I was so screwed.
I kind of wanted to stay mad at her, and yet I kind of also wanted to not care at all because she’d made me care too much, but then I also kind of wanted to totally forgive her. All those wants and halves and thoughts went haywire in my head. But then, whenever she was right there in front of me, she was just so sassy and challenging, I started to act like I instinctively wanted to act before my brain commanded me to act another way. It was all just fucking confusing, and I was pretty much ready for it to end.
But the more I told my brain to forget about her, the more it thought about her.
She was a tough nut to crack. Some people might refer to her as bitchy, I guess, but I knew she wasn’t. Something Sarah had said once really cemented that fact for me. When Sarah had crashed Brandt and Julianna’s one date, she’d told me Julianna had been really cool about it. She’d been kind and understanding to Sarah while Sarah had been in crisis mode and had needed Brandt more than anyone. Julianna had even hopped into the back seat of his truck to give Sarah the front without complaint. Then she’d gone and introduced herself, very pleasantly. A bitch wouldn’t have done that, which had started my in-depth curiosity about her.
Honestly, I think she purposely put up walls to appear tough and independent, but also to hide her true self, meaning, of course, I had to breach all these walls and find out what she was so desperately trying to guard. I bet once she let a person in—
But then, yeah, everything between us was just wrong, so I should really stop wondering about all that. Brandt would always be right there between us, and she still fucking regretted what we had done together at the wedding, so…
That killed it for me. At least it should have.
And speaking of Brandt, he texted me on the way to class. Just a simple big-brother check in that said:
I think it was our first form of communication since he’d returned from his honeymoon. I didn’t want to feel any resentment that he was the main reason I was stupidly achy-breaky hearting it these days. He didn’t have a clue what was going on. But I still wanted to get through a conversation with him as quickly as possible.
When he sent me the middle finger emoji for my smart-ass crack, I grinned, feeling a little more settled with things between us.
But I didn’t feel so settled where she was concerned.
What’s worse, I took her to-go mug of coffee with me to school. And then I carried it around all day like some kind of lovesick sack. And the next morning…yeah, I washed it out, refilled it and carried it to class again.
We shared philosophy at ten. I still had a gulp of coffee left in the mug when I strolled into the lecture hall a couple minutes early. I set it on the corner of my desk, then kicked back, propped my feet up, and closed my eyes, waiting.
I hadn’t realized I’d been waiting for her until I smelled her perfume when she approached. The chair next to mine shuffled as she sat next to me.
Suddenly, my entire body came to life, nostrils flaring to inhale her scent, ears twitching for every little movement she made, nerves crackling with some strange kind of adrenaline rush.
Before she could speak, I said, “You’re not getting your mug back,” without even opening my eyes.
“How did you—” Her surprised voice sizzled through me.
“You have a very distinct smell,” I answered after she cut herself off. “And what other reason would you sit by me?”
I opened my eyes and turned her way. She was flawless as usual, so I should’ve expected the punch of awareness I felt. I should’ve been braced for it. But nope, it had only gotten stronger since I’d seen her naked—well, mostly naked—and tasted her and touched her and seen where she slept.
I wanted her even more than ever.
God, I was so fucked.
“Well…” Her brown eyes were wide with surprise as she shook her head and finally stuttered, “It is my mug.”
I snickered and purposely picked it up to take a drink, taunting her. “Not anymore.”
Her eyes flared with challenge as she watched me, and dammit, dammit, dammit, why did that turn me on so much? But instead of telling me off, which was what I expected, and kind of craved—wasn’t I just a diabolical, masochistic son of a bitch—she drew in a deep calming breath, and steadily responded with, “You really need to stop stealing things from me, you know.”
“Things?” I arched my eyebrows, wondering why she’d phrased it as if I’d taken more than a cup from her.
“Yes!” she snapped. “Things, plural. My mug. My underwear.” Her voice went hushed and she moved in closer as her teeth clenched in ire, and damn…that so did it for me. I wanted to sink my fingers into her hair, yank her forward and kiss her hard and savagely.