by Ivy Layne
The part of me that wished I were a different girl. In the last few years, I’d managed to get the worst of my anxiety under control. I'd had to figure out how to handle it if I wanted to pursue my Masters degree at Georgia Tech. If I ever wanted anything resembling a real life. I couldn't do that if I never left my parents’ house. With determination and a lot of hard work, I'd done it. I was a year and a half into my Masters program, and in all that time, I’d only had one anxiety attack. It hadn't even been a bad one.
I reminded myself that compared to my life a few years before, I was already living my dream. I'd come so far from the reclusive shut-in I’d been in high school and college. But I hadn’t come far enough to get tangled up with Tate Winters. He was so far out of my league, it wasn't funny. I was a 23-year-old computer science geek, a virgin who had never been on a proper date. Tate had slept his way through the most beautiful women in Atlanta. He was gorgeous, successful, wealthy, and notorious. Even if I thought he was interested in me—not just for sex, but in getting to know me—I could never handle the attention that came with the Winters family.
I'd been doing well in the last 18 months, but a lot of that was due to careful planning. If I avoided crowded places, got to lectures before the room filled up, and talked to people I already knew, I was mostly fine. I'd had severe anxiety, combined with agoraphobia, since I'd been a kid. Since the shooting. I’d walked away undamaged on the outside. What had gone wrong inside my head took years to fully develop, and once it had, I’d become a prisoner of fear.
Medication had never helped much, but I’d found a therapist while I was doing my undergrad online, living at home, who helped me find ways to manage out in the real world. I was getting better. Sharing an apartment with Jo instead of living at home was a major accomplishment. Ditto for attending my graduate programs in person.
But I wasn't anywhere close to taking on a boyfriend, much less equipped to deal with a man like Tate. I'd done the right thing by turning him down. I knew I had. If I'd taken him up on his invitation to dinner, I would only have been a disappointment. I wasn't beautiful or sophisticated, and I had no experience with men. When I got up the nerve to try a relationship, I'd start with someone I knew—maybe one of the guys from school.
A little voice in the back of my head piped up to remind me that none of those guys had ever made me shiver with a simple touch. At the memory of Tate's strong hand on my arm as we crossed the street, I shivered again, my nipples tightening, an ache rising between my legs. He was out of my league, and the idea of going out with him was impossible, but Tate Winters was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. Every time I thought about him, I wanted what I couldn't have.
Straightening, I tried to think about anything other than Tate. At least I was alone. Jo had been all cuddled up to Holden when I’d left Mana. I was pretty sure she wasn’t coming home anytime soon. I loved Jo. She was the ideal roommate and my best friend. Even so, after the drama of the evening, it was a relief to be alone. Deciding to take advantage of my solitude with a bath, I put on a soundscape that I used to ease tension and turned the taps on hot. Our apartment wasn’t luxurious by any means, but the tub was a little bigger than average. Perfect for me. I loved taking baths.
Anxiety was a bizarre condition, I mused as I poured lavender scented bubble bath under the streaming water. Most people were afraid when they were alone. Jo had confessed that when she’d first moved to the city from her small Midwestern town, she’d been freaked out to be alone in the apartment. I was the opposite. I felt the safest on my own. It was people that cranked my anxiety levels into the panic zone. Being in the club earlier, I’d thought I was going to lose it. A night on my own and a relaxing soak would go a long way toward calming me down. After a good night’s sleep, I might even be back to normal.
I climbed in the tub and lay back, letting the hot water soothe my tight shoulders. I tried to think about school, but the vision of Tate’s blue eyes invaded my mind. I couldn’t believe he’d asked me out. Remembering the look on his face when I’d turned him down, I laughed. Poor Tate. He clearly wasn’t used to hearing the word no.
My amusement died as I thought about how much I’d wanted to say yes. It wasn’t just that he was hot. And I didn’t care about his money or who he was. Actually, I would've liked him more if he'd just been a normal guy.
I'd grown up in Atlanta, and I knew who Tate Winters was. His parents had died a few years after the shooting that had sidetracked my life, and I had vivid memories of watching the Winters children subjected to a media hell storm in the wake of losing their parents. I knew from bitter experience what that was like. Being stalked, the flash of lights, the shouted questions. The way the reporters would pop up out of nowhere and refuse to leave you alone. A part of me thought that it wasn't so much the shooting that had messed me up, but everything that had come after. Watching Tate, his brothers, and his cousins suffer the same terrifying attention, my heart had hurt.
So I knew who he was. I knew there was a lot more to him than just the good-looking playboy splashed across the Style section of the paper. His company, WGC—Winters Gaming Corp.—had made two amazing games, and there were rumors they were developing a new type of physics engine and had made advances in emerging gaming that would turn the industry on its ear. Yeah, there was a lot more to Tate Winters than what he showed on the outside.
It was foolish to wish that I could have the brain and the body without everything else that came along with being a Winters. He was who he was, and that was his whole package. But I wished I could have said yes. I let my brain slide into a fantasy where I did say yes. A fantasy where Tate took me out and we talked all night, and then he took me home.
