Wow. That hurts. Embarrassingly so.
I lean a shoulder against the edge of the door panel, bending down enough to bring myself into her line of sight. “There’s where you’re wrong. I do like you. A lot.” I glance away, trying not to wince, then force myself to face her again. “I’m sorry if you don’t like me.”
Again she ducks her head, another flush hitting her pale cheeks. “Sorry.” She shakes her head then clears her throat. “That was a shitty thing to say. I do like you. I just…” She lifts her hands up in a helpless gesture. “I don’t want a relationship right now.”
Disappointment tumbles into my gut like an unmoored boulder. “Fine. Then we just fuck.” I give her a level look as a bell dings and the doors to the elevator open. “Because any chance you give me, I’m taking it.”
I’M LATE MEETING Iris and George for lunch. Call it reluctance to face the firing squad. I’m under no illusion that they won’t figure out I’ve had sex with Baylor. I’m horrible at hiding things, and Iris is already suspicious of my sudden disappearance at the party the other night.
Part of me wants to talk about it. Not about Baylor precisely, because the idea of him discussing details with his friends makes me cringe, and I refuse to be a hypocrite. But I need to process this insanity that’s got a hold of me. I cannot believe I had sex with him again. And in the library of all places. Anyone might have seen. The irony that I’m afraid to be seen with him yet let him fuck me in a public space, twice now, isn’t lost on me.
Without warning, I think of him kneeling in front of me, his head buried between my legs. My cheeks burn and dark heat licks up the back of my thighs as I walk into the fifties style diner that sits just outside of campus. Good God, I want to turn around, find Drew Baylor, and do it again. I know now that it isn’t the thrill of possible discovery that makes sex with him better than anything I’ve experienced. It is him, the way I react to his body, his touch, his voice. And that scares the hell out of me.
I like you. A lot.
Damn it. If only he was someone else. Something else. A regular guy. A nobody like me. But he’s not and never will be. When I think of the public scrutiny he, and anyone he’s with, endures, I want to hide away, run for the hills.
I take a deep breath instead and tell myself to chill. It’s over. It’s done.
Iris and George already occupy a booth. As George is facing my way, he spots me first and raises a brow in reproach.
“Sorry,” I say as I slide in next to Iris. “I lost track of time.”
“We ordered you a vanilla milkshake, and fries are on the way,” says George. “But you choose the rest.”
Six feet to Iris’s five foot three, George towers over her, but they share similar features, their Mexican heritage showing in their dark eyes framed by thick lashes, honey-gold skin, and glossy raven black hair.
The waitress comes with our drinks and fries, her gaze lingering on George. “You know what you want?”
“Always,” he answers with cheeky confidence that makes the waitress blush, and Iris and I roll our eyes. Not that I can fault the waitress’s taste. George is incredibly good looking. And while I appreciate that on an aesthetic level, I’ve never felt a glimmer of sexual attraction to him. Which is a good thing, as I’d rather have his friendship than a brief physical release.
We order our burgers and, once alone, Iris turns in her seat to study me. “So…you gonna tell us where you got that exceptionally large hickey decorating your neck?”
Shit. As if her notice has activated it, a spot where my neck curves to meet my collarbone, starts to throb. Memories assault me, of Baylor’s mouth there, his tongue sliding over my skin just before he sucked hard. I don’t want to know how bad it looks.
George’s eyes glint as he leans forward. “That’s a beauty. Who’s the guy? Or is it a girl? God,” he puts a hand over his heart, “please say it’s a girl.”