“Chuck, it’s not you—it’s me,” I said, cringing at the cliché I had chosen. How did you tell someone you would rather gouge out your eyes than see him play with his junk again?
“What the fuck? Who uses a bullshit line like that?” he declared, grabbing my arm so I couldn’t move. I looked down at his hand, which was wrapped around my wrist. Seriously? Why did it always come down to this? Did I have the words please manhandle me tattooed on my forehead?
I saw Derek approaching from the corner of my eye. He wasn’t hard to miss because of his size, and judging by the look on his face, Chuck wanted no part of what was coming. I held out my free hand to stop Derek before he could get involved. I might have an uncanny knack for dating assholes, but I also knew how to take care of myself when I needed to. I stepped on Chuck’s shoe and slowly rolled my weight so my platform heels sank down on the softness of his toes. “In case you’re too stupid to notice, we’re done.” He grunted in pain, making me smile. Sometimes it paid not to be a lightweight.
“Get off me, you bitz,” he slurred. He wobbled so badly, I could have pushed him over.
“Why don’t you go sleep it off?” Derek insisted, as he stepped in and pulled me protectively against him. This was why Derek was the best kind of friend. He wasn’t a fan of violence, but you would never know it when it came to Cameo and me. Back home, I had always been the protector when it came to my friends. It was kind of nice to have a knight in shining armor. Not necessary but still sweet. I found it endearing that even though Derek had known me for only a year, he acted like we were lifelong friends. Derek was a perk that came with Cameo picking me to be her roommate last year. When I had transferred to Maine State, I knew I didn’t want to do the whole dorm thing. Living at home my first two years of college had made me yearn for more independence. I wanted to let loose without so many restrictions. Living in an apartment with Cameo had provided the freedom I was looking for, and sharing her best friend, Derek, sweetened the deal.
Chuck looked like he wanted to retaliate, but in the state he was in, he was in no shape to attempt anything more. With a shake of his head and a look of bewilderment in my direction, he staggered off, scratching his junk the entire time.
“Honey, you sure can pick ’em,” Derek said, shaking his head with amazement before turning away from the train wreck.
“You’re a fine one to talk,” I pointed out, punching him in his biceps. If it seemed like I was being picky at the moment when it came to guys, Derek was even worse. He claimed he didn’t feel like wasting time on meaningless relationships. I think he’d missed the memo on what college dating was supposed to be.
“I’m searching for someone who understands me,” he said dramatically, making us laugh. “Speaking of which, hello, Clark Kent,” he added, looking toward the front door. “He looks like he could understand everything I have to offer.”
Cameo and I pivoted around to see who had managed to snag Derek’s attention. He could be a bit of a snob when it came to man candy. Anyone who caught his eye had to be something worth seeing.
“Oh, hell no,” I muttered under my breath. He was the last person I had expected to see at a party like this.
Read on for a teaser from
Christina Lee’s first New Adult novel,
ALL OF YOU
Available everywhere books and e-books are sold.
Love was like a loaded gun. You slid your bullet inside the cold metal chamber as a safeguard for the inevitable day that everything went to shit. At the first sign of trouble, you blew your opponent to pieces, long before their finger found the trigger. At least that’s what my mother’s string of failed relationships taught me.
I downed the warm beer and scanned the frat party from my armchair perch. The low moans drifting from the next couch over awakened a longing inside me. My best friend, Ella, and her boyfriend were going at it again. Our other friend, Rachel, an even bigger player than me, was in the far corner making out with another university jock. And I wasn’t about to be the only one leaving empty-handed tonight.
Guys were easy to figure out—at least in the hormonal sense. You needed only to appear helpless or horny, and their pants instantly dropped to their ankles. Except none of the guys here tonight appealed to me. Maybe I’d text Rob for a booty call on my way home. He was always good for one, unless he’d already hooked up with someone else.
My gaze landed on the guy entering the back door through the kitchen. A red baseball cap was slung low on his head and inky black curls escaped beneath it. His arms were muscular, and his charcoal T-shirt hugged his lean chest. He was Grade-A Prime Meat and probably knew exactly how to put those full lips to good use.
