Our Kinda Love

by Deanna Eshler

Max’s eyes are wide, and Gemma has her face buried in her hands.

  “Yeah,” Adrian says, in a patronizing tone, “That’s what he said.”

  Of course I’m screwing with Adrian, but there’s definitely been a push-pull with Ryder and me.

  I enjoy sex, but I don’t enjoy relationships. I can count the number of guys I’ve been with on one hand, but I’ve only had one real boyfriend. I enjoy casual sex, with a single partner, until things are getting too cozy with that person. Ryder’s the kind of guy who would want the cozy with the sex, and he knows that doesn’t work for me. Plus, Ryder’s top-secret commando job is not conducive to a relationship right now. He says Shyanne’s the reason he’s denying me, but we both know it’s more complicated than that. One night together would leave us both looking for answers we don’t have.

  Adrian’s expression shifts, now looking offended. “I have to tell you how wounded I am. I mean, I know I told you to stop giving me your sex eyes, but that doesn’t make it’s okay for you to give sex eyes to another guy the same day. Do you always move on this quickly? What does he have that I don’t?”

  Oh yes, I forgot that Adrian is high, so back to entertaining his ridiculous topics.

  Max groans. “I’m going to get another beer. I can’t handle his dramatics right now.”

  I roll my eyes then explain, “He’s a badass. You’re a college boy manwhore.”

  Max laughs, sitting back down. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

  Adrian stares at me, unblinking. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

  I straighten in my seat, preparing for the lecture I’m about to give because I do feel that it’s an important message. “Well, let me explain the difference. When it comes to sexual experiences, college boy manwhores are concerned with quantity. A mature badass is concerned with quality—for him and his partner.”

  I point at Adrian. “Let me guess, when you’re with a girl you attack her face for a minute, then start sucking on her neck and ear. Next, you jam your hand down her pants and move your fingers around for about thirty seconds. When you realize you’ve got the go ahead for the home run, you start ripping clothes off and put the condom on as fast as possible. While she lays under you moaning Oh yeah Adrian, you hammer into her for two minutes, then collapse on top of her after you come.” I raise my eyebrows in question. “Does that sound about right?”

  Gemma laughs. “That sounds like almost every experience I’ve ever had.”

  Max shifts uncomfortably.

  “Well, you make it sound a lot less exciting,” Adrian says, pursing his lips. Then he decides to go on the defense. “No… that's not at all what I do. I have some really mad moves.”

  “Uh-huh, I’m sure you do.”

  He hesitates, and I can see the thoughts racing in his eyes. “I think this is your way of telling me you wanna find out.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek and wrinkle my nose. “No, that’s not at all what I’m telling you.”

  He lowers his eyelids as he leans in, placing one hand on the table next to me, and the other on the wall next to my head. I lower my gaze so that I’m not staring into his eyes, when I see the bicep of the arm pressing into the table. The definition of the muscles surprises me. I noticed earlier he’s in shape, but by the looks of that arm, he spends a lot of time at the gym. It’s a very nice arm.

  “See something you like?” he asks, his voice teasing as he leans in closer, forcing me to look at him.

  I know I’m busted. All my big talk of him being a college boy and me not being attracted, but he doesn’t call me on it. He simply pushes off the table, giving me an obnoxious smile.

  Gemma clears her throat. “Are you done with this bizarre mating dance you two have going on? I’m ready to go.”

  “Yep,” I say, jumping off my seat and ignoring her comment about the mating dance. He may have nice arms, but there is nothing else about Adrian Elliott that I find attractive. He’s a hyperactive, self-sabotaging, pretty boy. No thanks.

  Chapter 3

  Borrow My Book

  The next day, Gemma and I are half-conscious watching TV in the living room when Adrian busts through the front door. His hair is a mess, looking like he rolled out of bed and stumbled straight across the hall. He’s wearing gym shorts, and a sleeveless shirt, emphasizing the arms that had me briefly distracted last night. His lips are turned down in a frown. He looks at Gemma then scans the room. When he sees me in the chair, he narrows his eyes.

