “Prick,” I muttered as I turned to slide into my car. “Why don’t you go back to serving beer and stale peanuts?”

  His hand closed around my arm and pulled me back around. I looked down at his hand on my arm and then up to his face.

  “Hey,” he said flatly, all hint of a smile gone. My pulse skittered at my neck and I resisted the urge to press a hand there and steady the wild thrum of my blood. I wouldn’t reveal his effect on me. “The peanuts aren’t stale.”

  I might have laughed except there was no levity in his expression. His pale blue eyes fastened on my face. His fingers clung to my arm, burning an imprint through my sleeve.

  Then those eyes dropped to my lips.

  OhGodOhGodOhGod. He’s going to kiss me.

  This was it. The moment of my second—scratch that. Third kiss. Unsolicited or not, I had to count last night. This one was the one I had been waiting for though. The one where I would learn to actually kiss. From a guy—a man—who knew how to do it properly.

  He inched toward me. My heart erupted like a drum in my chest. His head dipped, and then all thought of what I was about to do fled. There was no thinking. No calculated logic. Just pure sensation.

  Blood roared in my ears as he closed the last scrap of space between us. It wasn’t fast. Not like in the movies. No swooping head. I watched his face coming closer. His gaze moved from my mouth back to my eyes several times, studying me, watching my reaction. His hand touched my face, holding my cheek.

  No one had ever done that. Well, not that I had a lot of reference, but the warm rasp of his palm on my face felt so very intimate. It made the moment so real, so powerful.

  I jumped a little when his mouth finally settled over mine. As though the contact brought on an electrical shock or something. He pulled back and looked at me. For a moment, I thought it was over, that he was finished after just that brush of our lips.

  Then his mouth pressed down on mine again and there was nothing tentative about it. His kiss was confident, demanding. Pure deliciousness. Still holding my face with one hand, his other one moved to the small of my back, drawing me closer. His lips tasted mine, angling first one way and then another. As though he wanted to sample every possible direction. His tongue traced the seam of my lips and I shuddered, letting him inside my mouth. My hands gripped his shoulders, fingers curling around the soft cotton, reveling in the warm solidness of him beneath the fabric.

  Then it was over. Too soon. I staggered, losing my balance. I caught hold of my open car door with one hand, blinking like I had just woken from some sort of dream. I lifted my hand to my lips, brushing them, feeling them, still warm from his lips. I focused on him, watching in astonishment as he turned and left me standing beside my vehicle.

  Not another word. Not another look back.

  Chapter 7

  After surviving my statistics exam, I trekked across the quad toward the Java Hut. Even though I’d grabbed a latte beforehand, I felt like I deserved another one after that hellish test. Plus, I hadn’t slept very well over the last two nights. Not since Reece had kissed me.

  Emerson claimed it was a surefire sign of my growing irresistibility. Thinking of that, I rolled my eyes, getting a strange look from a girl passing me.

  I ducked into the coffee shop, glad to escape the chill. I’d have to wear my heavy coat and gloves soon.

  Walking across the wood flooring, I inhaled the aroma of espresso and fresh pastries. There were several pumpkin muffins and scones on display and even orange iced cookies shaped like jack-o’-lanterns.

  The line was shorter than it had been two hours ago and I fell in behind a girl talking loudly on her phone. I tried to ignore her jarring tones as I stood on my tiptoes and eyed the scones several feet ahead. Deciding on the cranberry one, I let my thoughts drift back to the animated conversation I’d had with my roommates yesterday.

  Emerson had insisted that Reece following me out of the bar translated into mad skills of seduction on my part. Her words, of course. I didn’t see it that way. Not when he walked off after kissing me without another word. I felt like I was in tenth grade all over again. Any moment I was going to turn around and find kids whispering behind their hands about me in indiscreet voices. Worst kisser.

  Absurd, I know. This wasn’t high school. We weren’t fifteen years old. And we hardly moved in the same social circles, anyway. If he did want to share that my kiss left him uninspired, who would he tell?

  Georgia simply thought I should go back and see what happened next—the assumption being that something more would happen between us. It was that possibility that made my belly flutter like it was home to a thousand bees. I was caught between the fear that he would ignore me and the panic that he wouldn’t.

  “We really need to stop bumping into each other like this. People will think we’re having an affair.” Lost in my surging thoughts, I jumped a little at the voice close to my ear.

  “Sorry.” Hunter chuckled, pulling back from where he had leaned his face close to mine. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “No.” I pressed a hand to my beating heart.

  Hunter gave me a quick hug. I leaned into him, soaking up his warmth. Pulling back, he motioned for me to move up and order. Flustered as always around him, I tucked my hair behind my ear—a useless gesture. Only more tumbled forward. I really needed to do something with it. Maybe cut it all off. Wear my hair short and sassy and spiky all around my head like Emerson did. I almost snorted at that image. I’d never manage to pull it off. I’d look like I stuck my finger in an electrical outlet.

