There was no graceful way to get out of this, so I followed him into the room, sinking down onto Max’s bed.
Not only were they roommates, but George was Max’s best friend. And more than that, George was a good guy. He’d treated me well when we were together, and last year, when we’d broken up, I’d pretty much avoided him. I took a deep breath and decided it was time to do the right thing.
“I’m sorry about everything.”
George grabbed his wallet off the dresser and turned to look at me. His face was an unreadable mask. “Everything?”
I nodded. “Everything that happened between us last year. I’m sorry it didn’t work out. It wasn’t anything about you. It was me.” I realized how lame that sounded the second it left my mouth. I grimaced. God, I was bad at being nice to people.
George’s lips curved again, as if he’d reached the same conclusion I had and thought it was hilarious.
“It’s okay.”
I shook my head. “It’s not. I hurt you, and it’s what I do, and I’m sorry. It’s not okay. You deserved better.” This just kept getting worse. “And I’m sorry to put you in this awkward position with me and Max. I don’t want to hurt you again, and I don’t want to make things uncomfortable between the two of you. He’s a really good guy and—”
“Fleur.”
I stopped talking. George sat down on his bed, opposite Max’s.
“We didn’t work out. It happens. You didn’t cheat on me, you didn’t lie to me, you didn’t do anything wrong. We didn’t work together, and that’s not on you, it’s just the way it is. I knew from the beginning that I was more into you than you were into me.”
I felt like such an asshole.
“And I didn’t care,” he continued. “I thought maybe you would come to feel that way for me in time, and I wanted to be there for you. But you didn’t, and that’s okay.”
I didn’t even know what to say.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He shook his head. “I’m fine. I’m dating a girl I met in my history class. She’s sweet, and she seems to like me, and I’m happy. You’re right, though, Max is my best friend, and the last thing I want is for things to be weird between us. Everything’s good. Don’t worry about it.”
Like I said, George was a really nice guy.
Relief flooded me. “Thank you.”
He grinned. “No problem.” He rose from the bed, but instead of leaving, he sort of hovered there.
“He’s happy with you.”
I stilled.
“Really, really happy. Happier than I’ve ever seen him.”
The words set off so many feelings inside of me—terror, joy, the urge to vomit from some combination of the two. And underneath all of that, I heard the unspoken question and the point George was trying to make. He wanted to know I wasn’t going to hurt his best friend, and I didn’t know how to tell him that I was more afraid that Max would break my heart.
“He makes me really happy, too.”
George’s smile deepened. “Good.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Max
“Let’s get out of here.” Fleur whispered in my ear, her arms wrapped around my neck, her body swaying against mine. We’d been at Babel for a couple of hours, and thanks to her dancing and kissing, I’d been turned on practically the entire time.
I buried my face in her hair, drawing her tighter against my body.
“Are we supposed to leave the party early?” I asked.
Fleur pulled back slightly, pointing to where Maggie sat on Samir’s lap making out. “We’ve been here long enough. Trust me, they won’t even know we’re gone.”
My hand lowered, stroking the skin exposed by her open-backed dress.
“Besides, Maggie and Mya will be here for a while.” She flashed me a wicked grin. “We could go back to my room and have some privacy.”
“I think I’ve created a monster,” I teased.
She trailed a fingertip down my chest, tracing a line down the center of my stomach, her expression sultry. “Is that a bad thing?”
After a night of watching her dance, of slow kisses and holding her, it wasn’t a bad thing at all. I was the luckiest guy in the world to have Fleur on my arm.
She wore black tonight—a tiny dress that highlighted every single one of her physical assets—and mile-high heels. Her hair was long and straight, her eyes shining, her lips painted red. She’d walked into Babel like she owned the place, like she was coming home. I supposed it was like home with as much time as she and Samir spent here.
It was interesting watching her with her friends. She’d danced with Maggie, laughing and joking around, the two of them in their own world at times. Maggie had always seemed a little quiet to me, but when she was around Fleur, she really opened up. Fleur was still the ringleader, but Maggie seemed to enjoy letting her take the lead. Mya joined in, floating in and out of the group, content to go off and do her own thing. I liked them.
I wasn’t sure about Samir.
He wasn’t rude to me, but he was definitely the least friendly. He gave me a head nod when we arrived and then, for the most part, ignored me for the rest of the night. Or at least he pretended to. I couldn’t help but notice that every time his gaze settled on me he looked like he was wondering if I was going to run off with the family silver. And because I could tell he was special to Fleur, that their relationship was perhaps the most important one she had, I’d noticed.
I’d always thought he was a dick. Before Maggie, he’d had a reputation for being a player, but now it was easy to see he wasn’t interested in anyone else. He looked at her like she was everything, like he never wanted to look anywhere else.
He was equally protective of Fleur, albeit in a different, big brother sort of way. He checked on her throughout the night, making sure she had a drink, leaning down and whispering in her ear and making her laugh. And the few times he looked at me with an expression that said something other than that I was going to run off with something I shouldn't have, his eyes screamed, Hurt her and I will fuck you up.