  “You,” he says, pointing a finger at me.

  Wrapped in a blanket, head laying on the armrest, I stare at him. I don’t know what his problem is, but I’m sure it’s not important enough for me to use my neck muscles to lift my head.

  Adrian stalks over to me, stopping when he’s a few feet from my chair. “You,” he says again but then begins sniffing the air like a dog.

  “Do I smell pizza?” he asks, apparently distracted.

  “Yes,” Gemma answers, sounding irritated.

  My eating habits often make Gemma want to throw up. Most people tell me I’m lucky I can eat like I do and not be as big as a hippo, but not Gemma. She’s been known to gag when I eat an entire box of mac-n-cheese, right out of the pan. I know I have a great body, but I can’t take credit for it. I eat like a pig and hate exercise—it’s all genetics and metabolism.

  Adrian looks over his shoulder at her. “It’s only nine thirty in the morning.”

  “That’s exactly what I told her,” Gemma complains, and I don’t miss her I-told-you-so glare. Adrian shifts his attention back to me.

  I lift my shoulder and look back at the TV. “I told you I’m PMSing.”

  “You eat pizza for breakfast when you’re PMSing?”

  “I eat whatever I want.” I glance up and see him smiling. “What?”

  “You keep surprising me, that’s all,” he says, eyes twinkling with humor. “Is there any left?”

  “I told you I’m PMSing.” It was only a frozen pizza. It wasn’t that big.

  “You ate the whole pizza?” He sounds both shocked and amused.

  I sigh, and finally sit up. “You came over here to yell at me about something. Can you do that so I can get back to this stupid show?”

  He looks over his shoulder at the TV. “What are you watching?”

  “Focus,” I yell, getting increasing irritated. Christ, he has the attention span of a squirrel.

  He looks back at me, squinting his eyes like he’s thinking. When he finally remembers why he came over, he scowls and points his finger at me again. I want to laugh because his short attention span makes him way more comical than threatening.

  “You messed up my skills,” he begins. “All that talk last night about me not knowing what I’m doing,” he taps on his head frantically, “messed with me.”

  He kinda reminds me of Kramer, from Seinfeld, with his crazy hand gestures and meaningless words. I just stare, waiting for him to make sense.

  Adrian huffs and turns away from me to pace the room. “I was with a girl last night. We start making out and all I can think about is you telling me I don’t know what I’m doing. You’ve got me questioning my moves.”

  I bite my lip, trying to hide my amusement. I’m not sure what’s funnier—that he’s agitated by my comment, or that he was thinking about me while with some girl.

  He’s pacing the living room, making the floorboards creak, and still talking with his hands. “Everything was great then I hear you in my head,” he says, pointing at me. In a high-pitched voice, he mocks my words from last night. “You probably shove your hand down her pants and start moving your fingers around.”

  I finally laugh. “You were making out with some girl and you were thinking about me? That may have been your first problem.”

  Adrian tugs at his ear, considering his words. He looks away then back and shakes his head. “My problem was you’ve got me thinking my moves are all wrong.”

  Gemma starts laughing and has to cover her mouth to keep from breaking out
into a fit. I know what she’s thinking. We’ve had this conversation many times, with other girls over the years. Like I said, I’ve only been with a few guys, so I didn’t gain my knowledge of the general male incompetence on my own. What we’ve learned is that guys have no clue what they’re doing.

  “I’m guessing you don’t have any moves,” I tell him, not being mean, just honest.

  “Come on woman, you have to give me something. Show me something,” he says, dramatically falling to his knees.

  Show him something? He must be high all the time; there’s no other explanation for the shit that comes out of his mouth.

  I shake my head. “Um, no… but I may be able to help another way.” I pull my lazy ass out of the chair, wrap my blanket tighter around me, and drag myself back to my room. I search through my adult romance books until I find one I’m willing to let go. When I get back to the living room, I hold out the book for him.

  He looks at the book, then back at me, not reaching for it.