  “Medium latte and cranberry scone,” I told the smiling cashier.

  Hunter quickly followed with his order and held out a credit card before I even had time to reach for my wallet inside my bag. Again.

  “You don’t have to pay—”

  “Pepper, please.” He dropped a hand on my arm, staying it from diving through my bag for my wallet. “Keep your money. You work hard for it.”

  My face heated, the warmth crawling all the way to my ears. I tried not to let my discomfort surface. I’m not
ashamed that I work. I’ll have to work forever to pay off my student loans. I’m prepared for that. I know that. It was just the reminder of how different I was from him that bothered me. We came from two totally different worlds. The fact that we both attended Dartford didn’t change that. He’ll graduate debt free. Probably get a convertible for his graduation present.

  “Got time to chat?” he asked as we collected our drinks from the bar, inclining his head toward the alcove where several comfy chairs sat.

  “Yes, I have some time.”

  Thankfully my voice did not reveal how nervous I felt. I hardly ever saw Hunter last year. Paige kept him busy. And now I’d seen him twice in a week.

  We settled into two chairs facing out onto the sidewalk. The large glass window was decorated with fall leaves. I set my latte on the coffee table in front of me and balanced my scone on a napkin on my lap. Breaking off a corner, I nibbled at it, observing him as he drank from his cup.

  He smiled at me, leaning back in his chair and setting one ankle across his knee as though making himself comfortable for a long chat. My heart thudded faster. Whatever he had to say, he clearly wasn’t in a rush, and that’s when it dawned on me that maybe he just wanted to . . . hang out. Maybe there was no objective. Unlike my objective. Objectives. Make him fall in love with me. Marry me. Bless me with 2.5 beautiful children.

  The need to break our silence finally drove me to say, “Never seen you in here before. Other than the last time. And I would know. I’m in here way too much.” I waved at our surroundings.

  He shrugged. “Paige never cared for coffee much. She preferred smoothies.”

  “But you prefer coffee?”

  “I’m figuring out what it is I prefer. I just pretty much let her decide for the last two years.” He winced. “God, I’m making myself sound whipped, aren’t I?”

  I closed both hands around my cup, letting the heat from inside thaw the chill away. “It’s the gentleman in you. And the fact that you were raised with a sister.”

  “Are you analyzing me?”

  I shrugged. “It might be my psych class talking. But I know your family. It’s easy to see that you’re a product of your parents. Your mother raised you to be a good man, sensitive to others.” Like that’s not a fact that made me fall into a deep infatuation with him when I was a mere twelve.

  Two years older, popular, and good-looking, he didn’t have to be kind to me. When I first moved in with Gram and started school, everyone made fun of my clothes, my hair—the fact that I was obviously behind everyone else academically. When they found out where I lived, they told me I smelled like Bengay. That pretty much became my nickname. A whispered chant when I walked by.

  Hunter could have looked the other way. Instead he’d stepped in and talked to me one day. Right in front of everyone. That same day, Lila asked me to sit with her at lunch. I don’t think he put her up to it exactly, but she’d seen his kindness to me. I’ll never forget what he did for me that day. I fell a little in love with him then and the rest of the way over the following years.

  Hunter stared at me for a long moment. I looked down at my scone, crumbling off another piece between my fingers, worried that he might see some of how I felt in my eyes.

  “Gentleman, huh?” he murmured. “Maybe too much. I stayed with Paige longer than I really wanted to just because I didn’t want to hurt her.”

  I lifted a piece of scone to my mouth and chewed, considering my words carefully. “I think you can still be a gentleman and be happy, too. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

  He cocked his head and grinned down at me. “How is anyone who hangs out with Lila so smart?” he teased.

  I let out a laugh and studied my remaining scone. “I won’t tell her you said that.”

  “Thanks. That will probably save my life. But it is true, you know.”

  “I’m not so smart. Just an old soul.” That’s what Daddy always told me. It was one of the few things I remembered him saying to me. That and to look after my mother. It stuck in my mind because after Mom dropped me at Gram’s I used to wonder if my dad was looking down on me with disappointment. Did he think I’d failed him?

  Suddenly aware that Hunter hadn’t responded, I snuck another glance at him. He wasn’t grinning anymore. He was simply studying me. And not in a way he had ever looked at me before. He studied me like he was really seeing me. “Yes. I can see that.”

  I tried not to fidget beneath his scrutiny.

  “I’m glad I ran into you,” he continued, his familiar smile sliding back in place as the pensive look melted away. “I was wondering if you wanted to ride home together for Thanksgiving next month. Unless you have other plans.”