I watched as he high-fived one of the guys and then propped his forearm against the counter. His smile was magnetic, and I pictured him using it on me in another five minutes, when he sweet-talked me. I stood up and straightened my shirt so that it revealed more of my cleavage—the little I had—and strode toward the keg with my plastic cup.
As I drew nearer, I saw how alarmingly gorgeous this guy really was. The one hand fisted in his pocket tugged at his jeans, revealing a small sliver of a taut stomach. The trail of baby-fine hairs leading downward made heat pool low in my stomach.
I tried catching his eye, but he wasn’t going for it.
His friend was a different story, though. He practically growled in my direction.
The friend was cute, too, but paled in comparison to Hot Boy. But maybe his friend was my ticket in. Too bad I wasn’t the type to take on both of them—that might be entertaining.
Bile scorched the back of my throat. Hell, no. Two meant more testosterone, less power. No telling what might happen, even if I thought I was in control. There was a reason I only did one willing guy at a time.
When I stopped at the keg, I overheard Hot Boy telling a friend that he was moving in the morning. Hopefully not out of state. No matter; I only needed him for tonight. His voice was low and gruff, sending a ripple of satisfaction through me.
Hot Boy’s friend reached over and grabbed hold of my cup. “Let me help you with that.”
Hot Boy looked up and our gazes meshed for the first time. Warm chocolate eyes pinned me to my spot. They raked over me once before flitting away, sending my stomach into a free fall.
He pushed aside the messy bangs hanging in his eyes and resumed his conversation.
I wanted to run my fingers through those unruly curls at the nape of his neck. I made a mental note to do that later, when he was lying on top of me.
His friend handed my cup back, filled to the brim. Hot Boy didn’t look my way again.
“Thanks.” I clenched my teeth and worked to keep my lips in a neat, straight line.
“So, what’s your name?” he asked as he stepped closer. His breath was sour with beer and cigarettes and I knew I could’ve taken him oh so easily. As simple as the arch of my eyebrow.
But I didn’t want him. I wanted Hot Boy. Just for one night.
“My name’s Avery,” I said, loud enough for Hot Boy to hear.
Hot Boy only paused at the sound of my voice without looking my way. Damn. Maybe he had a girlfriend, or maybe he was gay. The pretty boys always were.
“Nice to meet you, Avery. I’m Nate.” His friend slid his hand to my hip, and I considered giving up the hunt and taking him upstairs. But for some reason, I just wasn’t feeling it.
“I’ll be right back.” I left him swaying unsteadily on his feet.
I headed back to Ella and Joel, who were still hot and heavy on the couch.
“I’m going to head home,” I said, close to her ear.
Ella came up for air. “No prospects tonight?”
“One.” I glanced over my shoulder to the kitchen. Hot Boy’s friend was still waiting for me. “But I’m not really into it.”
“Bitch, you’re always into it.” Her lips curved into a devilish grin. “Gonna hook up with Rob tonight instead?”
“Maybe.” I didn’t want to di
sappoint her. I was ready for a good time most weekends. And, even though she didn’t really approve, she was ready for all the gritty details the next day. Ella hadn’t gotten me to change my ways in high school, and she wouldn’t now. But if I wasn’t in the mood, I didn’t feel like explaining it to her.
I looked around for Rachel to say good-bye, but she was already somewhere private with jock boy. Ella went back to ramming her tongue into Joel’s mouth.
She’d probably felt stranded by Rachel and me too many times to count, so seeing her with Joel actually thawed a corner of my frozen heart. A real live boyfriend was what Ella had always wanted. Someone who got her, she’d said. Whatever the hell that meant.
Hopefully Joel would keep treating her right, or he’d have to answer to me. I wasn’t opposed to grabbing hold and yanking those balls down hard. My self-defense classes had taught me well.
I decided to give Hot Boy one last shot as I passed by him on my way out the door, luring him with my sexiest voice. Unfortunately that meant passing his friend, too.
