Always super awkward. Easier to dive right into the middle and just go to the happy place in your head while people talk at you.
I pull out my phone, but Corey snatches it out of my hand. Where did he come from?
“Seriously? Are you doing some reading?”
“No.” I snatch it back. “And don’t touch my stuff.”
“Don’t be antisocial.”
I glance at my messages. The exchange I got busted for in Research Methods is the last communication I’ve had with Scott. I take a deep breath and put the phone on silent. “Fine. I’ve turned it off for the night, are you happy?”
He grins. “I will be once we start dancing.”
I roll my eyes. That is so not happening. I turn to Saxon. “Hey, do you have your summer research project lined up?”
Corey sighs. I ignore him. It’s a casual mixer, not a rave. We can talk about course work. It’s good practice for the rest of our lives.
—fourteen—
Scott
S: Back in the city. Want to hang out later?
I feel like I’ve been gone back to my early twenties sending that message. That makes me shudder, because I was thinking with my dick then. Fuck, I’m thinking with my dick now. But…it’s what Ali wants. And after abandoning her all week to go to New York and go six rounds with the Mayfair legal team and the British Consulate, I could use some chill time with a hot girl who likes me just for me. Maybe I haven’t matured past my twenties after all.
She doesn’t reply to my text right away. I move through my apartment, dropping my keys on the counter, my wallet beside them. I toe off my shoes then undo my tie.
She said she’s only seen me in a suit.
When I pick her up tonight, I want her to see the real me, as much as I can share with her. The me that used to live in cargo pants and black t-shirts when I wasn’t in fatigues.
I put on casual stuff and grab my phone again. No message back.
S: You studying? Want me to do a coffee run?
I fire up my laptop and check my email. Then I prowl into the kitchen. I don’t have shit fuck all to make breakfast with. Maybe I should do a grocery run before inviting Ali back to my place. I grab my keys and wallet, throw on a hoodie, and head out the door.
Two bags of eggs, bread, milk, cheese and OJ later—plus vegetables and fruit, because I’m not actually a twenty-year-old goon—I’m back at my place, and still getting radio silence.
I pull out my phone to text her again, promising myself it’s not needy if I’m concerned about her, when the screen lights up.
A: Sorry. So, so sorry. At a party.
I have zero right to get mad about that. She’s an adult. A college student. And for the year that I’ve known her, totally responsible.
I’m still thinking “what fucking party” when she texts again.
A: Should be home by eleven. Midnight at the latest. Will text when I’m back.
S: I can pick you up.
A: It’s cool. I’m with a friend. He’ll walk me home.
And now I’m officially wondering who he is. The back of my neck heats up and I have to force myself to put the phone down before I crack it from gripping it too hard.
I count to fifty before replying.
S: You okay? Just say the word, and I can come get you.
A: Seriously, I’m good. It’s a mixer.
I’m not sure I know what that means. In my world, it would mean cocktails with officers and NGO officials. And I wouldn’t call it a party. I don’t reply, because anything that would come out of my fingers would be inappropriate right now. I put away the groceries. When the phone chimes again, I take my time reaching for it.
A: What are you wearing?
That mollifies me a bit. She might be with a guy, but she’s thinking about me. And maybe the guy is a total dork.
S: Not a suit
A: Tease! Pics or it didn’t happen
S: I’m not taking a selfie
A: I will if you will
And just like that, I’m trying to take a picture of myself without looking like a menace. I settle for a body shot, no face. It only took six rejected pictures to get one that was acceptable. Ten seconds later she fires back a picture of herself reclining on a couch, full glass of something dark in her hand. She’s wearing a long-sleeve black shirt and jeans, her hair is down, and she looks so good my dick aches.
S: I think it’s midnight
A: hahaha
I’m not joking. I want her, and I want her now.
S: Are you on campus? I’m coming to pick you up.
A: Fine. But I’ll meet you downstairs. And don’t rush. I’ve just stumbled into a conversation I can actually stand.
She texts the address, and I do as she instructs. I go to Starbucks, get us coffee—boring old man drip for me, a vanilla latte for her—and head to campus, taking my time. When I get there, I find a parking spot not far from the building she’s in and wait.
And wait.
Thirty-five minutes later, I text her.
No answer.
I’ve got two choices. I can keep waiting, or I can go up and see if she needs rescuing.
I can already hear her protesting that I’ve shown up, but I can play Hailey’s bodyguard or something. I know how to be subtle.
Heading inside, I scan the main floor for her, just in case she’s waiting inside. Nothing, so I take the elevator upstairs. The only lights on in the building were a single office on the third floor, unlikely to be the site of a student party, and a bunch of windows were lit up on the top floor. Probably a lounge of some sort.
As soon as the elevator doors open, I hear an argument.
“Time for you to head home,” an authoritative voice insists.
“We hired you to keep other people out, not tell us we’re having too much fun.” A female voice, but not Ali.
I turn the corner and see two young people being blocked from re-entering the open space beyond by a large black man who looks like he’s not going to be swayed. Poor guy.
