Shanna’s mouth dropped open like a gaffed fish.
I sat there, unsure what to do.
I knew I shouldn’t stay; I would totally be cock-blocking Shanna.
Plus, I was already having trouble fighting off bad, bad thoughts. Thoughts that would have given my long-distance boyfriend a heart attack.
But something inside me really wanted to stay around this sexy, mysterious stranger, if just for a few minutes longer.
However, I could already feel annoyance radiating from Shanna.
So could Derek.
He handled it like a pro.
“We can’t make her leave,” he said, turning to Shanna. “It’s, like, close to finals, isn’t it? What if she fails her exams because of us? You don’t want that on your conscience.”
He said it with the perfect mix of mocking (Awwww, poor little nerdling) and concern (We really can’t do that to her. Not cool).
“She’s not gonna fail her exams,” Shanna snapped.
Derek shrugged, not a care in the world. “We’ll have plenty of time. Don’t piss off your roommate.”
When he said ‘We’ll have plenty of time,’ Shanna both brightened and relaxed the slightest bit.
But she still muttered, “She’s not gonna fail her exams” petulantly under her breath.
He’d said something revealing: It’s, like, close to finals, right? Which meant he either wasn’t a student, or he was a frat boy awakening from a twelve-week bender.
And he didn’t look like a frat boy.
“You don’t go here?” I asked him.
“Nope.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m in a band.”
Of course you are.
Athens was famous for having been the birthplace of the B-52’s (who later fled to New York) and of R.E.M. (who stayed). Every half-assed musician who couldn’t afford a bus ticket to Los Angeles or NYC wanted to make their name completing the hat trick.
Despite his physical gorgeousness, my attraction started to wane. “Oh. That’s nice.”
Derek grinned wryly, and my heart skipped a beat.
Damn he had a sexy smile.
“I know, I know. Throw a stick in Athens, you’ll hit three musicians, right? Ten if it’s a Saturday night.”
Okay… so at least he’s a self-aware, self-deprecating, HUMBLE half-assed musician.
I tried to play it off. “I’m not really a music person, that’s all.”
“And what kind of a person are you, then?”
“UNH,” Shanna groaned. “Why are you asking about HER?”
“I thought I’d get to know your friend. Aren’t you guys good friends?”
Shanna bounded over to me and threw her arms around my neck. “The best,” she giggled, then whispered way too loudly, “Which is why you’re gonna leave, right? Shanna night, remember?”
I turned my head and looked at her only two inches away from my face. She smelled like a brewery – and a cheap one, at that. “You are so drunk.”
“Shitfaced.” The bad stage whisper started up again: “Pleeeaasssse? He’s soooo hot!”
He was, but it was dumb to announce it like that. The guy’s ego was probably already massive; now it had to be Godzilla-sized.
I looked over at Derek. I thought he would have been grinning himself silly seeing Shanna throw herself at him – but no.
He was staring at me. Not in a creepy way, but in a curious What are you going to do? kind of way.
I pictured him lying on Shanna’s bed, naked, with only a tiny bit of lamplight falling across his muscular, naked body…
I shivered.
Then I got a hold of myself.
I patted Shanna’s arm. “I’ll go.”
“Yaaaay!” Shanna squee-ed, releasing her beer-soaked hold on my neck.
“No,” Derek insisted, in a voice that would brook no dissent. “We’re not interrupting your studying. Studying’s important.”
Now it was embarrassingly obvious.
Derek wasn’t interested in sleeping with Shanna anymore.
He was interested in me.
Which alternately thrilled me and terrified me.
Maybe it terrified me because it thrilled me.
7
But I played it as cool as I could, and gave him a You are SO full of shit smirk. “Studying’s important? Really.”
He matched me grin for grin. “It obviously is to you.”
Shanna was getting pissed that Derek was ignoring her. So she played her trump card.
“Kaitlyn has a boyfriend,” she announced loudly.
As soon as she said it, my stomach twisted with guilt – and anger.
“No I don’t. We broke up three days ago, remember?” I snapped.
“You always break up and get back together,” she said petulantly, then turned to Derek. “They’re high school sweethearts. They’ll be back together by tomorrow night, just watch.”
In addition to my anger and guilt, I also felt a tiny bit of fear – that Derek would lose interest in me.
I reprimanded myself. I was bad to feel that way. Shanna was right, I’d probably be back with Kevin in another couple of days.
And if I kept talking to Derek, it would just confirm all of Kevin’s worst accusations.
It’s better if he loses interest now, I told myself dejectedly.
But he didn’t.
He just looked at me with no change in expression whatsoever, like I’d told him I had a swing set when I was kid, or that I liked eating celery. “Cool. He go here?”
My stomach churned a little more. “Uh… no. He’s at Syracuse.”
“Upstate New York?”
“Yeah.”
Derek nodded briefly. “I hear it’s pretty up there. So, what’s this test you’re studying for?”
And just like that, the topic of my (ex)boyfriend was past, a billboard receding in the car mirror on the conversation highway.