I wasn't a complete innocent. Well, I was. I'd barely been kissed. Embarrassing, I know. I was 23 years old, and I should have been on my second or third boyfriend by now, at least. I just . . . I was always so busy trying to pretend I was normal, trying to manage the anxiety, that I never had the chance to actually be normal. Boys were one stress too many. I'd been mostly okay in the few years after I survived the shooting, gradually becoming more and more shy, then fearful, but it hadn't seemed dangerously out of the ordinary at first. I'd never been very outgoing and always remained on the quiet side, like my parents, so none of us noticed that by the time I was 13, I rarely wanted to leave the house, even to go to school.
By the time I should've been going on my first date, my agoraphobia had gotten so bad that I was being homeschooled, isolated from my peers, with boys the last thing on my mind. It took years of trying, changing therapies and changing doctors, before we hit on an approach that really worked. I'd hated every second of it, but in the end, I was here at Georgia Tech, doing a dual concentration in the computer sciences department focused on graphics and intelligent design in gaming. People spent years trying to get into this program. Not only was I here, but I was living in an apartment and not with my parents.
I was doing it. I was living life, a great life, a successful life. I was going to finish my program and get an amazing job. My dreams were going to come true. I just didn't think I had room in them for a guy, much less a guy like Tate. My life was a perfectly calibrated balancing act, and Tate Winters was a wrecking ball.
I thought about that fantasy of a date, about what would happen after he brought me home. Would I want him to go slow? To seduce me? Despite the hot water, my nipples tightened. My legs fell apart, one knee knocking against the side of the tub, and I was grateful once again to be alone in the apartment. I slipped my hand between my legs and stroked one fingertip over my clit, thinking about Tate.
He wouldn't have to work hard to seduce me if we ever got that far. Just the thought of him, and I was wet. I raised one hand to cup my breast, squeezing my sensitive nipple between my fingertips, imagining my hands were Tate's. He'd had big hands, not a surprise since he had to be a few inches over 6 feet, with broad shoulders and a strong build. His hands—the memory of how they felt holding my arm as we crossed
the street—made me shiver.
I wanted to feel those hands on me, just once. I swirled my finger around my swollen clit, then dipped it inside, pressing the heel of my palm down on my clit. I was tight, not a shock, since my fingers were the only thing that had ever been inside me, and at the thought of Tate touching me like this, my muscles clamped down even tighter. I might not ever have gotten this far with an actual man, but I was no stranger to the pleasure my body could bring me. I was inexperienced, not a prude.
Too aroused to fight it anymore, I let my head loll back and pushed another finger inside me, grinding my palm down hard, imagining I was with Tate and those weren't my fingers—it was his cock fucking me, pounding inside me, filling me up, making me come. I cried out his name on a gasp as the orgasm washed through me.
I'd needed that. It had been a while since I've made myself come, and usually, an orgasm like that would hold me for a while. I squeezed my legs together in the cooling bathwater and realized, now that I had Tate on my brain, my own hands weren't going to be enough.
Chapter Three
Tate
Proving that I had good manners, I knocked on Holden's door before I let myself in. That, and I knew he probably had company. I liked Josephine, but I didn't think Holden would appreciate my seeing her naked. I waited at least a minute, maybe two, before knocking again, this time a little harder. Holden hadn't come into work all day. It was late afternoon. They couldn't still be having sex. Eventually, he answered, his mismatched sweatpants and torn T-shirt suggesting that maybe they had in fact still been having sex. Or at least, they had still been in bed.
I wasn't going to let that stop me. I was on a mission.
"What are you doing here?" Holden asked as I walked through the open door and into his kitchen.
"Sorry to interrupt," I said. "But I need to talk to Jo."
Holden shook his head. "No way. Jo's busy."
"Do you think you can let her out of bed for five minutes?" I asked. Heading for the fridge, I said, "I can get myself a beer and wait."
"Tate, you're my favorite cousin, but if you don't get the hell out of my apartment, I'm going to kill you."
Fortunately, as I straightened from the open fridge with a beer in my hand, I heard footsteps at the end of the hall. I just needed a few minutes with Holden's girl, and then I could get out of their hair.
Josephine walked up to Holden and tucked herself into his side as she said, “Hey, Tate. Did Em get home okay last night?"
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," I said. Her forehead wrinkled in concern.
"Is she okay? Did anything happen?" Jo asked, worry weighing down her voice.
"She got home safely. I walked her right to the door," I reassured her.
"So, what's up?"
"I want her number," I said.
"Did you ask her for it?" Jo raised her eyebrows as if she already knew the answer.
"No," I admitted. She made it sound so easy, but after the way Emily had shut me down, I'd been fairly certain she wouldn't give me her number. "I asked her out, and she said no."
"Sorry," Jo said, sounding like she meant it. “Emily doesn't date."
"I'd like to change her mind about that," I said, trying to look sincere and trustworthy. Josephine shook her head.
"I can't," she said. "I can't give you her number. I'd have to ask her first, and if you thought she wanted you to have her number, you would've asked her yourself, right?"