I give him an easy smile, security-guy-to-security-guy. “Hey, man. I’m here to pick someone up. Alison Reid.”
He consults his clipboard and nods. “She’s here.”
“Can I…?” I point past him.
He shakes his head. “Private party.”
I pull out my wallet and hand over a card. He takes one look at The Horus Group logo and waves me past.
I wait until the drunk kids can’t see my face to snicker at their protests fading behind me. But my gloating doesn’t last long, because on the far side of the lounge, on a couch facing away from the entrance, Ali’s wrapped up in the arms of a kid. A guy, she’d say, but I just see a hundred and thirty pounds of privilege and a drooling dick. He’s trying to kiss her and she’s pushing against his chest, laughing uneasily.
I see it all through a red haze.
“What the fuck?” I bark out, reaching over the couch and shoving the kid to the floor. Ali scrambles to her feet, clearly pissed.
“Scott!”
“Behind me, Ali.”
“Stop it, he’s drunk. It’s fine.”
I move around the furniture, getting between them. I shoot her a quick glance over my shoulder. “Did you want him to touch you?”
“No, but—”
I pick the loser up off the floor like he’s made of paper and shove him, hard, against the wall. His head snaps back and thunks against the brick. That’s gonna hurt tomorrow.
So will the Hulk-fist-sized bruise I’m about to give him on his cheek. I pull my arm back and Ali latches on to it. “Stop!” She twists so she’s between us. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”
“I guaran-fucking-tee you I won’t regret smashing this asshole’s face in.”
“I was handling it.”
“I was waiting downstairs for a half hour. How long has he been crawling on you?”
She winces. “Sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. Out of my
way.”
Behind her, the kid groans and crumbles to the ground. I roll my eyes, and Ali presses her hands against my chest. “Let’s go. I’m fine.”
I shrug her off and crouch down, fisting the front of his shirt hard enough he whimpers. He’s an emo little shit, nothing but skin and bones, and he’s fucking petrified. Good. “Leave her alone. She’s not interested in your tiny little dick, or your pathetic feelings, or anything else, got it?”
His eyes go wide and start to fill with tears. Jesus.
I sneer and drop him back to the floor.
Ali sighs, the sound magnified in the sudden silence. The entire party has stopped and is watching us. I stand up, and stare down at him for a beat before I turn to look at her.
She’s pissed at me. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is small, her lips pressed tight together. Without a word, she yanks her backpack off the ground, spins around and heads for the exit. She doesn’t wait for the elevator, taking the stairs instead, and she flies down each flight. I’m right behind her, but I don’t catch up to her until we’re on the ground floor.
“Wait. Alison! Wait!” I hook my fingers around her upper arm and spin her around.
She shoves me hard in the chest, but I don’t move. I let go of her, though. I’m not an idiot. She paces backward, shaking her head at me. “What the hell was that?”
She bumps back against the door and shoves it open, and we spill out into the night. It’s cold enough that she pulls up short and rummages in her bag, pulling out a jacket. Her movements are short and jerky as she shoves her arms into the sleeves and yanks it tight around her body.
“That was…” I exhale roughly. “That was me reacting to a guy mauling you.”
“There’s protecting me and then there’s using me as an excuse to flood the room with testosterone. That was way over the line.”
“I didn’t even hit him. Anything less would have been unacceptable.” It grates on me that she doesn’t see herself as precious enough to be worth such protection.
“He’s my friend! And he’s drunk. Now you’ve terrified him.”
“He was all over you!”
“I was fine!”
“No you weren’t!”
She opens her mouth, then snaps it shut into a tight, unyielding line. I don’t know if she finally sees it the way I do or if she just doesn’t want to keep yelling at each other in the middle of campus. I sigh and point in the direction of my SUV. “Let me take you home.”
She nods, but it’s tight, and she’s not quite looking at me.
Shit.
The ride is short and silent. When I pull up in front of her place, she doesn’t get out right away. She exhales slowly, then looks down at her hands. “Thank you, I guess.”
My eyebrows hit the roof. I wasn’t expecting that. I don’t know how I feel about it, honestly. “I don’t want you to say thank you. Especially not if you don’t mean it.”
She looks out the window. “I hear what you’re saying. How it looked. You could have gotten mad at me and you didn’t.”
What the fuck? “I wouldn’t have. Even if it wasn’t obvious that he was all over you and you didn’t want it…I know you, Ali. That’s not you.”
“He asked me to go to the party with him.”
“So? Did he ask you to make out on the couch with him?”
She doesn’t say anything. Fuck.
“Let me make something crystal clear, babe. No guy worth his balls expects something like that. And the guys that do, deserve to have their balls cut off with a rusty fucking machete. My reaction back there was big, but it was also tempered. I wanted to rip him limb from limb. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Come on. Let me walk you up.”
I get out and jog around the truck, opening her door for her.
She stares straight ahead as we cross the street. But when we get to the wide steps at the front of her building, she doesn’t punch in her code. I do an automatic scan of the surroundings. We’re alone. It’s late, and relatively private, and if she doesn’t want me to walk her upstairs, I’m not going to push it.
