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by May, McKinley

The room goes dark, a tiny strand of bulbs twisted around her headboard the only source of illumination. The lights blink on and off repeatedly, their rhythm slow and soothing.

  Lexie sinks down on her pillow with a silent yawn. Her lush, waist-length locks splay out all around her.

  "The pink's practically gone." I reach forward, fingering a thick strand of her hair. She tenses at my touch, but doesn't pull back. "What color are you gonna put in next?"

  Her eyes cast downward, focused intently on my hand.

  "I don't know," she mumbles, hypnotized as I rub the blonde between my thumb and index finger methodically. "You choose."

  "Green." I release the silky strand and drop my arm. "Same shade as your eyes."

  "Green," she repeats distractedly. "Alright."

  Suddenly, I feel fingers intertwining with mine. Her hand is small in my grasp, her flesh cool to the touch.

  The surprise gesture has me broaching the subject I've wanted to address for three damn weeks.

  "So you're done avoiding me?"

  "Avoiding you?" She tries to play the fool. "We're together all the time."

  "Cut the bullshit, babe." I flit my gaze to our enclosed hands and up again. "You know exactly what I mean. You've been keeping me at arm's length for a while now. Tonight's the first time you've let me touch you since we kissed."

  "You're right," she admits softly.

  "Why?"

  "Because that kiss..." She pauses, turning on her side to face me. "It freaked me out."

  "That bad, huh?" I hike a brow jokingly. "Damn."

  "That good." A dreamy exhale punctuates her words. "This connection we have, the way my body reacts when I'm around you—it's insanity, Weston. It's as if I have no control. Like you move, I move."

  "That's not a bad thing," I insist.

  "I know." She swallows. "But it still scares me."

  "I feel it, too," I confess. The air grows thick as a surge of emotion rushes through me. Sentiments I hadn't even admitted to myself begin to pour past my lips. "You make me feel shit I've never felt in my life, Lexie. Like I'm more... hell, I don't know. Like I'm more alive when I'm with you. I don't want to avoid that. I wanna feel it every damn day." I squeeze her hand. "Don't you?"

  "Yes," she says earnestly.

  "Then why the hell are you fighting it?"

  "I'm not sure. But I don't want to fight it anymore." She scoots closer, her chest molding to mine. A low groan escapes me as her hard nipples brush against my pecs. "I can't fight it anymore."

  "I wanna kiss you again," I murmur gruffly. My breathing goes ragged, desire spiking within me. "Fuck, I wanna do more than just kiss you, Lexie."

  Arousal clouds her stormy eyes.

  "Do it," she whispers.

  Her words aren't a demand or a suggestion.

  They're a fucking plea.

  And I instantly oblige.

  My lips crash onto hers with desperate frenzy. When she emits a tiny gasp, my tongue darts into her mouth. She tastes like sugar and dark chocolate and it's fucking delicious.

  With a husky groan, I roll us over so I'm straddling her slender frame. Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me deeper into our kiss, into this crazy alternative universe we seem to enter whenever we touch.

  I'm so damn worked up, I start to shamelessly grind between her legs. Her hips lift to meet mine, fiery heat radiating from our bodies as we try to relieve the ache.

  She pulls away, panting as her hands start to fumble with my jeans.

  "Get these off," she whispers.

  As she frantically undoes the button, I grab the back collar of my shirt and tug it over my head. She slides my pants and briefs down, eyes bulging as my erection springs up.

  "Holy shit."

  "Take your shirt off."

  She eagerly obeys my gravelly command, slowly peeling the fabric upwards. When her perfect tits come into view, I can't stop the groan of pleasure that escapes me. They're full and perky, those tight pink nipples in desperate need of some attention from me.

  Before she's even tossed the shirt to the floor, I'm leaning forward, taking her into my mouth. When I flick my tongue over the pert bud, her nails dig into my flesh in appreciation. A breathy moan floats past my ear as I use my thumb and index finger to gently pinch the other one.

  "Keep doing that," she begs as she wraps her hand around my back and squeezes. "Please."

