Sweetness (The Sweetest Thing #1)

by Sierra Hill

  The weird and unique thing about my newfound interest in Ainsley is…I have a genuinely serious interest in her. And yet, she seems to be repelled by my actual living existence. It’s perplexing. I can’t wrap my brain around it. The more she seemed eager to get rid of me, the more insatiable I become. It’s like she puts out this vibe that worms its way under my skin and tickles my intrigue to want to know her. To find out what makes her tick.

  Then there’s also that little fact that I want to fuck her. She is hot as hell. But unlike the other girls I’ve hooked up with, she doesn’t seem to know it. Or if she does, she definitely doesn’t flaunt it. Not like fucking Hailey Conrad. God, I was so pissed at her for interrupting my conversation and dinner with Ainsley yesterday. And when Hailey acted like a bitch in heat, calling Ainsley by the wrong name, I wanted to say something to put her in her place.

  And I was just about to, too, when Ainsley just up and left.

  Ainsley was already reluctant to be in my company. And I couldn’t have her thinking I was okay with Hailey’s attitude. So I went to find her.

  It wasn’t hard. I saw the text book she was studying from at the cafeteria table, so I knew the class. I also was familiar with the arts and sciences buildings, so I traipsed over to Neeb hall and asked a few girls that were hanging out in the hallway. They were more than eager to show me what room it was in.

  It was the highlight of my day to see the way Ainsley reacted when I asked her to come to my party. Her bright eyes rounded in shock and confusion. As if she couldn’t possibly believe that I would be interested in going out with her. That thought gutted me.

  If I were to have asked any of the other fifty or so girls that had been sitting in that classroom with Ainsley to come help me celebrate my birthday, every one of them would have jumped at the chance. I’m not trying to sound like a boastful motherfucker, or anything. It’s just the way it is.

  But not with Ainsley.

  After the shock of seeing me in her class wore off, she was actually pissed. Then she had a serious case of embarrassment when I started making a scene by reading out loud from her text book. Honestly, I thought it was pretty cute. And then she practically shut down when I asked her to come to my party.

  So here I am now, my legs stretched out and tangled in the light blue sheet covering my lower body thinking about Ainsley – which, by the way, is causing a serious tent under the covers with my morning wood. My dick grows increasingly harder when I see Ainsley’s name pop up. I choose to ignore my erection and open up Ainsley’s text.

  Ainsley: I need to know deets for tonight. For your stupid birthday party.

  I snort out a deep laugh because I can honestly see her throwing her hands on her hips and tilting her head to the side in exasperation.

  Me: What kind of deets? Like what you should wear? You better be prepared for my answer if you ask that.

  There’s about a minute pause and I worry I may have crossed the line with the innuendo. But fuck, I can’t help myself. That’s how I flirt. I’m a dirty bastard. And she…well, she is sweet. And I can only imagine her wearing those teeny-tiny shorts like she had on the other day; my hand wandering up her toned thigh and underneath the frayed jean edge to find her wearing no panties. And no bra underneath a tight tank top that accentuates her full rack.

  Fuck. That does not help the hard-on situation and my hand unconsciously moves down to give it a solid rub before I cup my balls in my hand.

  But then I see the little ellipses start to appear and I wait, biting my lower lip with anticipation.

  Ainsley: Um…so here’s the deal. I’ve never been to a college party and don’t know what to wear. So don’t be a dick and make fun of me.

  She’s kidding, right? She can’t be serious. She’s twenty-one and is a third year transfer. I mean, I went to college parties and frat houses when I was a senior in high school. There’s no way anyone as beautiful as Ainsley could be that sheltered. Maybe her parents were strict or something.

  Me: Are you fucking with me? You’ve never been to a campus party?

  Ainsley: No. And again, I’d appreciate you not laughing at me. This is my first year on campus and I didn’t go the traditional route. All I’ve done the last two years is studied, worked…and hell, why am I even explaining this to you? Just tell me what I should wear cuz I’ve got things to do today.