I lean against the wall. If she wants to talk, I’ll talk, but I’m not going to open my giant ape mouth without prompting. I’ve done enough tonight.
She scuffs her toe against the stoop. “Was that just you being protective tonight?”
Wow. She’s heading straight into the middle of the land mines. “I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t like seeing another guy touch you.”
“You don’t touch me.”
“I did. I will again.”
She lifts her chin a bit, but she’s still not looking at me.
“You mess with my head in a way that’s distressing for a grown man, Ali.”
That gets her attention. She jerks her face up and blinks at me. “What?”
“You gotta know I’m twisted up over you.”
She blanches. Well, that was the wrong thing to say. Fuck me.
“I was jealous. When I saw him touching you. Okay? That was my first reaction, for a split-second. Then I was just being protective. I swear.”
“I don’t want you to be…I don’t want you to expect feelings from me,” she says quietly.
What the hell? “I already told you I don’t expect anything. But feelings are just human nature. Don’t read too much into it because I don’t want some pipsqueak touching what I feel is all mine right now.”
“All yours?”
“I warned you I don’t share.”
“I know.” She licks her lips. “I don’t want anyone else.”
“I know.”
“I’m just being me, you know. Now. I was…trying too hard before. But now…this is me.”
“That makes it even worse.”
“Oh, great, thanks.”
“That’s not what I mean.” I laugh gently. “You’re hot. Just the way you are. Distractingly so.”
She scowls at me. “It’s hard not to feel like I’m being blamed for having tits.”
I laugh again, because she doesn’t give an inch. Nor should she. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m defenseless around her, and I’m not dealing with that well. “I’m not blaming you. I promise. That would make me just as bad as that douche at the party.”
She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Not at all. And his name is Corey, by the way.”
“I don’t care what his name is.” She smirks and I pull her in for a hug. “I should go.”
She nods against my chest. “Just for tonight. We could use a breather.”
“You’re being way more mature than me about this.”
She winks. “Don’t worry. I’ll go back to being a selfie-loving co-ed any second now.”
“Can I kiss you goodnight?”
“You better.”
I crowd her against the brick wall, taking my time to touch my lips against hers. Savoring this moment, the only one I’ll get tonight. I’m going to make it good for both of us, good enough it makes up for my Neanderthal show earlier.
Her nose brushes mine as she stretches up. I cup her cheek. Her skin is so soft, but beneath it she’s made of steel, honed by two decades of bracing against the Dashford Reid hostility. And now I’m yet another problem for her to manage.
“I really am sorry about tonight,” I mutter, my lips bumping against hers.
“Shut up. Kiss me. Feel bad later.”
I can do all three.
Her lips part immediately as I slide our mouths together, her teeth nipping at my bottom lip as I suck her top one into my mouth. I groan and haul her tighter against me, thrusting my tongue into her mouth. Fuck. She tastes sweet, coke and bourbon and pure Ali beneath it all, wet and hot and eager for me to fill her up. Her tongue swipes at mine. She wants to play, and the thought sends a dangerous spark through my body.
How dirty can this kiss get outside her building?
I hitch her up my body, cupping her ass as I shift one of my thighs between hers. S
he rubs against me, squeezing her legs as I work my hand inside her jacket.
The whole time, I’m exploring her mouth, finding out what strokes make her wriggle, what licks make her moan.
My fingers find her waist, her ribs, and I follow the path up to her breast. Through the thin fabric of her shirt I can feel lace and structured fabric. She’s wearing a fancy bra.
My cock throbs at the second-base promise of silk and satin.
But not tonight. I keep sliding my hand, up over her nipple, ignoring her breathless protest as I cup the nape of her neck. I deepen the kiss one last time and pull away, ignoring how wet and shiny her mouth is—if I think about that for even a second, I’ll be a goner. “Good night, Ms. Reid.”
She presses her fingers to her lips, a smile playing behind the long, slim digits. “Good night, Mr. Mayfair,” she whispers, her eyes dancing.
We stand there, frozen, until she giggles and I step back. She turns and lets herself in, and I let myself ogle her sweet ass peaking out beneath her jacket until she’s inside the apartment building and the door closes in my face.
My phone vibrates as I walk away from her building. I turn around once I’m across the street and look up. Her apartment is dark, then the window brightens a bit as she opens the door. I look down at my phone. The text message is from her.
A: 1/2
That’s it. But then another bubble appears, and I realize she’s sent me a photo text, it’s just taking its sweet-ass time to load.
It’s a selfie, taken in the stairwell. She’s giving the camera a little smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Does she regret sending me away? She was right to, of course. But damn it if I don’t want to be upstairs with her right now.
1/2…One of two…
I stand there and wait for the second photo. My attention is divided between my phone, still working away with the download, and the two windows of her apartment—she walked through the dark living space and now she’s in her small bedroom. I can picture the room. Her closet, already overflowing with clothes. That little double bed, pushed into the corner, with the faded quilt and basic cotton sheets.
Booty Call Page 8