  I rock against her as I give her exactly what she wants, working her body with my fingers and tongue until she's a squirming mess beneath me.

  "Weston." Her grip tightens on my shoulders. "I need you."

  Hearing her say that...fuck.

  It does something to me deep in my chest.

  I raise up, warmth surging through my bloodstream as I tuck my fingers under her waistband.

  In a matter of seconds, her leggings and underwear are nowhere to be seen. The evidence of her arousal is on display before me, and I'm so damn hard from the sight it's almost painful.

  I thrust inside of her, one hard plunge that fills her to the brim, and my eyes instantly squeeze shut with overwhelming pleasure.

  She's so wet.

  So goddamn tight.

  The feeling can only be described on way.

  Pure. Fucking. Ecstasy.

  But when I blink back to the moment, another emotion steals the show. It's one I can't quite put my finger on, one I haven't experienced before.

  Affection.

  Adoration.

  And it's all directed at the girl beneath me.

  I can't tear my gaze away from hers—the passion blazing in those emerald irises, the rapid rise and fall of her chest that mirrors the erratic drum of her heart...

  Words aren't necessary; I know she feels it, too.

  This isn't just a quick fuck or a means of getting off like I'm used to.

  The sensation that overtakes us is more than physical.

  Shit—it's way more.

  We move together, our motions effortlessly in tune. Every deep thrust, every expression of bliss that flickers across Lexie's face, every single intimate moment brands my mind with permanence.

  I'm trying to hold back, keep this from coming to an end because it's so damn good, but when she tilts her hips up, the new angle has both of us approaching the finish line at a swift pace.

  "Lexie, I—fuck." I curse as my fingers dig into her waist, my movements desperate and jerky as the familiar sensation takes over. "I'm about to—"

  "Oh God," she moans as she starts to unravel.

  Her back arches with her orgasm, and I'm right there with her barreling over the edge. Black spots dot my vision as I come hard, our sounds of passion weaving through the late-night silence.

  We lay there afterwards, spent and so freaking satisfied. The room is quiet and dark, the steady tick of the ceiling fan the only sound as it blows cool air on our sweaty bodies.

  I've never felt so fucking content in my life.

  Lexie turns on her side, biting down on her lip as her gaze meets mine.

  "Stay, Weston." She blinks at me with big doe eyes, cheeks still flushed and rosy. "Will you stay?"

  "Yeah," I answer as I drag my thumb across her cheekbone. "I will."

  I wasn't planning on leaving.

  24

  A rustling sound rouses me in the morning.

  I force my tired eyes open, my room still cloaked in darkness.

  The rustling comes again and I spot Weston by the foot of my bed. He's shirtless, pulling on his pants and trying to be quiet about it, but I'm thankful for the wake-up call.

  As I gleefully enjoy my morning view, the memories from last night come rushing back in a wave of bliss. Mind-blowing doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of what happened between us. The way his hands played my body like a fiddle, how his tongue left me a whimpering, trembling mess, and then when he filled me, thrusting inside over and over again...

  Oh holy night!

  Let's just say this boy has alllll the right in the world to b
e cocky.

  "Shit!"

  Weston's whispered yell accompanies his foot ramming into my bed post. His head jerks in my direction and I give him a groggy smile.

  "I stub my toes on that almost every morning," I admit, my voice raspy with sleep. "My feet are permanently black and blue."

  "I don't doubt it," he says with a pained grin. "Feels like it's made out of fuckin' cement."

  I grab my phone and check the time. "6:00 a.m.? Where are you going this early?"

  "Weight room and practice." He digs in the covers by my feet, retrieves his shirt, and tugs it over his head. "Did I wake you up?"

  "You did, but it's okay. I know how you can make it up to me."

  He tousles his messy bedhead with one hand and raises a brow. "And how's that?"

  I pat the empty mattress beside me. "Skip practice and come back to bed."

  Desire flares in his half-mast eyes. "You want a repeat of last night?"

  Does he even need to ask?

  I nod eagerly, a tiny smirk emerging on his face at my obvious enthusiasm.