Which would have been funny considering I had a few inches on him, and more than a few pounds, but then again, the guy was fierce. And Fleur loved him, so I tried.
“Come on,” she whispered again, leaning up to press her mouth to mine. She gave me slow, drugging kisses, her lips seducing me.
I reached down, my hand grasping hers, twining our fingers together. I held her like that, one arm around her waist, pressing her against me, the other holding her hand. She was a little tipsy, and I could taste the champagne on her lips, something I would forever associate with her mouth. She continued kissing me, her body plastered against mine. My hand moved down from her waist to her lower back, and then lower still until I had her ass in my hand, just above the hem of her dress.
Maybe I was a little drunk, too.
“We have to actually stop kissing in order to go back to your room,” I murmured in between mind-blowing kisses.
“Mm-hmm.”
She thrust her tongue into my mouth, and I couldn’t resist the urge to suck on it, drawing her deeper inside. She moaned as I pulled her hips forward. She swayed into the curve of my body, dancing, the beat of the music throbbing around us.
I pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss, staring down into her gorgeous brown eyes.
“Your mouth is amazing.”
She grinned. “Yours, too.”
I loved how puffy her lips were, loved the flush covering her skin, loved seeing how turned on she was from my kiss. I remembered the look on her face when she’d come on my lap, the sounds she’d made, the feel of her body. It was all I’d been able to think about all week. I wanted it again, wanted her again.
“Let’s get out of here.”
We said our good-byes quickly, her hand clutched in mine. I didn’t miss Maggie’s knowing look of glee or Samir’s speculative one. Or the eyes on me—curious, envious—as I led Fleur through the crowded club, her body close to
mine, her hand in my palm.
And while the attention would have made me uncomfortable at one time, I accepted it now as part of the ride and walked next to Fleur, pride running through my body, my head held high. I might not have come from money or been dressed in designer jeans, but I was with the girl everyone wanted. And she only wanted me.
###
Fleur
I wished I could have said I played it cool when we got back to my dorm room. That I hadn’t spent the cab ride from Mayfair to Kensington making out with Max like a horny teenager. Or that I hadn’t pretty much attacked him as soon as we stepped over the threshold of my room and closed the door behind us. But fuck it. He made me feel like a horny teenager, so yeah, I totally acted like one.
I threw my arms around his neck, locking my mouth on his. He met me move for move, his hands gripping my hips and lifting me up, wrapping my legs around his waist, walking me over to the bed until the mattress hit my back and he came down on top of me.
We kissed for an hour, teasing each other with our hands, and lips, and tongues. Most guys would have tried to move things further. He’d already had me straddling him with my top off, so I’d expected him to at least start there. But he didn’t. Instead, we just made out. For an hour. And it was amazing. He was amazing.
Max rolled over onto his back, bringing me with him. I broke away from the kiss first, pulling back so I could see his face, look into his eyes.
He smiled up at me, reaching out and grabbing a strand of my hair and wrapping it around his fist. “So pretty,” he whispered.
I grinned. His tone was sleepy, his gaze heavy. It was late. We’d left Babel around midnight and it was almost two a.m. now. I figured we had about an hour before Maggie and Mya would be back.
“I had a good time tonight.” He released my hair and stroked my neck.
I arched into his touch. He’d learned what I liked, what made my body respond. And he was a very quick learner and more than a bit of an overachiever.
“Me, too.” I reached down and laced my fingers with his. “Thanks for being my date.”
His smile deepened, and his dimple popped out. “Anytime.”
I leaned into him, tracing my tongue against his lips until they parted and he was kissing me back, open mouthed, his hand cradling my head, bringing me closer. He gripped my hair, pulling back slightly, his lips leaving mine to trail kisses down my neck while I shivered and trembled on his lap.
“I used to fantasize about your hair,” he whispered in between kisses.
His tongue slid down to my collarbone, and I rocked forward, his hardness pressing against me, wondering just how much foreplay could be considered too much.
We hovered around the line between pleasure and pain. I wanted him so badly that the touch of his hands, his lips, his body, was the most amazing thing I’d ever felt; I needed him so much it hurt to not have him.
“I used to fantasize about touching you like this,” he continued.
His free hand moved to cup my ass, holding me against his erection while his hips thrust against mine. But it was his words, not his body, which wound their way through me like a silken caress. I remembered everything Maggie had said, and suddenly I wanted to know when this started for him, how long he’d wanted me. I needed to know.
“When?”
“What?”
It took me a second to formulate a sentence. “When did you start fantasizing about me?”
He groaned, his mouth moving down to my cleavage, kissing the skin there. “Always.”
I stilled, his mouth and hips momentarily forgotten. “What do you mean, ‘always’?”
He leaned back, his gaze on mine. His hand tightened on my hip.
“Always,” he repeated, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. “Since the first moment I saw you. Years. When I was in China.” His gaze darkened. “When you were with my best friend. Always.”
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but stare at him in shock.