Judging by her expression, Shanna knew it was over. Her big play had failed. She looked like a kid who’d just found out there was no Santa Claus – and I was the Grinch who stole Christmas. She alternated sad puppy-dog looks at him and teeth-clenching glares at me.
I should have felt awful.
I knew I should have felt awful.
…but damn he was gorgeous.
And if he wanted to sleep with her, he would have waved goodbye to me and kicked the door shut as I walked out.
But he obviously didn’t want that.
Plus, she’d kind of been a punk using Kevin against me like that.
And how many times had she brought back drunk guys to have sex in our dorm room? How many times had she totally disrupted my life?
So one out of twenty slipped through her fingers. Boo hoo.
And that’s how I justified being a bitch to her.
To clarify, I did feel bad about it.
Just not bad enough to leave.
“What are you studying?” Derek prodded me again.
“English Lit. We’re doing Chaucer.”
“The Canterbury Tales?”
“Yeah.”
“Which one?”
“You know the Canterbury Tales,” I said in amused disbelief.
Mr. Rock Jock, Biceps-To-Drool-For, Out-Of-This-World-Body spends his spare time reading medieval literature. Riiiiight.
My attitude came through a little too strongly.
“Well, aren’t we snobbish,” he teased me.
“That’s not what I meant,” I said, flustered – though, yeah, that was actually exactly what I had meant. I tried to recover. “Did they teach it at your high school?”
“No. There’s a Procol Harum song where they mention the Miller’s Tale – ”
A memory sparked in my mind. “I know that one – ”
And we both said “Whiter Shade Of Pale” at the same instant.
“Jinx,” Shanna sneered angrily as she flopped down on her narrow single bed.
I ignored her and focused on
him. “That’s a good song.”
“Hell yeah it is. So, anyway, I read the Miller’s Tale and a few others. You’re not reading the Miller’s Tale, are you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I gave him a quizzical little frown. “Why ‘good’?”
“It’s fucked up. It’s a little too… naughty for a nice girl like you,” he said, nodding in mock solemnity.
The way he said ‘naughty’ made parts of me want to get naughty.
“Ohhh, is it,” I nodded back, turning up the ‘doe-eyed and innocent’ to 11.
“Yeah. People sleeping around… having sex… kinky sex… it’s not for impressionable young minds like yours.”
Unhhhhhhh…
The way he said ‘kinky sex,’ in that rumbling, deep voice… hoo boy.
“Well then, I’m safe,” I assured him, still playing along. “I’m reading the Wife of Bath’s tale.”
His eyes opened a bit wider. “Ohhh, the horny chick.”
I smiled tightly. “Yes. That was Chaucer’s original title for it. ‘The Horny Chick’s Tale.’”
He arched one eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”
Actually, no, he wasn’t. The Wife of Bath brags that she’s been married five times, all to guys with great chests and large, um… packages. At one point she speculates on how much her hoo-ha would get at auction. Hint: she thought it would break records.
I didn’t want to get into those details, though, so I just gave a noncommittal “Mmmm…”
He didn’t pursue it, thank God.
“That’s the one with the knight who has to figure out what women want, right?”
I cocked my head and stared at him. “I’m impressed.”
“What, just because I’m incredibly hot, you think I don’t have a brain?”
He said it in a way that was supposed to be self-mocking… but it was pretty apparent that he knew he was hot. Which was annoying.
“I think you meant, ‘just because I’m incredibly in love with myself,’” I said with a prim smile. “And as for the brain thing, no, it’s the tattoos and rings. I would’ve figured you more for knowing the complete works of Whitesnake.”
He laughed – and oh my God it was sexy.
Apparently he wasn’t insulted, because he said, “I know those, too, but obviously you don’t, because you missed the obvious hint that I’m not a huge fan.”
“Which is?”
“No head-bangin’ hair.”
It was true. No poofed-out mullet or cascading locks. His hair was just long and tousled enough to make him look disreputable… and damn sexy.
“Ah. You have to have the hair to be in the Whitesnake fan club, is that it?”
“Yes you do.” He grinned, crossed his arms, and locked his gaze with mine. “So… what do women want?”
“I know what I want,” Shanna said grumpily as she stretched out on her bed. “And I’m not gettin’ it.”
“I have my own Wife of Bath as a roommate,” I joked.
Derek frowned, mildly confused.
“Um… horny chick,” I explained, blushing a little.
“HELL YEAH,” Shanna shouted.
Derek grinned. “Gotcha. So… what do women want?”
“I haven’t finished the story.”
“I’m not talking about the story.”
“Then why are you asking?”
His smile was ohhhh so seductive. “It’s an interest of mine.”
He was too cocky for his own good. I couldn’t let him get away with it.
“One you do a lot of field research in, huh?” I asked, nodding.
He shrugged, gave me a half-smile. “A little.”
“I’m sure.”
“…so?”
“So, what?”
“So what do women want?”