  He steps closer, looking just as keen on the activity as me, but then his head falls back with a groan of frustration.

  "Fuck. So do I, but I really can't miss training." Leaning over, he presses his lips to my neck in a sweet kiss. "Rain check?"

  His teeth find my earlobe, my satisfied moan answering the question.

  As he continues to pepper kisses down my neck, I wrap my arms around his back. Carefree giggles and content sighs pour past my lips at will, almost as if I'm drunk.

  In a way, I guess I sort of am. I'm drunk on Weston. His hard physique, those boyish good-looks, his soothing touch...

  But it's not just the physical stuff that's rendered me intoxicated. It's everything about him.

  Everything about us, together.

  And last night just confirmed something for me.

  I seriously think I'm falling for—

  "You know," he mumbles as he pushes up from the bed. "Pretty sure this counts as Date #3."

  The swift reality check slams into me like a brick wall.

  He gives me a wink, oblivious to how rigid I've gone, and exits the room.

  I'm wide awake now, any trace of early morning haze wiped clean from those three little words.

  Date. Number. Three.

  Our "dates" had slipped my mind for the past 24 hours, but apparently they'd been on his. Mere hours after we sleep together and he's already pulling the plug on this thing.

  I mean, why else would he even bring that up except to make sure I know the experiment's finished? That was the deal; three dates and then it's back to business as usual.

  Obviously, that's what he wants.

  But the things he said last night...they seemed so real, so raw. They certainly didn't sound like something you'd admit if you weren't serious about them...

  Or am I just that naive?

  Because honestly, what the hell did I expect?

  I called this from the very beginning. I was a conquest, an itch he needed to scratch. He got what he wanted, charmed me into bed with him, and now basically just told me it's over.

  So what now? He wants to add me into his rotation of hook-ups? Convince me to become one of his regulars? Keep this a strictly no-strings-attached type of deal?

  I can't do that.

  Not with him.

  I lay in my bed for at least another hour, staring at the ceiling as I think about how freaking stupid I am. I knew Weston wasn't a one-woman kind of man coming into this, and still I allowed myself to believe there was a chance I'd become the exception. That I'd be the girl to change his mind.

  Completely idiotic.

  I mull over the situation a bit longer, the prolonged introspection leading me to an interesting conclusion.

  This little experiment did prove something to me—Weston's theory does have some merit behind it after all.

  I do sell myself short when it comes to dating.

  I do subconsciously date guys I know I won't fall for.

  I purposely avoid anyone that makes my heart skip a beat or has me dizzy with infatuation.

  And it's for one, big fat reason.

  To avoid feeling like this.

  25

  2:12 p.m. Me: Are you done w/ class?

  4:33 p.m. Me: We meeting up tomorrow to work on lab?

  10:12 p.m. Me: So we're still playing this game, huh, Lex?

  "Weston! Dude! Chug!!"

  I stop scrolling through my texts and glance up. Sigma Pi's social chair, a Chubby-wearing frat guy named Joe, is in front of me, a shitload of random beers cradled in one arm. He grabs one from the stash and shoves it in my face.

  "Get up and enjoy the fiesta, man. Getcha a few of these and down 'em with some Jungle Juice. That'll get ya in the spirit," he slurs, shaking the cold one back and forth until I accept the offer.

  As he stumbles off to distribute more booze, my eyes shuffle around the crowded house party. Sigma Pi's ragers are legendary, and Frat Bro Joe is right—I should be enjoying the hell outta myself.

  I should be kicking ass at Flip Cup, harassing my liver with copious amounts of beer and cheap liquor, and actually participating in this shit.

  Instead, I'm sitting here on some nasty-ass couch that's probably hosting more unidentified bacteria than a Petri dish. Cameron's on my left, his 6'6'' frame putting this shitty furniture to the test. To my right is his bitchy, on-again-off-again hook-up, Julie, who's doused in so much Chanel #5, I can barely breathe. They're arguing about something petty—what's fucking new—and I'm seriously PO'd.

  Not because of them, although they're definitely exacerbating my sour mood.