  “You’re giving me a book to read?” he asks, sounding completely disgusted.

  I wave it at him, indicating he needs to take the damn thing before I throw it at him. “Yes. I want you to read just one sex scene from that book and compare it to how you do things. If it describes your moves, or anything close to what you call moves, then you can go back to the girls confident that you know what you’re doing.”

  I’m being entirely too giving right now. This is like handing over our team’s playbook, but I feel kinda bad. Now that I’ve helped him see he’s got no clue how to navigate the female body, I should give him a few tips.

  He finally takes it and begins flipping through the pages.

  “Shouldn’t I read that one book; you know the popular one with the whips and stuff.”

  I shake my head, and Gemma laughs again. “No, you definitely should not read that one. If you try to do any of that with some girl on campus, your ass will be in jail.” I nod to the book in his hands. “Oh, and you can keep the book. I know what you’ll be doing while you read it, so I don’t that thing anywhere near me again.”

  “How do you know what I’ll be doing?” he asks, playing coy.

  “Because I know what I did,” I say with a teasing wink.

  He groans. “God, woman, you’re killing me.”

  ***

  Adrian

  Carrying the book in one hand, I grab a root beer from the fridge and hurry to my room. Of course I know how to get a girl off, and none have ever complained about my techniques, but I can see Keegan Hughes is not just any girl. I know hooking up with her is an absolutely horrible idea, but it’s one I can’t stop thinking about.

  The vision of those long legs wrapped around me gets me harder than I was last night when I was with Katie. Keegan looks, and acts, like the kind of girl who rips your heart out, chews it up while staring into your eyes, then moans seductively after swallowing.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, then drop the book onto my bed. I head to the bathroom to take care of the erection I’ve had since seeing Keegan laying there, looking all sleepy and sexy.

  Chapter 4

  Humid Hillbilly State

  Monday morning I leave my apartment and begin the walk to the science building. I have fundamentals of biochemistry first up on my schedule. I’ve had this professor before and I’ve breezed through his classes, so I’m not expecting this one to be a challenge.

  I choose a seat near the back, giving me the freedom to play on my cell phone if the class gets too boring. You know, scroll through Facebook and Twitter to read all the annoying crap people post. Seriously, I don’t give a shit that the girl who sat next to me in history freshman year in high school is getting married. I certainly don’t want to hear all about her wasteful planning and excessive spending, so why the hell do I check social media fifty, or more, times a day? Maybe I need a hobby… besides preparing for zombies to take over the world.

  As the other students sift in, looking super perky on day one, I notice a new guy enter the class. I’m pretty sure he’s in the wrong class because I know everyone in pre-med, having spent the last three years in class with them. I would remember this overly fashionable guy.

  He’s wearing white, fitted shorts, a black and white horizontally stripped shirt, and casual red blazer. Instead of carrying a backpack over one shoulder, pretty boy is sporting a black messenger bag.

  I watch as he approaches the professor, confirms the class, then turns to find a seat. As he scans the room for his seat of choice, he pushes his blonde hair out of his eyes. I smile when his gaze meets mine because I can already tell I like this guy. Pretty boy smiles back and makes his way toward me.

  “Is this seat taken,” he asks, gesturing next to me.

  I shake my head. “Nope, it’s all yours.” I reach out my hand. “I’m Keegan.”

  He gently grips my hand. “Robert,” he says, placing his messenger bag gently on the floor.

  “You a transfer?” I ask, bluntly.

  He sighs dramatically as he drops into his chair. “Yes, and I have to say, this humidity sucks. I’m beginning to think I made a horrible decision to leave California for this hillbilly state.” He lifts a hand to his mouth, pressing two fingers to his lips. “I’m sorry, that’s a horrible thing to say, it’s just that my hair does not do well in humidity.”

  I laugh. “No offense taken, trust me, I’ve lived here all my life. It’s no secret that Ohio is home to a large portion of America’s hillbillies.”