  And now, even more than ever, I want to hang out with her and find out her story. It’s obvious there’s something that draws me to her. I’m fascinated by everything about her. There’s a connection that’s been tugging at me and I want to see where it leads.

  So instead of going the more flirtatious route, I decide to play it cool and simple. I realize she’s making a big concession in coming tonight, and I don’t want to scare her off.

  Me: Shorts and a T-shirt are fine. Nothing fancy. Do you drink beer? Or liquor?

  Again, all I can think about is her in the short-shorts as my hand absently strokes my aching cock waiting for her response. I don’t expect anything sexually from Ainsley tonight, but just the potential that she’d be in my bed has my dirty thoughts on hyper-drive.

  Just then my phone rings and my hand instinctively flies off my dick, as if whoever is on the other end has caught me in the act. I feel like a dirty bastard. There are some things I keep private, and jacking off is definitely one of them.

  “Hello?” I say, my voice deeper and more gravely than usual - full of sleep and desire.

  “Hey,” she says quietly. I can hear sounds in the background and wonder if she’s at work. “I need to clarify a few things before tonight.” Her words are firm, but hesitant.

  “Sure. Let me have it.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll get you something else. Soda? Lemonade?”

  “I like Dr. Pepper. But I’ll bring my own…”

  I nearly laugh, but think better of it. “You don’t have to bring your own drink to the party I invited you to, Ainsley. I’ll get you some.”

  She sighs and concedes. “Fine. Whatever. But I’ll pour my own drinks. No one else touches it.”

  Ah. I get it now. She’s leery about someone giving her a roofie or something. Smart girl. But she needs to know that would never happen on my watch.

  “Ainsley. I know you don’t know me very well. But I would never let anything happen to you. You’re safe with me. You can trust me.”

  I hear a scoffing laugh across the line. I probably shouldn’t have used those words. Girls hate it when a guy tells them to trust them. It’s so cliché. But I’ll do and say just about anything right now to make sure she shows up tonight without reservations. I just want to be with her.

  “This is a bad idea, Cade. I don’t understand why you want me to come to your party. I have nothing in common with any of your friends.”

  “You don’t know any of my friends to even say you don’t share any commonalities,” I counter, hoping she’ll listen to reason. “I will introduce you to everyone and I won’t leave your side all night. My friends are cool guys and will like you. I promise.”

  There’s a long, uncomfortable pause where I can hear her wheels turning. One thing I’ve learned about Ainsley thus far is that she is very skeptical of me. Which I don’t understand fully. But that’s not a deterrent because I’m one persistent motherfucker.

  I’ve always set my goals high and worked hard to achieve them, even though most people see the opposite. They think everything comes easy for me. That I’ve been handed everything in my life on a silver platter. But I’ve had to bust my ass in basketball to get where I’m at. It takes immeasurable time and practice to become a strong competitor. You can’t give up when you’re hit with an obstacle. I like challenges.

  And for some unknown reason that I can’t quite comprehend, Ainsley represents a challenge.

  “So, we cool, Ains? Will you show up for a little while tonight?”

  Her exaggerated exhale says it all.

  She’s throwing in th
e towel.

  Conceding to my request.

  Letting me have my way.

  “Fine,” she says begrudgingly. “Give me your address. But I’m telling you, Cade. If I don’t like it, I’m out of there. And there is no funny business. I’m not sleeping with you tonight. Got it?”

  I know she’s not one of those girls. Everything about her reads “hands off”, “don’t touch”, “you try, you die.” But even with all those warning signs, my attraction to her remains sky high. I’m willing to take it slow because that’s how much I want to get to know this girl.

  And that’s a scary proposition because it’s never been like that before. I’m a senior in college and not once have I ever been in a serious relationship. Sure, I’ve gone out on dates or brought a hookup to a few frat parties, but most of the time, it’s been a one-night, one-and-done arrangement. No seconds.