  When Lexie didn't respond to any of my messages on Wednesday, I chalked it up to Mid-Terms. The girl's enrolled in about twenty damn classes; I'm not gonna be all whiny if she doesn't reply in the midst of Hell Week.

  Thursday came around and it was my jam-packed schedule that stole my focus. With a Sports Nutrition exam, three essays due, and weight training and soccer practice to boot, I barely had time to shove a protein bar down my throat, let alone question why she still hadn't answered my texts or calls.

  But it's Friday night, the hectic week is good and done, and this has officially gone from "too busy to respond" to legit ghosting.

  And I have freakin' clue why.

  Believe me, I've been trying to figure it out.

  Tuesday night was nothing short of fucking perfection, and she sure seemed to be floating in the clouds the next day. One second she's begging me for encore morning sex, and the next?

  Radio silence.

  Maybe she got an early start to Spring Break? We have the next week off, so it's possible she's chillin' on a beach somewhere at this very moment.

  Or maybe something happened to her.

  Maybe she's—

  Here.

  Standing no more than thirty feet away, nursing a Red Solo cup and rocking a pair of black skinny jeans that hug her hips.

  That's definitely Lexie.

  She's not in a remote location with no cell service. She hasn't been kidnapped by the creep-a-zoid from lab.

  She's fucking here.

  And the cherry on top of this whole thing?

  She's with another dude.

  What the fuck?

  A mixture of jealousy and anger strikes me in the gut, the swirl of emotion riling me to my feet.

  "Weston? Where are you going?" Julie claws at my shirt and I shrug her off. "Tell Cameron he's wrong about—"

  I push my unopened beer into her hands, a gesture that says stop-talking-to-me.

  Flipping my baseball cap backwards, I make a beeline straight for the girl who's been leaving me on 'Read' for three goddamn days.

  The girl who has the balls to show up at a party she knew I'd be at, galavanting with some new asshole right in front of my face.

  Time for an explanation.

  Walking up to the pair, I toss an arm around Lexie and rudely interrupt the convers
ation. "'Sup? How's it going?"

  She turns, annoyance tightening her features. "What are you doing here?"

  "Why wouldn't I be here?" I squeeze her shoulder and put on a phony smile. "I live next door, Barbie Doll. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

  I volley my accusatory gaze between her and the guy she's hanging with.

  My vision locks onto hers, my brow arching with a question I know she reads loud and clear: Are you fucking kidding me?

  "What are you two kids up to tonight? Having fun?" The cheerful note in my voice is as artificial as aspartame. I tug Lexie into my side and give her companion a good once-over.

  Breaking news.

  He's a pussy.

  "Gnarly scar, man," I say as I point to the jagged line on his thumb. "What's your name?"

  "Pierre."

  "Pierre? Fancy. So you and Lex know each other? Old pals?"

  Lexie hisses under her breath as Pierre regards me with confusion.

  "Sure, yes." He scratches the back of his neck. "Er...do you need something?"

  "Yeah. A cup of Jungle Juice would be bomb." I clap a hand on his shoulder and nod towards the back door. "I think it's out on the patio. Thanks, dude."

  "Um, okay." Pierre obeys my request without question.

  The moment he's gone, Lexie ducks out of my grasp and tries to make a getaway.

  "Oh no," I chastise as I grab her forearm. "Where do you think you're going?"

  She tries to jerk out of my grip, but no way I'm letting her run off without getting to the bottom of this. After a few unsuccessful shakes, she frowns. "I don't want to talk to you."

  "I fucking noticed," I say with a grunt. "What's your freakin' deal, babe? Can't even respond to a message, and now you're out here dating other guys? Really, Lexie? What the hell?"

  "I'm not on a date with him. We're friends. Calm down. I came here with Jessica." Her fingers tighten around the plastic cup. "But if I was on a date, so what?"

  "What happened to exclusivity?"

  "The jig is up, Weston."

  "What are you talking about?"

  Her cheeks are fire-engine red, and I'm so damn confused.

  "I'm not stupid. You got what you wanted out of this whole thing, didn't you? I was just another one of your conquests."