“I know I don’t look like the brainy type, but I’m not a complete dumbass,” he muttered, looking almost embarrassed by my perception of him. I felt shame for my snap judgment.
“No, it’s just I was on the debate team back home as well,” I hurried on, trying to cover my colossal jerkiness.
Garrett’s eyebrows raised. “I guess we have something in common then,” he said as I placed the trophy back on the mantle. I was distracted from his comment at the sight of an eight by ten photograph of Garrett. I assumed it was his senior portrait. It was one of those cheesy, overly posed photographs that we looked back a year later and cringed over.
This one wasn’t too bad as far as portraits go. He was leaned against a fence wearing a plaid shirt and jeans. His blond hair was cut short and he looked surprisingly well kempt and a lot like your typical preppy guy in high school.
Looking over my shoulder I stared at the man he was now. He was pulling a guitar case out from underneath the couch and unclipping the snaps. His long hair fell across his face as he leaned down. He had ditched the shirt as soon as we stepped into his house.
The guy in the picture was leaner and less muscular. His eyes were clear and his face clean-shaven. The guy behind me affected an air of indifference to everything around him. So different from the boy in the photograph with the world in his eyes.
How did he get from A to B? How was it possible that in just a few years he went from your every day boy next door to this party loving, toke a joint on a regular basis, living life without a clue guy?
I turned away from the tantalizing glimpses of a Garrett I would never know to face the Garrett who I was currently with. He was now strumming an acoustic guitar. He played around for a bit, plucking out an unfamiliar tune.
I listened silently, not sure what to do or say. This quiet, introspective side of Garrett had me off balance.
And when he started to hum along to the strange melody I had to stop myself from sighing aloud. Hey, even I wasn’t immune to a good-looking musician. I did possess the double X chromosome, you know.
His eyes were closed and his fingers moved along the fret board with a confidence that was definitely appealing. His face was open and unguarded and I could watch him like this forever.
I liked this Garrett. I more than liked this Garrett. He fascinated me.
Garrett opened his eyes and found me watching him. The air heated between us, the molecules practically crackling with electricity.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he said softly, as though more to himself than to me.
My heart was beating at a frantic pace in my chest, his words twinging something in my brain. Images flashed in my head of him kissing the inside of my thighs. I could almost feel his lips as they moved up my skin to taste between my legs.
The memory was so vivid that I knew it could only be from that night. Shit, I remembered him fucking me with his tongue before he crawled over top of me and told me how beautiful I was. And the look in his eyes had been earth shattering.
I tingled from head to toe and I desperately wanted to remember more.
Garrett continued to watch me as he strummed his guitar, humming that incredible melody. I was melting. Dear lord, I was turning into a big pile of goo.
“I bet you say that to all the gals,” I said lightly, trying to hide the fact that I had morphed into a giant, throbbing vagina.
Garrett frowned and got to his feet. He moved slowly, as though he had all the time in the world. When he finally reached me, I was on high alert. Was he going to touch me? Sweet Jesus, I really wanted him to touch me.
No I didn’t!
Stop it, Riley! This is not the time to let the sex beast out! Lock it away, now!
“Why do you do you that?” he asked, puzzled.
“Why do I do what?” I asked, just as puzzled.
“Blow off a compliment. Make everything a joke. When I tell you you’re beautiful, I’m not just saying that. I’m saying it because you are. You. Are. Beautiful. And I want to kiss you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life,” he said in a hush.