  “By the way,” I say, reaching up to touch his hair, “It looks fine.”

  With cat-like reflexes, Robert smacks my hand away. “Do not touch the hair,” he scolds, emphasizing each word. “It took me twenty minutes to get this right, so I will break those pretty little fingers if you touch it.”

  I’m positive I’ve found my soul mate. He hates hillbillies, loves clothes, and threatens bodily harm.

  “We’re going to be good friends, Robert,” I inform him.

  Robert flashes a tight smile, but before he can speak again, Professor Stack begins his introduction to the class.

  An hour later I’m stuffing my syllabus into my backpack and standing to leave. I follow Robert out of the room and we talk easily as we cross campus. I learn his parents moved to Ohio from California because his mom’s family is here. She grew up in Ohio, and recently got a job at one of the Cleveland Clinic branches so she could be closer to her parents. Robert is close with his family, which is why he chose to relocate to this humid, hillbilly-ridden state.

  When we are nearing the student center, I look up to see Adrian walking toward us. A smile engulfs his face as he approaches. I close my eyes and draw in a long breath.

  “Hey beautiful,” he says, stopping to side hug me. “I missed you in my bed this morning.”

  I slap at his hand, which is gripping my arm, pulling me tight against him. “Get your hands off me. God only knows where those things have been.”

  Not getting anywhere with smacking his hand, I push on his chest. He pulls me tighter then kisses my temple. “You should stop fighting it, Keegan. You’re only wasting time we could be using to make out.” He kisses me again before turning to leave.

  I wipe at my temple, trying to remove any germs his lips may have transferred.

  There are not many people who can throw me off balance, so how is it one of those people now lives next to me? I think he sees how much he messes with me, now he’s going to act this way every time I see him, simply for his entertainment.

  Robert’s hum of approval snaps me out of my irritated thoughts. “Who was that fine piece of man meat?” he asks.

  I bark out a laugh because I love that he says exactly what he is thinking.

  “That is my new neighbor… and my new arch nemesis.”

  Chapter 5

  Giant Teddy Bears and Little Green People

  That evening, Gemma and Shy cook dinner. Max and Adrian join us, but Kade is apparently being a mega-nerd and hanging out at the library�
�� on day one of class.

  Within five minutes of entering our apartment, Adrian has his hands, and lips, on me. I’m sitting on the couch and I make some comment about him not being hot, when he climbs onto my lap, straddling me. He takes my face in his hands then hesitates, staring into my eyes. I feel a knot form in my throat as I wait to see what he’s going to do, but at the same time wondering why I’m not knocking his ass off me. His affectionate smile turns devilish, and then he’s lapping at me like a dog greeting its owner.

  “I missed that smart mouth of yours,” he says after releasing me.

  I furiously wipe at my face and scold myself for that moment of desire I felt toward him. I need to be more on guard around him. No more sneak attacks for him, unless he wants find out how a Converse feels when it connects with his boys parts.

  After dinner, the guys find one of my survival preparedness magazines and begin an interrogation, trying to gauge how crazy I truly am. I don’t really believe that zombies are going take over the world someday. I do believe that an apocalypse is inevitable, so why not be prepared. I reference zombies for the shock factor. Okay… maybe there is a small part of me that believes some crazy ass anti-government freak is out there making a virus that will kill the brain but allow us to still walk and eat… other people.

  “There are people who believe in bigfoot, aliens, and ghosts,” I say, defending myself. “Don’t judge me because I prefer the walking dead over some giant teddy bear, or cute little green people. Besides, think about it, a zombie apocalypse is the best kind of apocalypse.”

  They all exchange curious glances.

  “Of course it is,” Max says, in a tone that clearly says he’s ready to have me committed.

  Adrian scoots to the edge of his seat. “Can you explain why you believe that? And talk slowly. I don’t wanna miss anything.”

  I sit up straighter, ready to share my wise insights. “If the world goes black, then every—” I begin, but Adrian cuts me off.

  His face contorts. “You mean if all the white people die? How is that the end of times?”