  “No.” I shook my head, heart hammering with excitement at this sudden opportunity. Last Thanksgiving he’d gone home with Paige. Truthfully, I had been debating flying home rather than making the four-hour drive. Especially considering how unreliable my car was.

  “Great. It will make the ride go faster to have someone to talk to.”

  “For sure,” I agreed.

  “Cool.” He nodded. “I don’t think I have your number.” He slid his phone from his pocket. “What is it?”

  I rattled off my number.

  “Great.” He pushed a button and my phone started to ring. “Now you have mine.”

  I glanced down like I could see my phone through my jacket pocket. “Great,” I echoed.

  “Let’s stay in touch.” He glanced back down at the time on his phone. “Man, I’m late. I gotta go. Meeting with my tutor. Chem is kicking my ass.”

  “You should have picked a different major,” I teased.

  “They didn’t offer basket weaving,” he countered, his expression mock serious. Like he somehow would have chosen the slacker course if it had been available.

  “As if Hunter Montgomery would be anything less than a brain surgeon.”

  “I’m actually interested in reconstructive surgery. Correcting birth defects . . . that type of thing.”

  Of course. He wouldn’t want to be your standard plastic surgeon. Helping people who most needed it. That was his MO. Saving puppies and rescuing the new girl from bullies. Standing, he slung his backpack over his shoulder. He waved his phone lightly in the air. “Talk soon.”

  I watched him weave between tables and exit the coffee shop. He passed the window to my right and waved cheerfully at me through the glass.

  Yes. We would talk soon. Before Thanksgiving. I would see him again. A couple more run-ins like this and he might start to think of me as more than a friend, more than the girl he grew up with, more than his sister’s best friend. He would see me. Finally. Maybe.

  Chapter 8

  Stepping inside the Campbell house was like coming home. Only no home I had ever known. Mrs. Campbell greeted me, adjusting her earrings, as her two daughters raced past her and flung themselves at me.

  I grabbed hold of them with a gasp, lifting both up off the floor.

  “Pepper!” they cried in unison. “We missed you!”

  “Hey, guys,” I gasped. “I missed you, too!”

  “You like our costumes?” They both dropped back down to model and twirl in the costumes.

  “I ladybug,” Madison announced, holding out her black tulle skirt.

  Sheridan hopped several times to gain my attention. “I’m a princess!”

  “You guys are awesome. These are like the best costumes I’ve ever seen. I didn’t even recognize you until I heard your voices.”

  They tackled me again, elbowing each other to get in a better position. For two years old, Madison held her own remarkably well against her seven-year-old sister. I staggered, wincing as I stepped on what felt like a Barbie. I glanced down. Yep.

  Mrs. Campbell closed the door after me. “Thanks for coming, Pepper. They’ve been bugging me all day about when you were going to get here.”

  I dropped my bag near the door under the weight of squirming girls and readjusted my hold on them. “I wouldn’t mi
ss a chance to hang out with my favorite monkeys.”

  “I’m ready. Let me just round up Michael. We’ve had a minor crisis today. The garbage disposal died on us.” She shot a narrow-eyed look at her oldest daughter. “Sheridan might have decided to put some marbles down the sink.”

  Sheridan’s face went pink. I rubbed her small back comfortingly.

  Shaking her head, but still smiling, Mrs. Campbell waved me after her into the house. “C’mon. I made spaghetti and I have garlic bread in the oven.”

  “It smells delicious.”

  “Thanks. It’s my mother’s recipe,” she called over her shoulder. “Michael would probably prefer to stay here and eat that than the five-course dinner at Chez Amelie tonight.”

  Even without the rich aroma of garlic, meat, and tomatoes, the renovated farmhouse always smelled good. Like vanilla and dryer sheets.

  With Madison and Sheridan clinging, their skinny little legs wrapped around me like vines, I managed to follow their mother through the living room (avoiding additional Barbies) and into the kitchen, where Mr. Campbell stood over a guy who was half buried in the open cabinet below the kitchen sink, his long, denim-clad legs sticking out into the kitchen, various tools surrounding him.

  “Michael. Our reservation is in forty minutes. We need to go. Can you please let Reece off the hook?”

  My stomach bottomed out. Reece?

  My gaze fixed on those long legs jutting out from beneath the sink. His face was beyond my vision, but I could make out the familiar flex of his tattooed bicep and forearm as he worked. My lips tingled, remembering how his mouth had moved over mine, and it took everything in me not to reach up and touch my lips.

  Mr. Campbell shot his wife a pleading look and motioned to the sink—to Reece really. “We’re almost done.”

  She looked on the verge of laughter. “Really? We?” She sent me a knowing look. “We had to call in reinforcements. Michael’s an accountant. Not quite the handy man.”

  “Nice.” Mr. Campbell’s face flushed. “We all heard that, honey.”