  But with Ainsley, there is no other choice. I have this gnawing need deep within me that has to have her. The circumstances with her are different, so I’m letting her set the tone and the pace, and throwing my usual playbook out the window.

  I prattle off my address and tell her she can park in my car stall, number 16. Our apartment complex’s visitor parking spots are few and far between, and there’s no way I’ll have her walking by herself at night down the street to get her car.

  “That’s okay. I don’t need a spot. I take the bus.”

  “Oh, right. Well, text me when you get dropped off and I’ll come meet you there.”

  “You don’t have to…”

  I interrupt immediately. “You’re not walking by yourself. Just promise me you’ll text me when you get there.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you later.”

  I smile, feeling I’m making a little progress.

  Winning!

  “Later, Ainsley. I’m looking forward to it.”

  And I really am.

  Chapter 9

  Ainsley

  Public transportation is normally not a problem during my day trips to and from work or campus, but it can become pretty sketch at night. There’s a certain element of riff-raff that is prevalent on Valley Metro. I’ve just learned to be extra vigilant when riding at night. My pepper spray keychain is always in hand and at the ready. I may look disinterested, but I’m constantly on the alert.

  I’ve been on the bus now for over thirty minutes, through three stops between Mesa and Tempe. Between the retched heat and my nerves, the back of my legs stick to the plastic seat of the bus, like I’m sitting on a film of honey. I squirm and shift uncomfortably trying not to let the sweat build up behind my knees. Car headlights and taillights zoom past outside the window as I watch from the loud confines of the bus. I’m still kicking myself for agreeing to this stupid idea.

  I was a ball of indecision all day long, my mind was on nothing else besides Cade’s party tonight. I screwed up half the orders I took at Bristol’s this morning after speaking to him on the phone. It was a miracle I escaped unscathed when I absently reached barehanded for a hot plate the cook had placed on the warmer. Thank god he noticed my carelessness and yelled at me to stop before I burned a hole through my hand. I literally jerked to attention, wide-eyed and confused until he flapped an oven mitt in front of my face.

  But who could blame me for my lack of focus? Didn’t they realize that I was living in some third-dimensional Twilight Zone? Because how else could you explain a hot, sought after PAC-12 basketball player inviting me to his birthday party? It made zero sense.

  The more I think about it, the more jumbled up I become. One theory I have as I sort through all the possible notions is that this is all a big frat joke. Like those movies where the stud athlete has to win over the loser geek girl and then she goes all Carrie on them at the prom when she finds out.

  Or maybe that one of his friends bet Cade that he couldn’t get some random girl into his bed before midnight. I don’t know. That one seems highly implausible, because all Cade has to do to make that happen would be to simply snap his fingers and he’d get a girl to drop her panties.

  So where did I fit in to all of this? When I told Cade that I was not an easy conquest, he didn’t even bat an eye. It’s not as if I wouldn’t consider sleeping with him. I’m not a virgin, by any means. I’ve had a few short-lived relationships late in high school. I punched my V-card when I was nineteen to a guy named Denny, who I worked with at a camera store in Portland. I dated him for three months and finally decided to go for it. It wasn’t love, but he was a really decent guy and treated me nicely.

  Unfortunately, a week after I gave it up, my mom informed me we were moving yet again. That was the first time in my life that I was actually mad about having to move because I had to leave behind a guy. To his credit, Denny was pretty upset about it, too. He tried valiantly to stay in touch with me, but after a month, the texts and calls dwindled until we eventually lost touch.

  Needless to say, I know there’s an attraction between Cade and me. I feel it every time I’m with him. I’m not a prude and it’s not like I’m saving myself for marriage or a ring. What I am saving myself from is getting caught up in a romance with a charming guy the same way my mother does. She is notorious for falling fast and hard for the wrong guy who winds up using her, cheating on her, and dumping her faster than yesterday’s garbage.

  No sir, not me. I have too much self-respect than to go all gaga over a little attention thrown at me like confetti by a star basketball player.