“The first time I saw you was in English Lit. It was the first day of classes, my very first class, and I was sitting in the front row. I was so nervous, first day of university and all that, and Lit was never one of my favorite subjects. The teacher was just about to start class, the room was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop, and then the door opened.”
I didn’t remember it, not really. I was mainly impressed that I’d actually made it to class during the first week.
“You walked into the room and I swear my heart fucking stopped. You were wearing this dress . . . it was bright pink and short. You were so tan, and your hair was down, falling straight. You had on these pink shoes with a monster heel and a strap that tied around your ankle. Your eyes scanned the room, and I sat there, hoping you’d see me, hoping you’d smile at me. That you’d notice me. That this thing I felt inside me was something you felt, too.
“And then you saw Costa, and your eyes lit up and you smiled, and suddenly you were so beautiful it hurt, like someone had stabbed me in the chest. And that was it. I dreamed of you that night and so many nights after. And even when I didn’t like you, even after all that stupid Ice Queen shit, I still got that feeling in my chest every time I heard your voice, or someone said your name, or I saw you. Every fucking time.”
It was like I was having an out-of-body experience. I heard the words, remembered the dress, definitely remembered the shoes, and yet it felt like his words, his emotion, must have been meant for someone else.
The thing about being beautiful was that everyone assumed men were constantly falling in love with beautiful girls. That being beautiful paved a way for you that somehow made life easier. It was such bullshit. Sometimes men yelled things out when I was walking down the street. Occasionally they’d offer to buy me drinks at bars. But it didn’t mean anything.
No one had ever wanted me the way he described wanting me. No one had ever made me feel special the way he made me feel special. Not my parents, not Costa. Just Max.
“I dated a girl while I was in China.”
I felt an irrational stab at jealousy at that one. She’d probably been brilliant, and argued about politics with him or something.
“She was awesome, and I was really into her,” he continued. “But I would still dream about you. I hated it. I hadn’t even seen you in months, and yet you were there in my head, and I couldn’t shake you out no matter how hard I tried.”
There was a boulder in my chest now. All I could do was sit there, his body beneath mine, my heart in his hands, and listen as he bound me to him with each word that left his lips.
“I hated Costa. From the first fucking moment I saw you smile at him, I hated him. I used to see the two of you together . . .” He grimaced. “He treated you like shit.”
Oh god.
“I know you loved him, but he did. I know all the girls thought he was hot and mysterious, but he was an asshole. He was never good enough for you. I used to sit there and wonder why you put up with it.”
The boulder moved from my chest to my throat. It was too much. It was not enough. It was everything.
“I hated you with George. He was my best friend, and I knew he’d had a crush on you, too. I should have been happy for him. I wanted to be happy for him. But seeing you together was like a constant knife through my heart.”
Disgust filled his eyes. “I used to wonder if you’d slept together. It used to drive me crazy wondering if he’d had his hands on you, if he’d been inside you.”
Oh my god.
“I hated myself. I had no right to care. He was your boyfriend . . . and my best friend.” He shook his head. “And then one day he let it slip that you hadn’t had sex and I could breathe again.”
I couldn’t breathe now.
“I’m sorry for the Ice Queen nickname. So sorry for all of it. It was easier to think the worst of you than it was to live with the fact that you were the thing I wanted most, and the one thing I couldn’t have because you never even looked at me. E
asier to tell myself that you weren’t everything I thought you could be, and that I wasn’t missing out on everything I’d dreamed of.”
“What did you think I could be?” I asked, my voice sounding foreign to me, as if the words and the tone belonged to someone else. As if this moment was happening to someone else.
“Funny. You laughed a lot freshman year.” His gaze held mine. “And then you stopped laughing. When I got back from China, your laugh had changed.”
How many details had he collected over the last few years? How many things had he picked up on that others had missed? Was that why things were so good between us? Because he’d been paying attention all along?
“Maggie told me you were loyal. That you’d do anything for your friends. I didn’t want to believe that, didn’t want to believe you could be that. But I saw you with them—saw how much you loved her—and I understood you weren’t what everyone said you were. What I thought you were.
“You’re beautiful, and funny, and loyal, and even though I know you think you aren’t, you’re smart. You get things other people don’t. Maybe you don’t give a shit about math, maybe you hate being in a classroom, but you’re perceptive. Maggie told me what you did for her and Samir. How many people would hop a plane to play cupid? How many people would succeed? You have amazing instincts. You’re creative and artistic. You’re walking art.”
I felt myself blushing but still no words came. He’d done the impossible and made me speechless. This was the romance I’d always wanted. This was the fire and the passion.
“So yeah. It’s always been you. Even when I thought I could never have you. Even when this was all just a dream.”
My heart lurched, and suddenly the words tumbled from my chest.
“You have me. I’m yours.”
His gaze darkened, and emotion vibrated between us, and then he captured my mouth with his, using his lips to prove my words.
I pulled back first, my mouth puffy and swollen, my head swimming, heart full.
French Kissed Page 14