She had me there. But I wasn't going to give up that easily. Meeting Josephine's blue eyes with my own, I said, “You owe me one, and you know it. If it hadn't been for me, you and lover boy over there never would've reconnected, and that douche in your program would've split you up with the virus he put on your phone. Do me a favor and just give me Emily's number. I promise I won't do anything to hurt her."
Josephine shifted against Holden, pulling away from him to cross her arms over her chest. She studied me for a long moment before she said, “Why do you want her number?"
"I want to take her out. I want to get to know her better." Her searching gaze dug beneath my explanation, demanding more. "I like her," I said. "I think there could be something there, but we’ll never know unless we spend some time together.” I turned away from Josephine and Holden to find a bottle opener in the drawer.
Holden let out a sigh. "Give me one of those," he said, nodding toward my beer.
"Josephine?"
“Sure.”
I pulled two more beers out of the fridge and opened all three, sliding theirs across the white marble-topped island.
"So, you like her like her? Holden asked.
I thought about glaring at him, but instead, I said, “You're one to talk."
"Touché." His grin was completely unashamed. I wasn’t sure what I was doing with my own love life, but I liked seeing Holden so happy. It almost made me feel bad about badgering his new girlfriend.
"The thing is," Jo said, interrupting us, “Em doesn't date. Anyone. Ever. And I'm not so sure you’re the best guy for her to start with."
"What are you saying?" I asked. Josephine looked away and took a drink of her beer before answering.
"I'm not gonna tell you personal things about Emily. She's my best friend, and her life is private. But she's really shy. Off the charts shy. More than just shy. And you're not low-profile. I'm not sure you two would be a good fit."
"So I don't even get a shot?" I asked, starting to get annoyed. I just wanted to go out with the girl. I wasn't planning to kidnap her and ravage her against her will.
"It's just that,” Jo went on, “Emily knows better than anyone what she can handle. She was definitely interested in you, and she's very interested in your work, so if she wouldn't go out with you, she had her reasons, and I don't feel comfortable going against that."
"What if I promise I won't call her?” I said, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of desperation rising in my chest. "I'll text her. I can be nonthreatening."
Josephine didn't respond, just stared down into the open mouth of her beer bottle, thinking.
Finally, she said, "I've never seen her react to anyone the way she did to you last night. Until she remembered to be nervous, she went head-to-head with you. Confrontation is not Emily's thing, but she was comfortable with you. And you have a lot in common."
Josephine fell silent again. I liked her with my cousin, liked the way they looked at each other. When Holden slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him, I liked it even more. The small spark of jealousy I felt only made me more determined to get Emily's number.
Emily had asked me if I wanted a girlfriend, and I hadn't answered. I didn't have a good vision of what having a girlfriend might mean. It was only in the last year or so that I'd started to think maybe there was more to life than sleeping with nameless girls, partying, and work. Watching Holden cradle Josephine in his arms, knowing that once I was out of their way, he’d take her back to bed . . . yeah, I was jealous. I remembered the way Emily had yelled at me the night before when she thought Holden had dumped Jo, the way she'd pointed her finger at me like an angry schoolteacher, her gray eyes sharp and filled with the passion of fury. I liked that girl as much as the quiet one who said, No, Thank You when I'd asked her out.
"I'll be careful with her," I said. "I promise. I don't know what I'm doing here, but I swear, I'm not looking to nail her and never call her again."
"You’d fucking better not be," Holden growled at me.
I rolled my eyes at him.
"Seriously? Would I be here talking about my feelings and begging your girl for Emily's number if I was just gonna sleep with her and ghost on her? Give me a little credit."
"That's your usual MO," he said evenly.
"It's yours too," I shot back, "but look at you now."
"Okay," Jo cut in. "I'll give you her number. But, you have to promise to go slowly." Then, mysteriously, she said, "I don't think there are many people who will understand certain parts of you
r life as well as Emily. She's worth it."
I had no doubt Emily would be worth it. My gut was telling me that there were hidden depths to the girl, depths I would like. But I’d never find them unless I could get her to talk to me again.
I watched Josephine put Emily's number in my phone, her brow still furrowed in concern as she handed it back. I didn't stick around. I wanted to dig for more information on Emily, anything that would help me win her over, but I needed Josephine on my side, and I had a feeling if I pushed her too hard, her tentative approval would evaporate. It only took me a minute to go from Holden’s place to mine, since our apartments split an entire floor of Winters House, the upscale historic retail/office/residential building owned by my cousin, Jacob. I shut the door behind me and flipped the lock out of habit, distracted by the phone in my hand.
I had the first step. I had Emily’s number. Now I just had to think of what to say.
Figuring I might as well confess right off the bat, I typed out a text.
This is Tate. I badgered Jo for your number. Don't be mad at her. I was very charming.
I hit Send and waited, wondering if she'd answer. If she didn't, I'd have to think of something else. It took so long, I was about to give up when my phone chimed and I checked the screen.
I'd never be mad at Jo. But I doubt you were that charming.
I thought for a minute. She had to be teasing me. If she were really mad, she wouldn't have answered, right?
I was a little charming. I also refused to leave, and I think they wanted to get back to bed.
A minute later, she sent back,
So you were annoying. I can see that.
What are you doing right now? I typed.
Working on graphics for a game.
School or yours?