  Granted, Cade has surprised me since I met him. He has been nothing but sweet up to this point, even though I’ve been more than a little snippy with him. Call it my “resting bitch face” reaction, but my suit-of-armor has been securely in place since I met him. My defenses seem to be on high-alert around Cade, almost as if my body knows there’s danger lurking around the corner.

  Not scary danger, like a maniac clown or anything. Simply the kind of danger that will crack open my heart and bleed it dry. I feel him chipping away at me, piece by piece, as he plies me with attention, making me feel like he’s really interested in me. Making me feel special.

  My thoughts are interrupted when the bus comes to a stop. This is my exit.

  I gather up my small cross body purse, swinging it over my head and shoulder, and grab hold of the pole as I wait for the side doors to open up. Cade had asked me specifically to let him know when I’d arrived so he could come get me at the bus stop, but I figure his apartment is just a block down the street and I don’t want to interrupt him in the middle of his own birthday party.

  Just as I step off the last step and my feet hit the ground, I look up into the smiling face of Cade.

  Holy shit.

  He’s here.

  Waiting for me.

  I’m momentarily stunned and don’t even know what to say. He takes my breath away. Words are trapped in my throat. I think this is the sweetest gesture anyone has ever done for me. To say that my opinion of Cade has changed dramatically over the last week is an understatement.

  Aside from the charming grin, he’s wearing a dark colored polo shirt (very preppy) and camo cargo shorts. Flip-flops accompany his casual attire. He appears freshly showered with his curly hair still a little wet and as he steps toward me I get my first whiff of his soapy fresh scent, along with a hint of spicy deodorant. My nose immediately sends crazy-ass messages to my olfactory receptors, which in turn serve as the ignition to rev up my libido.

  OMG, his masculine pheromones are doing a number on me already.

  And then he speaks and my knees about give out. His voice is a low baritone, with a hint of boyish enthusiasm.

  “There you are, beautiful.”

  Gulp.

  I’m done for.

  “Hey.”

  Not a super intelligent response, but the fact that I got one syllable out of my mouth is pretty damn impressive in my book.

  He looks me over, not licentiously or anything, but appreciatively, his smile never wavering. When he reaches back to my eyes, I see the
admiration in them.

  “I didn’t want you to have to wait for me here alone. So here I am.” His arms fly out from his sides.

  I nod my head. “Yep. Here you are.”

  My insides feel like they’ve turned into gelatinous goo. While it’s still pretty hot outside, even at this time of night, my internal body temperature spikes to about one-hundred and twenty.

  Cade takes another step toward me to close the gap, because I haven’t moved an inch since I got off the bus. My feet stick to the hot pavement, and his hand reaches out to take hold of mine.

  I don’t even have time to register shock when he pulls me into his side, leans in and brushes his soft, warm lips over my cheek. Heat prickles on my skin where his lips leave a lasting mark.

  “You look really pretty.”

  My brain and body are warring between themselves over how I should respond to this thoughtful compliment.

  The brain is telling me it’s exactly the type of thing that my mother’s boyfriends would say to her to make her go all giggly and desperate for more attention. Like bait on a line.

  My body, on the other hand, is screaming with girlish delight, saying “YES! I like that. MORE. MORE. MORE.”

  And my heart…well, let’s just say it just seized up, did a few cartwheels, and possibly would have flopped right on out my body like a Tasmanian devil, had it not been encased within my ribs. I’ll probably go into cardiac arrest right here on the sidewalk and never even make it to the party.

  I’m ready to make a snarky comment, because that’s who I am, when I look up into his face and see sincerity reflecting back at me.

  “Um. Thank you.” Nice. That’s all I can think of to say.

  “You’re welcome,” he says, gently guiding me down the street, his feet setting an easy pace. I’m wearing low-wedge sandals, so it’s easy to keep up with his long strides. “I’m really glad you showed up tonight.”