His green eyes felt like they were undressing me.
I forced myself to keep staring into them, and not let my eyes drop down to what I really wanted. “Why are you asking me?”
“You’re a woman. I’m a man. I want to know.”
8
The answer sent thrills through my belly.
It was obvious that he was flirting with me… and brazenly, at that.
But I struggled to keep the upper hand.
“It’s the wrong question,” I said.
“Oh? What’s the right question?”
“What does an individual woman want? Women aren’t all the same. They don’t want the same things.”
“Well… what do you want?”
Oh my God.
His voice…
I was melting at the sound of it.
And then my roommate spoke up.
“I know what Shanna wants,” Shanna slurred from her bed. “Shanna wants to get laid.”
Then it hit me how much of a bitch I was being. She’d gotten this guy; she’d brought him back; and here I was, stealing him away from her.
Me, with a boyfriend.
Well, an ex-boyfriend… who would probably be my boyfriend again within 24 hours.
Time to bail.
“I should leave you two,” I said, and moved to go.
Derek put out his hand. “No – stay. We’re having a very interesting conversation here.”
“About the Wife of Bath,” I gently mocked him, totally not believing him.
“And the Wife of Bath’s tale. And the deeper meaning.”
I arched an eyebrow. “About what women want.”
“About what one woman in particular wants. So?”
I paused and looked him square in the eyes. I had to be careful – I could have gotten lost in those beautiful green depths so easily…
“Why do you care?”
He shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“I don’t go around asking random people I meet what they want.”
“Well, people aren’t all the same,” he said with a sly smile. “They don’t all want the same things.”
Okay… using my words against me like that? Pretty clever.
I grinned. “Touché. But before I tell you… what do you want?”
“Right now, I want to find out more about you.”
It was so obvious he was flirting with me.
And any casual observer would think I was flirting with him.
Maybe I was.
My stomach twisted a little, and I got a little afraid.
Afraid that I was flirting…
…afraid that I liked it…
…and maybe, just maybe, a little afraid that if I opened up too much, I might get hurt.
“So… what do you want?” he continued. “Specifically, what do you want out of life?”
I brushed my hair behind one ear, looked down at the floor, and gave my standard answer. “I want to be a journalist.”
“That’s cool,” he said in a positive but laidback voice.
I looked at him out of the corner of my eyes. “Is it?”
“I think so. What kind of a journalist? I mean, do you want to run off into warzones, or write for a city paper, or – ”
“No, I want to write for magazines. I want to do a whole lot of different things, go different places… live life to its fullest. And I figure it would be great to get paid to do it.”
“That’s cool.”
“Yeah?” I asked, a little shyly.
Why the hell did I care what this guy thought about my life’s dream?
I don’t know… but for some reason, I did.
“Yeah,” he nodded, completely sincere.
“Huh…”
He frowned the tiniest bit. “What?”
“I wouldn’t have thought you would think that was cool.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t see you thinking journalism would be that interesting.”
“Hunter S. Thompson was one of the coolest people ever. He was a journalist. A great journalist.”
“A gonzo journalist,” I added, pretty much throwing in the only thing I knew a
bout Hunter S. Thompson, except that he wrote Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas.
“Yup,” he agreed. “For the greatest music criticism magazine in the world.”
“But, you have to admit,” I said, “he is arguably one of the coolest people who ever lived.”
“True.”
“I don’t think I’m quite going to live up to that,” I joked.
“Don’t give up so soon.”
I laughed. “Yeah… okay…”
“What’s so funny?”
“I didn’t think I was going to get a pep talk on ‘journalism is cool’ from Mr. Rock ‘n Roll.”
“Just because I’m Mr. Rock ‘n Roll doesn’t mean I can’t think other people’s dreams are cool.”
He said it in a friendly tone, but also with the tiniest bit of rebuke… like I was only judging him by his appearance, and being an ass about it.
And he was absolutely correct.
“You’re right,” I agreed grudgingly. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he grinned. “Nothin’ to be sorry for.”
I looked at him for the longest time… and yes, I got lost in his eyes. They were mesmerizing.
Probably ten seconds went by before I realized I was staring. I broke it off and tried to be all jaunty and witty. “So… what do you want? Other than to get into drunk girls’ pants?”
“Do you see me getting into drunk girls’ pants?” he asked.
“NO,” Shanna shouted from her bed.
I’d totally forgotten about her. She was lying on her back, eyes closed, otherwise dead to the world.
“No,” I admitted and then laughed, mostly at Shanna’s unexpected reappearance in the conversation.
He grinned, too. “Okay, then.”
“…so what do you want? Out of life.”
He looked at me for a long moment before he answered – like he was gauging me. Like maybe he was wondering how much he should open up to me.
Then he started talking.
9
“The first time I ever knew what I wanted was when I was four years old and I heard the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ ‘Under The Bridge’ for the first time on the radio. You know that song?”
“Of course.”
All That He Loves (Volume 2 The Billionaires Seduction) Page 37