“Excuse me.” My mouth was close to Hot Boy’s ear, my chest brushing past his arm. He smelled like coconut shampoo. Like warm sand, hot sun, and sex. I wanted to wrap myself inside of his arms, but I kept on moving.
“No problem,” he said without even a glance.
Damn. Rejected again. That made me want him twice as much.
Just as my foot crossed onto the landing, I felt a warm hand reach around my waist. I almost fist-pumped the air. Got him.
I turned to greet Hot Boy, my breaths already fluttery. But the smile slid from my lips and slumped to the floor when I realized it was his friend who’d grabbed me instead.
“Hey, baby, where you going?”
“I’m leaving.” I twisted away, hoping to break his embrace.
But he kept in step with me. “How about you hang with me awhile longer?”
“Maybe another time.”
His hands frisked around to my stomach, and normally I’d accept that kind of action—initiate it, even—but for some reason I couldn’t shake Hot Boy’s rejection.
I was more of an emotional train wreck than even I’d realized. Despite Ella reminding me almost every fucking day.
And just as I was chastising myself and changing my mind about hooking up with his friend, I heard Hot Boy’s low rumble of a voice. “Give it a rest, Nate. She said she was leaving, and I’m pretty sure that means without you.”
I blinked in shock. Maybe he’d noticed me after all.
His friend backed away with his hands raised. And then turned to the keg.
Hot Boy gave me a once-over. “You good?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Wait a minute. This was backward. I was thanking Hot Boy for being all chivalrous. And the boys I hooked up with were so not chivalrous.
Hot Boy nodded before turning on his heels and heading out of the room, leaving my ego collapsing on the cold, hard tile.
Chivalrous Hot Boy was so not into me.
I walked the two blocks back to my apartment alone.
I tossed and turned, imagining Hot Boy’s lips on mine, a fire blazing across my skin.
My cell phone buzzed from the nightstand.
Rob: You in the mood?
Me: Not tonight.
Photo by Ali Megan Photography
A. L. Jackson is the New York Times bestselling author of Take This Regret and Lost to You, as well as other contemporary romance titles, including Pulled and When We Collide.
She first found a love for writing during her days as a young mother and college student. She filled the journals she carried with short stories and poems used as an emotional outlet for the difficulties and joys she found in day-to-day life.
Years later, she shared a short story she’d been working on with her two closest friends, and with their encouragement, this story became her first full-length novel. A.L. now spends her days writing in southern Arizona, where she lives with her husband and three children. Her favorite pastime is spending time with the ones she loves.
CONNECT ONLINE
aljacksonbooks.blogspot.com
facebook.com/aljacksonauthor
Courtesy of the author
Molly McAdams grew up in California but now lives in the oh so amazing state of Texas with her husband and furry four-legged daughters. When she’s not diving into the world of her characters, some of her hobbies include hiking, snowboarding, traveling, and long walks on the beach . . . which roughly translates to being a homebody with her hubby and dishing out movie quotes. She has a weakness for crude-
humored movies and fried pickles, and loves curling up in a fluffy comforter during a thunderstorm . . . or under one in a bathtub if there are tornadoes. That way she can pretend they aren’t really happening.
Photo by Sol Photo/Abby Blum
USA Today bestselling author Tiffany King has written a number of young adult titles: The Saving Angels series, Wishing for Someday Soon, Forever Changed, Unlikely Allies, Miss Me Not, and Jordyn: A Daemon Hunter Novel. She is also the author of the New Adult series the Woodfalls Girls, including No Attachments, Misunderstandings, and Contradictions. Writer by day and book fanatic the rest of the time, she is now pursuing her lifelong dream of weaving tales for others to enjoy. She has a loving husband and two wonderful kids. (Five, if you count her three spoiled cats.)
Photo by Elaine M. Johnson
Christina Lee lives in the Midwest with her husband and son—her two favorite guys. She’s addicted to lip gloss and salted caramel everything. She believes in true love and kissing, so writing romance has become a dream job. She also owns her own jewelry business, where she hand-stamps meaningful words or letters onto silver for her customers.
CONNECT ONLINE
christinalee.net
When We Met Page 36
